Chapter 50 Cause for Complaint #3
“It did not,” Darcy said. “He offered to take her home, and she accepted. Once she was inside the carriage, he gave her his greatcoat because she was still shivering.”
Elizabeth settled more comfortably into her chair. “He was a gentleman. He could hardly have left her beside the road.”
“Precisely.”
Darcy continued. “The young woman directed his coachman to a house some distance from the road. When they arrived, she thanked the gentleman and tried to return his coat, but he insisted that she keep it until he passed that way again. He watched her cross to the house and enter before continuing his journey.”
“Then she was real,” Kitty said.
Darcy ignored the remark.
“Several days later, the gentleman returned by the same road. Remembering the young woman, he stopped at the house to inquire after her and retrieve his coat.”
Kitty leaned forward.
“An elderly man answered the door. The traveler gave the young woman's name and asked whether she had recovered from her exposure to the cold.”
Darcy paused.
“The old man told him that no young woman of that name lived there.”
Kitty's eyes widened.
“The traveler insisted there must be some mistake. He explained that he had brought her to the house himself only a few nights before and had watched her enter. He became concerned that she had fallen ill and that the old gentleman was attempting to conceal it from him.”
“What did the old man say?” Georgiana asked.
“He told the traveler that the young woman had been his daughter.”
Darcy allowed a moment to pass before continuing.
“She had died twenty years before, on the same night of the year upon which the traveler claimed to have brought her home.”
Kitty drew closer to Georgiana.
“The traveler refused to believe him. At last, the old gentleman told him to follow. He led him behind the house to the family burial ground and stopped before a gravestone bearing his daughter's name. The date of her death was exactly as he had said.”
“But what of the coat?” Bingley asked.
Darcy looked at him.
“Folded neatly at the foot of the gravestone was the traveler's greatcoat.”
Kitty caught Georgiana's hand.
Bingley laughed. “Darcy, you have made my task considerably more difficult.”
“You insisted that I begin.”
“I did, and I already regret it.”
Kitty looked toward Bingley. “You promised us a story.”
“So I did.” He settled into his chair. “Mine concerns a house where, shortly after midnight, a coach could sometimes be heard coming up the drive.”
“A ghostly coach?” Kitty asked.
“If you interrupt me before I have begun, Miss Kitty, my coach may never arrive.”
She promised to be silent, although her expression suggested that the promise would not last long.
“The family had heard the story for years. On certain nights, horses approached the house at a gallop. The wheels could be heard upon the gravel, and then the coach stopped before the front door. Whenever a servant was brave enough to look outside, there was nothing there.”
“Did they all hear it?” Mary asked.
“Those who were awake did. One guest, who considered the entire story nonsense, announced that if the coach came during his visit, he would look at it himself.”
“That is always a mistake,” Elizabeth said.
Bingley smiled. “So, you may think. Shortly after midnight, the household heard horses upon the drive. The sound grew louder until the coach appeared to stop directly before the house.”
He glanced around his audience.
“The gentleman went upstairs to a window overlooking the entrance. His friends remained below and called up to ask whether he could see anything.”
“And could he?” Kitty asked.
“He could. There was a black coach standing before the house.”
Georgiana looked at her brother, then returned her attention to Bingley.
“Someone asked whether there was a coachman. The gentleman answered that the box was empty.”
Kitty and Georgiana held hands.
“Then he stopped speaking. His friends called to him, but he did not answer. One of them finally went upstairs and found him still standing at the window, staring down at the coach.”
Bingley lowered his voice.
“The coach door had opened.”
Kitty waited.
“And then?”
“Every sound ceased.”
Bingley spread his hands. “When they finally opened the front door, there was no coach, no horses, and no visitor. There was only the empty drive.”
Kitty looked disappointed. “Mr. Darcy's was better.”
The room broke into laughter.
“I have been treated very badly,” Bingley said. “I provide a ghostly coach and am insulted for my trouble.”
“You should have put a coat on the doorstep,” Elizabeth said.
“Next time I shall.”
Kitty looked toward her father. “Papa, it is your turn.”
Mr. Bennet regarded the expectant faces around him. “I fear I cannot improve upon a dead woman returning a gentleman's coat.”
“You promised,” Kitty reminded him.
“Mr. Bingley promised for me, which is not quite the same thing.”
“But you did not refuse.”
Mr. Bennet conceded the point. “Very well. Mine has one advantage over the others. It concerns a gentleman who actually lived, and the story was being told throughout England within months of his death.”
That immediately silenced Kitty.
“His name was Thomas, Lord Lyttelton.”
Even Caroline looked up from her embroidery.
“One morning Lord Lyttelton told his companions that he had received a most unwelcome visitor during the night. A bird had entered his room and changed before his eyes into a woman dressed in white. She warned him to prepare for death because he had only three days to live.”
“Did he believe her?” Kitty asked.
“No. He spoke of the apparition, laughed about the prediction, and continued much as before.”
Mr. Bennet looked around the circle.
“As the appointed night approached, however, his friends became less inclined to laugh. They remained with him while the hour drew near, watching the clock and waiting to see whether the prediction would be fulfilled.”
Georgiana said, “I would not have watched the clock.”
“A sensible decision, Miss Darcy, but then we should have very little story.”
She smiled.
“The expected hour arrived and passed. Lord Lyttelton was alive and well, and his friends congratulated him on having survived his ghost. The company relaxed, and eventually he retired.”
Mr. Bennet paused.
“Before the night was over, Lord Lyttelton was dead.”
For a moment no one spoke.
Kitty looked from her father to Darcy. “That truly happened?”
“Lord Lyttelton certainly lived, and he certainly died. Whether a woman in white informed him of the matter beforehand is something you must decide for yourself.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
Georgiana laughed, and the others soon joined her.
The ghost stories continued to occupy them long after the last tale had ended. Kitty maintained that Darcy had won, while Bingley objected that no competition had been announced until after his defeat.