Blurb: After Henry Tilney's death, he is sent to a "good" neighborhood to spend the rest of eternity. A Good Place AU. Jane-uary 2025 event.

THE GOOD NA-BORHOOD

Day 20 Dearest

Chapter Summary: Henry visits Mrs. Allen and learns her sad history. Catherine reveals something shocking.

He was a saint! He was the kindest, sweetest, smartest, dearest, most loving and forgiving man I've ever met.

Henry had been dodging Miss Thorpe since his welcome party. It was childish but surely she could figure it out without Henry needing to use his words.

Today, he decided to visit Mrs. Allen so that he wouldn't be home in case Miss Thorpe came knocking.

Arriving at a suitably late hour of the morning, he pulled the bell chord and listened to it ring. Then he stood and tapped out a rhythm on his thigh. Five minutes later, the front door opened and Mrs. Allen peeked out.

"Oh, Mr. Tilney, my new neighbor!" she cried in recognition and opened the door wider. "I wasn't expecting you. Do come in."

He stepped inside and then tried not to be intimidated by the architecture and interior design. Failing that, he then tried not to let it show on his face.

"Yes, it is a bit superlative at first," Mrs. Allen agreed, having read his expression correctly. The woman herself was dressed as if she was about to receive visiting royalty. Henry felt his cottage and his own self were shabby in comparison. "But I am far too used to it now to want to change it. It grows on you, just give it time.

"Would you like some tea?" she offered then immediately called for Catherine to ready the tea service in the music room. Having set that in motion, Mrs. Allen walked Henry through no less than seven rooms to reach the aptly named music room which had a symphony's worth of instruments hanging on one wall.

Catherine had already completed her task and left but evidence of her care was there. The curtains were drawn, a gramophone in one corner was already playing something quiet and light, a tray with tea and sandwiches was positioned between two chairs.

As hostess, Mrs. Allen invited Henry to sit, then took command of the pot and poured the tea.

"Catherine knows exactly how I like my tea. She really is a dear," Mrs. Allen praised her in absentia. "Have you seen any good sunrises recently, Mr. Tilney?"

"I've been missing them lately. I've started sleeping better," Henry explained. "Have you been getting out, seeing other neighbors, Mrs. Allen?"

"Oh, I don't much care for people," she said with a face, then eyed him guiltily. "Present company excluded."

Mrs. Allen's response didn't sit well with Henry. "Forgive me for prying, but did something happen when you arrived in the neighborhood to discourage you from getting to know the people here?" Henry hadn't interacted with many of them since the party, and he was currently making efforts to avoid both Thorpes, but it hardly sounded like a good neighborhood if the people were unpleasant.

"No," she said. "Not really," she backtracked slightly. "Nothing with the people here," she clarified. "My problems with people are all from when I was alive."

"What happened when you were alive?" Henry asked because that seemed like the next logical question.

Mrs. Allen sighed and reached for a scone but left it on the tray.

"My husband and I were an odd couple. We loved each other dearly but no one thought we were sincerely attracted to each other. All they saw were our differences. He was old and I was young. He was rich and I was poor. He was smart and I was… pretty."

Henry winced at the word choice, certain that Mrs. Allen had heard it described much more crudely in her lifetime.

"Our families were convinced that we were merely drunk on lust and greed. I couldn't stand to be around them, any of them. Even people who had never met either of us had an unfavorable opinion of our marriage. Naturally I started to pull away from people."

"And your husband?" Henry prompted.

"He was a saint! He was the kindest, sweetest, smartest, dearest, most loving and forgiving man I've ever met. He spoiled me for every human being since. Regular people made me miserable in comparison. They still do."

Mrs. Allen gave Henry a smile and he echoed it back to her.

Then she dropped her bombshell. "I only had him for eight years."

"What happened?" asked Henry.

"Cancer," she said without further detail.

"My condolences," he offered.

"I believed we were soulmates, Mr. Tilney."

Henry squirmed to hear that word, remembering that Catherine's definition of soulmates was restricted to the living and thus could not apply to people who were now dead.

"Do eat something, Mr. Tilney," Mrs. Allen admonished him. "You don't want Catherine's efforts to go to waste."

Henry took something from the tray and set it on his plate. He didn't eat it.

"Mr. Allen had to wait over fifty years just to meet me; we spent eight beautiful years together; and then I had to wait the next sixty-plus years for death to reunite us." Mrs. Allen similarly picked at the crumbs on her plate without bothering to taste it. "Can you imagine the joy and relief I felt when Michael told me I was dead?"

She looked at Henry with a heavy sadness like grief, waiting for him to realize the problem.

"There's no Mr. Allen in the neighborhood?"

"There's no Mr. Allen in the neighborhood," she repeated.

Henry's mind reeled. "Did he… was he not good enough to be sent to a good neighborhood?"

"My husband was a paragon! Of course he went to a good neighborhood, just not this one. I spoke with Michael, explained the problem. The Architectural Review Board must have made a mistake to separate us but he wouldn't advocate for me."

"Can't you, I don't know, send your husband a letter? Visit? Transfer to his neighborhood?" Henry was frantically brainstorming ideas.

Mrs. Allen laughed hollowly. "Travel between neighborhoods is strictly forbidden. Likewise there's no correspondence, not that I would know how to send it. Catherine won't tell me anything about Mr. Allen. She's not allowed, says she can't upset the residents. This is a lovely neighborhood, and I'm sure the people are lovely too. But my husband isn't here, and there's no one else I really want to spend eternity with."

.o8o.

Henry had no memory of eating or drinking at Allen Park. He walked home in a daze and then did the only thing he could think of. He called for Catherine.

"Hello, Mr. Tilney," she gave her most helpful smile.

"What happened to Mr. Allen?" he got to the point.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." Catherine looked honestly remorseful.

"I'm not Mrs. Allen. Why should it matter if I know? He's no one to me," Henry pressed.

"If I tell you and you tell Mrs. Allen, it will upset her," said Catherine.

"She's already upset. She loves her husband and she misses him more than anything in the world and she is spending her afterlife in a supposed paradise as a miserable recluse. If telling her makes her less upset, why can't you tell her?" he argued.

"I have limits on my powers, Mr. Tilney," Catherine tried to explain. "I'm not allowed to give you anything that might shock or upset you past my programmed thresholds."

Henry rolled his eyes in frustration. "What is the most shocking thing you are allowed to tell me?" he asked out of spite.

"Michael is lying to you."

Well, Catherine was right. Henry was shocked.