Free Jane Austen Made Me Do It by Laurel Ann Nattress Page A

prickled.
    â€œLet’s tell ghost stories!” Cate could hear the muted thump of Erin’s heels against carpet as she blundered across the room, looking for Fred. “Won’t that be fun?”
    â€œEr … Erin?” said Hal, in a slightly strangled voice. “Is that you?”
    From the other side of the room, Fred exclaimed, “Christ, Erin! Your hand’s like ice.”
    â€œOkay,” said Cate, in a low voice, “this is getting seriously weird.”
    â€œMaybe you’re weird,” said Erin crossly. “Sorry, Ha—Ahhhh!”
    Her voice spiraled into the sort of shriek that generally went with showers and ax murderers as an apparition appeared in the doorway, a hideous, deformed creature glowing with an unnatural orange light.
    Cate’s breath came out with a rush. “Mr. Tilney-Tilney!”
    Their host lowered his torch, returning his features to their normal proportions. In the sudden glare of the flashlight, Cate could see her teammates scattered around the room, looking like something out of
Scooby Doo
—Erin clinging to Hal, Lenny clinging to his camera, Fred standing with his arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his handsome face.
    Did she look as white and scared as they did? Cate hoped not, but she rather suspected she did.
    â€œWanted to let you all know, there’s cold beans on toast in the pantry if anyone is hungry,” Mr. Tilney-Tilney said helpfully. “Might have the odd herring on hand as well.”
    â€œRed herrings?” blustered Fred.
    Erin tittered, rocking on her rickety heels.
    â€œEr, no,” said Tilney-Tilney apologetically. “Quite the usual sort, I’m afraid. Sort of a pinky-gray.”
    â€œI think I’ll pass.” Cate started abruptly towards the door. “If it’s all the same with you guys, I’m going to bed.”
    â€œDorothy will show you the way,” said Tilney-Tilney. “M’housekeeper, don’t you know. Dorothy!”
    Dressed in rusty black pants and a tentlike black shirt, Dorothy led Cate up a broad staircase and down a narrow hall flankedon one side by doors, on another by windows, the glass shivering and shimmering in the rain. A musty scent rose from the carpet runner beneath their feet, the smell of slow decay and long-held secrets.
    It’s just an old house, Cate reminded herself. Just like any other. So it was an abbey once. No biggie.
    â€œThanks so much for showing me to my room,” she said politely. “I’m sorry to be dragging you out of your way.”
    â€œYou thank me now,” said Dorothy darkly. “But will you be thanking me later?”
    In the narrow beam of the flashlight, portraits leered down at them from the walls.
    Dorothy lowered her voice to a whisper and lifted the torch to just below her chin. “They say that it’s on rainy nights that she comes.”
    â€œWho?” asked Cate.
    Dorothy paused with her handle on the latch. “There’s some as sees her and there’s some as don’t,” she intoned.
    â€œI can’t really see much of anything right now,” said Cate apologetically. “It’s kind of dark.”
    Dorothy was determined to channel Mrs. Danvers. Fred should have interviewed her instead of Mr. Tilney-Tilney. “Ah, you’ll be grateful for the dark! Grateful for the shadows that hide … the things that hide in shadows.”
    â€œWell, thanks,” said Cate with determined cheer, as Dorothy flung open the door. In the feeble rays of the single flashlight, the panes of the windows glittered wetly. “Good night!”
    The words echoed hollowly down the corridor. Dorothy was already gone.
    All righty then.
    Cate ventured into the room, easing the door closed behind her. The ray of the flashlight illuminated the hulking form of atester bed, mercifully not canopied. Cate wasn’t sure she could take a canopy, not after