Page 77 of Pride and Premeditation

“It’s coming from me. I’ve decided I don’t want to end up like Christina.”

“A sword-wielding maniac? I think we can all agree that isn’t the ideal outcome for any situation.” Morrie rubbed his chin. “You’re way too uncoordinated for a sword.”

I kicked out my leg and pretended to swing at him. Unfortunately, I misjudged the angle and ended up swinging so far forward that I lost my balance and fell over.

“Fine. I concede your point.” I held up my hand, and Morrie helped me up. “I mean, Christina was so consumed by inaction. She couldn’t face up to her father and the things he’d done, so she continued to exist in the box he stuffed her into, until one day she just snapped. I realized I’d been doing that with my eyes, putting myself into this box where I couldn’t enjoy the things I loved without vision. And I’ve been ignoring things I didn’t want to think about, like the time-travelling room and meeting Victoria and my father’s letter and this whole ‘covered in blood’ thing. Now I see how limiting it is to put yourself in a box and hide away, how Christina couldn’t see a world where she just told her father, ‘I’m gay, and I hate Jane Austen’, and lived her own life. And now, she’ll never get that chance.”

“In an odd way, I admire her,” Morrie said, holding up a little shepherd figurine. “She created a little welcome chaos around here. Oooh, a nativity scene. Can we put this over on that table?”

“Yes. I actually had an idea that we could make a stable out of books.” I stacked two hardcovers on their sides and placed a third on top to make a roof. Morrie arranged the porcelain figures inside.

And the armadillo could be God. Quoth shoved him into place with his beak.

“No,” Heathcliff growled.

I ignored him. “And then we just need the baby Jesus and… Morrie! You can’t have Joseph and the first wise man snogging!”

“Why not? I thought that was the sort of thing that went on in barns,” Morrie grinned wickedly.

“Not this one.” I moved the figures back into place, and grinned at Heathcliff. “You haven’t said much about Christina. I remember you feeling empathy for her when you saw how much she feared her father.”

Heathcliff shifted in his chair. “Don’t remind me. I just wish that fear hadn’t turned her ugly.”

I thought I knew what he was alluding to, but I wanted him to talk about it. “Care to elaborate?”

“Hindley,” Heathcliff breathed. The word seethed against my skin, carrying all Heathcliff’s malice with it. “All my life he treated me with cruelty. He said I was a monster and I believed it. How could I not, when I was so different from all of them atWuthering Heights? When I heard Cathy say that she could never marry me, of course I knew it was because of this,” he rubbed his cheek, indicating his dark skin. “Christina’s father treated her in a different but no less destructive way. He made her into a monster. She deserved to be free of him.”

“But did she have to kill Alice?”

“Of course not. She was desperate. I could understand that. I can’t forgive it, but I can understand.”

The shop bell tinkled, interrupting our conversation. Quoth shrunk into a corner. Heathcliff picked up his book and indicated I should deal with the customer.

A man entered the room, wearing a sharp suit and pressed white shirt. He was handsome in a real-estate agent kind of way – slick hair and boyish features. He marched straight up to the counter and extended his hand to Heathcliff.

“Biographies are up the stairs and to the left,” Heathcliff muttered without even looking up. He knew the sort.

“Ah, but what if I don’t want a biography?”

“Then get out.” Heathcliff turned the page.

The man laughed, extending out a hand. “Mr. Heathcliff, sir. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Grey Lachlan. Let me guess, that tall fellow is James Moriarty. And you must be the indomitable Miss Mina Wilde.”

He turned to me with his slick smile, and a strange wobbly feeling settled in my stomach. Instantly, I wanted to curl up into a ball and hide from this man, but I couldn’t say why.

If Grey Lachlan sensed my unease, he didn’t acknowledge it. His grin spread wide across his earnest face. “My wife has told me how you all solved the murder of her friend Gladys and saved the Jane Austen Experience. We’re incredibly grateful.”

“Yes, well.” Heathcliff sat down and folded his hands across his chest. “Biographies are up the stairs and to the left.”

“No, no. I’ve come for something even better than books.” Grey Lachlan set his briefcase on the counter and plunged his hands into the depths. He pulled out an envelope and set it on the table in front of Heathcliff. I started when I noticed the envelope was sealed with wax. “I would like to buy your bookshop. And I’m willing to make you an offer you cannot refuse.”

“Think again,” Heathcliff growled. “I refuse.”

Grey waved the envelope in front of his face. “You should look inside, Mr. Heathcliff.”

“No.”

Grey sighed. He dropped the envelope on the desk. “Let me be clear. I’m a powerful man, more powerful than you could ever imagine. You do not want me as an enemy. If you do not cooperate with me, I have other means at my disposal. I suggest you give this offer due consideration, because Iwillhave Nevermore Bookshop, even if I have to step over your dead bodies to get it.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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