by Shannon Hale
“Of course, sure, in an ideal world, but—”
“No buts. Not a single but. This is a simple issue, Mr. Kinder. And in this single conversation that will never be repeated again, I’m going to give you a little incentive, since your heart appears to have shrunken to Grinch size and can’t be depended on to help your head make good choices. You think you’re safe because I signed divorce papers? Don’t sit back on your bank account. You were having an affair for months before our divorce, weren’t you? You were already breaking your marriage vows when you asked me to add your name to my accounts. You know Lenny wanted to go for the jugular during the negotiations, but I held him back. What do you think he’ll do if I give him a second chance?” She could almost hear James quivering on the other end. Lenny was an excellent lawyer, and James was fully aware Charlotte had muzzled him. Whether or not a renegotiation of the settlement was possible now that the divorce was final Charlotte didn’t know—but then, neither did James.
“We have your credit card statements for the past several years. You are a creature of habit, Mr. Kinder, and I suspect you left a trail of evidence—restaurants, hotel rooms, gifts. You also burned through a number of old friends who might have interesting testimonies to add. I have no doubt Lenny can prove that you were acting in ill faith long before you had rights to my money. And when he does, say good-bye to your nest egg.”
Silence.
“Excellent point,” she said. “Well put. Without my money padding your lifestyle, Justice might have to get a job. What do you think will be more inconvenient for her—being an adequate stepmom or losing a fortune? So I’m telling you, go curl up in a corner somewhere and lick your little wounds and get over it. The moment—and I mean, the moment—I detect you are being a less-than-enthusiastic father, I will go mama bear on your ass. Have no doubt that I can and will do it. Can you hear it in my voice? A tone perhaps unfamiliar to you? More than confidence. It’s absolute surety, Jimmy boy. If you do not behave like the decent father you once were, I will do everything in my power to strip you of that ill-gotten gain and protect my children. Are we clear?”
More silence.
“I have Lenny’s number on speed dial—”
“Clear,” he said quickly. “We’re clear, yes.”
“Good. Enjoy the rest of your visit with the two most wonderful children in the world.”
Charlotte clicked End and sat down, breathing out as if she’d been holding it in for some time. And perhaps she had.
She started the walk back toward the manor, slow as a funeral march. Tendrils from home seemed to touch her now, slowing her walk, tugging her gently away. She imagined sleeping in sweats, waking to the beeps and explosions of Beckett playing video games on a Saturday morning, the clanking of Lu’s spoon in her cereal bowl. Those were things to look forward to. She didn’t feel sorry to be leaving. Not really.
She was thawed, her heart raw. She was feeling again. Keenly. Even though a twinge of heartbreak was burrowing into her chest, she couldn’t regret anything. What a magical thing to meet Eddie, to know that there are good men in the world, and to have had a few days loving him. She hoped the awe and warmth could sustain her for however long it would take her to get over this new heartache.
I’m in love, she told herself, and knew it was true. But it didn’t change the two children waiting for her in Ohio, or the fact that Eddie was an actor who lived in England. She’d told Beckett she was coming home, and after talking to James, she knew she had to be the parent who was always there. Always.
You’re not going to find someone like Eddie on those blind dates, her Inner Thoughts said.
No, Charlotte agreed. I’d be comparing everyone to him, and no one will measure up.
So you’re probably going to be alone for a long time, and that’s lame.
Yeah, probably. But that’s just the way it goes.
Whatever, said her Inner Thoughts, annoyed beyond arguing.
The manor was close, and panic filled Charlotte’s chest. She didn’t want to face Eddie just to say good-bye. And why should she? This was not, after all, a date. She’d been freed of worry about saying the right things, making the best impression. This was a place without anxiety (non-murder-related, anyhow). The expectations had been clear: come for two weeks and go home again. And perhaps Eddie had enjoyed the final scene last night in the conservatory in the same way Mallery had sought his own final moment in the cottage. It was all fantasy. Home was real.
Charlotte would go. Now.
She did a pivot turn and hurried back toward the inn. The only things that were hers in the house anyway were her toiletries. She would write Mrs. Wattlesbrook and ask her to send her makeup to Mary in jail. Charlotte’s luggage awaited at the inn. She could change and call a hired car to take her to the airport.
She didn’t look back. Now that she’d decided to go, the thought of seeing Eddie again filled her with terror. His face would weaken her resolve, his words would make it so much harder. She was just one of those love-starved ladies he’d talked about, someone he could take pleasure doting upon for a couple of weeks. Whether or not he really wanted her to stay, he’d be kind, and that would hurt.
The sky was soupy, the clouds having no particular shape or shade. Mist crawled the grounds, making her glad of her bonnet and longer sleeves. The gravel was loud beneath her footsteps. Wet fog and crunching gravel seemed to make up the whole world. She could feel the manor house behind her but she didn’t look back. She could live without the grandeur, the corset and feet-tangling skirts, the lack of solitude, the feeling of always being watched, even in her own room. She could live without Austenland.
But you’re going to miss Eddie, said her Inner Thoughts.
I know, she said. But as you’ll learn someday, this is the kind of necessary choice you have to make as a grown-up, even when it hurts.
It sucks, said her Inner Thoughts. I’m sorry.
Thanks.
Charlotte couldn’t allow herself to dwell on how it felt to hold Eddie’s hand—as if all that mattered in the world were expressed in that touch; as if she would be safe and happy forever because this wonderful man wanted to be beside her; as if doves had come to nestle and coo beseechingly in her bosom. No, she really couldn’t allow herself to dwell on that, especially if doves were involved. Doves crossed the line. As they often do.
She was at the gates of Pembrook Park when she heard someone call out, “Mrs. Kinder!”
Charlotte started at her real name. She was both disappointed and relieved that the voice was not Eddie’s.
Detective Sergeant Merriman was standing outside her car on the other side of the gate.
“Look at you! All made out like a lady.” Detective Merriman smiled. “Oh, I had such Austen fancies like you wouldn’t believe when I was a girl. Good thing I grew out of them.”
She smiled good-naturedly, but when her glance flicked back to the manor, a moment of wistful longing passed over her eyes.
“Good morning, Detective Sergeant,” said Charlotte, just stopping herself from curtsying. She did remove her bonnet. It was one thing too much.
The guard opened the gate and Charlotte stepped through.
“I need to talk to you about Thomas Mallery,” said the detective.
“Is that his real name?”
“It is, in fact, and one reason this case continues to complicate. He claims that he didn’t kill John Wattlesbrook and that his attack on you was simply part of the charade.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes.
“Yes, yes, I know, but it is a rather smart move. There was that ongoing mystery of the nuns, and the game of Bloody Murder, and so his ‘pretending’ to be a murderer could be passed off as a continuation of the game. He did not actually kill you, you see. His fingerprints were not on Mr. Wattlesbrook’s car, nor on the keys you found. He must have wiped them off before hiding them.”
“And wore kitchen gloves,” said Charlotte. “There was one in the secret room and another in
the car. Do the gloves have his prints?”
“I’m afraid not. He must have worn his personal gloves under the kitchen gloves. Protects the latter from his prints, and the former prevents any DNA evidence. Smart man.”
“Mary is a witness,” Charlotte said. “I think she saw Mallery go into the secret room with Wattlesbrook and come out alone. And after he pushed the car into the pond, she helped him wash the mud out of his costume.”
“That’s an avenue we will pursue, but in your opinion, how readily will Mary testify against him?”
Charlotte sighed. “Not very.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to confess to the whole lot. So I’m afraid the only strong piece of evidence we have against our man is his confession to you.”
“He was pretty direct about it in the cottage, and that was after a couple of days of hiding. I don’t see how he’ll claim that was still part of the game.”
“He’ll try. I’m very sorry, ma’am, but I have some bad news for you. I can’t have you leave the country right now.”
“What?” This possibility had never crossed her mind. “But I can’t stay. I’m leaving today. Right now, actually.”
“I know it must be a terrible inconvenience. You have a job to return to?”
“Yes. Well, no, I can work from anywhere. But my kids …”
“Of course. Could you find a place for them to stay? Or even bring them here?”
Charlotte felt as if she were filled with helium and floating just above the ground.
“Bring them here …”
“Yes, I’m afraid that if you don’t stay, you’ll be coming and going an awful lot, and as you make up the entire case against a murderer—”
Charlotte began to pace. “No, no, I understand. I have to stay. You’re ordering me to stay.”
“Well, I might put it differently—”
“I’m essential to the case. My testimony is paramount. I would be neglecting my humane duty if I went home now. Everyone will have to understand. You need me.”
“I suppose, in so many words …”
“If I went home now, I’d practically be as guilty as the murderer himself!”
“Well, I don’t know …”
“Charlotte!” Eddie stirred the mist as he ran, and it swirled around him like dancing ghosts. “Charlotte, you’re going, aren’t you?”
“I was …”
“For shame!”
She’d been right to try to slip away. Just the sight of his face made her legs feel soft, and it’s hard to run away with soft legs.
“You want me to stay,” she said, believing it already.
“Of course I do!” he shouted.
“That’s good,” she called back, “because Detective Sergeant Merriman has absolutely forbidden me from leaving the country! It’s Mallery’s fault. He made me a key witness.”
Eddie was running faster. “You mean, you must stay here, in this very county, for the foreseeable future?”
“Indefinitely!”
“I know it must be a terrible inconvenience?” the detective mumbled.
But she didn’t say any more when Eddie reached Charlotte. He put his arms around her and lifted her, spinning around.
Charlotte used to wonder why people did the spinning thing in books and movies. Now she knew. She felt it. Eddie’s arms were around her and they were together, they were one, solid in the center of everything. Outside, the world was fast and blurry and dizzying and strange. Inside, everything made sense. Inside, the only clear things were Eddie and Charlotte. Both Charlotte and her Inner Thoughts were thinking the same thing: hooray, hooray, hooray.
“Indefinitely,” Charlotte said again as if it were the most important word in the world. The great expanse of the Atlantic became irrelevant. It would not flood between them. She would stay in England.
He put her down, his arms still around her waist.
“I woke up with a cold fear that you would talk to your children and feel guilty and decide that I probably don’t really feel anything for you so it would be better just to leave quickly.”
Charlotte gasped. “How did you—”
“A woman without hobbies is dangerously self-negligent. Looks like I owe Mallery for keeping you around. Happily, these trials can drag on forever.”
“Months and months,” she said.
“Years, even,” he said.
“I’ll fly my kids over.”
“And perhaps rent a flat in London.”
“Do you know a good neighborhood?”
“I rent near Chelsea.”
“I’ve always wanted to live in Chelsea. At least, I would have always wanted to live in Chelsea if it had occurred to me before. As it has now. It has definitely occurred to me.”
“You’ll love London. I love London. I’d love to see you in London.”
“I’ve seen London. In fact, I’ve seen France.”
“Do go on,” he said, his eyes turning all bedroomy.
She kissed him. It was all she wanted to do. Kiss Eddie. She dropped her bonnet and let the wind blow it away to part the mists and put her arms around him and kissed him. Her eyes were closed and she felt as if the world were still spinning.
Remembering their audience, Charlotte peeked. The detective was sitting in her car and watching Eddie and Charlotte without shame, as if they were silhouettes on a screen at a drive-in movie. She rested her hand and cheek against the window and sighed.
“Come on,” said Charlotte, taking his hand. “Let’s go for a swim.”
He squinted. “Truly?”
“I’ll protect you from the dangerous fishies.”
He picked her up and carried her across the lawn. His arms were becoming a common means of her transportation.
“As you wish, my darling. After all, I have become an expert at your buttons and lacings.”
Home, present
Here’s the thing about home: you can create it most anywhere, as long as you gather your people around you. Charlotte was surprised by how readily Beckett took to the move, plied with promises of stateside trips to visit his friends. Lu seemed at home at once, especially after meeting Eddie’s daughter, Julia, her mentor in all things British. The chance to meet Alisha also sweetened the deal. James would fly over periodically to have some quality time with his kids without stepmother Justice, who didn’t have a passport and refused to get one for mysterious ideological reasons. Charlotte’s other people—her friends, mother, and brother’s family—loved the excuse to visit England, especially on her dime.
And then there was Eddie. He already felt like home.
Charlotte was filled with plans that made her fingers tingle with anticipation. After exploring the country’s flora, she could expand her business to a new continent. And she was determined to collect some hobbies along the way. Hiking was second on her list, though no one but her Inner Thoughts guessed her ultimate goal of Kilimanjaro. But first, she was going to learn to dance.
Acknowledgments
I am indebted to the many people who nurtured this story from concept to printed book. Lovely cheek kisses for all the folks at Bloomsbury: Victoria Wells Arms, Mike O’Connor, Maureen Klier, Liz Peters, Sabrina Farber, and Rachel Mannheimer. Special slobbery kisses for Barry Goldblatt, Janae Stephenson, Shelby Ivory, Jen Jones, Meghan Hibbett, Stephenie Meyer, and Jerusha Hess. A movie kiss on the mouth for Dean Hale. And a grateful curtsy to Jane Austen.
While writing this book, I enjoyed delving into many Gothic tales, particularly Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, many Agatha Christies, and, of course, Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen.
Finally, apologies to nuns everywhere for the sad fate of Grey Cloaks Abbey, and most especially to the Poor Clares of Perpetual Adoration of Our Lady of Solitude in Arizona, who wrote to tell me how much they appreciated the dedication in Austenland.
A Note on the Author
Shannon Hale is the author of
Austenland, The Actor and the Housewife, and six young adult novels published by Bloomsbury: The Goose Girl, Enna Burning, River Secrets, Forest Born, Book of a Thousand Days, and the Newbery Honor–winning New York Times bestseller Princess Academy. She and her husband have worked together on two graphic novels, Rapunzel’s Revenge and Calamity Jack. They live with their children in Salt Lake City, Utah.
By the Same Author
The Actor and the Housewife
Austenland
For Young Readers:
Princess Academy
Book of a Thousand Days
Rapunzel’s Revenge
Calamity Jack
The Books of Bayern:
The Goose Girl
Enna Burning
River Secrets
Forest Born
Copyright © 2012 by Shannon Hale
First U.S. Edition 2012
Electronic edition published in January 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address Bloomsbury USA, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Published by Bloomsbury USA, New York
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Hale, Shannon.
Midnight in Austenland : a novel / Shannon Hale.—1st U.S. ed.
p. cm.
ebook ISBN: 978-1-60819-640-1
1. Single women—Fiction. 2. Americans—England—Fiction. 3. Austen, Jane, 1775–1817—Influence—Fiction. 4. Chick lit. I. Title.
PS3608.A54584M53 2012
813'.6—dc22
2010053029