Jane Goes Batty

Jane sipped the punch, which was overly sweet and tasted of ginger ale and cranberry juice. “On the contrary,” she told Byron. “I didn’t miss it one bit.”

Byron laughed. “Everything I said was most complimentary,” he assured her. “I told them that despite whatever criticism has come your way by virtue of your being a popular author, your ability to capture the caprices of the human animal are unmatched.”

Jane bent her head slightly in his direction. “I thank you,” she said. “That was very kind.”

“Of course, I also told them you were a frustrated virgin and possibly a lesbian,” Byron added.

Before Jane could reprimand Byron they were interrupted by the arrival of Lucy and Ben.

“How did your panel go?” Lucy asked Byron.

“Did no one come to hear me?” said Byron in reply. “I’m deeply wounded. But as it happens, Jane and I were just discussing that very subject. If I do say so my—”

Jane cut him off. “They’ve done a wonderful job with the decorations, don’t you think?” she said. “It hardly looks like an Elks Lodge, does it?”

The building in which they were standing was a simple wooden structure built in the 1930s to house the local Order of Elks. To be exact, it was the home of Lodge 1372. The lodge currently had seventeen members, almost all of them over the age of seventy. Two of them—Grady O’Byrne and Felix Malden—happened to be the gentlemen with whom Jane had quarreled that very morning.

In addition to the Elks’ regular Wednesday meetings (at which they mostly smoked cigars, drank whiskey, and told dirty jokes) the lodge was used for monthly spaghetti suppers sponsored by the fire department, Saturday night bingo organized by the local Red Hat Society, and any other community event that had no other permanent home. It had a kitchen, a single bathroom (there were no lady Elks when the lodge was built and so they had not anticipated the need for a women’s restroom), and a storage area for chairs and whatever else needed storing. Other than that, the lodge was one enormous room, which made it ideal for events involving large numbers of people.

Tonight it had been turned into a re-creation of a Regency drawing room, or at least as reasonable a facsimile as could be manufactured using flowers, card tables, and half a dozen large sofas and twice that many chairs arranged around three sides of the room. On the fourth side was a small raised bandstand on which stood a piano.

Several dozen people moved about the room, sitting on the sofas, talking in excited voices, and enjoying the various edibles arranged on the tables. With very few exceptions they were all dressed in period costumes. This included Lucy, Ben, and Byron. Jane, however, wore a simple red silk dress, sleeveless and hemmed above the knees.

“Where’s your costume?” Lucy asked.

She was teasing. She knew full well that Jane had never intended to wear one to the dance. In fact, Jane had never intended to even come to the dance. It was only because Lucy had asked her that she was there. And why Lucy was so eager to attend still baffled her.

“I feel quite underdressed,” Jane remarked, looking around at the outfits being sported by other attendees. She examined Lucy and Ben’s costumes. “Those are rather good,” she remarked. “Where did you get them?”

“We lucked out,” Lucy answered. “Last year the college theater department put on The School for Scandal. I have a friend who worked on it, and she managed to snag these from the wardrobe closet for us.”

“Ah, yes,” said Jane. “Walter and I saw that. I believe your dress was worn by Lady Teazle in act two.” She patted the lapel of Ben’s jacket. “And this belongs to the dastardly Sir Benjamin Backbite,” she informed him. “Fortunately for you, the clothes do not make the man.”

“I don’t know,” Ben said, winking at Jane. “This getup does make me feel a little rakish.” He nodded at Byron. “You look pretty sharp yourself. Where did you find that suit?”

Byron, whose attention had been elsewhere, said, “In my closet. Why?”

“Well,” Jane said, “I imagine I will be the scandal this evening, being the one out of costume.”

“Just like Bette Davis’s character in Jezebel,” Byron remarked. “Julie Marsden. She wore a red dress to the Olympus Ball. Everyone was horrified. She only redeemed herself by volunteering to care for victims of the yellow fever epidemic, which of course likely meant her own death.”

“I’ll have to live with my tarnished reputation, then,” said Jane. “I was never very good with epidemics.”

A low whistle from Byron made them all turn their heads in the direction of his gaze. Entering the room was a girl in a beautiful pale blue silk ball gown. Her face was ghostly white, and on her head was an enormous white wig. Behind her were two young men dressed identically in the uniforms of French footmen.

“Is that Chloe?” Jane asked.

“I believe so,” said Lucy. “With Ted and Ned.”

“Why is she dressed like Marie Antoinette?” said Ben.

“Well, it’s roughly the right period,” Byron told him. “Just the wrong country.”

The trio approached the group. When she arrived before them Chloe gave an awkward curtsey. Ted and Ned, looking mortified, bowed from the waist.

“What do you think?” Chloe asked. “I had the wardrobe people whip it up.”

“Whip it up?” said Jane. “That must have taken them days.”

“Don’t the two of you look adorable,” Byron said to the twins, who eyed him balefully.

“I know,” said Chloe. “Couldn’t you just eat them up?”

“Don’t you dare,” Jane whispered in the girl’s ear.

Chloe ignored her. “I only get one of them anyway,” she said. “Ned already has a date.”

“Do you?” said Byron. “And who might that be?”

“Beverly Shrop,” said the twin on the right, thereby identifying himself as Ned. His voice was flat, almost lifeless, and Jane would have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t brought his predicament upon himself.

“Speak of the devil,” Byron said as Beverly appeared. He appraised her costume and added, “Why, that looks as if it might have come from the closet of Jane Austen herself!”

More likely from my mother’s closet, Jane thought as she shot Byron a withering look.

“Thank you,” Beverly said sweetly as she patted Byron’s arm. Jane wondered how he could stand having her touch him, especially as they knew what her and Miriam’s plans for them were. Or at least the outcome of their plans, Jane thought darkly.

“Jane, I’m disappointed that you didn’t make it to the panel today,” Beverly said. “I think you would have found it most entertaining.”

“So I hear,” said Jane.

“Tomorrow’s should be equally fascinating,” Byron said. He turned to Ben and Lucy. “Three romance editors are going to talk about what they look for in a manuscript,” he told them. “One of them is Jane’s editor, Jessica Aber—”

“I’m afraid Jessica won’t be able to join us,” Beverly interjected.

Jane held her breath, waiting to see how Beverly would handle the moment. For her own reasons she herself had said nothing to anyone about Jessica’s death. As far as she knew, fewer than half a dozen people were aware of what had happened at the fairgrounds.

“Oh?” Byron said. “Why not?”

Beverly looked around. “She was called back to New York,” she said. “A family emergency.”

Byron frowned. “What a pity,” he said. “Jane, did you know about this?”

“No,” Jane said. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.” She looked at Beverly. “That certainly is a disappointment.”

“Yes,” Beverly said. “Well, these things happen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see about the music for this evening.”

Jane watched Beverly leave. I’d love to be inside her head, she thought. Only for a moment, of course. She imagined being trapped in Beverly Shrop’s head forever and shivered.

“Hello, Jane.”