Midnight in Austenland (Austenland 2)

Mrs. Wattlesbrook choked on nothing. Mr. Mallery looked up sharply. Eddie shook his head. Miss Gardenside shifted in her chair. Miss Charming gasped, delighted. Charlotte felt her face go red hot, but she didn’t blink.

“Splendid!” said the colonel. “A locked-door mystery.”

Encouraged, Charlotte ventured forward. “We’ll go to everyone’s room one by one and search for murder weapons, clues for a motive, that sort of thing.”

“Yes, yes!” Miss Charming clapped her hands. “Blood splatter on dress hems and bottoms of shoes, clues in pockets and purses, and I’ll write up a list of what everyone has in their room, then, all detective-like, we’ll come back here and decide who’s the guiltiest.”

“I do not find this appropriate,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook said.

“Oh come now, madam,” said Colonel Andrews. “It is just a game.”

“I don’t mean to offend you,” Charlotte said. “I just thought we could pretend, you know? Anyway, it would be nice to have everyone involved, including you. All of us in this together.”

Miss Gardenside stood. “I have always said, Charlotte, that you have a very clever mind. Does she not, Mr. Grey? A very clever mind. Would you not agree, Mr. Mallery?”

“Very clever,” Mr. Mallery said.

“Right-o, pip-pip,” said Miss Charming. “Just give us all a tit, or a tat or whatever, to go straighten up first.”

At once, all were on their feet, moving toward the door.

“No, we have to stay together!” said Charlotte. “If one of us is a murderer, we can’t separate, remember?”

“Right, right, Mrs. Cordial,” Colonel Andrews said. “But hold that thought for ten, and then we shall begin.”

“It has to be spontaneous or people can hide evidence!” Charlotte pleaded.

“I’ll leave out my murder weapons, but no one is seeing my toiletries bag,” said Miss Charming, the first to the drawing room doors. “Ooh, I hope I’m the murderer!”

“Meet back in the drawing room in ten minutes, all!” Colonel Andrews called.

And like that, Charlotte was left standing alone. No noise but the ticking of a clock. It sounded scoldy—tsk, tsk, tsk. She reached into its chest and murderously held the pendulum till it stopped. She knew she’d messed up; she didn’t need some obnoxious mantel clock going on about it. If the murderer was one of the drawing room denizens, he or she likely guessed that Charlotte knew. Evidence would be hidden. How to catch the murderer now?

Her plan was foiled, but perhaps she could still glean information. She went upstairs, shut the door to her room as if she were inside, and secreted herself behind the drapes of a large hallway window. The servants pulled them closed in the afternoon to protect the paintings on the walls from bright sunlight. She stood perfectly concealed, one eye peering through the lace edging. She waited.

Seconds later, someone emerged from down the hallway. Through the lace she could only tell that it was a man. He paused at her door as he walked past, then kept going toward the spiral stairs.

Her insides itched with curiosity. The hallway was empty, the doors all closed. She left the safety of the drapes and followed.

The night of Bloody Murder, Charlotte had been confused by the rules of the game. If a murderer was hiding in the house, why would they seek him out? Wouldn’t it make more sense for the players to hide from the murderer? Yet here she was in real life doing just that, seeking a murderer instead of hiding. She wanted answers, and she was tired of being afraid.

No one was on the stairs. Up she climbed, the spiral unraveling. She could see only a few steps at a time. Anyone could be lurking. Perhaps she should just wait at the bottom to see who came down. But knowing who left the game to go upstairs wasn’t evidence of murder.

The second floor was still. The servants were probably downstairs preparing for dinner. Should she check all the rooms? She approached Mary’s room and heard the squeak of a mattress. Someone was in there. Coming toward the door? Charlotte panicked and fled, opening the secret door and hurrying inside.

And she almost collided with Mr. Mallery.

Home, years before

When they were little, Beckett and Lu loved to play chase. Charlotte would zoom around the kitchen, and they would flee, laughing and squealing and even screaming.

Upon the shout of “Safe, safe!” any noncarpeted place automatically would become safe—a chair, a stool, a bed, a book, a blanket. They’d need a moment to know they were okay, but they’d never stay still for long. Seconds later, they’d take off again, hoping Mom was on their heels.

What fun was safe?

Austenland, day 11, cont.

Mr. Mallery looked up at the sound of the door. His hand was on the lid of the black Chinese vase Charlotte had inspected so often. He withdrew it hastily.