Midnight in Austenland Read Online Free Page B

Gardenside.
    â€œHow do you do?” said Charlotte with a curtsy and head bow, as she’d practiced at the inn.
    â€œI do properly well, rawther ,” Miss Charming said in a stressed and twangy accent of no identifiable origin. “Jolly good to have you here.”
    Miss Charming’s well-lipsticked lips quivered as she spoke, and for a moment Charlotte worried that she was suffering a mild stroke.
    â€œAre you okay?” she asked.
    â€œMiss Charming is of our native England,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook explained.
    â€œOh …” Charlotte smiled politely. “I can tell from your … accent.” Charlotte hadn’t dared try to sound British herself. The only accent she could do was Brooklyn, and then only when saying words like “quarter” and “daughter.” James had hated it when she did her Brooklyn accent.
    Miss Charming beamed. She looked over Miss Gardenside, seemingly without recognizing Alisha beneath the bonnet, and took their arms, leading them up the steps.
    â€œThis place is so great!” she whispered, her tone settling into American Southern. “And the guys are delish , but I get lonely for girls between sessions. I can’t wait until—”
    She had to stop, because Miss Gardenside had begun to cough. Not a light there’s-a-wee-something-in-my-throat cough, but a harsh, grating, suffocating hack. She bent over, wheezing and battling her lungs, while Charlotte stupidly patted her on the back and offered to fetch water, the universal language for you’re-coughing-and-there’s-nothing-useful-I-can-do.
    Mrs. Wattlesbrook rushed inside and returned with a tall, blonde woman in a navy blue dress.
    â€œI’ll take her up to bed,” said the woman.
    Miss Gardenside appeared to be shaking her head no, but she couldn’t stop coughing long enough to voice any protest, and her feet shuffled along as the woman walked her inside. Mrs. Wattlesbrook followed.
    â€œDid you guys have popcorn in the carriage?” Miss Charming asked.
    â€œPopcorn? Um, no. Why?”
    â€œI once got a piece of popcorn stuck in my upper respiratory,” Miss Charming whispered. “Had to go to the emergency … apothecary place.”
    â€œI see,” said Charlotte. “No, Miss Gardenside has consumption.”
    â€œOoh. That sounds contagious.”
    As far as Charlotte knew, “consumption” was the archaic term for tuberculosis, which was, in fact, quite contagious.
    â€œBut I can’t imagine she would come here, and Mrs. Wattlesbrook would let her, if she really has a deadly, communicable disease. Right?”
    Miss Charming shrugged. “I won’t be sharing my toothbrush with her.”
    They entered through the front doors and into a grand foyer, where a huge staircase spilled scarlet carpet down to the marble tiles. Dark wood banisters and trim contrasted with bright white walls, giving Charlotte the impression of gashes against pale skin.
    Gashes against pale skin? You’re really morbid, her Inner Thoughts said.
    Charlotte shrugged internally. She didn’t think she was morbid by habit, but old houses did seem to bring that out in her. Given their many years of history, odds were that bad things had happened inside. Really bad things. Her imagination couldn’t rest for wondering.
    Mrs. Wattlesbrook returned and escorted Charlotte upstairs to her chamber. Its walls were painted a sunny yellow, her bed dressed in summery blue. A white-upholstered chair and pale wood table and wardrobe added to the perky atmosphere. Charlotte smiled. Maybe staying in a big old ponderous house wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe it wouldn’t tickle her nerves at night and make her shiver and long for home.
    â€œTake a rest if you like,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook said. “We convene in the drawing room before dinner.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Charlotte smiled. Mrs. Wattlesbrook smiled. The maid left.