What Would Jane Austen Do?, page 15
Mrs Jennings, Sense & Sensibility
* * *
It felt like she’d only been asleep for a matter of minutes before a knocking noise slowly slipped into her consciousness. The ghosts could do one; she’d had enough for one night. She tried to pull the duvet over her head but for some reason it didn’t shift. Maddy made a determined effort to ignore the noise, but if anything it was getting louder. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed the annoyance would go away and leave her in peace.
A faint ‘Hello!’ echoed from somewhere.
That was definitely a human voice. Maddy cautiously opened her eyes and was shocked to see daylight filtering in through the gap in the curtains. As she turned over and realised why the duvet wasn’t moving, memories from last night came flooding back. A variety of emotions raced through her from surprise through to embarrassment. Thankfully, Luke had already vanished but Buster leapt to his feet, gave himself a shake and then jumped down with a happy woof.
Maddy rubbed the sleep from her eyes and with the benefit of full consciousness, identified the rapping noise as that of someone at her front door. She hurried over to the window and tugged up the sash to see who was making such a racket at the crack of dawn. The cool morning breeze brushed against her cheeks as she leaned out.
Her first thought on seeing Myra and Jem was that they must have left something behind last night. Couldn’t they have waited until a more reasonable hour? Jem was wearing a creased T-shirt that looked like it has been through the wash too many times and had forgotten what shape it was meant to be. Maybe he’d just been dragged out of bed too. His hairstyle – or lack of it – certainly supported that theory.
‘What’s happened? What’s the emergency?’ she shouted.
‘I’m sorry, did we wake you? I had no idea you slept in that late. Jem said you often took the dog out around eight o’clock.’
Maddy pulled her head back and peered over at her bedside clock. What! Half past nine? That had to be wrong, surely?
At the same moment, her bedroom door swung open to reveal Luke carrying a tray. He’d clearly been up for some time as he had shaved and dressed. ‘Good morning! I’ve made you some tea and toast as a thank you for last night. I thought you romantic types liked breakfast in bed, but I see you’re already up.’
Maddy waved her arms frantically, then put her finger to her lips and pointed at the open window.
She called down to her unannounced visitor. ‘Sorry Myra, I overslept. I’ll be right down.’
‘Not that bossy woman!’ exclaimed Luke, putting the tray down on the bed. ‘What does she want now? Has she found you another lodger?’
‘No idea, but you can entertain her while I find some clothes.’
‘What? No way!’ Luke held up his palms in a gesture of surrender. ‘Once bitten, twice shy. I’m not facing that battleaxe on my own, thank you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! She’s not that bad. You’re telling me you write about crime and murder and you can’t even manage to entertain Cotlington’s version of Lady Catherine de Bourgh for ten minutes?’
‘Who’s Lady Catherine de burger?’
‘It’s too early to start winding me up,’ said Maddy, jabbing her toast at him before taking a bite.
‘I’m not.’
‘Seriously? Okay, pretend you’re Detective Inspector Friend and there’s been a murder during a ghost hunt and you’re off to interview a few of the suspects. Does that sound better? I know you have plans to kill off your detecting pal, but you can pretend for ten minutes, can’t you?’
Luke stared at her open-mouthed.
‘What now?’
‘That’s genius!’
‘Glad to hear it. I know you think I’m stuck in the nineteenth century but we romantic types have been known to have the odd good idea, you know. Just go down and unlock the front door and make them a coffee or something. The sooner you scoot off, the quicker I can get dressed.’
Maddy quickly pulled on some clean clothes and brushed her hair, in between sips of tea and mouthfuls of toast. It was rather unexpected having Luke bring her breakfast, but then everything about yesterday night had been unexpected. She wondered what time he had slipped out of bed. She’d been so tired she hadn’t noticed, but then in fairness, she’d had a snoring Buster up close and personal for most of the time. She applied a quick squirt of perfume in case there was a lingering eau de dog smell.
She was still eating the last mouthful of toast as she hurried across the hall in the direction of voices. She found Myra and Jem in the kitchen. Mugs of something hot stood on the wooden worktop and Luke was standing behind them, busying himself at the sink rearranging the drying up.
‘Morning all!’ said Maddy cheerfully.
‘Morning,’ replied Luke, as though this was the first time they’d seen each other this morning. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘No thanks,’ Maddy replied, trying not to smirk.
‘Good morning, Maddy, I’ll get straight to the point,’ said Myra, as she nearly always did. ‘My idiot son has a confession to make.’
This was not what Maddy had expected to hear. Glancing over Myra’s shoulder at the amused expression on Luke’s face, he clearly hadn’t either. Jem didn’t look capable of deeds requiring a confession. With his round face and gentle expression, he looked more like the sort of person who’d willingly take a day off work to rescue a pet rabbit from a well, or walk three miles to collect shopping for elderly neighbours. His mother was a totally different matter, of course.
‘He admitted this morning that it was his fault the lights failed yesterday evening,’ continued Myra.
Maddy laughed. ‘I don’t think so. I only asked him to try the switches. It’s hardly his fault they didn’t work.’
‘I’m afraid it is.’ Myra looked pointedly at her son whose face bore a rather embarrassed expression, although that might have had a lot to do with being hauled over here by his mother as though he was ten years old and had been caught stealing from the big house.
‘Sorry, Maddy,’ said Jem. His strong, work-roughened hands gripped the mug standing on the table in front of him. ‘I guess I didn’t want Randall to think there wasn’t enough going on.’
Luke’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of Randall’s name.
‘So?’ Maddy prompted.
‘Well, I crept out to the hall you see. The electrics are all in the cupboard under the stairs. I just gave things a bit of a jiggle… Obviously it wasn’t meant to stay off permanently.’
‘He only announced this over breakfast this morning,’ said Myra indignantly, as though the matter should have been aired hours ago. Myra’s expression was one of inquisitorial disapproval and it now turned once again to Maddy. ‘Did you find enough candles? And did you both manage okay last night?’
Technically, the answer to the second question was that it was a bit overcrowded with three in the same bed but that information would not add anything helpful to the current situation.
Luke had turned and his eyes were fixed on hers, waiting for her answer. Despite all the teasing and the banter that passed between them, she had no desire to embarrass him, and certainly not in front of their neighbours.
‘I was fine, thanks. What about you, Luke?’
He gave a brief nod and a flicker of a smile. ‘Same.’
‘While I’m here, I can take a look at the fuse box if you like,’ Jem offered.
‘I think,’ Myra said firmly, ‘we’ll leave that to the professionals. Maddy needs an electrician, not an amateur ghost enthusiast. The electrics in this place are probably in need of an update anyway.’
Maddy mentally added find an electrician to the top of today’s to-do list. ‘Right. I’ll erm…’
‘Don’t worry, it’s all in hand,’ announced Myra, raising hers, presumably to acknowledge the expected murmur of appreciation. ‘Mr H has a nephew who’s an electrician. He’s only in Haxford so he’ll be on his way over this afternoon.’
Maddy wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed that Myra hadn’t even asked her first, grateful that she knew someone in the trade or amused at the idea of this nephew – who presumably already had a busy schedule for the day – being ordered to drop everything and head over to Cotlington. Maybe he’d had a previous experience of saying no to Myra and wasn’t keen to repeat it.
‘The thing is…’ Maddy gave an embarrassed cough and started again. ‘Well, the bottom line is, Nigel didn’t leave much of a housekeeping budget in his will, so while there’s no mortgage payments to worry about, I don’t have enough money for an expensive electrical overhaul.’
‘You won’t be paying for anything, Maddy. It was Jem’s fault so he can foot the bill. I’ll speak to Mr H about the finances later today.’
‘Well … erm … thank you,’ said Maddy as she picked up the Tupperware container sitting on the table and threw Jem a sympathetic glance. ‘Can I offer you a biscuit, Jem? Sally seems to have left her stock here.’
‘Well, that was a bit of a surprise,’ said Maddy as she shut the front door twenty minutes later. ‘At least with any luck we’ll have functioning lights again this evening.’
‘And you’ll get your bed to yourself again,’ added Luke. ‘It was decent of you to share; I know you didn’t have to. Although’—he added with a raised eyebrow—‘I must admit it was a bit of a surprise being poked in the bum.’
Honestly, Maddy, what were you thinking! She was convinced he’d been asleep at that point. Why had she thought it would be a good idea to check anyway? Her face felt like it was on fire and she hurried over to the sink and fussed around rinsing out mugs and stacking the dishwasher until she was sure her cheeks had returned to a normal temperature.
‘Maddy, what we talked about last night—’
Maddy waved her hand. ‘It’s fine. You don’t need to say any more. Lots of people have things that traumatised them as children and it can have a surprisingly long-lasting effect.’
‘I didn’t mean that bit.’
‘Oh.’
‘You were waffling on about a rock group and a newspaper from the seventies?’
‘Oh that! It’s not urgent, I just wanted to ask what the connection was. It’s clearly too similar to be a coincidence so—’ She felt an insistent paw tapping her leg and turned to look at the petitioner. ‘What is it, Buster? You haven’t had your usual walk this morning, have you?’
At the mention of the W-word, Buster started leaping up and down as though he had an invisible extra-bouncy pogo stick, and then rushed off to find his favourite toy.
Maddy looked over at Luke. ‘You’ve been saved by the ball. I’m not sure Buster does patience.’ She slapped her thigh. ‘Come on then, boy.’
‘I might come with you if that’s okay?’ said Luke.
‘Sure.’ Maddy stifled her surprise. ‘Not doing book stuff then?’
‘I think I’d like a break from the library. I need to do some planning, and I’ve had the most amazing idea for a brand-new plot.’
‘It doesn’t involve grabbing people from behind a curtain does it?’
‘No. And if we’re being completely accurate, I think you hurled yourself at me.’
Maddy didn’t answer and clipped on Buster’s lead instead. With the passage of time, memories of falling into the body in the library might be highly entertaining but right now they were still embarrassingly fresh. If it had been anyone else, she’d have giggled over her own clumsiness but it was Luke, her lodger, and it felt almost intimate and not a little disconcerting.
Maddy liked to try and vary her morning walk with Buster, but more often than not he decided which direction he wanted to go in. Today he wanted to go down the lane towards the village and until they reached the main road, Maddy let him trot on a long lead so he could investigate all the smells and scents of the wild animals that probably passed by unobserved during the night.
It was as they paused while Buster sniffed around a tree halfway down Springfield Lane that Luke resurrected his earlier question.
‘So, come on then, last night you more or less accused me of plagiarising a newspaper story. Where did you get that idea from? I genuinely don’t know anything about any article in the paper.’
‘But you have to admit it’s a bit of a coincidence.’
‘If you explain what you’re on about I might be able to agree with you. Which I admit will be a wholly new experience for me.’ He threw her an amused look and Maddy responded with a grin.
As they resumed the walk, Buster having satisfied his curiosity, Maddy explained as briefly as possible how she’d been searching in the boxes of stuff in the attic for information on previous year’s literary festivals and had come across a newspaper cutting from the seventies about the death of a roadie.
‘Leonard is apparently our resident pop trivia expert and was able to confirm the identity of most of the people in the photo, who were all part of this seventies rock band. It just seemed too much of a coincidence that the plot of your book almost exactly matched this story.’
‘Is that why you were looking for my book in the library a couple of weeks ago?’
‘Yes. I felt sure that there was a connection somewhere, and although it’s not a crime to borrow a story, I expected some sort of acknowledgement or reference to the original incident, but there wasn’t.’
‘No,’ agreed Luke.
For several seconds neither of them spoke. Before Maddy could frame an appropriately polite question, Luke started talking again.
‘You have to understand that up until I wrote that book I still felt like a struggling writer. I’d had three books published that at the time made average sales, and I knew my parents wanted me to put more into making a career for myself rather than doing undemanding jobs so I could concentrate on my writing, so it felt like make or break for me. They had high expectations for all of us—doctors, lawyers, accountants—not wannabe novelists.’
‘But they must be proud of you, surely? Not everyone who says they’d always fancied writing a book actually has the patience or effort to sit down and write one. Mine were thrilled when I got the job with UpClose magazine. My father bought out WHSmith’s entire supply of the first December magazine I contributed to, to send to the family with their Christmas card, complete with sticky note indicating which page my article was on.’ Maddy smiled at the memory.
‘I’m not even sure my parents read my first couple of books,’ said Luke, his voice tinged with regret. ‘At least not when they first came out. My brother David is a barrister. Nathan joined the family firm. Those are what they thought of as achievements.’
‘That’s really sad,’ said Maddy sympathetically. It was the first time she’d heard Luke talk about his relationship with his parents and she sensed that this was highly private information. Growing up as an only child had meant her parents’ attention and devotion was only lavished on her, and maybe she’d taken that too much for granted. Clearly Luke’s parents didn’t feel the same familial pride in his achievements. No wonder he was so prickly about criticism.
‘I found it helpful to meet with other writers. I had joined a writing group a year or so earlier—it’s where I made Nigel’s acquaintance,’ Luke continued.
Maddy halted and stared at him. ‘You met Nigel? As in my cousin Nigel?’
‘Yes. Everyone round here knew him.’
The penny dropped. ‘So I did see you at the funeral. I thought I was imagining things.’
‘Just wanted to pay my respects, you know?’
Buster whined and tugged impatiently at the lead until the walk resumed.
‘He said I was welcome to borrow any of his books—he has a fabulous library, doesn’t he? We’d meet up regularly, have a drink or two, and chuck ideas around like you do. I needed an idea for book four and it felt like every idea I came up with had already been done by someone else.
‘And then late one evening after several drinks over at Meadowside we were talking about Phil Lynott and his contribution to music despite his reputation as a hellraiser, and I thought that sounded like a great basis for a story. We started brainstorming ideas and Nigel mentioned something about a rock group and an accidental death after a fight in a bar. He then suggested maybe they were rowing over something. It just sounded like another of Nigel’s random suggestions.
‘I can’t remember how it evolved from there, but the next day, once the hangover from hell had dispersed, I got scribbling. For the first time I felt like I had a great story. Around that time there had been several deaths reported in the British newspapers of rock and pop stars from the sixties and seventies, so it seemed a topical subject.’
‘So you’re saying it was Nigel who gave you the idea for the story?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you never knew it was based on a real event?’
‘No, of course not! Otherwise I’d have researched it more carefully and, to be honest, may not have written it. And I know what you’re going to ask next.’
‘Go on then, Mr Detective, what am I going to ask?’
‘You were about to frame an indignant question as to why your cousin didn’t get any acknowledgement.’
‘I might,’ replied Maddy airily.
‘I wanted my parents to think it was my idea. That I’d done this all by myself. I’m not proud of it now, and after the book did so well I felt guilty that he hadn’t got the credit he deserved. Our friendship drifted apart and that was down to me. But I did not deliberately dramatize an actual event, or pinch anyone’s ideas.’
‘But you can see how it looks.’
‘Yes. And I can see you’re not wholly convinced.’ Luke looked at her pointedly, his dark eyes searching hers. ‘Can I ask you a question now? You don’t like admitting you get things wrong sometimes, do you?’
Maddy instantly felt the challenge in his voice. Was that how he saw her? As someone who was too proud to admit to her own failings? Like her heroine Emma Woodhouse, Maddy enjoyed helping people find their place in the world with their own Mr Right, but was she always right? And would she admit it if she wasn’t? That was an uncomfortable question, and one to which she wasn’t sure about the answer.
