Chapter 49

Quickly Caroline made her way up the steps leading to the attic, entering via the slightly ajar door, and motioning Miss de Bourgh to close it quietly behind her. Just as she had supposed, there was plenty of moonlight streaming in from attic windows. But she did not immediately see Miss Elizabeth’s candle gleaming. Where was the chit?

Carefully, so as not to trip over anything in the shadows, she made her way down aisles of discarded furniture and full trunks, barely glancing back to see if Miss de Bourgh followed. The space was draughty with creaks and the keening wind whistled through windows, making enough noise to cover their quiet footsteps. Chilly too, and she shivered. As soon as she was past a particularly massive wardrobe, she saw it.

Some of the old servants’ quarters were being used as smaller storerooms, and Miss Elizabeth’s candlelight shone from within one. Caroline leant close, whispering in Miss de Bourgh’s ear.

“Let us sneak to either side of the door, and when she exits the room, make loud noises. How she will scream!”

“Oh no! I could not! She would see us!” Miss de Bourgh mumbled hoarsely.

“Who cares? I will laugh in her face, the spineless pea-brain!”

But her companion only covered her mouth, plainly frightened by the boldness of the plan. Caroline rolled her eyes, gleefully imagining Miss Elizabeth squeaking like a rat in a trap. “Be a frightened goose if you wish. Just watch, and see how stupid she will appear!”

She crept towards the open doorway leaving Miss de Bourgh cowering beside the wardrobe. As she drew closer, however, she saw something which gave her a new, even more thrilling idea—the key was stuck into the door’s lock, easily within reach.

Should I shut her in?She spared a thought for the danger of discovery, the consequences. But she was not actually hurting anyone; a gust might cause the same effect. Besides, the soaring triumph, the thrill of victory over the hateful Miss Elizabeth, outweighed any other considerations. Still, it was critical that she not be seen. Cautiously, she peeked around the corner, exulting when she saw her prey was on the other side of the room, stretching up to a shelf, her back to the door.

Hastily, Caroline reached in, slammed the door shut, and twisted the key. It turned easily, clicking the bolt into place. Extracting it, she threw the key across the darkened attic.

“Miss Bingley, what have you done?” Miss de Bourgh squealed. “We must let her out! Oh, surely you did not toss away the key? We shall never find it!”

Moments later, they heard Miss Elizabeth’s muffled sounds of distress—and then of fists banging against the door. “Yes, I did! I hope she bloodies her hands!” Caroline hissed. “Besides, if we let her out, she will know who locked her in.”

Without another word, Miss de Bourgh turned and ran from the attic.

“Ninny!” Caroline scoffed. A sneaking sense of discomfort briefly stabbed at her: What if she told someone? Quickly she dismissed the idea. Miss de Bourgh would not want to offend her, even if she was too lily-livered to have any real fun. She wanted to scare the stupid chit as much as I did!

Fleetingly, she considered searching for golden thread and chinoiserie—but Viscount Ridley’s comment about Darcy knowing where ‘every bit and bobbin’ in the house was located came back to her mind. She must not present any clues that she had been up here. Besides, there was bound to be someone else come up, searching for something, and it would not do to be found casually rifling through textiles while Miss Elizabeth screamed herself silly nearby.

“Let me out!” came another muffled cry behind the solid door imprisoning her. “Please!”

Snickering, Caroline slipped out of the attic from another doorway and down the stairs, circling towards the sounds of merriment from an opposite direction of the way she had entered.

Had a draught blownthe door shut? The attic was draughty, but it had hardly affected her candle. Running quickly to the door, Elizabeth tried to open it. Locked! She put her ear up against its cool surface—and was certain she could hear voices, albeit too muffled to identify. She realised that whoever had locked her in this room was unlikely to open the door, but she could not help trying.

“Let me out!” she cried, pounding on it. “Please!”

There was no response; only the thought that her near panic might be providing amusement gave her the courage to stop.

She glanced at her candlestick; it looked solid, but Elizabeth doubted it was strong enough to breach a door. At least the candle was a new one; so long as the flame did not extinguish, she had several hours of light. Someone was bound to come looking for her—Jane would notice her absence, even if no one else did. It was an enormous house, though. It might be some time before anyone thought to search the attic.

The door looked sturdy; it was unlikely that she could break it down, even had it not been, but she cast about the small room for something with which she might try. There did not appear to be much of possible use—she had entered searching for a man’s boot, and thought the attic a likely place to find such a thing. It had been the answer to her last clue.

Nothing she discovered in the contents of the few trunks in the small chamber would make an adequate battering ram; there was no fireplace in this little room, and certainly no fireirons.

With a sigh, she finally moved back to the shelf which had caught her attention in the first place—a crate with a woman’s slipper peeking out the top. Dragging the crate down, she searched through it, finding at the very bottom a single scuffed and battered black boot.

“I win,” she said aloud to no one.

A scurrying sound was her only reply. Ugh. Mice.

Of course, she could not have gotten trapped in a room with a nice, comfortable chair; likewise, sitting on the floor with vermin scampering nearby was a disagreeable notion. She dragged an empty trunk against the wall nearest the bureau where she had set the candlestick, sat upon it, and prepared for a long wait.

Anne huddledin the empty guest chamber, rocking herself back and forth, trying to breathe, wishing she could make herself disappear. What to do, what oh what to do?If I tell Mama, I will be punished for associating with Miss Bingley—if not now, then when we return to Rosings. Besides, Mama would not care if Miss Elizabeth was locked up all night. Lord and Lady Matlock would be sure to say something to Mama if I go to them for help. Who else is there? Georgiana, who had already promised to see her ejected from Pemberley forever? Miss Bentley, Georgiana’s good friend? Richard, nearly betrothed to Miss Bentley, and Darcy’s best friend?

Darcy himself? What if I go to him and say it was all Miss Bingley’s idea, and that I did not realise her intentions?

Darcy would never believe me. He dislikes me.Watching his interest in Elizabeth, she had learnt how his affection appeared. It is ludicrous to believe he might propose marriage to me, whom he scarcely notices!

He would no more marry me than would the Regent. It is only Mama’s…delusions that ever thought he would. He loves the girl locked in the attic, and whether or not he marries her, my hopes were stupid ones. Any man who wants her, would never want me.

Perhaps she could have Jenkinson write him a note, and slip it under his chamber door? He would not recognise Jenkinson’s handwriting, but she did write, and very well. It might be hours though, before he returned to his chambers. Miss Elizabeth’s absence surely would be discovered before that point. What oh what to do?

Endlessly, she thought of and discarded possibilities, dithering, despairing.

One thing was certain—she could not hide here all night.

How long had she been cowering here? Half an hour? An hour? Every minute that Miss Elizabeth was locked up was another weight of hatred Darcy would carry for the doer of the misdeed. The thought caused a rising panic. Perhaps if she pleaded with Richard not to tell anyone? Oh, whether or not he would help her, she must ask, she must beg!

Suppressing a sob, she got to her feet, hastening out the door.