by Jemma Thorne
A shimmer in the corner behind my sister made me look twice. I could’ve sworn the air shifted there. An outline taking shape before drifting into obscurity.
I stared hard but it did not reappear.
Mr. Collins was still trying to apologize to Mother, and Mother was having none of it.
I could not wait to escape. Impatience was like an itch under my skin, where I could not scratch it.
After dinner, Father invited Mr. Collins to read to us.
Kitty produced a book, but Mr. Collins recoiled from it. “I never read novels,” he stated firmly.
I stifled a laugh. And he hoped to get on with any of my sisters?
Mr. Bennett went to his library and retrieved several volumes to offer Mr. Collins his choice. After hesitation and long study, Mr. Collins chose a book of sermons.
I quelled the urge to flee. I would remain here and behave like a proper lady, bored or no. Mother would rake me over the coals if I did not.
Scarcely two pages in, Lydia opened her mouth. I wondered how many lines she heard before she began thinking of the red-clad men she now brought up.
“Mother, did you hear, my uncle Phillips may turn Richard out, and if he does, Colonel Forster will have him in a red coat. I heard it from my aunt. Tomorrow I’ll walk to Meryton to find out what else she knows and ask when Mr. Denny will return.”
Mr. Collins slowly closed the book he’d been reading from, his eyebrows arched.
Jane said, “No, Mr. Collins. Do go on. Please forgive Lydia’s rudeness.”
But thankfully, Mr. Collins would not be encouraged back to the text. He turned to Mr. Bennett. “Have you any desire for a game of backgammon?”
Mr. Bennett nodded and retrieved the pieces, and they set into a game, ignoring the womenfolk for the rest of the night.
Or at least I supposed.
As soon as they were at it, I was out.
In the hallway near the stairs, the light shimmered again. A hazy, cloud-like outline began to take shape. A woman’s shape.
I peered at it, becoming more certain that it was a woman. A ghost. I stood stock still, not yet trusting my sight if I didn’t completely focus myself on it. Was this a vision, or was it actually a ghost, right here, right now?
The ghostly woman’s mouth opened and she began to stretch a hand toward me, but as she stretched her fingers went thin and transparent, like mist moving out from her form, and then the rest of her shape misted out as well.
I gave a little cry. A spectre, right here right now, at Longbourn. And I missed my chance to speak with her! Why did she dissolve that way?
I needed to speak with Jane.
I had been fairly certain that there were no ghosts at Longbourn. No spirits lingering. Events had only started to turn odd upon our return from Netherfield Park. Or was it only that I could now see them?
More questions for Jane, should I ever find her alone to ask them.
Chapter 3
Mr. Collins was amiable the next morning, though circumspect. He kept trying to catch my eye, though I was not giving it. And he seemed to have no notice for Jane, though she was the one he’d hung on last evening. Did he plan to give us each our turn with his attention?
I ate quickly, my mind more on the spirit that I had seen the night before and the fact that I had not had a chance to speak with Jane about it yet than on Mr. Collins’ visit.
After breakfast, Lydia proved true to her claim the night before and decided on a walk to Meryton. Soon enough we all agreed to go. It’d been a while since I’d seen Aunt Phillips, and I found myself eager for the company of my sisters. Maybe I would get a chance to speak with Jane along the walk. But then Mr. Collins decided to come along. I resigned myself to the unfortunate likelihood of his chatter filling the walk instead.
It did, but our feet took us swiftly to Meryton. Once there, the very object of Lydia’s desire in coming to town appeared beside us.
“Oh!” cried Lydia. “Mr. Denny, you’ve arrived back in town.”
I had more interest in Mr. Denny’s companion. I had not seen him before – I would have remembered. He was the handsomest man my eyes had ever taken in. He had dark brown hair with a slight swooping wave, and dark eyes that seemed to dance with merriment. I wanted to know more of him, and I was not alone. We stood at the side of the road becoming acquainted, Mr. Collins standing dejectedly beside our party.
Mr. Wickham had in fact just arrived in Meryton, and was taking up a commission with the regiment. That was as it should be. The man would look fine in a red coat.
Hoof beats marred our perfect meeting, especially when I looked up to see who was riding down the street. It was Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy rode beside him, straight and tall in the saddle. Jane’s arm, which was strung through mine, suddenly gripped me tighter, though her face remained impassive.
Both men noted our party at precisely the same instant, and their reactions showed the stark difference in their personalities. Mr. Bingley pulled up on the reins, smiling at my sister. “Well good morning, women of Longbourn.” He nodded good-naturedly at Mr. Collins, though he could not know who he was.
Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, had locked eyes with Mr. Wickham. He glowered from the saddle, a fearsome expression, before he remembered himself and attempted to smooth his features. But I saw through him, and I understood that he was exactly the man I believed him to be. Pompous and arrogant and rude.
Mr. Wickham appeared slightly unnerved, his face gone white.
This was not a meeting of strangers. Both men appeared to have seen a ghost. I knew the expression well enough to recognize it.
* * *
The Phillips invited us to attend dinner at their house the next day. On the urging of my younger sisters, Mrs. Phillips also agreed to send an invitation to the newly arrived Mr. Wickham.
The next night my hopes were brought to fruition. Wickham did join us. He chose the seat next to me. Mary glared at me from across the table; I pretended not to notice her fury. Lydia and Kitty engaged Mr. Wickham in light banter, while I enjoyed his profile. He spoke prettily, too, making us laugh and drawing us out.
Mr. Collins sat next to Mrs. Phillips, and spoke mostly with her. She bore his conversation with great goodwill at first, and then civility, as he wore on about every detail of his fine parish abode in the splendor of Rosings Park where the Lady Catherine de Bourgh made her home.
I had heard a fair amount and quite enough about Lady de Bourgh since Mr. Collins’ arrival, but one piece of information squeaked out that I had not heard before. “I realized yesterday after the fact that we met Lady de Bourgh’s nephew yesterday in town. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy is the esteemed fellow.”
I raised my eyebrows. So we would hear more now about Mr. Darcy’s wealth and good fortune of birth… Lovely.
Mr. Wickham fidgeted next to me. I thought I knew the reason but I dared not speak of it, it was too forward. I had noted the interaction between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham yesterday on the street, but I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone because I was not sure what I had seen. I knew only that the men had prior acquaintance. I was saved the need to ask when Mr. Wickham spoke of it himself.
“I am well acquainted with Mr. Darcy, in fact,” he said to me.
I nodded with appropriate interest and waited for more.
“I was raised in Derbyshire, much of my childhood alongside the Darcy’s themselves. You see, early in his life my father was of the same profession that Mr. Phillips occupies. But his acquaintance with the senior Mr. Darcy grew, and he came to take a position at Pemberley, managing much of the estate and the Darcy’s affairs. In fact, they were so well acquainted that I heard Mr. Darcy promise my father he would look after me when my father passed on.”
“The two of you did not seem to bear much love for each other,” I dared.
“I hesitate to mention my feelings for the man, for they counter most people’s experience of him. Many find him a fine and worthy man indeed.”
“You will
not find them in Hertfordshire. No one here likes the man at all. He has proven himself arrogant and rude on this occasion and that, and we are not blinded by his prosperity.”
Mr. Wickham arched a handsome brow it me. “And so I find myself more at home in Meryton than ever. I would trade my experience with Fitzwilliam Darcy for the more genteel man I hear spoken of.”
I was confused. But then, I had no history in Derbyshire and thus no frame of reference. I could only hope that friendly Mr. Wickham would keep the words flowing.
“You see…after the senior Mr. Darcy’s death, his heirs took no time at all in cutting me out, Fitzwilliam chief among them. Mr. Darcy had promised my father – had spoken to me – of the rectory at Pemberley. Fitzwilliam Darcy dashed my dreams there. And here I am.”
I barely kept my mouth from gaping. “How did he get away with it? The ridicule he must have faced.”
Mr. Wickham shrugged. “I am sure the senior Mr. Darcy expected no such betrayal, or he would have set down his wishes in writing.”
So the man had no recourse. I sat there fuming over the esteemed master of Pemberley and his arrogance.
“Do you happen to know how long Mr. Darcy plans to stay at Netherfield Park?” Mr. Wickham asked.
“They did not speak of it in my hearing when I was at Netherfield,” I confessed. “But it did not seem to me that they had plans to move on immediately.” I don’t know why I chose to share this with him. Certainly I didn’t normally veer toward blatant gossip. That was Lydia and Kitty’s preoccupation.
Chapter 4
The next morning when I had a chance to finally speak to Jane on our own, I found myself relating what Mr. Wickham had told me about Mr. Darcy instead of mentioning the spirits roaming Longbourn. Spirits or spirit? I had yet to know. But last night my fancy had been swayed by darling Mr. Wickham and his cheerful eyes, and so I found myself speaking of him to Jane. All of the cruelties of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy spilled forth, and Mr. Wickham glowed in my description.
Jane looked crossly at me. “You are too ready to think ill of Mr. Darcy. I have said it before; you’re being unreasonable. The man has done no harm since coming here, and in fact he is a great friend to Mr. Bingley.”
I shook my head and started to answer, but Jane’s tongue proved faster than mine.
“It is interesting Mr. Wickham would tell you so many details of the quarrel.”
“Oh, so you choose to impugn the nature of a man newly arrived instead of realizing what Mr. Darcy is made of? Could it be because friendship with such a man would reflect poorly on who Mr. Bingley chooses to associate with?”
“Now you’re ascribing schemes to me. You know it isn’t so, Lizzy.”
I abandoned the topic, knowing we wouldn’t agree. “Jane?”
“Yes?”
I steeled myself. She would not want to talk about this. “Jane, have you ever seen anything odd here at Longbourn?”
She pinned me with her gaze. “Odd?” she queried.
“Yes. Ghostly, I mean. Spectres,” I said more softly.
Jane’s gaze skittered away from mine. “Sometimes… Sometimes I find it hard to tell if I’m seeing something that is here now, or a remnant of the past.”
I nodded eagerly. “That’s precisely how I feel.”
She straightened her shoulders. “I have, on occasion, thought that I saw a woman out of the corner of my eye. I feel only a wisp of her, only a trace. And maybe that is because I do not fear her one tiny bit. I do not believe she means any harm, if she is there.”
I nodded again. That was enough. “Thank you.”
She did not ask why I asked, I noted. And I did not volunteer it. She had made herself clear, and I would not drag Jane into any mysteries she did not want to help me solve.
The clatter of hoof beats came from the road, and Jane and I looked at each other. Who could that be? We stepped from the hedge to see who was riding toward Longbourn. Though he was still a couple hundred yards off, I thought I could recognize the flair of red that marked Charles Bingley’s hair.
And so it was. He stopped his horse in front of us, seeming surprised to find us outdoors. “Miss Bennet.” He tipped his hat to us. “Miss Elizabeth.”
“Hello, Mr. Bingley,” I said, giving Jane the space to breathe. She seemed to have lost her wits the moment he rode up. Such it was with love, I supposed. “How are you today? It is a lovely morning for a ride.”
“Yes, it has been a lovely ride. Too many days since we came to Netherfield have been bleak with rain.”
There the banter ended. He drew forth an envelope from his jacket pocket, and stooped to hand it specifically to Jane. “It is an invitation to the promised Netherfield ball,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
She made a small, delighted sound, the sort of response he was looking for, I was sure.
Oh, Jane. Do not make your love for him so easily known, I couldn’t help but think. But Mr. Bingley seemed to adore her, and he was forward enough about it as well. “The invitation is for the entire Bennet family. I look forward to seeing you there.” He tipped his hat again and turned his horse to go.
“Farewell, Mr. Bingley,” Jane called to him.
“Farewell, Miss Bennet.” Cutting short his final glance at us as color rose to his cheeks, Mr. Bingley urged his horse on and we could only stand and watch him go.
“What was that all about?” I asked.
Jane looked as puzzled as I felt. “Well… An invitation to the Netherfield ball.”
Another ball. My sisters would be pleased. The family invitation to Netherfield would please Mother. It seemed at least one man we knew understood the way into a woman’s good graces.
* * *
Sure enough, the girls were all a twitter when they found out about the Netherfield ball. After all, it was Lydia who had asked Mr. Bingley to throw the ball in the first place. So she took credit for the idea and seemed to believe credit for the execution went along with it. In their excitement, the girls would be distracted with deciding what they would wear for the next four days until the ball.
I had other worries. As soon as he had heard of the Netherfield ball, Mr. Collins had of course been determined to accept the invitation for himself along with the Bennet clan. And to me he’d said, “Miss Elizabeth, may I claim the first two dances at the ball?”
How was I to refuse him? I couldn’t. Not with my mother watching. I’d only grown more convinced with time that he was attempting to make me his conquest and his unhappy wife, and that my mother was happy to see his plans come to fruition.
“Of course, dear cousin.” I fanned myself and let him presume that it was his attentions that made me flustered, and not disgust at the prospect of becoming his wife.
We were lucky for that fine day of sunshine before the storm.
I woke in the night to the sound of rain clattering on the rooftop. And then I realized that I also heard something else. It was reminiscent of the sound that I’d heard the other night. The realization made me sit up instantly in bed, straining to hear it again. Was it my imagination?
No, it wasn’t. The eerie sound came again a few seconds later. I rose and hustled into a dress, a well-worn one, for I wasn’t sure where this adventure would take me. I put on my sturdiest shoes, afraid for my ankles in the darkness that I would have to keep to tonight, in order to prevent the rest of the family from stirring.
I tiptoed from the room, Jane snoring ever so softly in her bed. Downstairs it was just the same as the other morning, the root end of a holly bush thrust through the door, blocking it from closing. This time I did not wait for Hill’s assistance. I grabbed the holly bush around its base and hefted it, walking outside to see if I could find whoever had left it in our doorway. But as I moved through the doorway, a tingle moved up and down my arms with lightning speed, and a shimmer in the corner next to the door grabbed my attention. I tossed the holly bush on the walk and rushed back inside.
She took shape instantly this time, as though
my attention helped her gather her spectral form. She reached for me, and this time she did not dissolve. As her ghostly fingers stretched toward me, a wave of cold air washed over my skin, and goosebumps prickled along my arms.
“What… What do you want?” I asked stiffly. I told myself I should not fear.
“Thrice seen…” Her voice wavered, nearly as transparent as her form, but I could hear her. I could cling to her words. “Thrice measured… And still you are wanting…”
“Wanting?” I frowned. I didn’t understand. “What do you mean by that?” But the spirit didn’t answer me. Again I was left to wonder, was this happening in the here and now? The spectre gave some response to my presence, and yet it also felt that she was running through a prepared speech, verbatim, as if she’d memorized it.
“Out of blood… Out of hand…” Her words came softly, as if they were carried on the wind.
I trembled as the feeling of cold intensified. Was it just me or was the air in here actually freezing?
I’d forgotten to close the door! I turned to close it softly, still fearing I’d wake up the household and have to explain all of this. But when I turned back the ghost was no more. There was no sign of her. Warmth slowly seeped back into the air in the room.
I shivered.
Out of blood… Out of hand…
Chapter 5
Just as my younger sisters could only be in a flurry of excitement over the coming ball, even as the hours of rain wore on and on, I could not stand to sit still so much. It was in my bones to move. I craved action. Not so with Lydia and Kitty. Only their mouths seemed to crave action.
And so two more days went by, under the chatter and squeals of the youngest of us as they finalized their finery for the Netherfield ball. The event couldn’t come soon enough. Except that I had other things to think about, too. I hadn’t seen the ghost again in the last two days. I had thought long and hard on the few words she had for me, and I needed advice.
