“Then…what?”
“I do not know. By the time Jameson and I looked at each other and mimed turning the key in the lock, and I finally went to the door, unlocked it, and looked out, nobody was in the corridor. But we both heard exactly the same thing. I was not dreaming.”
Bingley felt skeptical. If he could just understand a motive that made sense, maybe he would believe it. But…as it was, it seemed quite incredible.
“Could she suspect that I have a journal in my room?” Darcy mused. “Documents and papers, letters, perhaps?”
Bingley said, “It makes no sense. If she was going to try to compromise you, she would wish me awake, not drunk, so I could see whatever evidence she had contrived. And if she wished to steal something from you, I still do not know why she would wantmeout of play, since I would be the last person to notice her creeping about with thievery on her mind.”
“Perhaps we should ask her. She usually comes down around this time; let us go see what she has to say for herself.”
Bingley shuddered. He truly hated confrontation.
But Darcy’s idea was sound. He had no reasonnotto ask his sister some tough questions, other than cowardice.
And Jane—Miss Bennet, that is—deserved a husband who was not a coward. He squared his shoulders and said, “Actually, I will send for her to come here, if you do not mind.”
Darcy nodded but then asked, with concern, “Do you need food? I have already eaten.”
Lest his stomach heave again, Bingley lifted a hand to halt Darcy’s words. “I have had some dry toast, courtesy of Martin, and I believe that is all I can handle at the moment.”
Darcy unlocked the door, Bingley rang for attendance, and within the quarter hour, Caroline was seated before Bingley, with Darcy seated to one side. She did not look at all anxious, and she was believably concerned-looking. Bingley was relieved, thinking that she truly could have nothing to do with whatever had happened. It must have been tainted food, after all.
“Charles, how are you?” she asked.
“I am much better, thank you. I wish you to tell me all you know of my own movements and actions last night. Pray,start with the moment Darcy went upstairs as I watched, and you asked if he had retired to bed the moment he entered the house.”
Caroline nodded, her hands folded together calmly, her face composed. “You simply explained that Mr Darcy had had a difficult day—I believe you used the wordbrutal—and you seemed to be quite upset yourself. I felt bad for complaining about Mr Darcy’s unsociability if something so upsetting happened that day, and I walked with you to your study, poured you a small glass of brandy, and sat with you by the fire, listening to you speaking about your feelings.”
Darcy spoke, and Bingley, not expecting it, startled a bit. “Did your brother narrate the events that were so upsetting, Miss Bingley?”
“No, he explained that he did not know the full truth and that people could be hurt if he explained what little he did know.”
Bingley nodded, feeling a bit huffy. There was no reason for Darcy to pose that question, since he himself had already explained this to his friend, using quite similar words. “Then what do you remember, Caroline?” Bingley asked.
“Well, of course, I got up and left, but you had said you would come to see Louisa and I in the drawing room before you went to bed, and you never came. Eventually, I went back to the study, and I found you insensible and the brandy bottle empty. I feel terribly guilty for leaving you alone, but I had not the smallest notion that you would drink more than the small glass I had poured for you.”
Bingley, of course, did not remember Caroline leaving, let alone him drinking more and more. He was not a person who had ever drunk so much that he could not remember, and it seemed unlikely that he would have done so last night. He wanted to shake his head in an attempt to remember, but he wascertain that such a move would bring more pain than additional memories.
He was about to dismiss Caroline when Darcy’s voice rose again, “What time did you leave your brother, Miss Bingley?”
“I suppose it was half past eight. We did not speak very long.”
“And what time was it when you went back to the study?”
“I know that it was exactly half past ten, because I had been watching the clock and worrying about Charles.”
Darcy nodded, and Caroline rose, apparently certain that they were done with their questions, but Darcy asked another: “What was your goal when you attempted to enter my bedchamber at midnight?”
Charles watched the colour drain out of his sister’s face. “Enter your bedchamber?” she asked. Her voice had reached another, higher register—and Bingley did not blame her one bit. She continued, “Why on earth would you suggest that I would do such a thing?”
Darcy said, “I keep my door locked at night, and my valet and I both heard the door thunk as someone tried to open it, and then it shook a little. We discovered that it was you who made the attempt, and I am merely asking you what your goal was for such an incursion.”
“I did not—Did you—? I have no idea why you would think it was me. If there even was someone at your door! After your upsetting day, perhaps you had an upsetting dream.”
“And my valet had the same dream? No, Miss Bingley. It was not a dream, and we saw you. Please explain to your brother and me what you hoped to accomplish.”
Bingley stared at Darcy, displeased at his lie, but Caroline blushed, and she said, “I must be a sleepwalker. ”
