Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

E lizabeth lay in bed late that night listening to the thunder grumble above her like a grumpy old man. The storm had largely worn itself out, but there were still occasional windy sighs or smatterings of rain against the windowpane. It was only minutes until midnight, and still Elizabeth tossed and turned, unable to find repose.

It was not due to the accommodations; of that she could be certain. Never had she been ensconced in such a richly appointed bedchamber. In the daylight, when she had first come upstairs to change out of her wet gown, it had been a soothing space full of light wood furniture and shades of lilac. She had even admired the white lace curtains while the maid had tightened her stays. In the dark, somehow the same room became more foreboding, with shadows lurking in every corner. Perhaps it was all the talk of ghosts, or even her own bizarre experience from the other day, but she was suspicious of every noise, whether it be a footstep in the corridor or a gust of wind brushing against the house. She was frightened, though loath to admit it .

Elizabeth finally conceded defeat and rolled onto her back, huffing at her own foolishness. Why am I being so ridiculous? I am as bad as Kitty after Lydia teases her into a dither with one of those ‘horrid' novels! Spirits did not exist, and even if they did, she certainly had never seen one, strange coincidences aside. If only I could take a walk to clear my head…

"Well, why not?" she said aloud to the canopy. She could always pace the halls a bit, so long as she was careful not to wander too far. Walking was the only thing that ever truly helped calm her distress, and although it was always most effective out of doors, she had been known to circle the house at home when her usual constitutional was unfeasible. Pemberley would be even more suited to the task since it was so much larger; she would surely disturb no one, even so late as it was.

Then again, perhaps it was not the best idea to go wandering about an unfamiliar manor in the middle of the night with no guide. She could get lost and never make it back to her room, which would make for an unseemly end to her visit when she was discovered lurking about the corridors in the morning wearing her nightclothes. Perhaps she should simply perambulate within her chambers?

Regardless, she could not simply lie there and attempt to will herself to sleep. There is nothing for it, I suppose. With an exasperated sigh, Elizabeth kicked her covers off, sat up, and lowered her feet to the floor.

Upon standing, she picked up the long train of her nightgown—another too-large loan from Miss Darcy—and moved in the direction of the dressing table where she had left her candlestick. Retrieving it, she shuffled to the low fire and crouched down. She readjusted the shoulder of her nightgown—the troublesome thing kept slipping down her arm, and she did not wish to set more than her candle alight—and carefully lit the wick before drawing back .

Rising from her bent position, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror above the hearth as she straightened. Sheathed in fine white cotton, her face half-shaded in the flickering gleam of the flame, she appeared almost as if she were haunting the place herself. She chuckled at the stray thought.

A flash of movement in the mirror ensnared Elizabeth's notice, and her breath caught. Someone is here.

Over her shoulder, Elizabeth could see a tall, willowy figure draped in an old-fashioned gown of vivid cobalt. She—for it was obviously a woman—loomed starkly against the hangings around the bed, as unnaturally still and lifeless as a doll. Her long, silvery hair fell down to her waist, framing a deathly pale face that oddly lacked any definite features. Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the bedchamber in brilliant radiance, and the blue lady disappeared for an instant, only to reappear when the room returned to shadow.

Elizabeth choked and whirled about, her shaking hand losing its grip upon the candlestick, which fell to the floor and extinguished itself on the hearth just as her eyes locked upon the spot where she expected to find the mysterious lady. With the dying fire as her only source of light, that portion of the room reverted to a cloaking blackness.

The only things Elizabeth could hear were the hard pitter-pattering of her own heart, the harsh rasp of her quickened breath, and the low vibration of the heavens. If there was another person in the room with her, they were completely silent and did not make their presence known.

"I-Is anyone there?" she called out.

No answer was returned.

Another flash of lightning brightened the bedchamber for a split second, confirming her solitude. How could that be? Had she imagined the lady in blue ?

A loud crash elicited a shriek from Elizabeth, and she whipped about to discover the source. The window had been closed a moment ago, she was certain of it, and yet it was now thrown wide to the storm. The lovely lace curtains she had so admired earlier in the day danced in a billowing frenzy, reminding her so strongly of the ghastly blue lady in her mirror that she stumbled back a step.

She could not remain in the room another moment, fearful of what lurked out of sight. Without even donning her robe or slippers, Elizabeth picked up the hem of her nightgown and raced to the door, flung it open, and virtually threw herself out into the hall. She tripped at the threshold but scrambled upright and did not stop.

The clock chimed half an hour past midnight, and still Darcy lay awake, staring at the curtains above his bed. It was not so very late, yet he was frustrated by his inability to sleep all the same. His mind was far too occupied for rest. With Elizabeth, of course—his mind was always occupied with her—but also the conversation from the dinner table. It bothered him greatly that Elizabeth had experienced fear at Pemberley; would she refuse him again because she could not bear to live in his home? She had made light of the incident, sworn that her uncle exaggerated, but ladies tended to believe in fanciful tales of spooks and goblins. His sister certainly did.

"Ghosts!" He snorted at the notion. "Stuff and nonsense."

The steady pattern of footsteps sounded from close by, and Darcy sat up. "Freddy?" There was no response from his dog other than a light snore from where she slumbered by the fireplace .

He heard the footsteps again; they sounded as if they were coming from the hall. He was not afraid of spectres, but they were not the most likely creature to go bump in the night. Scheming young ladies might, however.

Darcy glowered and ripped open the bed hangings, startling Freddy awake. He was determined to send whoever it was parading up and down the corridor back to their bed. He wished Bailey were there to act as witness, but he would not be so callous a master as to disturb his valet's sleep over the nocturnal wanderings of a guest. Even were it Miss Bingley prowling in the darkness, he would inform her that he knew what she was about and would not be the victim of any scheme to seduce him. He would also demand her brother send her on her way to her Scarborough relations in the morning; his patience with her was entirely at an end.

Snatching his banyan from the foot of his bed, Darcy donned it and his slippers before stalking to the door, turning the key, and wrenching it open. He stepped out into the hall, prepared to give whoever lurked out there a stern reprimand, but found no one. Dim moonlight shone through various windows along the corridor, so any figure therein should be apparent. Perhaps he had misheard.

Freddy, now fully alert, moved around him into the hall. She stood perfectly still, ears perked as she listened. A soft growl issued from her throat as the hair on her neck rose in warning.

"There, there. Naught to be frightened of," Darcy said, stroking her back. She refused to be soothed and continued staring fixedly into the void. "Come on, girl. Back to bed."

He was about to follow his own sound advice when a flicker of light caught his attention at the far end of the corridor. It bobbed there like a will-o'-the-wisp, taunting him in the darkness. I knew it! There is someone sneaking about .

"You there?—"

Freddy's growl became a snarl, and she took off like a shot in the direction of the hovering light. She was absorbed into the blackness before Darcy had collected enough wits to protest. He dashed after her, calling out in a harsh whisper, "Freddy, wait! Heel, girl, heel !"

Caroline woke with a start as the clock chimed one, having unintentionally drifted off in the chair at her dressing table. She blinked many times in succession as the sticky cobwebs of sleep dissipated from her mind.

Her candle flickered fitfully as the flame drew nearer to the puddle of wax surrounding its wick, casting jagged shadows against the wall. How long had she been asleep? She recalled dismissing Warren once the key had been delivered but nothing after that. Apparently, her plan to remain awake by sitting up in a chair rather than tucking herself into bed had been a failure.

No matter , Caroline declared silently to herself as she stood up and stretched the stiffness out of her lower back. There is still plenty of time.

Caroline turned to the mirror to examine her reflection for any damage caused by her short nap. Aside from a tiny drop of saliva at the corner of her lips, easily wiped away with her thumb, there was naught amiss with her appearance. She stroked the silk nightdress over her hips, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the expensive fabric, and turned round to inspect the back. It hung a touch loose on her thin frame, and she did not fill it out so well as her sister did at the top, but the peach hue complemented her complexion, and it was revealing enough for its purpose. Nabbing it from Louisa's dressing room had been a stroke of genius; Caroline was glad she had instructed her maid to do so.

With one quick tightening tug to the ribbon that bound her dark hair into its plait, Caroline was satisfied that Mr Darcy would be unable to resist the image she was ready to present to him. That scheming country chit Eliza would not steal such a prize from Miss Caroline Bingley! Whatever arts and allurements she had been using upon him, Caroline would admit a grudging respect for, but that bumpkin would never become mistress of Pemberley. Not after tonight.

She swept the matching robe from the back of her chair and slipped her arms into its sleeves. Once she had belted it securely at the waist, she picked up her guttering candle and moved towards the door, her slippers treading softly upon the carpet.

"Oh!" Halting with her hand resting upon the cool brass knob that would permit her escape, she swirled about, padded back to the dressing table, and snatched a heavy metal key from the gleaming surface. She deposited it into the pocket of her robe and patted it for reassurance. Had she forgotten this most precious item, her plan would have been ruined.

That crisis averted, she pulled open her door and peeked out into the hall, sharp eyes darting back and forth in search of witnesses. She could hear Hurst snoring in the chamber directly across from hers, absolutely no sound coming from her brother's beside it, and sensed no stirring from her sister next door. The only noise was the wind whistling against the windowpane behind her; all else was draped in the silence of night.

Secure in the knowledge that she was not being observed, Caroline emerged from her room and began her journey down the corridor, confident in her direction. She might be a guest in this house—for now—but she knew her exact destination.

Her future chambers.