Midnight in Austenland by Shannon Hale

casually.
    Colonel Andrews smiled. “I approve of your eagerness, Mrs. Cordial! And I shall not leave you in suspense. First we put out all the lights in the house.”
    Colonel Andrews picked up a brass extinguisher and capped three candles on the mantelpiece, then turned off the kerosene lamps. He nodded at Eddie, who licked his fingertips and quenched the candlewicks on the sideboard.
    The room seemed to put on a shawl against the chill of the night. Miss Charming squealed in delighted terror.
    â€œOne of us will be the murderer,” said Colonel Andrews, lifting the last remaining lit candle closer to his face, pushing the shadows up.
    â€œThe murderer hides somewhere in the dark house,” he continued. “After a count of fifty, the rest of us hunt him out—each of us alone, mind you. The first to discover the murderer wherever he hides gives a shout of ‘bloody murder!’ and all the hunters flee for the drawing room. With the shout, you see, the murderer is loosed from his hiding place and can pursue.”
    â€œAnd what happens if he catches us?” Miss Gardenside asked, her tone playful.
    â€œIf the murderer touches you, you are dead and fall where you stand. The murderer tries to touch everyone before they can get to the safety of the drawing room. The last one touched will be the next murderer.”
    A hand grabbed Charlotte’s shoulder. She screamed. It was Eddie.
    â€œUpon my word, Charlotte,” said her brother, “you are providing this game the perfect music.”
    Charlotte took some comfort in the fact that surely no one could see her blush in the dim light. Only Colonel Andrews’s face was strictly visible, though it was flickering like the flame.
    â€œI don’t really understand,” Charlotte said shyly. “If there were a murderer hiding somewhere in the house, why would we all split up and hunt him out? I mean, wouldn’t we want to stay away? Or together at least.”
    Colonel Andrews clicked his tongue. “You are delightfully practical, Mrs. Cordial. We hunt for the glory of discovering the culprit!”
    â€œAnd because it’s fun,” said Miss Gardenside.
    Theoretically, thought Charlotte.
    There was a cracking noise in the dark. Eddie stepped into the circle of candlelight, six matches in his fist.
    â€œWhoever draws the short stick is the murderer,” he said.
    Charlotte drew first, relieved her match was long. It was the solitude she feared most, going out into that dark house, waiting alone. She would make a horrible murderer, more afraid of her victims than they were of her, a feeble spider trembling on her web. Stay away, flies! Please, stay away!
    The other two ladies likewise drew long sticks. The colonel offered his fist to Mr. Mallery, who hesitated before drawing. His match was half the size of the others.
    â€œMr. Mallery is the murderer!” Miss Gardenside shrieked.
    Later Charlotte wondered if she misread his expression, because the gentleman’s face seemed momentarily alarmed—more, even a little frightened. Was it possible that he too hated the dark, the solitude, the waiting? She almost took pity on him and volunteered to be his partner. But he so quickly recovered that she didn’t trust her memory.
    â€œVery well, then,” said Mr. Mallery. “I suggest you all prepare yourself for a speedy death.”
    Miss Gardenside giggled. Charlotte shivered as if icy fingers were tickling her ribs.
    â€œA right jolly fright I’ve got,” Miss Charming said with glee.
    â€œI’ll warn the servants to stay in their chambers or in the kitchen,” said Colonel Andrews. “We shall limit our playground to rooms with open doors, all right?”
    He left, taking the only candle with him.
    â€œColonel, the candle—” Mr. Mallery began, but Andrews was already gone, leaving them in darkness. “What a dolt.”
    There was silence. The room was absolutely