Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

C aroline smiled to herself, predatory like a spider stalking a fly as she proceeded on her way. As she had suspected, there was no one about at this time of night; perfect for her plan. All she needed to do now was?—

She halted in the middle of the hall, her candle sputtering as a drip of wax fell to the floor at her feet. A door ahead, the one to the room assigned to that trollop Eliza, was standing open.

She crept closer, carefully quiet, and listened for any sound that might indicate her nemesis was awake. Should that awful nobody raise the alarm, Caroline would have an awkward time explaining why she was out of bed at such an hour. No one would believe that she was on the way to the library to retrieve a book, and it was even less likely that she intended to traipse down to the kitchen for a morsel of food, so her motives would be rather transparent. Why else would a lady with a reluctant beau leave her chambers but to pay him a clandestine visit? She supposed she could always effect that they had planned a rendezvous and engage his honour that way, but Caroline suspected that Mr Darcy would not be trapped so easily. No, she would have to convince him with her charms, as intended. Failing that, she would tangle him so tightly within the gossamer threads of her web that he could never escape.

There was no sound from Eliza's bedroom as Caroline tiptoed past—one might have even suspected that the chamber was empty—but she could not be easy until she had reached the corner and disappeared around it. Once past that obstacle, she could breathe more freely.

She made it round the bend without incident and unleashed a soft sigh of relief. It was not far to the family wing now; only the landing at the top of the magnificent main staircase separated her from her goal.

The key weighed heavily in Caroline's pocket and bumped against her upper thigh with each step she took, reminding her of her purpose. It was all so simple, really: let herself into the mistress's private chambers, enter Mr Darcy's bedroom via the internal door that united the two, then climb into bed with him. He would wake up, become overtaken by animal lust, and the deed would be done.

She had not intended to ever embark upon so desperate a stratagem. She had been ready to rely strictly upon her arsenal of accomplishments and subtle charms to garner her that coveted proposal from Mr Darcy, but the sudden appearance of Eliza at Pemberley had changed everything. Instead of a summer of delicately flirting with her prey and recommending herself to him with her grace, poise, and talents, she had been thwarted at every turn by that over-ambitious upstart. If she stood by and did nothing, Eliza's schemes might actually meet with success, and that, Caroline could never allow.

Well, Mr Darcy would not, could not, propose to Eliza after finding himself beholden to Caroline instead. He would, perhaps, be a bit testy over her methods, but one day—likely sooner rather than later—he would thank his bride for saving him from making a wretched, wretched mistake. After all, what was infatuation compared with maintaining his good name?

Caroline halted in front of the door she had been searching for, and a smirk bloomed upon her face. Inside this room was her destiny.

With her free hand, she dipped into the pocket of her robe and retrieved the key that had been so graciously purloined by her maid from the housekeeper's room below stairs. She had hoped that Warren might have got her hands upon the key to the master's chambers, but that, apparently, was kept in the sole possession of Mr Darcy's valet. Having been unable to secure it from the gentleman's gentleman, she had settled for an alternative choice. Caroline would have been more grateful had Warren obtained what she had specifically requested, but she supposed this one would do.

The key turned in the lock, the mechanisms within squealing in rusty disuse, and Caroline triumphantly gained entrance. She pried the door open and slipped inside.

She sneezed as her footsteps raised dust from the rug, which, upon closer inspection with the candle, was yet another ghastly shade of blue. She covered her mouth with her sleeve, sneering into the peach silk; she would put the servants straight to cleaning this chamber thoroughly in the morning, once she had the right to direct them, and she would insist that they scour every trace of blue from this place. She would replace it with gold—the only hue elevated enough for the lady of the manor.

All the furniture, large and overbearing in the darkness, was draped in white covers to protect it from the grime accumulated over so many years of neglect. She chuckled at the notion that it looked as if she were surrounded by spirits. "Ghosts, indeed! Superstitious nonsense!"

Moving deeper into the room, Caroline looked for a place to deposit her dripping candle but found nothing that was not already swathed in a sheet. Not that the furniture within the room would be worth keeping—it would all have to be replaced, quite frankly, for none of it was likely to be in the current style—but it would hardly do to set fire to her chambers. Not only might she damage the structure, but it would inevitably distract Mr Darcy from her seduction.

With this thought in mind, Caroline approached the covered item that looked most like a dressing table and pulled the cloth from it with a swift rush. She coughed as dust rose up in a cloud around her, creating a miasma of dirty fog, and closed her eyes against the particles that attempted to invade them. Disgraceful! Did no one ever clean this room?

She set the candle down upon the dull surface of the light oak table, still hacking in a most unladylike manner in an attempt to dislodge the grime from her throat, and braced herself upon the edge. She struggled to catch her breath; it would not be appealing to Mr Darcy were she to climb into his bed wheezing.

Once her struggles had abated, Caroline stood erect and considered her reflection in the mirror before her. It was badly in need of a polish, and the edges were crusting over, but she was able to determine that her appearance was not too disgraceful after her little fit. She searched for dirt upon her robe, tucked a few loose hairs back into place, and dabbed at her dripping nose with a handkerchief before declaring herself satisfied enough .

Now, to business.

She loosened the knot of her dressing gown and released the cord from around her waist, allowing the garment to fall open. She then permitted the cool silk to slide from her shoulders and drop to the floor, uncaring that the borrowed item would very likely become sullied with filth as she surveyed the lacy peach negligee underneath. It was unspoiled by any of her adventures of the night and would surely tantalise her prey.

It was time. Leaving her sputtering candle upon the dressing table, she turned to look for the door that would lead to the master's chambers. "Ah ha!" There, against the far wall; her access point. With her feral grin firmly in place, she strolled towards it with confidence. By the time the sun rises, I shall be engaged! She was giddy with anticipation.

The brass knob was cold, virtually frigid, in her hand as she attempted to turn it, but it would not oblige her. Believing it must be stuck after many years of disuse, Caroline rattled the metal orb and twisted sharply back and forth, but to no avail; the door would not open. Thinking that she might, perhaps, be missing a key, she searched for a hole to insert one, but there was none; it could not possibly be locked against her. In mounting frustration, she hissed and cursed at the contraption as she shook it as violently as she was able, but no amount of her pitiful force could dislodge the door from its frame.

With some derision, Caroline postulated to herself that Eliza, hoyden that she was, might have been able to wrench the thing from its hinges, but it was hopelessly impossible for a delicate lady such as herself. Should she knock? Mr Darcy would answer the summons, and she could encourage him to invite her in, though it was hardly certain. Still, she was wearing a most enticing nightgown…

She would do it. She had come too far to give up the chase now, and moreover, she had great confidence in her looks. Surely Mr Darcy would be unable to resist the lure of so much tantalising flesh encased in lace and silk.

Caroline arranged her expression into one of invitation and raised her fist to rap upon the wood. Before her knuckles could make contact, however, she was distracted by a trickle of cold running down her spine and an inarticulate whisper from somewhere behind her.

"…out…"

Caroline stiffened; had she somehow been discovered? If so, she could always claim that Mr Darcy had invited her—yes, that would do—and they could still become engaged. With a fixed smile upon her face, she turned to deliver her proclamation, but no one was there. How strange.

In the dim light cast by her dying candle, the room surrounding her was draped as much in shadow as it was in white sheets. She could not see into all the corners, the chamber being as vast as was suitable for the mistress of Pemberley, so she could not certainly say that she was alone, but Caroline saw no sign of anyone besides her own reflection in the dressing table mirror. Perhaps those silly ghost stories had tickled her imagination just enough to create a few ghouls in the dark.

She shrugged and turned back to the door, raising her fist again to knock.

"Get…out…"

Caroline spun round again, this time calling out into the darkness, "Come out and show yourself."

No one stepped forwards to admit their presence. She swivelled her head back and forth, from wall to window, but she could see no one else in the room. Although not at all inclined towards superstitious belief, an unaccountable trill of fear tickled the back of her mind .

"I-I insist that you show yourself," Caroline said again, her eyes searching the bedchamber for any movement aside from her own. Still, there was no one to be seen.

She stepped away from the door to the master's chambers and made a quick journey to the dressing table to reclaim her candle, feeling more secure in the glow it exuded. She grasped it firmly and picked it up, shining her light in every direction to aid her search. Hot wax dripped down the back of her hand, but she barely noticed the sting.

Nothing.

Caroline relaxed a touch as the light revealed her own silliness. The storm had ended, but perhaps the wind was still a bit wild. Wild enough to create whispers in the dark.

She set the candle back down upon the dressing table and forced herself to take a calming breath to ease the stuttering of her heart. There is no such thing as ghosts. There is no one here. Superstitious nonsense.

"Get out!"

She jumped and swirled around in a full circle; that had most certainly not been the wind! It sounded like a woman's voice—one that was raspy with malice. No doubt the trespasser lurked somewhere deep in the shadows that Caroline's eyes could not penetrate. "Who are you?" she cried, louder and more tremulously than before. "Come out and show yourself! As the future mistress of this house, you shall obey or forfeit your position immediately!"

The response was immediate and violent.

She screeched at the top of her voice as all the items in the room surrounding her—furniture, sheets, forgotten knickknacks—lunged themselves in her direction and crashed to the floor around her. She had to scurry out of the way of a falling wardrobe lest she be trapped beneath it and jump over the splintered remains of a small table as she rushed to escape from the avalanche of possessions. A porcelain figurine cast itself at her head in a suicidal mission to injure her, and Caroline ducked just in time to avoid receiving a bloody nose.

A sheet rose up in a fog of dust and attempted to cast itself upon her like a net, sending Caroline diving onto the hated blue rug to evade it. Her luck had run out, however, and the fabric wrapped itself around her ankle, pulling her across the floor with a sharp jerk. She screamed again as her nightgown rose up her legs in a most undignified way, and she skidded across the hardwood with it bunched up around her waist, her foot caught in the sheet's trap. The door to the hall sprung open of its own accord, ready to swallow her up if the muslin got its way.

Caroline managed to grab hold of one of the four posts on the bed and held on tightly as the fabric tugged and yanked to dislodge her. She struggled hard enough to kick her leg free of the sheet and scrambled up into a crouched position by the heavy piece of furniture, panting and terrified.

She glanced towards the door that led to Mr Darcy's bedroom, wondering why he had not come to her rescue. Surely the racket caused by the furnishings destroying themselves and her own cries for help could be heard all the way to the guest wing! He was far less gallant than his reputation suggested.

No time to dwell on that now. The items in the room appeared to be positioning themselves for another assault, and Caroline was not about to stay put and take their abuse. She dragged herself upwards, digging her nails into the wood of the bedpost, and found her footing as the furnishings surrounded her .

Caroline's eyes darted towards the door that led out into the hall, but she was indecisive; should she abandon her grand plans to become mistress of this horrible place and seek safety with her relations in the guest wing? Or should she make another attempt to rouse Mr Darcy in her defence and use this circumstance to her advantage? She could always insist that they live in London year round, or possibly take up residence at one of their many satellite estates. Mr Darcy was the type of man who had choices at hand for himself and his family.

As if sensing her thoughts, the tormenting spirit made its opinion on the subject known to her in a way that could not be misunderstood. Caroline shrieked as the glass of the dressing table mirror shattered, splintering into a spiderweb pattern from the centre of the pane, and reflected her image back to her in many pieces. From between the shards seeped a dark, viscous substance that was almost certainly blood. It pooled upon the tabletop, surrounding her candlestick in a sea of glimmering red, and dripped onto the floor in rivulets.

She released the bedpost and stumbled backwards until she collided with something heavy and wooden—the door leading to the master's chambers—and she froze there, too petrified to make a dart for the hall.

"This cannot be real." Caroline panted and squeezed her eyes shut tight, blocking the horror from her vision. "This cannot be real!"

A chill began to prickle against her skin, rising up from the soles of her feet to her ankles, calves, and knees. It was as if a fog were rising from the floor around her and surrounding her with a damp cold. She could feel her shuddering breaths escape her and caress her cheeks in a warm cloud .

"Get…out…!"

Caroline's eyes snapped open as the ghastly voice whispered directly into her ear. Immediately before her was a pair of large, grey eyes, stormy and wild. They were set in the face of a delicate woman who would have been undeniably beautiful had she not also been horrible in every way. Her hair, long and white, flared about her like the untamed blaze of a fire, framing an expression contorted with rage. She verily glowed in the darkness, like the full moon upon the surface of a lake, both soft and bright while also somewhat distorted.

In the background, the flame of her pitiful candle finally snuffed itself out, leaving the room cloaked in darkness once more.

" Get out! "

She finally found the wherewithal to flee as the otherworldly shriek echoed and reverberated about the chamber, causing the walls to shake. She tore the hem of her sister's negligee as she raced through the icy mist of the spirit but did not stop even to collect her balance properly. Instinct drove her forwards and out into the corridor, away from the phantasm's wrath. The door to the mistress's chambers slammed shut behind her.

Caroline collapsed against the wall outside the cursed room, sliding down the delicate azure paper she would have replaced as mistress, and trembled. Seated there like a quivering lump of jelly, she wondered—could that have been real? Had she actually encountered a ghost? Phantom, spectre, apparition, banshee, demon, wraith—a departed soul who roamed the land searching for her lover after a tragic end? How could it possibly be, yet how could it possibly be otherwise? There was no rational explanation for what she had just encountered.

"Miss Bingley? "

Caroline started so violently that she yelped and nearly overturned herself. Only the reflexive hand that darted out in her own protection prevented her from crumpling entirely to the floor.

Although terrified of what she would find, Caroline raised her bulging eyes to the person who had interrupted her ghastly musings—all the while silently praying that whoever it was would be made of flesh and bone rather than mist and moonlight—to find Miss Darcy standing over her in a long white nightgown, her blonde hair plaited and hanging over one shoulder. Her grey eyes were shadowed with confusion and concern.

The sight of a tall lady with pale hair and eyes caused Caroline to flinch back. Indeed, there was something of a resemblance between Miss Darcy and the wraith who had just tormented her, though she supposed that must be likely if Pemberley were haunted by its former inhabitants.

"Are you well?" the girl enquired, her eyebrows folding down as she observed her houseguest cowering on the floor. "Have you somehow become lost?"

Caroline lunged forwards and gripped the skirt of Miss Darcy's nightgown, startling the girl enough for her to stagger back. She clung tightly to the younger lady to prevent her escape. "There is a ghost! In there!"

"A ghost?" Miss Darcy repeated, tugging fruitlessly at the fabric tangled in Caroline's grasping fingers. "In where?"

"The mistress's chambers!"

Miss Darcy looked to the closed door, blinking at it with apparent surprise, before returning her attention to Caroline. "You have been inside the mistress's chambers?" she asked then, her expression darkening into a scowl. "At this time of night?"

Stupid, stupid girl! What difference did it make what Caroline was doing there in the middle of the night? "Yes! It is everything horrible and—what are you doing?" Her voice raised to the pitch of a screech as Miss Darcy, now disentangled from her houseguest, approached the door in question and reached for the knob.

"I am going to look inside," she replied with more intrepidity than Caroline would have expected.

"Have you gone mad?" She lurched to her feet and grasped at her hostess's nearest arm, attempting to drag her away. "Did you not hear me say that there is a ghost in there?"

Miss Darcy tugged her arm free and attempted to calm Caroline with a soothing voice. "I am sure there is nothing amiss. I have been into my mother's rooms many times and have seen no sign of anything horrible. I shall take a look inside and show you that there is nothing to fear."

"No!"

Caroline was growing increasingly hysterical—and not only from fear of the apparition within; if Miss Darcy did not believe her about the haunting, there would be no reasonable explanation for the wreckage that she was soon to discover. How could Caroline explain a shattered mirror, broken armoire, and the general disorder of a space to which, technically, she had no rights? Would she be ejected from Pemberley? That might not be so terrible considering recent events, but to be cut off from the patronage of the Darcys would be intolerable!

The door opened with a shrill creak under Miss Darcy's direction, and she stepped inside, holding her own candle aloft. Caroline waited for the girl to exclaim at the chaos, but no such rebuke was forthcoming.

"I see nothing unusual," said Miss Darcy, pivoting her head to look in Caroline's direction.

"What?" She peered over the girl's shoulder, careful to remain on the corridor side of the threshold, to observe what Miss Darcy was seeing. Surely she could not have expected to find the place in pieces!

However, the surprise was all Caroline's; not a single piece of furniture, figurine, nor sheet was out of place other than that she had moved herself. Her candle rested upon the uncovered dressing table, its wax hardening now that the flame was out, and her sister's dressing gown lay crumpled on the floor beside it. The filched key lay upon the dull surface immediately beside the base of the candlestick, accusatory in its placement. The mirror was whole, and there were no traces of the blood that had been dripping down its surface and puddling on the floor. The rest of the room looked as untouched as she had found it.

"I do not understand," said Caroline, stepping forwards as if to breach the room. A cold, tingling sensation overwhelmed her suddenly, raising goose-flesh upon her skin, and she thought better of it. She stumbled back a step.

"Perhaps you were sleepwalking?" replied Miss Darcy, her eyes darting downwards for an instant to indicate Caroline's scantily clad form. When her gaze rose back up to her houseguest's face, it was rather severe and reminded Caroline strongly of the disapproving Darcy ancestors who kept scornful watch over the gallery.

"I…ah…" She could not very well tell her prey's sixteen-year-old sister that she had been intent upon seducing her brother, so she accepted the gift of Miss Darcy's excuse with as much grace as she could muster. "I suppose I was."

"And you will take greater care in future to prevent yourself from wandering the halls at night?"

Caroline grudgingly nodded. "Yes, I shall make a point of not, um, sleepwalking."

"Very good," replied Miss Darcy as she stepped into her mother's old chambers and retrieved the objects littering the dressing table and floor. The guttered candle and robe she passed to Caroline, but the key she kept within her possession. It swiftly disappeared into her pocket, though her gaze remained firmly and coolly affixed to her trespassing guest. "Now, shall I see you back to your room?"