Murder Most Austen by Tracy Kiely Read Free Book Online Page B

week, tell me again how you know them?”
    Aunt Winnie laughed. “Well, I don’t really know Izzy. When I last saw her, she was a little bit of a thing. She’s grown into quite a nice-looking girl, though.”
    “I gather she takes after her father in looks,” I said, remembering Cora’s earlier comments.
    Aunt Winnie paused to consider the question. “No, actually. She doesn’t look a thing like Harold, which, God forgive me, is actually a blessing. Harold was short, bald, and terribly nearsighted. Or was it farsighted?” Aunt Winnie mused. “I can never remember which is which. Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. I just remember he wore these enormous glasses, a bit like the ones Charles Nelson Reilly used to wear. But Cora is relatively harmless,” Aunt Winnie said with a smile. “She’s just very excitable. She was never one to take a deep breath and think before speaking or acting—as you saw for yourself today.”
    “Yes, I sort of caught on to that whole theme of her being eager in everything and her sorrows and joys could have no moderation.”
    Aunt Winnie nodded. “Cora means well, but Lord, how she used to fray poor Harold’s nerves. He was the complete opposite of her, of course. Always cool, calm, and rational. Bit of a bore, actually, now that I stop to remember him.”
    “Well, it should be an interesting week, then,” I said, after taking a sip of wine. “I get to attend my very first Jane Austen Festival with my new best friend, Izzy, her excitable mother, Cora, and then watch the fun unfold when Professor Baines announces to the world his discovery that Jane Austen was apparently something of a Commie tart.”
    “Yes,” agreed Aunt Winnie. “You will have to keep a journal, for how are your absent cousins to understand the tenor of your life in Bath without one?”
    I laughed at that and then immediately dismissed it from my head as the first of our courses arrived. It’s hard to stay focused on anything but your stomach when a bowl of Thai-spiced lobster ravioli, lemon grass, lime, and coconut broth is placed before you.
    But by the week’s end, I would find myself wishing I had kept a journal. It might have helped in making sense of the coming calamity.

 
    CHAPTER 5
    Oh! Who can ever be tired of Bath?
    —NORTHANGER ABBEY
    “T HERE YOU ARE!” cried Izzy the next morning as I crossed the lobby to her. “I’ve been waiting forever! Where have you been?”
    Surprised, I found myself apologizing. “I’m sorry. Have you been waiting long?”
    “Ages.”
    Confused, I glanced at my watch. “But didn’t we say eight thirty? It’s just eight thirty now.”
    “It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad that you’re finally here, and I can join Mama at the table and get away from those horrible men over there.” She tipped her blond head to the far end of the lobby. “They have been practically gawking at me this whole time. I grant you, they are very good-looking, but still, I am surprised. Englishmen aren’t usually so forward.”
    I turned in the direction indicated and saw two conservatively dressed businessmen intently reading the London Times. I inwardly agreed with Izzy that they were very good-looking; however, they appeared to be anything but gawking. After a moment, one looked up and glanced rather vacantly in our direction. Seeing us staring at him, he nodded politely and returned to his paper. “See what I mean?” Izzy hissed. “It’s disgraceful!”
    Either I was still jet-lagged or Izzy was delusional. “Where’s your mother?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
    “Mama went to get us a table,” she said. “Where’s your aunt?”
    “Checking out. Oh, here she is,” I replied, as Aunt Winnie made her way to us.
    “Good morning, Izzy,” said Aunt Winnie. “How are you today?”
    “Fine,” Izzy said, shooting a coy glance in the direction of the men who were again absorbed in their papers. “Mama’s gotten us a table.”
    Aunt Winnie followed Izzy’s