Miss Bingley, however, did not go to her room. She turned right at the top of the stairs instead of left, passing a few whimsical country scenes and then stepping on the thick velvet rug which ran the length of the family wing. She had no business being there. Still, she walked with absolute confidence. Clearly, she knew her way around. The intruder walked straight to Mr. Darcy’s room and rapped on the door.
Lydia hid in an alcove, beside a tiny table which held a worryingly slender vase. Convinced that she was going to break it, she dug her fingers into the wall and peered around.
The door clicked open and Darcy looked out. He looked surprised to see Miss Bingley, but it was an exhausted reaction which made him look resigned. His voice, however, sounded as if he was spitting the words out through gritted teeth.
“Miss Bingley. Is there some emergency?”
“In a way.” the woman cooed, moving closer, “I heard how your wife spoke to you this evening, Darcy. How noble you were! How patient you were to stay calm and not shout back! Such an assault upon your character should not be borne, sir. I knew that I had to come and congratulate you.”
“Congratulate me?” he echoed wearily.
“Yes, sir! On your restraint! Mrs. Darcy might be forgiven, I suppose, for she does not know any better. I am sure that she believes every family in the country shouts at one another, as her family does. How gentlemanly you are, sir, not to lower yourself to her level!”
“Miss Bingley…” Darcy rubbed his forehead and drew a deep breath, “Are you done?”
The woman blinked at him. “I just wanted you to know that your efforts have not gone unappreciated.”
“How very kind of you. It must have been a great discomfort for you to have your ear pressed to the keyholes in my house for so long. I am glad that your prying has finally borne fruit, Miss Bingley. Congratulations!” his voice dripped with sarcasm, “Now, madam, kindly leave me alone to reflect upon my triumph in peace.”
The door slammed. Caroline stared at it for a long while, white-faced and immobile. Then, with abrupt haste, she turned on her heel and strode away. The shock of being spoken to so bluntly had made her unsteady, and she accidentally stormed off in entirely the wrong direction. Lydia watched, trying not to giggle, when Miss Bingley marched towards the dark and deserted rooms instead of back to her own warm chamber.
Dark, yes… but were they truly deserted?
There was a sliver of light, barely perceptible by Darcy’s room, but hard to miss as Lydia silently followed Caroline into the dark. One door stood slightly ajar, and candlelight had spilled through. There was just enough to illuminate Miss Bingley’s confused face when she stopped in front of the door. Lydia figured out that this room was supposed to be empty.
Of course, ithadto be empty. Lydia’s room was not far from here, and she had never seen the door open, nor heard any sounds from the room beyond it. She knew that it was Miss Darcy’s room: a young lady her own age, who was taking the waters in Bath. Elizabeth had sternly told Lydia not to go in there, for she knew her younger sister would be curious about the room of a girl so close in age, yet so dissimilar incircumstances, to her own. Lydia had obeyed, but the location of the forbidden room had been etched upon her mind in stone.
Perhaps it was some servants getting up to mischief in a room which they knew was empty.
Caroline presumably had a similar thought, for she raised her chin in the air and pushed the door open. “Who is in here? Show yourself!”
There was no answer. Lydia watched Caroline’s eyes narrow and for a moment recognised indecision on the woman’s face. Then the older woman squared her shoulders and marched through the door.
Guard, protector, mistress - however she defined her status in Pemberley, Caroline was sure of one thing: she had everyrightto investigate.
Lydia, inching closer, heard a strangled cry. Her stomach dropped like a stone. For a second her knees were too weak to hold her, and she sagged against the wall. Then her courage returned and she ran. Bursting into the room, she saw that Caroline had her hand pressed to her mouth. The other woman was as white as a sheet and breathing so heavily that her ridiculous silk dress seemed likely to burst at the bodice. Muffled by her fingers, her squawks of surprise whistled like a whimpering puppy.
Caroline was staring at the bed. It was hard to make anything out in the dim firelight, and at first Lydia wondered if Miss Bingley had just stubbed her toe or turned her ankle. Surely the huge bed only held a few blankets?
But then she saw the hand.
Was it a hand?Couldit be a hand? It was so still and skeletal that Lydia dazedly wondered if it was a pile of twigs. Then shesaw that head that the hand rested beside and swallowed hard. Long, wavy hair covered the pillow and a white face emerged from it, like a skull rising from the slimy weeds of a blackened bog. A faint rattle came from the gaping mouth. Catching the red firelight, two huge dark eyes looked out in accusing fury.
Lydia cried out and stepped backwards. Her knees buckled once more, and she fell to the ground.
“Miss Bennet.” a hand reached down and pulled her sharply upright. “Lovely to see you, my dear. I see that you were following me yet again.”
“I’m not the one creeping through the corridors!”
Caroline sighed. Her aloof attitude was clearly an act. Lydia could see a clammy sheen on the woman’s forehead. In the firelight it looked like marmalade.
Marmalade! What a comparison! As the thought struck her, Lydia’s keen love of absurdities saved her. She felt a single, dry shudder run through her body. It thrummed in her belly and her bones once, like a tolling bell, and then her terror passed.
“Do you know who that is?” she whispered.
Caroline nodded. A look of clinical curiosity came over her as she walked up to the bed.
“Yes.” she said, staring into the woman’s bulging eyes with the detachment of someone seeing a rat in a trap, “It is Georgiana Darcy.”
