The Passion of the Purple Plumeria (30 page)

CONNECT ONLINE

www.laurenwillig.com

facebook.com/laurenwillig

The Convent of Orsino
—by A Lady—took London society by storm. After a full fortnight of suitable maidenly modesty, the author came forward, identifying herself as one Mrs. Reid, née Miss Gwendolyn Meadows. Crowds of eager admirers clamored for her to address their learned and not so learned societies. Emboldened, Mrs. Reid’s publishers put together an ambitious tour of speaking engagements.

However, after an unfortunate episode involving Mrs. Reid’s jumping on the settee at Madame Oprah’s salon (in an attempt, apparently, to stamp out very small French spies), Mrs. Reid’s publishers hastily canceled the rest of her appearances.

One artifact, however, survives from that short-lived
Convent of Orsino
publicity tour. It appears to be a handwritten transcript of an interview between Mrs. Reid (here referred to, familiarly, as “Miss Gwen”) and an LW. Scholars believe this to be the lady’s author, Lauren Willig, making a rare intertextual appearance.

Based on the handwriting, the best guess of Pink Carnation scholars is that the scribe in question was Lady Henrietta Dorrington, who has clearly amused herself by indulging in her own observations as to Mrs. Reid’s moods and facial expressions.

Without further ado, the transcript:

LW:
Miss Gwen, I’d like to thank you so very much for joining us here today, especially since I know how busy you are with your writing schedule and with, um, you know. . . .

Miss Gwen:
Stop hemming and hawing, girl! There’s no need to stare at my stomach as though you’ve never seen a woman increasing before. In France, they go about in society right up to the last month. [An expression suspiciously like a smirk appears on her face.] I fully intend to do the same. I have already ordered a number of large gowns. In purple.

LW:
A number of large gowns or a large number of gowns? Never mind, don’t answer that. I have some questions for you from your most devoted followers.

Miss Gwen (turning up her nose):
Well, tell them to stop following me and get on with something interesting. As the Bard said, neither a follower nor a leader be.

LW:
Er, wasn’t that “neither a borrower nor a lender be”?

Miss Gwen:
You can’t trust that Shakespeare man to get anything right. He was a poet, you know.

LW:
Right. Okay. Getting back on track. . . . Yes, you’ve had some dealings with “poets,” haven’t you? Like Augustus Whittlesby.

Miss Gwen:
If you can call that poetry.

LW:
Of all the men you’ve worked with during your various exploits, who has most pleasantly surprised you?

Miss Gwen:
Not Whittlesby, that’s for certain! The man was barely competent—and I don’t just mean his verse. Hmph. And the War Office calls that an agent. No wonder they’re so reliant on us. [After a moment of looking smug, she stops and considers.] My William was undeniably surprising, and quite pleasantly so. But your readers most certainly do not need to hear about that!

LW:
Mmm-hmm, right. Moving onto safer topics . . . I’ve noticed that you seem to have a penchant for purple. Why that particular color?

Miss Gwen:
You do ask the most foolish questions, girl! Haven’t you ever heard the phrase “imperial purple”? Why would I settle for a color of lesser rank?

LW (mutters):
“Imperial” and “imperious” aren’t exactly the same thing.

Miss Gwen (looking forbidding):
What was that?

LW:
Nothing! Nothing. Er . . . Should Napoleon look to his throne?

Miss Gwen (graciously):
Would I like to dethrone the nasty little man? Naturally. Do I wish to take his place? Most certainly not. I would as soon rule the French as I would take a position in a young ladies’ academy.

LW (consulting her notes):
Did you always want to be a spy?

Miss Gwen (looking down her nose):
It is hardly an ambition that a young lady of good family nourishes at her maidenly bosom. However, when the opportunity arose. . . . (A reminiscent expression crosses her face.) I would have resorted to far more drastic measures to rid myself of Shropshire. And those sheep.

LW:
Speaking of drastic measures, is it true that you’ve killed a man with your parasol?

Miss Gwen (sniffing):
Shouldn’t you ask instead whether I’ve slain anyone with my wit? I pride myself on my rapier tongue. Any man can wield a length of steel. So few can turn a proper phrase.

LW:
Yes, but your sword parasols are rather impressive. Where did you find them?

Miss Gwen (with a rather frightening gleam in her eye):
If you think those little trinkets are impressive, you will be blown away by my reticule grenade.

LW:
I don’t even want to know. . . . In fact, it’s probably safer not to know. What was your favorite mission?

A very long story ensues, involving honey, bees, a French courtesan, an Italian portrait painter, and a set of secret files. Sadly, the Official Secrets Act—and a certain modicum of good taste—prevents its dissemination at this time. Who knew that anyone would . . . Well, never mind.

LW:
We’ve covered your professional life—now it’s time for the human interest side of the story. Was there anyone in the picture for you between Timothy Fitzgerald and William Reid?

Miss Gwen:
Human interest? Most humans are scarcely interesting at all. Besides, a lady never seduces and tells.

LW:
I’m going to take that as a no . . . despite those strange rumors about you and Talleyrand. [Miss Gwen glowers, so Lauren moves hastily on.] You’re suddenly the mother of five—not counting this new little one. How do you feel about having Penelope Deveraux as a daughter-in-law?

Miss Gwen:
Penelope Deveraux? She’s no problem at all. It’s that Lizzy girl you have to look out for. . . .

LW:
Why do you dislike sheep so much?

Miss Gwen (slightly incredulous):
Have you ever spent an extended period of time among them?

LW:
Fair point. (She consults her list.) Can you recommend a good florist in Paris?

Miss Gwen (looking stern):
I truly hope that is a euphemism for the leader of a band of agents, young lady. Otherwise, I despair of you. Now, if you’d asked me about a Gardener . . .

Miss Gwen suddenly breaks off, scenting the air like a bloodhound or some other great sniffing thing.

Miss Gwen:
There! There he is, the scoundrel. At my own interview! I’ll show him how to garden!

Kicking her trusty parasol out of the way, Miss Gwen grabs up her reticule and sets off in pursuit of a shadowy figure wearing what looks like a very floral waistcoat.

LW (grabbing up the forgotten parasol):
Miss Gwen! Miss Gwen! You forgot your—

Before she can reach the door, the room is rocked by a sudden loud explosion from somewhere just down the hallway.

LW (dropping the parasol):
—reticule grenade?

Here ends the transcript.

The transcript may end here, but the story of the Pink Carnation continues on in the next installment, temporarily titled
Pink XI
(until someone comes up with another flower).

Since I got to interrogate Miss Gwen (did I say interrogate? I meant “interview”), Miss Gwen decided it was only fair if she got to ask me a few questions, too. At parasol point.

Miss Gwen:
If you must presume to write my life story, why did it take you so long? You gave Fitzhugh—Fitzhugh!—his own volume a good three books sooner. I do not take well to being superseded by a root vegetable.

Lauren:
Superseded? Never! It was more that I needed the time and skill to tackle the delicate task of attempting to untangle the intricate workings of so complex a character as Miss Gwendolyn Meadows.

Although it may sound like I’m just buttering up Miss Gwen here (and, yes, her parasol is pointy), there’s more than a modicum of truth in the statement above. The longer a side character has been around in the series, the longer they’ve had to develop a quirky identity, the harder they are to write. Miss Gwen, in particular, was a tough cookie. I knew that the side she showed to the world—sometimes prim, sometimes brazen, but always delighting in shocking and defying expectations—was part of who she was, but not the sum total of her. Somewhere, underneath there, was the real Gwen, the Gwen without the “Miss,” and I needed to figure out how to dig her out.

Originally, the tenth Pink book wasn’t going to be Miss Gwen’s story. It belonged to Tommy Fluellen (Robert’s best friend from
The Temptation of the Night Jasmine
, for my Pink followers) and Kat Reid. Yes, the same Kat Reid you met in this book. But, as I sat down to write the first few chapters, I realized fairly quickly that their book just didn’t fit into the right spot in the series. The next book to follow logically was Miss Gwen’s.

I fought that realization. Trust me, I fought it. (See “scared to write about Miss Gwen,” above.) But there was no backing away from it. Once I acknowledged that Tommy and Kat’s book needed to cede place to Miss Gwen’s, I set about finding new and creative ways of postponing the inevitable: in this case, writing a whole different, entirely unrelated stand-alone novel set around World War I England and 1920s Kenya. (I confess, I wrote
The Ashford Affair
to avoid Miss Gwen. These things happen.)

Once
The Ashford Affair
was safely handed in to my editor, I had to face the fact that I’d run out of creative ways to procrastinate. I girded my loins—to ward off stray parasol shots—ordered a grande skim caramel macchiato, and set about trying to uncover the mystery that is Miss Gwen. Whether I’ve succeeded or not, I leave to you—and Miss Gwen—to decide.

Miss Gwen:
Naturally, my book—and by my book, I mean the book I wrote, not that
Purple Plumeria
nonsense about me—was a raging success. But why did you have to make me write about vampires?

Lauren:
Living in the nineteenth century, as you do, you don’t know this, but in the early part of the twenty-first century, the literary scene is going to be eclipsed (sorry, no pun intended) by a scourge of teen novels about vampires. When the
Twilight
craze was sweeping the nation, it made me think about the early Gothic novels of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, those same books that Jane Austen mocked in her wonderful social satire,
Northanger Abbey.

I’d already mentioned way back in Pink I that Miss Gwen was working on a horrid novel on the side, partly because, in classic Miss Gwen fashion, she was convinced that she could pen something far, far better than the tripe currently circulating. Miranda Press? Paugh! If Miss Gwen was going to write popular fiction, why not get ahead—way ahead!—of the bandwagon? Vampire fiction isn’t just a twenty-first-century discovery. Byron’s
Giaour
caught the public’s imagination as early as 1813. I couldn’t imagine Miss Gwen allowing Byron to beat her to a trend.

I had some other ulterior motives as well. It seemed important to me, for Miss Gwen, that she become a smashing success in her own right. So much of Miss Gwen’s adult life has been shaped by her having been disinherited. With her novels minting money, Miss Gwen is finally financially secure—and it seemed quite appropriate that in her relationship with her new husband, Colonel Reid, she would be the one with power of the purse. I don’t see Colonel Reid being the least bit perturbed by that.

I must admit, I also just loved the idea of Miss Gwen mobbed by squealing teenage girls. . . . I do not imagine she will respond well to that.

Miss Gwen:
Do not presume simply because I am now, as they say “settled,” that you can shuffle me off out of sight!

Lauren:
Is it just me, or do Miss Gwen’s “questions” sound more like pronouncements?

I can safely say that when it comes to you, Miss Gwen, I would never presume anything. I can’t imagine that being married will curtail Miss Gwen’s extracurricular espionage. She may not be in cahoots with the Pink Carnation anymore, now that the Carnation has gone rogue (more on that later), but Miss Gwen has badgered and bullied most of the major officials of the War Office and every subagent from Dover to Calais. She knows where the skeletons are buried and she isn’t afraid to exhume and shake them around. If anything, I imagine that Colonel Reid will be a rather able partner for her in her adventures. She just has to worry about her new stepdaughter, Lizzy’s, desire to “help”. . . . And, of course, her book deadlines.

For updates on the progress of
Pink XI
, outtakes, bibliographies, and other extras, visit Lauren at her Web site at
www.laurenwillig.com
.