Midnight in Austenland
Page 59
Behave herself, huh? Absolutely. Charlotte elbowed Mallery in the gut, right where she was pretty sure she’d previously bruised his ribs. He let go.
“Bloody murder!” she screamed.
“Halt!” Eddie shouted, rushing into the room and pointing the tip of the foil at Mallery’s chest. Charlotte leapt to the side.
Mallery eyeballed the blunt tip and knocked the blade away impatiently. Eddie whipped him with it on the top of his head.
“Ow,” said Mallery.
He took a menacing step forward, but Eddie whipped him again on the shoulder.
“Stop that!” said Mallery.
The two men stared each other down.
“I have a knife,” said Mallery, pulling one from his belt.
“Mine is longer,” said Eddie.
Boys, Charlotte thought, with an internal roll of her eyes.
He whipped Mallery’s hand, and Mallery dropped his knife. They stared again. Charlotte found it all very dramatic. Mallery faked as if to pick up the knife but ran instead, dodging Eddie to get down the hall and out the charred front door. He didn’t look quite so menacing when he ran.
Eddie and Charlotte chased after him, leaping over debris and coughing on the ash his flight kicked up. Car headlights met them outside, coming from the direction of the house. The police! Mallery swerved and made toward the wood.
“That’s him! That’s him!” Charlotte yelled.
The detective’s car left the drive and crossed the lawn, the tires churning up the grass.
“Mrs. Wattlesbrook is not going to like that,” Charlotte said.
Police scrambled forward, shouting, a couple of them pulling out guns. More guns! Weren’t they supposed to just use billy clubs in England? Where had she been getting her information? The detective’s car cut off Mallery’s route to the woods, and he stopped, hands in the air.
Eddie was beside her.
“Are you happy you got to use your foil?” she asked.
He smiled, his dimples like full moons.
“I think I owe you some kind of an apology,” she said, “about how I misjudged your prowess with a weapon and how you really are dangerous.”
His arm went around her waist.
“I am officially the happiest man alive.”
After questions and explanations, the police sent Charlotte and Eddie back up to the big house. It was silent, most of its inhabitants asleep and clueless about the happenings at the cottage down the lane.
Soon Charlotte found herself once again in bed, in a room without a lock, awake long after midnight. But something was different tonight. Something was missing. She looked around her room, patted herself as if searching for lost keys, ran her fingers through her hair. Something large, something usually present, was just gone.
I’m not afraid, she realized. I don’t feel the least bit afraid.
She thought of the dead body in the secret room. Nothing. She imagined her brother in a mask chasing her through a dark house. Nada. She thought of Mallery trying to kill her, and Mary in her room with a gun, and murdered nuns and ghosts and a house that might eat corpses alive …
She sighed, rolled onto her side, and fell asleep.
Home, thirty-one years before
“Let’s play castle,” said Charlotte’s loud and bespectacled friend Olga. “I’ll be the princess, and you be the lady-in-waiting.”
“Okay,” said Charlotte.
She watched Olga traipse about with Charlotte’s plastic tiara on her head and felt a mild ache that her lot was to sit on the basement carpet and pretend to weave a tapestry. But Olga looked really happy, and being the lady-in-waiting wasn’t so bad. She still got to be a part of the story. Even if she wasn’t the heroine.
Austenland, day 13
Charlotte poured milk in her tea, dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin, and said, “Last night Eddie and I found Mallery hiding in Pembrook Cottage.”
The sounds of chewing, tinkling utensils on plates, and subdued breakfast conversations hushed at once. Even Neville, just entering the dining room from the kitchen with a plate of sausages, gaped openly.
“The police arrived,” said Eddie, “but not before Charlotte was nearly taken hostage.”
“What happened?” Miss Gardenside asked.
“Oh, you know,” she said, waving her hand as if it were all so typical. “He was hiding behind a trick bookcase in a secret alcove. Or was it a nook? Anyway, he pulled me in. He apparently had been dying to apologize for almost killing me. Then he kissed me.”
Eddie stood up, rattling the table and knocking over a glass of orange juice. “He what?!”
“He kissed me?” she said, more apprehensively this time. She hadn’t expected a table-rattling, juice-spilling reaction to that news.
“Did you let him?”
“Yeah. NO! It wasn’t … it was … well, he needed closure, I guess. He’s like those old heroes—or villains, maybe—those tragic princes and tortured Heathcliffs and Rochesters. At least, he sees himself that way. He wouldn’t have lasted long in that little cubbyhole, and I think he was waiting for a finale of sorts before he left this old world behind. He was still calling me ‘Mrs. Cordial.’ After everything that’s happened—Mrs. Cordial. He’s that far gone. But he wanted that final moment, right? He wanted to end it with a kiss. And now that he’s in jail, his last free action wasn’t trying to kill the lady, it was kissing the lady, and he can live with that. You know?”
Miss Charming rested her cheek on her hand. “What was the kiss like?” she asked.
“Well, it was very dark, I couldn’t see him, and suddenly—”
Miss Charming put her hands over her mouth and squealed with delight. Eddie slammed down the empty juice glass he’d just picked up. Colonel Andrews and Miss Gardenside were looking back and forth from Charlotte’s fumbling to Eddie’s fuming.
“Never mind,” said Charlotte. “It was just a kiss. It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to tell you all, so you knew that Mallery is no longer a threat.”
Charlotte gave Eddie a stern look, warning him to calm down. He sat and reached for a piece of bread, then tore it apart over a plate.
“I just don’t like that he took such a liberty. I should have been there to prevent it.”
“It’s really okay, Eddie. I’m okay. Mallery tried to kill me, but I still feel sorry for him. It’s not easy to be him in this world. He doesn’t deserve much, but maybe he did deserve his final moment.”
“Bloody murder!” she screamed.
“Halt!” Eddie shouted, rushing into the room and pointing the tip of the foil at Mallery’s chest. Charlotte leapt to the side.
Mallery eyeballed the blunt tip and knocked the blade away impatiently. Eddie whipped him with it on the top of his head.
“Ow,” said Mallery.
He took a menacing step forward, but Eddie whipped him again on the shoulder.
“Stop that!” said Mallery.
The two men stared each other down.
“I have a knife,” said Mallery, pulling one from his belt.
“Mine is longer,” said Eddie.
Boys, Charlotte thought, with an internal roll of her eyes.
He whipped Mallery’s hand, and Mallery dropped his knife. They stared again. Charlotte found it all very dramatic. Mallery faked as if to pick up the knife but ran instead, dodging Eddie to get down the hall and out the charred front door. He didn’t look quite so menacing when he ran.
Eddie and Charlotte chased after him, leaping over debris and coughing on the ash his flight kicked up. Car headlights met them outside, coming from the direction of the house. The police! Mallery swerved and made toward the wood.
“That’s him! That’s him!” Charlotte yelled.
The detective’s car left the drive and crossed the lawn, the tires churning up the grass.
“Mrs. Wattlesbrook is not going to like that,” Charlotte said.
Police scrambled forward, shouting, a couple of them pulling out guns. More guns! Weren’t they supposed to just use billy clubs in England? Where had she been getting her information? The detective’s car cut off Mallery’s route to the woods, and he stopped, hands in the air.
Eddie was beside her.
“Are you happy you got to use your foil?” she asked.
He smiled, his dimples like full moons.
“I think I owe you some kind of an apology,” she said, “about how I misjudged your prowess with a weapon and how you really are dangerous.”
His arm went around her waist.
“I am officially the happiest man alive.”
After questions and explanations, the police sent Charlotte and Eddie back up to the big house. It was silent, most of its inhabitants asleep and clueless about the happenings at the cottage down the lane.
Soon Charlotte found herself once again in bed, in a room without a lock, awake long after midnight. But something was different tonight. Something was missing. She looked around her room, patted herself as if searching for lost keys, ran her fingers through her hair. Something large, something usually present, was just gone.
I’m not afraid, she realized. I don’t feel the least bit afraid.
She thought of the dead body in the secret room. Nothing. She imagined her brother in a mask chasing her through a dark house. Nada. She thought of Mallery trying to kill her, and Mary in her room with a gun, and murdered nuns and ghosts and a house that might eat corpses alive …
She sighed, rolled onto her side, and fell asleep.
Home, thirty-one years before
“Let’s play castle,” said Charlotte’s loud and bespectacled friend Olga. “I’ll be the princess, and you be the lady-in-waiting.”
“Okay,” said Charlotte.
She watched Olga traipse about with Charlotte’s plastic tiara on her head and felt a mild ache that her lot was to sit on the basement carpet and pretend to weave a tapestry. But Olga looked really happy, and being the lady-in-waiting wasn’t so bad. She still got to be a part of the story. Even if she wasn’t the heroine.
Austenland, day 13
Charlotte poured milk in her tea, dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin, and said, “Last night Eddie and I found Mallery hiding in Pembrook Cottage.”
The sounds of chewing, tinkling utensils on plates, and subdued breakfast conversations hushed at once. Even Neville, just entering the dining room from the kitchen with a plate of sausages, gaped openly.
“The police arrived,” said Eddie, “but not before Charlotte was nearly taken hostage.”
“What happened?” Miss Gardenside asked.
“Oh, you know,” she said, waving her hand as if it were all so typical. “He was hiding behind a trick bookcase in a secret alcove. Or was it a nook? Anyway, he pulled me in. He apparently had been dying to apologize for almost killing me. Then he kissed me.”
Eddie stood up, rattling the table and knocking over a glass of orange juice. “He what?!”
“He kissed me?” she said, more apprehensively this time. She hadn’t expected a table-rattling, juice-spilling reaction to that news.
“Did you let him?”
“Yeah. NO! It wasn’t … it was … well, he needed closure, I guess. He’s like those old heroes—or villains, maybe—those tragic princes and tortured Heathcliffs and Rochesters. At least, he sees himself that way. He wouldn’t have lasted long in that little cubbyhole, and I think he was waiting for a finale of sorts before he left this old world behind. He was still calling me ‘Mrs. Cordial.’ After everything that’s happened—Mrs. Cordial. He’s that far gone. But he wanted that final moment, right? He wanted to end it with a kiss. And now that he’s in jail, his last free action wasn’t trying to kill the lady, it was kissing the lady, and he can live with that. You know?”
Miss Charming rested her cheek on her hand. “What was the kiss like?” she asked.
“Well, it was very dark, I couldn’t see him, and suddenly—”
Miss Charming put her hands over her mouth and squealed with delight. Eddie slammed down the empty juice glass he’d just picked up. Colonel Andrews and Miss Gardenside were looking back and forth from Charlotte’s fumbling to Eddie’s fuming.
“Never mind,” said Charlotte. “It was just a kiss. It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to tell you all, so you knew that Mallery is no longer a threat.”
Charlotte gave Eddie a stern look, warning him to calm down. He sat and reached for a piece of bread, then tore it apart over a plate.
“I just don’t like that he took such a liberty. I should have been there to prevent it.”
“It’s really okay, Eddie. I’m okay. Mallery tried to kill me, but I still feel sorry for him. It’s not easy to be him in this world. He doesn’t deserve much, but maybe he did deserve his final moment.”
