Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
D ing .
Elizabeth’s eyes flew open instantly, as if she were awaiting a signal to wake. She sat up in her bed, the sheets sliding free of her shoulders and pooling about her hips. Darcy grumbled a protest in his sleep, but she had no attention to spare for him. Her gaze went immediately to the open doorway, where a visitor loomed.
Her breath fogged in the chill air as she welcomed her otherworldly guest. “Good evening.”
The pale wraith smiled and nodded in return greeting. As before, Anne was garbed in a simple nightgown, her hair cascading down her back, and her incandescence chased away the darkest shadows. She might have been a candle in the night, or perhaps a waxing moon.
“I suppose you have come to pass on your message?”
Yes .
“Are you yet able to speak? Or write? ”
A frown. No .
Elizabeth could feel frustration radiating from Anne every bit as much as the eerie glow she cast. She pitied the poor woman, taken so soon and beset by unfinished business. She felt entirely helpless. “I should like to help you, but I do not know how.”
Anne turned as if to leave but paused at the threshold. She lifted her hand and beckoned Elizabeth with a crooked finger.
“You wish me to come with you?”
Yes .
Her last dream had cut itself abruptly short when she had attempted to follow Anne from the room, but perhaps tonight would be different. If not, she was willing to try again and again until they met with success, so dearly did she wish to aid this wandering spirit and to sate her curiosity. Regardless of her motives, Elizabeth again sensed no danger in the escapade—and even if there was, it was naught but a dream, and she would necessarily wake, unharmed.
Sliding free of the sheets and Darcy’s clinging arm, Elizabeth donned her robe. Anne smiled softly before turning and gliding from the room and into the corridor. Swallowing down her trepidation—’ tis only a dream —Elizabeth followed in her wake.
The corridor looked almost exactly as it was meant to, with red walls, numerous white doors, and a coterie of knights standing guard in their alcoves. The only difference Elizabeth could discern was that these knights had taken a more aggressive stance, with their swords pointed up and out, forming an arch of gleaming metal over the hall. She rather hoped that they would not be required to go that way.
Anne hovered to her immediate left, stationed in front of the double doors that concealed Lady Catherine’s chambers. On either side of them was a tall pair of elaborately wrought vases, painted red and spiderwebbed with golden cracks. They were overflowing with daffodils, which practically throbbed with light, almost to the pattern of a steady heartbeat.
At first, Elizabeth thought Anne meant to lead her into her mother’s rooms, but she turned instead to a single door immediately across the hall from where they stood. Anne floated towards it, and the door sprung open under some invisible persuasion; she disappeared inside, her hair rippling behind her like a ribbon tumbling in the wind. Elizabeth stole one final glance over her shoulder at where Darcy still slept, apparently unconscious of her doings, before taking a steadying breath and crossing the threshold herself.
She could not guess what she would behold in this strange world of ghosts and pulsating flowers, but there was nothing so terrifying inside. It was a large bedroom done up in soft pinks and whites, the domain of a young lady. The bed coverings were all ivory, the hangings a dusky rose, and the window bench—a mirror image of the one in the chamber she shared with Darcy—was upholstered in the same fabrics. On the table beside the bed was a small pile of books and a silver bell with a handle; Elizabeth imagined it was intended to call forth a servant without getting up. The fireplace, also familiar in structure, was a pale castle set into one wall. It boasted its own pair of knights standing to either side, bearing banners with a familiar image of a chalice overflowing with white and pink flowers.
Belatedly, Elizabeth realised where they were. “Is this your bedchamber?”
Yes .
Anne crossed the room and made directly for the window. She raised both hands and, like the hall door, it swung open under the inducement of some mysterious force. Anne climbed upon the bench and waved Elizabeth closer, indicating with the point of her finger that they were to decamp through there.
Elizabeth swallowed uneasily. “You mean to jump from the window?”
Yes .
“I am liable to fall and become injured.”
No .
“Yes, I assure you that will be the case should I leap from this height.”
Anne shook her head, irritated, then proceeded to climb through the window. She dropped from sight like a stone.
Elizabeth raced to the opening, not entirely certain what she expected to see through it, and leant against the casing to peer out. She was taken aback to find the last scene she had expected. Rather than finding a crumpled body at the base of the decaying courtyard fountain, Anne waited patiently in the centre of the circular room at the top of her woodland tower, surrounded by dusty furnishings and dappled by colourful petals of moonlight. She beckoned Elizabeth forwards with a knowing smile.
“Of course, this is a dream,” Elizabeth said, eyes darting about to take in the scene. “I had nearly forgotten. Forgive me for doubting you.”
Anne smiled and beckoned again, encouraging her to climb through the window into the unfathomable setting she now inhabited.
Her hesitation banished, Elizabeth clambered onto the bench. Bracing herself against the casement, she leapt through it and landed with nary a thud on the plush circular carpet inside the tower.
She looked behind her and found the window to Anne’s bedchamber transformed into the large round one unique to the tower. Elizabeth approached it and peered out but could see no sign of the room she had come from. In fact, the manor house of Rosings was not visible—all she could discern were trees and the thick carpet of blooming anemone on the woodland floor.
“Simply marvellous,” she said, exhaling it on a breath infused with wonder.
Ding .
Elizabeth’s attention was recalled to Anne at the chiming toll, though she could not say from whence it came. She did not worry about such trifles after all she had already experienced this night.
Anne stood—hovered?—beside her rosewood desk, the delicate tips of her fingers resting upon its surface. She stared at Elizabeth with intent.
“You wish for me to look in the desk?”
Anne’s eyes gleamed a potent silver, and the desk drawer slid open of its own accord.
Elizabeth strode forwards eagerly. Whatever Anne was presenting to her notice must be the key to why she had sought aid, the answer to the mystery of why she had strayed from the grave. What could it be? A letter? A lost token? Her misplaced will? If the latter, Darcy would be so pleased.
Before she could so much as peek inside, the tower room broke apart and scattered like flower petals on the wind.