Chapter 48

Caroline stared at the first set of incomprehensible words on her page.

What in the world could it be? She had never liked riddles, but she was certain that Lady Matlock had singled her out for punishment, trying to make her look especially ridiculous. The old lady had always hated her, thinking her not good enough to be a friend to the Darcys, keeping her at the end of the table and furthest from herself—and her nephew—whilst lavishing attention upon her hideous son. Disgusting!

If I had such a son, I would never allow him to inflict himself on polite company. There is plainly something wrong with Miss Bentley’s brain.

Lady Matlock must fear that if Caroline appeared too clever, Darcy would be attracted. How prejudiced!

There were seven riddles on her page, each more perplexing than the last. Not that she cared about fifty pounds—it was the principle! Caroline’s eyes narrowed. Miss Lushington, Miss Bentley, and Miss Elizabeth had each been given clues in advance for winning one of those stupid contests—even though Caroline had truly won the shuttlecock competition, not Elizabeth. And she was owed one for the musical evening as well. Not that she liked to remember the song she had played, but was that not Elizabeth’s fault too? If she had not been so awful, they never would have plotted against her!

She wandered around, pretending to be searching, as laughter rang through the corridors. Stupid Miss Darcy was giggling with the Ridley infant, while Miss Bentley’s head was close beside her repulsive betrothed’s as they all conferred over their lists—probably cheating, helping each other—before they raced in a different direction. Darcy appeared to simply be collecting items without referring to his paper at all; she made an attempt to join him, but somehow, he quickly managed to disappear. But then, Darcy would never look upon a woman with a husbandly interest and affection. It was one of the things she most admired about him—his cold and beautiful sternness.

Wandering through the stillroom, she caught sight of Miss de Bourgh, studying her page. Dull, insipid thing, who never had a clever thing to say…yet who was a link to the Darcy family, and so easily won over. Caroline had meant to triumph in this contest on her own, but perhaps the girl could be of use for once.

“Oh, I am so glad to finally find you alone,” Caroline cried, as though Lady Catherine’s disapproval was the reason she had ignored Miss de Bourgh all evening. “I have a headache so awful I cannot even decipher the words on my page.”

Miss de Bourgh had revealed that she often suffered from headaches; she was certain to be sympathetic. But the little idiot only looked over to Caroline’s paper, and read the first verse aloud.

“Oh, I cannot think. You must know the answer. What is it? Tell me!” Caroline demanded.

“The first answer is a goose-quill,” she said hastily, docile as usual. “We cannot enter Darcy’s study to find one, but there is sure to be some in the big desk in the library.”

Caroline’s expression smoothed. “Come now. We can finish your puzzles and mine, both, if we work together. I am so glad you understand how a friendship should be.”

Anne had participatedin treasure hunts before, but she usually hated them. Never being the quickest, she seldom had a hope of winning, even if she was not the last to finish. She usually watched others as they joked, teased, and larked about, scrambling to win their quests, all appearing to find enjoyment in the competition or laughing at their own stupidity.

But this time, she had someone to giggle with and to share clues. This time, she was not alone.

Even though Miss Bingley was not at all good with riddles—Anne had noticed that her ‘headache’ had seemingly disappeared—who cared? What was fifty pounds and a silly game, to having a friend of her own? She would have paid far more than that!

They were on Miss Bingley’s fourth clue—they had not even looked yet at Anne’s—and trying to determine where to find gold thread. “Let us go to the gold drawing room and simply snip one of the tassels on the draperies,” Miss Bingley proposed.

“Perhaps one of the attics,” Anne suggested. “There are trunks full of old draperies, sheets, pillows, and the like stored in them. There are too many people in the gold drawing room, and I am certain Darcy would not like us cutting up his furnishings. Besides, I think your next riddle has something to do with chinoiserie—which we are sure to find up there as well.” Moreover, Lady Catherine was not in the attics to notice Anne in company with someone of whom she blatantly disapproved.

Miss Bingley agreed, beginning to climb the stairs. “Then only two clues to solve—I might even win!”

With my help, Anne wanted to add, but she did not quite dare. Lightly she touched the pocket where one of the acorn-embroidered handkerchiefs yet rested. Miss Bingley had said nothing further in the few days since she had threatened writing to Mr Pennywithers. Hopefully, it had simply been a brief bout of anger, born of Georgiana’s overtly rude warning. After all, Georgiana was still a child; she really had no business talking to her elders in such a way! Anne’s fears in that direction had likely been unfounded.

The stairs were well-lit, as was the landing when they reached it—but the next, narrower staircase leading up to the north wing attic was less so. Pemberley’s servants enjoyed much better accommodations than in many other great houses, including Rosings, but of course Pemberley was so large and so wealthy, they could afford to indulge them. None lived any longer in its vast attics, but once upon a time, they had quartered many.

“Ridley once told me that Pemberley’s ghosts wander within its attics,” Anne said, for the first time remembering that she utterly disliked the idea of entering them. “They are enormous, full of creaks and windy moans—and much noisier than any unoccupied space ought to be.”

Miss Bingley only shrugged. It was plain she was not frightened.

“It will be very dark,” Anne murmured. “Perhaps I should run down and get a lantern?”

Miss Bingley pooh-poohed the idea. “It will be fine.”

But suddenly she clutched at Anne’s wrist.

“What?”

“Hush.” Miss Bingley tugged her into the nearest room, a darkened chamber—a bedroom for guests of no particular consequence, Anne saw. “Quiet!” her friend whispered urgently, but she did not close the door behind them. Instead, she hunched just beside it, in the shadows, motioning Anne to its other side. Curious, Anne stared at her friend, wondering what they could possibly be hiding from.

It was a few moments before Anne realised the why of it.

Elizabeth Bennet appeared at the top of the landing, then without hesitation walked past them, a sturdy candlestick in hand. A few seconds later, she was gone, plainly never noticing their presence.

“She has gone up,” Miss Bingley said after a minute, still whispering.

“I suppose she is searching for something on her list.”

“Of course she is. Do not be stupid.” Miss Bingley hissed. “Let us follow and scare her. If ever the shades of Pemberley should haunt someone, it is her.”

“But…but…remember what Georgiana said,” Anne said in a small voice. “Miss Elizabeth might see who frightened her, and if she complains?—”

“First of all, she will not complain! What would she say? ‘I am a chicken-hearted infant who was scared by noises in an attic’? We shall be held blameless for accidentally surprising her, I tell you. Besides, we can scare her without her catching sight of us!”

Anne winced. “’Tis dark up there. She would spot any light we bring instantly, and know it was us!”

“There are windows, are there not? It is a full moon tonight. There will be light enough to find our way—she will be the one who holds a light and is blinded by it.”

Anne bit her lip. She did not wish to argue; she wanted the friendship. But there was no real fun in startling Miss Elizabeth, and the consequences Georgiana had threatened were all too real. Even if her young cousin was a mere babe, she had told the truth about one thing: her brother loved her, far more than he cared for anyone else…except, possibly, Elizabeth Bennet. He could not marry Miss Elizabeth, but he would despise anyone who treated her ill.

“We cannot,” she said, trying to sound firm. “We will be ejected from Pemberley if discovered. Darcy…he likes Miss Elizabeth. He will not be forgiving of those who do not. Remember Georgiana’s warning!”

“You worry far too much. Mr Pennywithers will soon be splashing gossip about Miss Darcy all over London. Darcy will blame Miss Elizabeth. He will loathe her for it.”

“You did not!” Anne gasped.

“I sent the letter a few days ago,” Miss Bingley said complacently. “I had my woman post it. Now let us go up, whilst Miss Elizabeth is still in the dark, literally.” She giggled at her weak jest.

Anne was too shocked to think of a reply.