Chapter 10
Ten
In Which Lizzie Makes a Midnight Discovery
Lizzie and Charlotte’s foray into the forbidden east wing of Netherfield Park put an end to their short-lived (and probably
ill-advised) treasure hunt. No one had turned up much of anything, anyway: Caroline had grown bored of the picture gallery
after half an hour, Kitty and Lydia and Mrs. Bennet had prowled around the ballroom, billiards room, and the drawing rooms
and found nothing of note, and when questioned, Bingley sheepishly admitted to half-heartedly searching the library and study
before giving up as well. It seemed that Lizzie and Charlotte were the only ones to have found anything interesting, and that
something interesting had nearly gotten Lizzie killed.
Bingley and Jane were horrified when Charlotte and Lizzie recounted their discovery of the servants’ passage, and their entrapment within the dark hallways.
Lizzie had even led them to the back corridor to show them the secret door and how they’d gotten trapped, but when they’d arrived, Lizzie was perplexed to find the door swung open easily.
She even stepped within the passageway and closed the door after her to see whether it stuck, but she was able to open it without issue.
“It must have been panic,” Bingley told her when she opened the door, bewildered. “You were in the dark, so you weren’t able
to get the door to unlatch.”
If he had been anyone else, Lizzie would have informed him that she’d been held at gunpoint, chased by various villains, and
been caught in a number of dangerous locales that she was not meant to be in, and she’d never panicked. But since he was Bingley,
and he meant no harm, she bit her lip and just shook her head at the door.
It had been jammed. Or locked. It hadn’t opened for them. And now it was open.
Which begged the question: Had someone closed the door after them, forcing them to forge ahead to the east wing?
But who? And why?
After baths for Lizzie, Charlotte, and Guy, the rest of the day passed with little excitement and much fussing over Lizzie’s
scraped leg and torn dress. By the time it was late enough to retire, she was actually glad to say her good-nights and whisk
Guy upstairs with her, where the featherdown bed awaited her. She undressed without calling for Agnes, leaving her clothes
tossed over the wardrobe door, and pulled on a nightdress and fell into bed. Guy pressed his small, warm body alongside the
back of her legs, and within seconds Lizzie was drifting away.
Lizzie startled awake suddenly some hours later. She wasn’t certain what had awoken her, and the unfamiliar bed and utter darkness of the room were disorienting. She lay very still, straining for any sound or hint at what could have roused her, her body coming to full alertness.
She heard nothing for what felt like an impossibly long time, and then she realized she could no longer feel Guy curled against
her legs, as was his habit each night. His absence made her heartbeat slam even harder, and then she heard a small, snuffling
sound, followed by a piteous whine.
“Guy?” Lizzie whispered, sitting up. Heavens, it was dark. Had she left the drapes closed tightly against the night, or had
Agnes come in after she’d fallen asleep to draw them? The idea of someone, even a lady’s maid, coming into the room while
she slept made her uneasy.
Guy whined once more, and Lizzie threw back the covers, wincing as she bent her right knee. It was bruised and sore and boasted
a few scrapes, but it held her weight and was only a little stiff. Feeling her way around the room, she managed to make it
to a window, where she drew back one heavy velvet panel. It was as she suspected—still the dead of night, but clear, and she
could see a waxing gibbous moon and a field of sparkling stars in the sky. She turned into her dark bedroom and made her way
to the door, where she could make out the pale shape of Guy. His eyes glinted in the scant light, and she knew he was looking
up at her expectantly. Lizzie groaned. “You have to go out? Can’t it wait till morning?”
Guy’s whine informed her that it could not.
She sighed, knowing better than to tempt fate. The last thing she needed was for Guy to ruin the carpet and give Mrs. Bennet more ammunition for her argument that the dog was ill-mannered. It would not be fair to him. Or to Jane’s carpet.
Lizzie managed to find her dressing gown and slippers in the dark, and she fumbled for Guy’s leash. She eased the bedroom
door open and peeked out into the hall. It was dark and shadowy, but there was a bit of moonlight illuminating the space.
Not wanting Guy to run off, she picked up the dog and carried him down the hall, walking carefully so as not to wake anyone.
They made it down the stairs and across the marbled hall straight for the door. It took Lizzie a moment to figure out how
to unlock it, and then she carefully slipped out into the night.
She took Guy down the steps and to the left, where the drive curved toward the stables. The last thing she needed was for
her dog to make a mess on the pristine front lawn for some poor gardener to discover in the morning. “Come along, Guy,” Lizzie
whispered, shivering in the cool night. “The quicker you see to business, the quicker we can be back to bed.”
Unfortunately for Lizzie, Guy was rather picky when it came to the exact spot in which he deigned to relieve himself. In London,
she always attributed his reluctance to the fact that he had very little nature that hadn’t been trod on by at least a hundred
other souls to sniff out. But here they were, out in the countryside, surrounded by plenty of barely touched green, and her
dog was still taking his sweet time.
Lizzie sighed and drew her dressing gown around her even tighter.
She stood there long enough to grow chilled and to feel the weight of sleep drag on her, but finally Guy saw to his business. Lizzie sighed in relief and patted him on the head. “Good boy,” she told him. “I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time about coming out at night. Let’s get back to bed.”
But when she turned to face the house, something caught her eye. She stopped. Watched.
Candlelight flickered in the windows on the first floor. It was not very strong, but this late at night, with nothing to light
up the countryside but the moon and stars, it was starkly noticeable. It was a single candle, if Lizzie had to guess, and
it seemed to be bobbing ever so slightly, as if someone were carrying it from room to room. Lizzie tilted her head back and
squinted into the darkness, and then realization cut through her exhaustion.
Someone was in the east wing.
She watched, even as questions flooded through her. Who would be on the first floor of the east wing after Lizzie had very
nearly fallen to her death just that afternoon? And why were they there in the middle of the night?
She tried to recall her own walk through the wing. Were they walking the halls, or in one of the many rooms that overlooked
the forest? Finally, one window seemed to grow brighter and the movement stopped. Whoever was there had paused. Lizzie counted
the shining black windows—it was the fifth window from the southeast corner.
Suddenly, Guy let out a single high-pitched bark—his Let’s move along now, if you please bark. Lizzie jumped, and then looked down at her dog, who was looking up at her impatiently. He barked once more.
“Shh!” She picked up the dog, startling him into silence, and dodged behind a row of nearby hedges. In the daylight, she surely
wouldn’t have been able to hide from whoever was positioned in a first-floor window—their vantage point would be too great.
But she hoped that the darkness would prove to be her friend, and that whoever it was would not be able to pick her out of
the shadows if she was mostly obscured.
“Good boy, Guy,” Lizzie whispered as she petted the dog. “That’s a very good boy. Be quiet for me, hmm?”
Guy let out a very ungentlemanly grunt and settled happily in her arms. She whispered to him a moment more, then she dared
to peek up, carefully lifting her face.
The candle flickered in full view of the fifth window on the first floor, and a figure stood framed in the glass, looking
down. For a fleeting moment, Lizzie wondered whether she was hiding from the ghost of Honoria Bingley. Then she got ahold
of herself.
This was no ghost. It was a woman.
Lizzie had a hard time making out her face, but she was reasonably certain she hadn’t been spotted—the woman seemed to be looking left and right, as if searching for the source of the noise.
Lizzie strained her eyes, trying to make out more detail.
The woman’s hair was tied back, but her figure was cast in shadow, and it was impossible to discern features from this distance and in such poor light until .
. . the woman turned away, and candlelight glinted off her white-gold hair.
Lizzie gasped. It was Sally.
Sally moved quickly, not lingering. The light retreated and then appeared again in the sixth window, although this time not
as bright—she wasn’t as near to the window. After a moment, the candlelight withdrew again and bobbed into the seventh window,
then the eighth. She was moving away, toward the back of the house.
Lizzie stood and jogged back to the front door. It swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges, and Lizzie shut and locked it
behind her. Scarcely daring to breathe, she ran up the stairs, still carrying a squirming Guy. She hesitated a brief moment
at the top of the stairs, and then crept very softly to the door to the east wing. With a shaking hand she reached for the
knob and ever-so-gently tried to turn it.
Locked.
For a moment she wondered if she’d imagined it all—but no. As Lizzie had discovered, there was more than one way into the
east wing. But why was Sally there in the dark? Surely that was madness.