Welcome to Nevermore Bookshop

by Steffanie Holmes

  “This Heathcliff is all those things, and he owns a bookshop in the village,” I said, taking perverse delight in watching Heathcliff squirm.

  “You’re supposed to be helping me,” he growled. In response, I nicked a sausage off Morrie’s plate and chomped down on it.

  “A bookshop?” Hannah’s eyes sparkled. I felt a kinship with her – another outcast book nerd who dreamed of a passionate, grumpy man. “You must tell me all about it. Do you mind?” Hannah asked me, indicating the empty chair at the end of our table.

  “Not at all.” I grinned, shoving back my own chair. “In fact, I think I’ll go to the kitchens and see if I can get some more food, if you’d both like to sit together. Perhaps you could take Heathcliff for a walk around the courtyard after breakfast?”

  Heathcliff glared at me. “Why are you making things worse?”

  “Have fun!” I waved as I stood up. I grabbed an empty plate off the end of the buffet, maneuvered my way around the staff cleaning the carpets, and entered the short hallway leading toward the kitchens.

  Gerald stood in the middle of the hall, his bulk blocking my way. He had his head bent low, whispering with Alice Yo and Professor Carmichael. As I cleared my throat to indicate they might shuffle over and let me pass, all three snapped their heads up, eyes wide. They scattered in three directions, leaving the hall deserted.

  What are they up to?

  Chapter Eighteen

  I barely saw Heathcliff for the rest of the day. The one time I glanced at him across the room during a lecture on spinster tropes, Hannah was practically sitting in his lap and he’d acquired two more black-clad admirers. It looked as though the Argleton Brontë society had found their new leader. I wondered what Gerald thought of it all, but I hadn’t seen him in any lectures, either. Maybe Cynthia had asked him to leave.

  While I waited for Professor Carmichael’s lecture – the final lecture of the day – to begin, I scanned the tiny room for Morrie. He’d been absent all day as well. Lydia led him from activity to activity, showing him off and breaking into impromptu dances in the halls. He seemed perfectly content to bask in her growing popularity and cater to her whims. I tried not to feel jealous. It’s probably for the best. Although Morrie had come back to the room last night and fallen asleep in bed with us, he hadn’t said a word to me all day. He had to be thinking about what I told him last night.

  Maybe I read him all wrong. Maybe he really doesn’t care about me. I’ve made a big mistake—

  Morrie dropped down into the chair beside me. “Good afternoon, gorgeous.”

  My stomach did a little dance. “You’ve sprung yourself free.” A horrible thought occurred to me. “Wait a second, you haven’t stuffed Lydia in a closet, have you?”

  Morrie winked at me. “Would I do that?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Touché.” Morrie pointed across the room. “However, in this instance, I am innocent. Our little miscreant has acquired more admirers. She didn’t even notice when I slipped away. I’ve officially been demoted.”

  I followed his gaze to a throng of people across the aisle, the only other people in the room. They were too far away for me to recognize, but Lydia’s high-pitched laugh echoed across the room. “Do you need to cry into my shoulder?”

  “Yes, please.” Morrie dropped his head onto my shoulder and pretended to be wracked with sobs. As his lips grazed my neck, a shiver ran through my body. I reached up a hand to push him away, to remind him that I hadn’t been kidding about what I’d asked, when he spoke first.

  “I thought about what you told me last night,” he whispered against my hair, his lips brushing the lobe.

  “And?” My body went rigid. An ache danced between my legs.

  “And I think you’re playing a dangerous game.”

  His breath tickled along my neck, sending another delicious shiver through my body. “Oh yes?”

  “People don’t usually issue ultimatums to James Moriarty and live to speak of it.”

  “Be that as it may.” My body ached for him to keep going. I pressed my hand against Morrie’s chest. It took all my self-control, but I pushed him away. “You’re not touching me until you give me an answer. What’s it to be, Moriarty – spill your feelings, or suffer the blue balls?”

  Morrie drew back and puffed out his lower lip. “You’re mean.”

  “You love it. And as soon as you tell me you love me,” I patted my arse, “you can have a piece of this.”

  “Bloody hell, gorgeous.” Morrie stood up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Cold shower,” he muttered as he ducked out of the room. “See you at the ball.”

  Cynthia, acting as MC, called for silence. Professor Carmichael took the stage. “Thank you very much for coming. I wasn’t expecting to see so many of you here for the last lecture of the day, instead of taking an extra hour for ball preparation—”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t see the time. I have to get ready for the ball!” Lydia leaped up, pushing her way through her gaggle of admirers and fleeing the room. A few other women followed her, muttering about curling irons and petticoat lengths.

  Professor Carmichael’s shoulders sagged, but she straightened her back, pushed her glasses up her nose, and began her lecture on medicine in Jane Austen’s life. She spoke with passion and authority, and her joy for the subject made her whole face light up, becoming more animated and youthful as she dug deeper, telling us how vinegar was distilled and used on a range of ailments, from reviving a fainted person, to croup, dropsy, and stomach aches. She had lots of charts and medical facts to back up her conclusions, no doubt gleaned from her previous occupation as a doctor.

  As she talked, more and more people left the room, heading toward their suites to prepare for the ball. My heart went out to Professor Carmichael. As the end of the hour neared, all who was left was me, Alice Yo, Gerald, and Professor Hathaway and Christina right in the front row.

  When she presented her conclusion and clicked off her slide, Professor Hathaway stood, clapping over his head as if she was a rock star finishing her encore at Earl’s Court.

  “Go to hell,” she glared at him.

  By Isis, there’s no love lost there. Alice gave me a pained look. I wanted to stick around and ask her more about her article and if it had anything to do with Gerald and Professor Hathaway’s argument and the subsequent clandestine meeting, but a glance at my phone screen revealed I only had an hour left to get ready for the ball. I packed up my things in a hurry and raced off to my room to change, frantically trying to remember all the steps to the dances I’d learned yesterday.

  * * *

  “Have either of you seen Lydia?” I asked as we milled around in the antechamber. By the time I’d returned to our room after Professor Carmichael’s lecture, Lydia was already gone. She’d left every towel sopping wet and had somehow looped my favorite bra over the ceiling fan. I had to call a staff member to help me get it down. Without Lydia’s help, I’d barely managed to pull on the beautiful red dress and get my hair up in time.

  “Maybe she’s on the roof, polishing her broom,” Morrie said.

  I punched him in the arm. “Don’t say that.”

  “She’ll be here somewhere,” Heathcliff said, indicating the crowd of people who packed every corner of Undercross. “I wish they’d open the windows. All the hairspray fumes are doing my head in.”

  I peered at the series of high windows along the wall, remembering that Quoth had promised he’d be here. “I want to look for Lydia and see if Quoth’s here yet. Let’s take a turn about the room.” I looped my arms in Heathcliff and Morrie and dragged them toward the windows. I peered outside, but the windows revealed only a dark void. If Quoth was looking in at me, I’d be none the wiser, thanks to my stupid eyes. Inside, at least, the chandelier was bright enough that I could make out most faces. There’s Gerald and the rest of the Brontë society. There’s Professor Carmichael in a beautiful blue dress, and Cynthia looking stunning in b
lue.

  “I see Lydia.” Morrie pulled me in the direction of the fireplace.

  “Oh no,” I breathed. Professor Hathaway sat in the crimson chair in front of the fire, wearing a fine topcoat with gold details and an elaborate sword on his belt. In his lap, Lydia bounced on his knee, whispering something in his ear. “When she said she’d acquired new suitors, it never occurred to me that she’d be after him.”

  Behind me, I heard a disgusted sigh. I turned around in time to see Professor Carmichael make a disgusted face and push her way through the crowd to get away from Hathaway and his sycophants.

  “Well, he is a bachelor, and definitely eligible.” Morrie grinned. “I bet he has a fortune of ten thousand a year.”

  “He’s also old – even under that dyed hair – and gross. I told you what Professor Carmichael said about him, and there was Gerald’s outburst this morning.”

  “Indeed, although I’d be careful to believe the words of rival academics. I’ve read at a top university, and I can tell you that the dons bicker incessantly and constantly try to throw each other under the bus in order to score a book deal, speaking slot, or professional accolade for themselves. It’s a lot like Hollywood, except that the fashion leans more toward, ‘tweed and tipsy’.”

  I watched Lydia toss her head back and laugh at something Professor Hathaway said. Beside her, David leaned down and handed her a drink. “I can’t stop thinking about Hannah’s face when she was confronting Hathaway. She looked scared. That makes me worry about Lydia. She’s only sixteen. Should we rescue her?”

  “No,” said Heathcliff and Morrie in unison.

  It appeared we didn’t need to. As well as David, three other men hovered around her, offering food and wine and to fill up her dance card. It appeared Lydia had wasted no time in taking my advice. I made a note to speak to her about the dangers of men like Hathaway as soon as I got the chance.

  “It’s a terrible tragedy,” a woman behind me gushed. I turned around, wondering if she was talking about Hathaway. But no, for she held on to Christina Hathaway’s hand. “For you to be without your jewels for the ball. Are you certain you’re not a victim of the Argleton Jewel Thief?”

  “No, no. Father keeps them on his person at all times. I just don’t want to disturb his conversation,” Christina replied in her high, breathless voice. She looked absolutely radiant in a cream dress covered in fine lace. Rows of pearl beads dotted her demure neckline and edged her gloves, but I noticed she wore no earrings or necklace, as the other woman did. Behind her, Gerald moved closer, with Hannah on his arm. “Those jewels belonged to my mother. He would be terribly upset if something were to happen to them.”

  Perhaps if your father wasn’t so busy trying to seduce sixteen-year-old girls, he might be able to find your jewels.

  I didn’t get to eavesdrop any longer. Excitement rippled through the crowd as the doors swung open. Janeites surged toward the entrance, sweeping us along with the crowd. I held tight to Heathcliff and Morrie and gazed around the room in wonder.

  The ballroom had been transformed. Gone were the folding chairs arranged in neat rows. Instead, the grand marble floor shone from a fresh polish, ready for dancing feet. Floral arrangements wound around the columns, drawing the eye upward to the ornate paintings of nymphs and satyrs that adorned the ceiling. A band set up in one corner, playing a jaunty reel to welcome us. In front of them, a microphone had been set up for Cynthia to call the dances. Round tables down one end waited for the guests, adorned with towering flower arrangements and glittering with crystal and silver dinnerware.

  “Mina, there you are!” Lydia grinned at me. Beside her, David held her hand. “Isn’t this great fun?”

  “What happened to Professor Hathaway? I saw you two getting friendly together.” At the mention of his boss’ name, David frowned. Christina rushed over and took David’s other arm. “I heard you say that you saw my father. He keeps Mummy’s jewels on his person, and I wish to wear her pearl earrings tonight.”

  “I think he’s had too much alcohol! He was nodding off by the fire, so I left him. David is a much better dancer, anyway, isn’t that right, David? What are those lights?” Lydia stared at the ceiling.

  “They’re called fairy lights.”

  “How delightful! Like fireflies except more… glamorous. I look forward to dancing beneath them. They will make my dress look most fetching.”

  “Should I worry about Father?” Christina asked David. “I don’t want him to miss the ball.”

  “He’s probably still surrounded by his fans,” David said. “We’ll take our seats and I’m sure he’ll be along presently. Shall I get you a drink from the bar?”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” They disappeared into the crowd. I couldn’t help but think they’d be perfect for each other with their lovely Regency manners, but then I remembered Morrie had seen Christina and Alice snogging in the courtyard. I wondered again what her father would think if he knew.

  My phone – which still sat in my bra, along with my father’s letter – buzzed. I ignored it. I’d already received fifty-one texts from my mother this weekend, all of them ignored.

  “Here’s our table. After you, ladies.” Morrie held out two chairs. Lydia slid into one and put her purse on the other. Morrie went to move her purse, and she glared at him.

  “David will be sitting there. Now, go away,” she waved her hands at us. “I’m saving this table for my other suitors. You’ll find plenty of other seats around the room.”

  “Lydia, you can’t just sit wherever you want. You have to find your name on your place setting—”

  Lydia’s cheeks reddened. “I said, move! Don’t force me to say something I’ll regret.”

  Before I could give Lydia a piece of my mind, Morrie looped an arm in mine and led me away. “Why, I’m almost offended. I thought I was supposed to be her escort.”

  “I think we’re supposed to sit at Cynthia’s table, anyway,” I said.

  Heathcliff smirked as he took my other hand. “If your ego can’t take the bruising, you could go back and insist upon dueling David for her affections.”

  “Not on your life. That guy is brutal with a foil. If our charge doesn’t wish to sit with me, who am I to deny her?” Morrie steered us to a table near the front of the room, where we found our names on the list. Alice sat on one side of the circle, staring down at her phone. On the other side, two women and a man I didn’t recognize hooted with laughter while Christina and David talked with their heads bent close together. I guess he won’t be joining Lydia after all. “Shall we join the other VIPs?”

  I nodded. Morrie pulled out the chair next to Alice, and I sank down into it. She looked up from her phone and smiled. “I was hoping you’d sit with me. I don’t know how much talk of bonnets and calligraphy I can stand.”

  “You’ve already exhausted conversation with our table-mates?”

  “Let’s see. Christina and David won’t speak to me, because they don’t like the questions I’ve been asking about Professor Hathaway.” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her if that was true after their make-out session last night. But I didn’t want to make either of them into a spectacle if they’d chosen to keep it private. “We’ve also got Barbara, the tarot reader. Gina over there writes Jane Austen erotica. Quentin is a scholar of political science and a Marxist and has just spent the last fifteen minutes explaining to me in the most passionate terms the political history of the top hat.”

  “At least you can’t say this is a gathering ‘too numerous for intimacy, too few for variety’,” I joked, quoting from Persuasion.

  Alice rolled her eyes. “Not you, too.”

  “Do you have an angle for your fluffy article yet?”

  She jerked her head toward a couple of women at a nearby table who waited for their male escort to pull out their chairs and pour their drinks. “I’m thinking, ‘sexism still alive and well in Argleton’.”

  I smiled, topping up her wine glass after filling
my own. Solidarity, sister. “I’m guessing your other piece has something to do with Hathaway? I saw you speaking to Professor Carmichael yesterday, and after Gerald’s performance this morning—”

  “Good guess.” Alice set down her phone on the table, turning the screen down so I couldn’t see what was on it. “Hathaway has had several inappropriate relationships with female students, and that’s only scratching the surface of that man’s depravity. Professor Carmichael was the one who came to me with information in the first place, and it was even more damning than she’d initially suggested. Gerald’s story could only add fuel to the fire. Hathaway’s been allowed to get away with too much for too long. This is going to be the #metoo story of the year. I want—”

  Something dived under the table. Alice reached out to save our wine before it splashed on the pristine tablecloth.

  I peered under the table. “Heathcliff, what are you doing?”

  “Put the cloth down!” He wrenched it from my fingers and yanked it to the floor. The flower arrangement teetered dangerously. Hannah and her goth friends appeared at my side.

  “Do you have any idea where Heathcliff got to?” Hannah asked. She flaunted the Regency theme of the ball and wore a fishtail-style black gown with a plunging neckline that would earn the Morticia Addams seal of approval. Her hair was teased out in a wild 80s style, her fake lashes so long they touched her cheeks when she widened her eyes to search the room. “He promised me the first dance.”

  “Sure. He’s under the table,” I said. From beneath my feet, something bellowed.

  Heathcliff yanked the tablecloth up on the other side of the table. Christina yelped in surprise as he barreled out and dashed off. A moment later, three black-clad goth girls raced after him. Morrie, Alice and I burst out laughing.

  “David,” Christina folded her napkin on the table. “I need to go to the bathroom. Will you accompany me?”