She retraced her footsteps, and was in the gallery at the top of the stairs, when a sudden stream of icy air snatched the cap from her head. The white scrap of material appeared to have developed a life of its own and spun violently towards the east wall. It skittered to a halt in front of a sumptuous velvet curtain.
Kitty ran after it and, as she bent down to retrieve it from the boards, she noticed there was a door hidden behind the curtain. Was this another entrance into the East Wing? Georgiana had not mentioned there was a way in on the first floor. Something prompted her to step behind the material and examine the door more closely.
She reached out her hand to touch the door knob and to her horror it turned beneath her fingers and the door swung inwards. Her feet were rooted to the floor but her arm was at full stretch. For some reason she could not remove her hand. If the door opened any further she would be pulled headlong into the darkness.
The lamp fell from her fingers, the glass smashed and oil spilled onto the curtain. With a hideous roar it was aflame. She was trapped. Fire behind her and darkness and danger in front. She screamed, tumbled forward and her world went black.
*
Lizzy was jolted awake and prodded her husband urgently. ‘Fitzwilliam, I am sure I heard a scream.’
He did not wait to argue but rolled smoothly out of bed, snatched a candlestick from the bedside cabinet and, in his nightshirt and bare feet, raced across the room to ignite it in the fire. ‘I shall investigate, my love, remain where you are, I do not wish you to get cold.’
Lizzy ignored him and scrambled out of bed, pushed her feet into her slippers, snatched up her negligée and rushed after him into the corridor quite forgetting to bring a candle of her own. The master suite at Pemberley overlooked the park at the rear of the house and shared a wall with the abandoned East Wing. Georgiana had her rooms on the west side and Kitty was staying in an adjacent apartment.
Fitzwilliam was standing, alert, listening and sniffing. ‘God dammit! I can smell fire. Rouse the house, Lizzy, we need water up here and we need it now. We must not take any chances.’
Together they raced down the passageway, the smell of burning becoming more pronounced as they reached the gallery. There was a sheet of flame on the east side of the space and this was being fanned by an icy blast from somewhere behind it.
She didn’t stop to investigate but hurtled down the staircase, skidded into the Great Hall and reached the dinner gong. Snatching up the padded hammer she began to bang as hard as she could and the noise boomed down the corridor. After a few minutes she rushed into the Hall and tugged at the bell-strap in the hope that someone in the servants’ quarters might hear it.
The sound of running feet approaching meant somebody had heard. Peterson appeared, his nightshirt collar visible beneath his waistcoat, followed closely by half a dozen footmen almost correctly dressed. ‘There is a fire upstairs, a curtain is alight, and Mr Darcy wants water there immediately. He said we are to rouse the house just in case the conflagration spreads.’
The words were scarcely out of her mouth before the men vanished at full pelt the way they had come. Content that she had done as she was bid she ran back through the house with the intention of waking Georgiana and Kitty and getting them to safety.
When she arrived at the gallery the fire was beginning to take hold of the panelling. Fitzwilliam had vanished but she met him returning with two chamber pots full of water and he threw the contents onto the walls. ‘Get the girls out, Lizzy, I fear the situation is deteriorating, unless we have water up here fast we could lose the house.’
His nightshirt was soot-smeared and his hair in disarray. ‘They are coming with the buckets, I shall get the girls downstairs. Take care, my love, you are not properly equipped for fighting a blaze.’
There was no need for candles as the fire lit the area like day. She dashed to Georgiana’s bedchamber and hurried in. ‘Georgiana, get up at once, there is a fire in the gallery and we must go somewhere safe,’ she yelled.
Immediately there was a response from the huddled shape in the bed. ‘I am awake, I shall be out in a moment. Wake Kitty, she will not know where to go.’
Confident the girl was alert and doing as she was bid, Lizzy raced into Kitty’s bedchamber. She saw at once she was not there, the white sheets showed an empty bed and if she was not mistaken, there was a nightgown draped across a chair.
Her heart plummeted and her throat closed. She had not imagined the scream which had woken her. Her beloved sister had been trapped by the fire. For a second she was unable to move, her mind refused to take in the enormity of the situation.
She flew back to the gallery where there was now a chain of men passing wooden pails of water up the huge staircase and across the expanse of boards to be thrown at the fire. Then the man at the head of the line raced away with the empty bucket.
The air was full of choking, damp, smoke and she could barely see. Her eyes were streaming by the time she reached Fitzwilliam. ‘Kitty is behind the curtain. We must save her.’ She was about to fling herself forward in a desperate attempt to reach the blaze but he threw his arms around her and lifted her bodily from the floor.
‘Darling, there is nothing we can do. If your sister was indeed behind that curtain then we must pray she found refuge in the East Wing. There is nothing we can do until the flames are doused.’
She struggled and attempted to wriggle free from his restraint. ‘I cannot bear to wait. How could this have happened? What was she doing wandering around so early in the morning?’
He held her tight and slowly her panic subsided. ‘Lizzy, I am almost certain she has not perished in the fire. Look, my dear, the fire is almost out, the curtain completely destroyed, and we would be able to see her remains.’
He set her back on her feet but kept his arms around her. The men continued to throw water but there were no longer flames, just smouldering wood and blackened panelling. ‘I can see broken glass, and the twisted remains of an oil lamp. Kitty must have dropped it and that was what started the blaze.’ Then something else occurred to her. ‘I thought that all the doors to the East Wing are kept locked? She cannot have gone through there – where on earth can she be?’
*
Kitty remained, stunned, on the floor unable to move. There was no light, no sound, nothing but inky blackness. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear it in her ears. She didn’t dare to move, to even attempt to sit up, it was as if ice flowed through her veins and not blood.
Several minutes dragged past before she was able to begin to think coherently. Her limbs still refused to obey her commands but her mind appeared to be functioning normally again. She sniffed and blinked a few times. She could smell no smoke, see not the slightest flicker of light from the flames and could hear none of the hideous crackling.
Surely if she was just the other side of the door then she should be able to hear or smell the fire she had caused by dropping her lamp. Too terrified to sit up, she forced her hands to inch slowly away from her. Yes – these were definitely boards beneath her fingertips.
A wave of relief washed over her. For a few seconds she had almost believed she had been pitched into hell, but she was fairly certain Satan’s domain would not have wooden boards to walk on. Emboldened by her discovery she decided to get to her feet as remaining flat on her face was both undignified and uncomfortable.
Still puzzled by the silence and blackness, but fairly sure she had somehow become trapped on the wrong side of the door, she rolled onto her back and drew her knees to her chin.
She must be facing forwards, away from the door, perhaps that was why she could not see or hear the flames. Reluctant to risk standing up when she could see nothing, she slowly pushed herself around until she was facing in the opposite direction, facing the door through which she must have fallen.
The black was as impenetrable in this direction as in the other. There was nothing for it, she would have to stand up and creep forwards, with her arms outstretche
d, until she touched the door. She closed her eyes, finding moving about in this fashion far easier than staring into total darkness. She tried to remember exactly what had happened before she found herself wherever she was.
She had gone behind the curtain, the door had opened mysteriously beneath her touch, and then she dropped the lamp. The curtain had burst into flames and she must have somehow managed to escape from the danger through the open door. Therefore she could be no more than a few steps from where she had entered. Finding her way across such a short distance would surely present no problem, even in the darkness.
The impenetrable black was unnatural, so was the silence. Her panic returned and her knees all but buckled beneath her. Perhaps if she shouted someone might hear her? She tried but her first attempt failed, her words stuck behind her teeth and refused to emerge. After a few steadying breaths she opened her mouth and screamed as loud as she could.
Icy chills flickered up and down her spine. She was quite certain she had screamed, but she’d heard nothing. Had she somehow become deaf? She put her forefinger in each ear and wriggled them vigorously and she heard the noise quite clearly inside her head.
Thoroughly alarmed, she shouted again and again for assistance, but her cries were silent. With a whimper she collapsed in a heap and buried her head in her knees praying for divine intervention. A strange whirring and rustling enveloped her and she knew nothing more.
*
Georgiana arrived at Lizzy’s side and clutched her hand. ‘What is wrong? Where is Kitty?’
Fitzwilliam put his arm around his sister and kissed the top of her head. ‘We were rather hoping you could tell us that, my dear. We believe her oil lamp started the blaze, but there’s no sign of her here. I am about to initiate a search.’
‘As the fire is all but out, Fitzwilliam, do you still require us to go outside?’ Lizzy did her best to sound unbothered by the mystery of Kitty’s disappearance.
‘No, my love, we must return to our chambers and get dressed.’ He grinned, looking almost boyish as his teeth flashed in his soot-blackened face. ‘If I do not get into something more respectable I fear my staff might never recover from the shock of seeing their master attired only in his nightshirt.’
‘You do look rather singular, I should think this is the first time in the history of Pemberley the owner has been seen in bare feet outside his bedchamber.’
This light-hearted exchange had the desired result and Georgiana relaxed her rigid stance. ‘Kitty must have fled, we will find her hiding somewhere. You are quite terrifying, Fitzwilliam, when you are enraged, and she will be so distressed that she has caused this disaster. I am going to get dressed and help with the search.’ She stared up at her brother and he smiled.
‘I am not at all cross with her, my dear, but I am concerned that she could have been injured and is in need of urgent assistance.’ He snapped his fingers and his steward arrived at his side. ‘Make sure the panelling is sodden, that the fire is completely out. Then send every available member of staff to search the house for Miss Bennet.’
The man nodded and Lizzy heard him issuing brisk instructions to recently arrived footmen. These were correctly attired in their livery and demi-wigs, unlike those in the bucket chain who were in breeches and shirts, some without stockings and their bare feet pushed into clogs.
A fire, even in the most solid and luxurious of houses, was a most dangerous and destructive thing. There was so much wood in an ancient house like this that the flames could take hold in minutes; if you did not get to it immediately the whole building could be destroyed.
When they returned to their suite Fitzwilliam’s valet and her dresser were waiting to attend to them. This morning she was ready before her husband as he had to wash away the remains of the fire before he could dress. As soon as she was ready she joined him in his dressing room – they stood on no ceremony in this respect and freely wandered from one room to the other as they wished.
‘There is something I must do, Fitzwilliam, I shall wait for you to join me in the gallery.’ Not waiting for his answer, she hurried into the passageway. She recoiled at the unpleasant odour of smoke and water. The sconces had now been lit and in the flickering light she could see the walls were smut-smeared and the family portraits also. This entire passageway would have to be redecorated, and goodness knows how they would get this done before their Christmas guests arrived in two weeks’ time.
There were maids on their knees with cloths and buckets mopping up the water that had been thrown at the flames. The floor was awash, the water running up to the marble staircase and down the stairs. She held her skirts aloft and picked her way carefully to the site of the conflagration.
There was no longer even any smoke, the fire was well and truly out. The men who had dealt with the blaze had vanished, no doubt to get into their livery before coming back to deal with the mess. She walked up to the door which had been concealed by the velvet curtain and reached out to touch the door knob. Her breath hissed through her teeth – the brass was still too hot to touch.
Without hesitation she wrapped her hand in a bunch of material from her skirt and grabbed the knob. It did not turn. The door was locked. This meant that Kitty had not gone into the East Wing but, as Georgiana suggested, had run away to hide from her brother-in-law who, she must imagine, would be incensed with her carelessness.
Chapter Six
Kitty could hear voices calling her name but she was too far away to reach them. She was trapped inside a Stygian darkness, held there by an unseen force. She closed her eyes and said the Lord’s Prayer over and over until suddenly someone’s hands were gently touching her.
‘Kitty, dearest girl, open your eyes, everything is all right and nobody is cross with you.’
It was as if her eyelids were glued together, they refused to open, but she could hear Lizzy speaking to her and feel a light touch on her shoulders. She wanted to speak, wanted to open her eyes, but for some reason was unable to. If she could hear her sister, why was her world still black?
A deep, familiar voice spoke to her firmly. ‘Kitty, I’m going to carry you to your chamber. You are unwell and I have sent for the physician to attend you. Doctor Bevan will be here directly.’
Although she could hear Darcy speaking to her and understood every word he said she was powerless to respond in any way. Her limbs remained slack and her eyes closed. She was aware of being lifted and could hear the murmur of anxious voices in the background as he carried her from wherever she was to her bedchamber.
She wanted to tell him to take her in with Georgiana, that she didn’t want to sleep alone anymore, but she was trapped in her dark solitude and must allow herself to be transported from place to place. She was carried downstairs and along the passageway and then through the door.
‘Here we are, little one, you are in your own chamber. Lizzy will stay with you until you wake.’
Her arms were raised and lowered, clothes were removed and a fresh nightgown pulled over her head. She was as helpless as a rag doll and could do nothing to indicate to her family that she was able to hear them but could not reply. All she could do was pray and the only prayer she could think of was the Lord’s Prayer.
Kitty was becoming weaker, however much she fought against the powers that were holding her captive, however much she prayed, she was losing her fight to stay in this world. Her ability to follow the conversations of those around her was lessening. She was sure Dr Bevan had been at her bedside and that he had examined her, but she had been unable to make out what he said to Lizzy or Darcy.
*
Mr Bingley was so recovered in the morning that Dr Bevan pronounced him well enough to sit in a chair. Mrs Bingley was radiant; even with dark shadows under her eyes she was still a beautiful young woman. ‘I am relieved your husband is feeling so much better; the physician has said you will be able to continue your journey to Pemberley tomorrow.’
‘We are sorry to have put you to so much trouble, Mr King, no doubt
you will be delighted to see the back of us.’
‘Not at all, Mrs Bingley, I have enjoyed the unaccustomed activity. This house is far too large for one person and I find myself rattling around in here in a most unpleasant way. I was eagerly anticipating having you and your husband dine with me before you leave. Will your husband be well enough to join me this evening?’
‘I am not hard of hearing, you know,’ a cheerful voice shouted from the bedchamber. ‘I intend to get dressed this afternoon and look forward to dining this evening.’
Adam exchanged glances with Mrs Bingley. He decided not to yell back but go in and speak to his guest. ‘Good morning, Bingley, I’m pleased to see you looking so well, what a difference a good night’s sleep has made.’
Apart from the spectacular bandage around his fair head, the patient appeared perfectly fit. He was sitting in his dressing robe and devouring a substantial breakfast. Bingley grinned. ‘I know an invalid should only eat gruel and sops, but I no longer feel nauseated and my headache has almost gone. I don’t believe I have the concussion at all and if my wife would allow me, I would be up and about already.’
The physician had listened to this exchange in silence but now spoke up from his position by the window. ‘You took a nasty blow to the head, Mr Bingley, and it is always wise be cautious. I am not so slow-witted I cannot see that you no longer require my services. I shall come to Pemberley to remove your stitches six days from now.’
Adam nodded. ‘We thank you, sir, for your prompt and efficient attention.’ As he led the way through the house he heard someone hammering on the front door. He increased his pace and arrived in the vestibule to find a groom in the Pemberley livery waiting on the doorstep.
The Ghosts at Pemberley Page 5