"I have never experienced anything remotely like them. But yesterday I saw something more. A figure, well four of them actually, that simply appeared out of air."
"The ghosts. I see them frequently. They seem to only appear when one is in great pain and has been drained by the shadows."
"That would account for yesterday," said Lizzy with a hint of a smile. She had already spoken to Miss de Bourgh about the twisted ankle, although she had not described the scene in the drawing room. The wrappings helped and Lizzy could walk with only minor pain. "But ghosts, Miss de Bourgh? No reasonable person believes in ghosts."
"We are not reasonable people, Miss Bennet, not here. And you will find ghosts aplenty at Rosings Park."
"Why have I never seen them anywhere else?" Lizzy asked in confusion.
"I only know what my former nurse, Mrs. Jenkinson told me. They gather where there is darkness; darkness of spirit, darkness of thought. The darkness feeds them until they can be seen. This house is filled with misery and darkness, so it is also filled with hungry shadows and ghosts. I do not know why it is that pain makes the ghosts visible, but that has been my experience. I have felt much pain in the eleven years since that first fever and I have only seen the ghosts when pain and exhaustion combine."
"I know the shadows feed on our negative emotions. Do the ghosts harm you?" Lizzy asked, concerned for them both.
"Not that I can tell," Miss de Bourgh answered seriously. "They appear, but do not seem conscious or able to move. I do not know who or what they were except by the clues in the styles of their clothing. When I was young, when my father was alive, the shadows were never so strong, and the ghosts did not appear to me. I think my mother brought them here and somehow she has made them stronger over the years."
"The shadows are part of what keeps you ill. I see how they gather around you. This room is filled with them."
"I try to pay them no mind. They take less from me if I pretend that they are not there." Miss de Bourgh said with a weary smile.
"Then we will speak of them no more," Lizzy said in her best teasing voice. "With what subject may I regale you instead?"
"Let us speak about sisters. I have often wondered what it would be like to have a sister. With four you must have many stories to tell."
"Sisters are certainly a subject on which I might have much to say," Lizzy admitted, keeping her tone bright and cheerful.
Once again Lizzy had to put aside her hurt feelings about her family, keeping to the pleasures of the past. She concentrated on the good memories, sharing tales from when the five Bennet girls were still in the schoolroom. Soon she had Miss de Bourgh quietly laughing over their childhood antics. The shadows retreated and Lizzy was satisfied.
~o~
With her ankle still healing Lizzy chose not to walk the upper hallways the next day. Still, she found the need for some time away from her room between the dreaded summons from Lady Catherine and the anticipated one from Miss de Bourgh. On that first day at Rosings, Ellen had told her they could visit the kitchen garden. Lizzy had poked her head out a few times, but someone always seemed to be there taking the air or tending the plants. When she walked outside, she wanted solitude. Now she decided it was worth having company if she could just get a change of scene.
Lady Catherine had interrupted Lizzy's breakfast and Miss de Bourgh tended not to send for her until the afternoon, so Lizzy decided she might venture a short excursion outside in the mid-morning air. She took herself down to the kitchen, doing her best not to disturb anyone working there. While not attempting to hide her destination she also did not advertise it. She gave anyone who noticed her a polite nod but said nothing.
The day was gray and cloudy although it did not currently threaten rain. Lizzy pulled her shawl about her for warmth and stepped outside. Despite being early June, the weather was unusually cold. Being careful of her footing Lizzy walked the perimeter of the garden hoping to find a bench or a quiet alcove where she could enjoy a few peaceful moments to herself. There were a few people weeding the growing vegetables, but no one bothered her or paid her any mind.
Near the wall of the house and well away from the door she found a promising spot. The kitchen garden was bounded by tall, meticulously clipped hedges that formed an undulating wall to separate the pedestrian vegetables from the formal flower gardens. A slight gap opened where one of the evergreen bushes had partially died. Through it, Lizzy saw a small triangular space in the hedge right up against one wall of the building. A quick glance around satisfied her that no one was looking, and she slipped inside.
Sitting so close to the wall of the house that they almost seemed grow from its stones were two great stone lions with mouths wide open in a cavernous roar. Between them, also butted closely up against the wall, sat a stone bench. The rest of the tiny area was paved, but tall weeds grew between the stones making it look lonely and forgotten.
After sweeping some debris from the bench with her hand, Lizzy sat to rest her throbbing ankle, leaning her back and head against the time-worn stones of the wall. She liked being completely out of sight. The wall against which she leaned was an odd short corner on one of the wings and had no windows above it. The height of the hedge made it unlikely anyone would see her from any window in the house, or at least that is what she hoped. Lizzy sat and listened to the sound of birds in the hedge and the rattle of leaves in the slight breeze that did not enter her tiny corner space. She was so far from the kitchen door she could not hear the sounds of any person speaking or walking about.
For the first time since her arrival Lizzy felt free of the clinging shadows. She took in the feeling of peace and tried to store it in her heart to keep her strong when she returned. She thought about her plan to help Miss de Bourgh improve her health and somehow escape with her to a place where they could live happily. At least, she assumed Miss de Bourgh would accept her as a companion once they were free of Rosings. At any rate, they would need to have some idea of where they were headed before they left. Perhaps Miss de Bourgh knew of a place. Anywhere Lizzy might have belonged in the past would not work now.
Hardly knowing what prompted her, Lizzy began to softly sing an old folk song she had learned from her Aunt Gardiner. The tune was in a minor key that fit the story of a lost traveler trying to find his way back to his childhood home through great adversity. She faltered a little when a smooth baritone voice joined in on the first refrain but recovered and sang the rest with her new accompaniment.
After the last note trailed off, she heard the man's voice softly say, "My mother learned that song at my father's request. It comes from my home neighborhood. I sang it along with her as a child. It has been many years since I heard it last, but still I remember."
The voice sounded almost in her ear and simply seemed to come from the air around her. Lizzy could see no place where a person might hide in this small courtyard. She looked all around but the sound had definitely not come from beyond the hedges to either side of her. She was alone in this spot.
Perhaps without her earlier experiences Lizzy might have been frightened or denied the possibility. Not so now. She had seen ghosts. Now she must be hearing one. She thought it would be rude not to answer.
"My aunt taught me that song. She learned it in her childhood."
"So you speak as well as sing. Please stay and talk with me. I have been so lonely."
"I only have a short time before I must return. Are you often here.”?
"I am always here," said the man's voice sadly. "I cannot leave."
Lizzy felt sorry for the spirit who clearly knew he was trapped. How sad to be caught in this house of dark things. He did not sound dangerous or evil. There should be no harm in speaking as long she did not reveal too much. Some instinct told her not to fear. She would trust that instinct.
"I may leave," she said, "but I have nowhere else to go. It seems we are both trapped in the darkness here in one way or another. I will return and speak with you again."
"I lo
ok forward to it," he said softly. She heard him finish softly. "I can look forward to so little else. A voice in the darkness must be my solace."
"Fare you well," she said and slipped away. It was time to return to her room and hope no one had noticed she had strayed slightly beyond the borders of the kitchen garden. She had already determined to keep the encounter to herself. There was no point taking a chance one of Miss de Bourgh's attendants might hear about it and betray her to Lady Catherine.
Favoring her injured ankle slightly, Lizzy returned to the house and all the shadows that lurked within.
Chapter 8: The Prisoner
Fitzwilliam Darcy knew about the ghosts and shadows of Rosings Park. He had first encountered them as a boy, but no one believed him when he tried to speak of them. "No rational person believes in ghosts" he was told. In all other things Fitzwilliam Darcy was rational, but he believed in ghosts. He had seen them.
The hungry shadows had not been as apparent to him as a child, but they grew more and more obvious with each visit as an adult. Fitzwilliam, or William as he preferred to be called, discovered how they fed off his anger. As Lizzy had, he learned to calm himself with deep breaths and peaceful thoughts. Lady Catherine had mastered the ability to annoy with her dictatorial manner and unreasonable demands, but he countered by mastering his response. He learned the power of remaining calm.
It was not enough to wear the impassive face he used in society. The shadows and his aunt saw beneath the mask. He had to master the impulse to feel anger or other negative emotions when he visited Rosings. For the most part, he succeeded.
Now, though, he was having trouble mastering not only anger but fear and despair. His aunt had done the unexpected and he had not been prepared. It seemed that he must pay a heavy price for his lack of foresight.
For years, Lady Catherine had insisted he would marry his cousin, Anne. He insisted he would not. He loved his cousin, but he could not bring himself to marry her. Even if he could think of her as a wife rather than a cousin, she was not strong enough to be mistress of his estate or bear him an heir. He knew part of her weakness came from staying at Rosings where the shadows would make her pain and illness worse, but he did not think marriage to him was the answer to her problems. There were so many other ways her health could be improved. Above all, he wanted a wife who could inspire love and passion, not pity.
It became a yearly battle as he visited each spring to balance the books, tour the estate to fix problems and make any new contracts Rosings required. He came for Anne, to ensure her inheritance did not fall into disrepair. It was for her sake he put up with his aunt's bullying and demands. He did care. He would simply not marry her, not even to save her from her mother. And when Anne told him she had no desire to marry him either, William knew he could not give in.
Aside from a few attempted compromises for which he had been fully prepared, the battles with Lady Catherine had always been verbal. She insisted. She demanded. She threatened. It was all talk and as long as he kept an eye out for compromising situations and kept his door locked, he could endure talk.
He had kept his door locked. He had brought his own servants to tend him and watch his back. They had done so. He had not expected her to drug the tea he called for while finishing up his review in the study. Nor had he expected her to lock him in the dungeon. In fact, William had not even realized Rosings Park boasted a dungeon. However, once he got over being ill from the drug, it did not surprise him. He had simply not expected it.
Had his servants known? He doubted any were under her control. If they had not known, he wondered what story she gave for his absence. She may have just sent them off or possibly they were imprisoned somewhere as well. He asked his aunt during one of her visits.
"You will find out when you agree to marry Anne," she had said with that faint smile that indicated she was gloating. Lady Catherine had the upper hand this time and clearly enjoyed the situation.
"I will not marry her," he had responded firmly.
"Then you will be here for a very long time," she said before walking away, lantern in hand, and leaving him in the darkness.
It was the darkness that got to him and made him fearful. Not of what might be there, but of what he might find when he finally made it out of this prison. He would make it out - William was determined on that point. He was just not sure how or when. He needed to be free to care for his sister, the only remaining member of his immediate family. His cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, shared guardianship of Georgiana but he was currently on the continent fighting Napoleon's forces. William feared Georgiana would be left unprotected if his imprisonment continued. Even more he feared Lady Catherine might somehow trap his sister as well and use her as a bargaining chip.
He often wondered how much time had passed since he had been imprisoned. A servant brought him food and water at intervals, taking away the waste bucket and replacing it with another by use of a small door fixed into the bars that blocked his escape. William did not know how long he waited between each meal but judging by the strength of his hunger each the time the man arrived, he was probably fed no more than once daily. Knowing his aunt, the schedule varied. She liked to throw people off that way. Her servant never spoke. In fact, William was not even sure the man could speak but he still welcomed even the silent company since the brief visit included the light from the lantern the man carried.
William missed the light, all forms of light. He dreamed of candles and lamps. Most of all he dreamed of the sun. When he was home, at Pemberley, he would often rise before dawn and watch the sun crest over the ridge casting glittering gold reflections in the lake beyond the formal garden. He enjoyed that moment when the sunlight began to warm the world. Now he missed it desperately, along with the light of each day.
Thinking of the sunrise also reminded him of his usual morning activities. He was an active man, one used to riding, fencing and other physical pursuits. His only exercise now was to pace 5 steps forward, 5 steps back. That was the furthest he could safely go in the darkened cell as he was careful to avoid hitting the walls and the barred door or accidentally knocking over the waste bucket. The latter would be worse than hitting a wall, as he knew the mess would not be cleaned up and he would have to live with the smell constantly instead of just when the lidded bucket was used.
Equally demoralizing was his physical condition. William valued cleanliness in body and dress. Yet here he stood unshaven, unwashed, with no change of clothes from those he had been wearing that day in the study. His chin itched under the thick growth of beard that told him more than two months had gone by. Months!
What must Georgiana think at not having heard from her brother in more than two months? He hoped she was well and still at school. He had planned to find a companion for her and bring her home in July. They had even discussed the possibility of taking a house at Ramsgate or Brighton as a reward for all her hard work. Would he be home by July? Unless he gave in to Lady Catherine's demand, he did not see how he could be.
While Georgiana probably was still safe at the school, William also wondered about his estate. Things at Pemberley usually ran smoothly enough. He had a good steward who was capable of handling any ordinary problems. It was the unforeseen problems that could ruin the estate if he was not there to take charge. How were they dealing with his absence? Had Lady Catherine sent some kind of notice that he was away, or had he just disappeared from the knowledge of the outside world?
He did not know how this could be resolved. Neither he nor Anne would agree to make a match. Lady Catherine desired the marriage for her own purposes, although William was not sure what those purposes might be. Under the terms of his uncle's will his aunt had a life interest in Rosings Park whether Anne married or not. So her motive would not be having Anne married to a man who would not need to live at Rosings with his bride, or at least not completely. Many other gentlemen had estates to support them and would be perfectly happy with Anne's dowry and share of the annual income. She c
ould have found another man willing to marry his cousin for the money.
Care for her daughter could be a motive, after a fashion. William felt certain Anne's health would improve away from Rosings, but that problem could be solved by other ways than marriage to him. There was the de Bourgh townhouse in London where she could stay with her companion even if Lady Catherine chose not to leave. In fact, her companion could go with her to Bath or even just the Kent coast for a time as he had planned for Georgiana. There was no need to force her into a marriage neither one of them wanted just for her health.
Darcy could see giving in to Lady Catherine's demand if he were the only person with objections. He needed to get out of this prison and back to his responsibilities. Yet to give in was also to betray Anne's wishes and leave himself forever under Lady Catherine's control. His aunt would see to that. Either option was intolerable.
He had to stay strong. Somehow, he would find a way out of this darkness. He found the wall and began again. Five steps forward. Pray for deliverance. Turn. Five steps back. Say another prayer.
When the first notes of the song drifted around him, William thought he must have finally gone mad. The voice was clearly that of a woman, but not one he recognized. And the sound was strongest as he turned away from the barred door. Yet no one was in the cell with him.
Without thought he joined in the refrain. Surprised, he heard the singer falter slightly then recover. He would not imagine that, would he? Together they sang the remainder of the song and then there was silence for a moment.
Not quite realizing he spoke out loud he said, "My mother learned that song at my father's request. It comes from my home neighborhood. I sang it along with her as a child. It has been many years since I heard it last, but still I remember."
After a pause the woman informed him that she had learned it from her aunt. Perhaps he was a little insane and imagined the conversation, but he did not think that to be the case. This was some new kind of ghost, an auditory ghost instead of those odd images he had seen a few times before and quite different from the shadows that fed on his frustration and despair. Some instinct told him there would be no harm talking to her so long as he did not say too much. He asked her to stay and speak with him.
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