Midnight in Austenland
Page 49
Charlotte got a little light-headed and tickly-chested, though her drink was just a soda. Maybe she wasn’t quite as numb as she thought. Maybe she could thaw just a tad, just enough to know this Ernie, to dip her toes in this possibility. As they left the restaurant, Ernie asked her out to dinner. She said she’d like that, and that’s when he leaned in to kiss her.
Charlotte would replay the next few moments over and over again for months to come, usually while she held a pillow over her head:
• His lips touched hers.
• She recoiled.
• She said, “Ew.”
Had his breath smelled of calamari? Had his mouth been hot and dry like a shedding lizard’s skin? No. Nothing was wrong. Ernie kissed in a very reasonable and appropriate manner. But Charlotte felt repulsed—not by him, but by herself. It was disgusting, she’d thought as he leaned in, disgusting for a married woman to kiss another man. She’d felt like a dirty, horrid cheater.
But Ernie, ignorant of her tortured internal monologue, only heard “ew.” He nodded, turned, and walked away.
Did Charlotte call Ernie and explain? No, it’d been too humiliating. Besides, what business does a woman who still feels married months after her divorce have going on a date with anyone?
She reopened her arms to numbness and let that cold void settle deeper into her chest, as deep as night.
Austenland, day 11, cont.
Charlotte was only out for a moment. She knew Eddie was carrying her because she recognized his smell. She hadn’t realized her brain had stored that information, but she tucked her head against his neck and breathed in.
He placed her on her bed, then he and Colonel Andrews rushed out again. Things got confusing, with ladies and servants coming and going, Charlotte shouting warnings about Mallery and Mary.
“You are certain?” asked Mrs. Wattlesbrook from the doorway.
Charlotte nodded. “I’m sorry. Mallery admitted he … he killed your husband. And I saw his BMW submerged in the pond.”
Mrs. Wattlesbrook nodded. For a moment Charlotte thought the proprietress might cry, but instead she said, “Let us adjourn to the drawing room. Mrs. Cordial’s bedchamber is inappropriate for a gathering.”
As if all that matters anymore, Charlotte thought.
But it mattered to Mrs. Wattlesbrook. Eddie was back by then and eager to carry Charlotte again. She protested at first but gave in, curious to see what it felt like in his arms now that she was more awake. Perhaps that dreamy, delicious sensation that had filled her hadn’t been his nearness but just the remnants of a fainting dream.
It wasn’t.
“I wanted you to save me,” she said as he brought her into the drawing room and set her on a chaise longue.
“I wish I had.” His face was grim.
“It’s okay. I didn’t die.”
He told her that Mallery was tied and locked in one of the second-floor spare rooms, and that Justin, the most robust of Neville’s lads, stood guard. Charlotte could only think of him as “Mallery” now. But why had he done it? She couldn’t quite reason it out. Mallery the character would want to protect his family’s estates and perhaps even kill to do so. But why had the actor crossed over? Was he simply crazy?
Eddie said Mallery gave him very little fight since she’d already beaten the life out of him.
“I just wanted to be sure,” she said. “In movies you think the bad guy is done in, then he rises again.”
“Yes, I think you made certain there would be no unexpected rising.”
Maids came in to report that Mary was missing, and they plopped down on the abundant settees, the illusion of the classes cracking under the pressure. Neville gazed over the scene, disapproving but not speaking. Mrs. Wattlesbrook was not present. Surely she was at the inn calling the police.
“Neville, you knew Mary from Windy Nook?” Charlotte asked while the maids chattered away about how Mary liked to personally wash Mallery’s breeches.
“Yes. I am alarmed by this outcome.”
“But not surprised,” said Charlotte.
“No, I suppose not.” He stared at his interlaced fingers. “She was raised by her grandmother, who had been in service herself. As a child, Mary would run errands between the village and Windy Nook, and I could tell she hungered for what that house represented. I’m the one who hired her as a maid when she came of age.” He sighed. “She started in the kitchen, but since she had spent years taking care of her grandmother, Mrs. Wattlesbrook thought she would excel as a lady’s maid. Mary’s behavior was eccentric, and Mrs. Wattlesbrook wasn’t going to transfer her here when Windy Nook closed. But I … I intervened. Mary’s grandmother had died and there was nowhere else she felt at home. Perhaps my pity was misplaced.”
“Mrs. Wattlesbrook brought you to Pembrook Park as well. Clearly she trusts you more than any other, and she’s a smart lady.”
His eyes shone.
“And you could see that Mary was enamored of Mallery?” Charlotte asked.
“Well, yes. He stood apart. When the guests weren’t around, the actors relaxed, you know. Became themselves. Mr. Mallery never relaxed. I suppose he was himself.”
“He was himself,” Charlotte repeated softly.
Miss Charming plonked down beside Charlotte.
“You figured it all out.” Miss Charming didn’t bother with her British accent even though the men were present. “Wow. You’re like Jessica Fletcher.”
“I am in shock,” said Eddie. “Andrews, you and I were most likely the last to see him alive.”
“Mallery must have returned to Wattlesbrook right after dinner, and then joined us in the drawing room as cool as anything,” Colonel Andrews said. “Perhaps he’d only intended to give him a talking-to?”
“Gave him a talking-to, all right,” Eddie said.
“I guess Mary saw him with Mr. Wattlesbrook,” said Charlotte.
“She played our garden ghost, you know,” said Colonel Andrews. “I told the lads I’d need a helper for my charade, and Mallery suggested Mary. He said she’d do anything for him.”
That’s proving true, Charlotte thought.
If she were in an Agatha Christie novel, she supposed, this would be when the story would end, with the murderer caught. But she still had three more days in Austenland. Speculation and chatter continued, and Charlotte’s head felt too muddled to be indoors. As soon as she could, she slipped outside.
Charlotte would replay the next few moments over and over again for months to come, usually while she held a pillow over her head:
• His lips touched hers.
• She recoiled.
• She said, “Ew.”
Had his breath smelled of calamari? Had his mouth been hot and dry like a shedding lizard’s skin? No. Nothing was wrong. Ernie kissed in a very reasonable and appropriate manner. But Charlotte felt repulsed—not by him, but by herself. It was disgusting, she’d thought as he leaned in, disgusting for a married woman to kiss another man. She’d felt like a dirty, horrid cheater.
But Ernie, ignorant of her tortured internal monologue, only heard “ew.” He nodded, turned, and walked away.
Did Charlotte call Ernie and explain? No, it’d been too humiliating. Besides, what business does a woman who still feels married months after her divorce have going on a date with anyone?
She reopened her arms to numbness and let that cold void settle deeper into her chest, as deep as night.
Austenland, day 11, cont.
Charlotte was only out for a moment. She knew Eddie was carrying her because she recognized his smell. She hadn’t realized her brain had stored that information, but she tucked her head against his neck and breathed in.
He placed her on her bed, then he and Colonel Andrews rushed out again. Things got confusing, with ladies and servants coming and going, Charlotte shouting warnings about Mallery and Mary.
“You are certain?” asked Mrs. Wattlesbrook from the doorway.
Charlotte nodded. “I’m sorry. Mallery admitted he … he killed your husband. And I saw his BMW submerged in the pond.”
Mrs. Wattlesbrook nodded. For a moment Charlotte thought the proprietress might cry, but instead she said, “Let us adjourn to the drawing room. Mrs. Cordial’s bedchamber is inappropriate for a gathering.”
As if all that matters anymore, Charlotte thought.
But it mattered to Mrs. Wattlesbrook. Eddie was back by then and eager to carry Charlotte again. She protested at first but gave in, curious to see what it felt like in his arms now that she was more awake. Perhaps that dreamy, delicious sensation that had filled her hadn’t been his nearness but just the remnants of a fainting dream.
It wasn’t.
“I wanted you to save me,” she said as he brought her into the drawing room and set her on a chaise longue.
“I wish I had.” His face was grim.
“It’s okay. I didn’t die.”
He told her that Mallery was tied and locked in one of the second-floor spare rooms, and that Justin, the most robust of Neville’s lads, stood guard. Charlotte could only think of him as “Mallery” now. But why had he done it? She couldn’t quite reason it out. Mallery the character would want to protect his family’s estates and perhaps even kill to do so. But why had the actor crossed over? Was he simply crazy?
Eddie said Mallery gave him very little fight since she’d already beaten the life out of him.
“I just wanted to be sure,” she said. “In movies you think the bad guy is done in, then he rises again.”
“Yes, I think you made certain there would be no unexpected rising.”
Maids came in to report that Mary was missing, and they plopped down on the abundant settees, the illusion of the classes cracking under the pressure. Neville gazed over the scene, disapproving but not speaking. Mrs. Wattlesbrook was not present. Surely she was at the inn calling the police.
“Neville, you knew Mary from Windy Nook?” Charlotte asked while the maids chattered away about how Mary liked to personally wash Mallery’s breeches.
“Yes. I am alarmed by this outcome.”
“But not surprised,” said Charlotte.
“No, I suppose not.” He stared at his interlaced fingers. “She was raised by her grandmother, who had been in service herself. As a child, Mary would run errands between the village and Windy Nook, and I could tell she hungered for what that house represented. I’m the one who hired her as a maid when she came of age.” He sighed. “She started in the kitchen, but since she had spent years taking care of her grandmother, Mrs. Wattlesbrook thought she would excel as a lady’s maid. Mary’s behavior was eccentric, and Mrs. Wattlesbrook wasn’t going to transfer her here when Windy Nook closed. But I … I intervened. Mary’s grandmother had died and there was nowhere else she felt at home. Perhaps my pity was misplaced.”
“Mrs. Wattlesbrook brought you to Pembrook Park as well. Clearly she trusts you more than any other, and she’s a smart lady.”
His eyes shone.
“And you could see that Mary was enamored of Mallery?” Charlotte asked.
“Well, yes. He stood apart. When the guests weren’t around, the actors relaxed, you know. Became themselves. Mr. Mallery never relaxed. I suppose he was himself.”
“He was himself,” Charlotte repeated softly.
Miss Charming plonked down beside Charlotte.
“You figured it all out.” Miss Charming didn’t bother with her British accent even though the men were present. “Wow. You’re like Jessica Fletcher.”
“I am in shock,” said Eddie. “Andrews, you and I were most likely the last to see him alive.”
“Mallery must have returned to Wattlesbrook right after dinner, and then joined us in the drawing room as cool as anything,” Colonel Andrews said. “Perhaps he’d only intended to give him a talking-to?”
“Gave him a talking-to, all right,” Eddie said.
“I guess Mary saw him with Mr. Wattlesbrook,” said Charlotte.
“She played our garden ghost, you know,” said Colonel Andrews. “I told the lads I’d need a helper for my charade, and Mallery suggested Mary. He said she’d do anything for him.”
That’s proving true, Charlotte thought.
If she were in an Agatha Christie novel, she supposed, this would be when the story would end, with the murderer caught. But she still had three more days in Austenland. Speculation and chatter continued, and Charlotte’s head felt too muddled to be indoors. As soon as she could, she slipped outside.
