by Jemma Thorne
This time I did not tell Jane that I was going. The night was rainy, cold and miserable. It was that part of the year when days were getting ever shorter. So while I had retreated, supposedly to my bed, in the early hours of the evening, I knew that Lady Leticia would still be awake, still sitting in front of her fire. And that is how I found her.
Upon greeting me, she looked over my shoulder at the empty space behind me. “No Jane?”
I tipped my chin up a notch, her words making me angry for some reason. “I knew she had no interest, and so I did not tell her that I was coming.”
Lady Leticia arched an eyebrow at me. “And what will your dear sister think when she finds that you are not in bed as I presume you told your family you would be?”
“She will know precisely where I am, and why.” I gave her a firm stare. She had to know that I was serious, as serious as Jane was about her choice.
“So why is it that you’ve come tonight?” Lady Leticia’s eyes twinkled at me as she gave me a slight smile. She understood why I was here – if not the specifics, at least the broad themes.
“I had an encounter…actually a couple of encounters, with a spectre at Longbourn.”
“At Longbourn?” She looked intrigued. “What sort of encounters?”
“The chilling sort,” I said. “Her presence makes the room go icy cold.”
“Her presence?”
“Yes,” I said confidently. “It is definitely a woman. The ghost of a woman.” I crossed my arms over my chest and nodded emphatically.
“Has Jane seen this ghost?”
Why must she ask about Jane? I would develop my sight and I would become as adept at it as Jane had become in the last two years. She had been so unwilling. I had to believe that my skills would prove even more useful, since I was working so hard to develop them.
“Jane admits to feeling something there, but she is unsure what it is.”
“Are you sure that you are not just making up a spectre at Longbourn to keep busy after Netherfield Park?” Lady Leticia watched the fire, as if to give me privacy to evaluate my response to her question.
“No… It isn’t like that. I didn’t want to see a spirit at Longbourn. I didn’t think there were any spirits there. I tried the pendulum there recently, to no avail.”
“The pendulum doesn’t always show us what’s there. It is only one method of communication.”
“What other methods of communication are there?”
Lady Leticia’s eyes glittered as she looked me over. “That, my dear, is a dangerous question. I’m going to pretend that you didn’t ask it, for now.”
“But if there’s a way that I can speak with her—”
“No!” Lady Leticia said firmly. “This is too much, too fast, Lizzy. You are not yet skilled enough to attempt what you are suggesting.”
“But you are,” I stated just as firmly.
She glared at me, and then her eyes crinkled as she grinned. “Ah. That I am. That I am.”
“So teach me,” I insisted.
She shook her head at my stubbornness, but then she lifted her eyes to mine. “I will teach you…enough.”
* * *
As the rain beat down at a slant against the walls of Longbourn, day after night after day, my anxiety grew. It wasn’t just the obvious intentions of my cousin, Mr. Collins. He was making me miserable enough in his own right, but though he annoyed me to no end his presence was a welcome distraction.
The other subject crowding my mind was the spectre. I could feel the woman’s presence constantly. It was beginning to drive me crazy.
I hadn’t mentioned it to Jane. I didn’t want to bother her with the details of my chosen ghost hunting existence. I had meant to open myself to the spectre’s presence. And now I had gone and done it. It was up to me to deal with it.
I was growing desperate to further communicate with the spirit, in order to learn how to rid myself of the thing. I felt certain that was the way of it. I would somehow satisfy the spirit and she would move on. But I had so little to go on. I didn’t know who the spirit was. I didn’t have any clue what she wanted.
Since the events were taking place in our very own house, I began by scrutinizing the family lineage in my father’s study. I chose to enter his domain while he was out on errands around the estate, so that he wouldn’t walk in and find me there. Luckily, Mr. Collins was currently reading to Jane and Mary in the drawing room and I needn’t worry about them disturbing me, either.
I paged through generation after generation of the Bennet line and its offshoots. It was tedious work, and failed to hold my attention sufficiently. My muscles itched to move. Sometimes my body stubbornly refused to answer my command to be still so that I could study.
I recalled what Lady Leticia had said last night about possession. Surely she’d chosen the topic in order to scare me off from attempting to further communicate with the spirit I’d seen. She’d read to me from a small, leather-bound book about beastly occurrences that seemed almost too awful to be real. Apparently some spirits decided, once you attempted to communicate, that you were a fit host for them. They then took over your body and such. I wasn’t frightened. I was fairly certain that if she wanted to do such a thing, the spirit would have already done so.
After Lady Leticia had attempted to scare me off, I had stolen her book. When she turned away after I said good night, I picked it up and took it with me. I was certain she had missed it by now. But I would answer for that later.
Right now my hand hovered over one page of Father’s book. When I found myself unwilling to turn the page, I took a closer look.
Clarice Bennet, my great-great-grandmother. She had mothered eight children, of whom only three had reached adulthood. A feeling of pervasive sadness crept over me as I put together the details from the surrounding entries. She herself had died at a young age – her youngest child, my great-grandfather, had been only two years old.
She spent her entire life birthing children, often seeing them die. I could not imagine. I had never felt much inclination toward marriage, if I was honest. It seemed a woman lost so much of her independence over a husband, and soon children. And then maybe a stark few years later, she just passed away. All of her skills, all of her joy and passion filtered down through the lives of her children who hopefully carry along her spirit in the world.
In this case, her spirit became caught between the walls of the house that had trapped her in life.
It was her – Clarice Bennet, my great-great-grandmother. I was sure of it.
And I would help her spirit move on, finally. That is why I saw what I saw.
I left Father’s study in a dreary mood. The rain continued to pound down in sheets and the wind howled. I watched it sway the branches of the sycamores. A fine day to stay indoors and read, if only I could settle my mind and still my eager, fidgety limbs.
I stole off to my bedroom to look over the book I’d taken from Lady Leticia last night. With poor Jane downstairs listening to Mr. Collins I had our room to myself.
The book seemed ancient. Its pages were handwritten and bound together with a leather cover. I fingered the pages carefully, unsure what it was that I needed. I only knew that this book held knowledge that I had to possess.
I had begun to crave the excitement that came with the chase, that came with trying to understand what it was that I was seeing and feeling. I experienced sights and visions that no one else could. There was nothing like it. I brushed off the thought of Lady Leticia’s words last night. I wasn’t making this spirit up – something wanted to communicate with me; I could feel it.
A hint of danger warned at the limit of my senses, but I resolutely ignored it, blinded by youth and driven by an undefined ambition.
So I went on, not knowing what I was looking for, but one page stopped me cold.
A séance.
A small drawing showed an array of candles, clustered herbs smoking in the center. I could do that.
I waited until t
he entire household was asleep. All afternoon as I had wound myself up for my coming attempt at contacting the spectre, I had felt nothing from her. For days I hadn’t been able to rid my mind of her, and now I felt nothing. Did she dislike my idea, my intention to contact her?
But who was I to question what the spirit wanted? I should give her the opportunity to speak for herself.
And so I sold myself on the plan and prepared. Well after dark, with all the household abed, I set up in the drawing room. I should be able to hear someone coming in here, if they were to wake. If asked, I wasn’t sure what I would say about the candles and the dish of herbs I meant to light in order to draw forth the spirit that I thought was my great-great-grandmother.
The candles sputtered as I tried to light them with shaking hands. I was nervous, though I would never admit it. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but resolve made my nerves like steel and I kept on with this new attempt to contact the dead. I sat for long moments, staring into the candle flame, trying to tap into the part of myself that could see the shades of former living beings. I was not yet adept at this, as Lady Leticia had hastened to note, but I paid my doubts no mind.
“Clarice Bennet,” I called softly. “If it is your spirit that I feel here, please come forth and speak with me. Please show yourself.”
Nothing. I waited.
“Clarice Bennet, I call your spirit forth!” I said more urgently. “I would speak with you.”
The candles flickered all at once, though I felt no breeze. A strange cold had crept into the room about my feet, and I recognized the sensation. “Clarice Bennet?”
She appeared before me. Unwavering, looking almost as though she could touch me. “Granddaughter.” She nodded gravely.
“Grandmother… Clarice Bennet, is it?”
Again she nodded.
“Is it you that I see? Are you trapped here, your spirit tied to Longbourn?”
“Not trapped… I stayed…” The ghost sighed, her expression sad, and all of my muscles suddenly clenched.
I couldn’t move. My chest ached like a great boulder had been placed on it. I could barely breathe.
“What did you…?” I tried to wrest myself from her control and remembered Lady Leticia’s lecture about possession with growing panic.
“You see? Do you see how it feels? How can I move on? Where did I have to go when this,” she gestured around, “this was my life. Only pain and long surrender.”
The pain in my chest grew fiercer, and I feared I would crumble to the ground. Oh, what had I done?
Clarice Bennet’s ghost screeched suddenly, and then flew toward me. “Never surrender!” the ghost shouted. She dissolved directly in front of me, just before she would have crashed into me.
The crushing weight on my chest let up as soon as the spirit had fled. Panic flooded my senses, and I could understand now what Jane said she felt.
I stiffened my spine. She had dealt with the fear and so could I.
I could still feel the tremendous cold. My heart still beat with terror after the spectre came at me, my heart in its grip.
And I felt for her. That was strange. She seemed to threaten me and yet underlying that, she was sharing her most intimate trials. She had shown me what she felt, each and every time she lost a child, as every year bore on with nothing good, only tribulation after tribulation. She had shown the truth of her sad life, and it was a truth that I would remember, always.
Only pain and long surrender… That’s what Clarice had said.
I thought of the young mother, losing child after child to their early graves. Sadness made my throat ache and I blinked back tears.
One didn’t fight death; it just wasn’t possible. So maybe surrender had been her only choice if she was to carry on. Yet she regretted it enough to share the sentiment with me.
Was it this truth that had kept her here? I knew I hadn’t seen the last of Clarice Bennet. And I had no idea where to start with helping her spirit move on.
Chapter 6
The long awaited Netherfield ball was terrible. My night began to go south when we entered Netherfield to find a crowd of red coats, but no Mr. Wickham. His was the one face I had been looking forward to seeing tonight. Jane had Mr. Bingley to look forward to. I had Mr. Wickham. Though he was not much to be compared with Mr. Bingley in personal fortune, in face and body the man was fine. I wanted to dance with him.
To my disappointment, he hadn’t shown. I didn’t know what to make of it, but before long Charlotte told me all she’d heard. He’d apparently been called away on business, and heartily accepted it to avoid the ball. Word of some argument with Darcy had been seeping out among the community, and Charlotte presumed this was the reason for his absence. I neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions, though I thought they were accurate.
Mr. Collins proved to be a horrific dancer – stilted and formal, and he kept trying to hold my gaze as we danced with an intense solemnity that made my skin crawl. Did the man truly think we were in any way compatible? Could he not feel the contempt pouring from me?
All the night through, my family looked like fools. Jane and I were the only Bennets truly capable of walking among Netherfield type society.
Mother’s tongue was far too loose. She commented on the plainness of so many other Meryton girls, compared with her Jane. She spoke of her certainty that an offer of marriage would soon be made to her eldest daughter. And she did so too near the observant ears of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. I spotted him watching her exchange with Mrs. Lucas, and attempted to silence her, to no avail.
Mary spent too long at the pianoforte, though she lacked the skill to hold the attention of the crowd. When Father rebuked her she ran off like an infant.
Lydia and Kitty flitted about talking nonsense, under everyone’s feet. They stuck their noses into conversations and begged dances from only the most handsome of the young men.
For my own part, I just wanted the entire event over and done with.
And then suddenly, Mr. Darcy appeared at my elbow. “May I have the pleasure of the next dance, Miss Elizabeth?”
I could not refuse the master of Pemberley, even if the thought of being his partner in the dance made my stomach clench with uncertainty. I found myself nodding as I mumbled my answer, and then I was staring at his retreating back.
Charlotte hustled to my side. “Please tell me that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy just asked you to dance!” she squealed at me. “Oh, I bet he has quick feet – he’s been quick enough moving away from the dance floor all night long.”
My cheeks felt hot and I reminded myself to breathe. My feet felt heavy and I was the one wanting to run from the sight of the dance floor now. “How can I go through with it?”
“Nonsense,” Charlotte said quickly, giving me a little push as a chime marked the next dance. “You’re only worried he’ll give you cause to like him, just a little.”
“A terrible fate, that – to find you like a person you have only thought to detest,” I joked lamely, my pulse rapid as I willed the blush from my cheeks. I left her to walk toward the dance and my terrible fate.
I joined Mr. Darcy with a polite smile. All up and down the line folk craned their necks to stare at the pair of us. Any other day it would have given me a chuckle.
Mr. Darcy was a marvelous dancer, for all that he kept to the shadows of the ball for the most part. He had never shown interest in the sport, so I was surprised at his quick feet. That he did not offer quick words to match was no surprise to me. I teased him for it as we began, forcing him to converse when I knew he would much rather be solemn and silent.
“The night has been lovely so far, don’t you think, Mr. Darcy? Mr. Bingley was kind to host this ball.”
He made a small sound of agreement.
Why had the man asked me to dance if he had no desire even to speak with me? I began to wonder if Mr. Bingley had put him up to it.
“It is your turn to say something, Mr. Darcy, or we shall spend the entire half-hour in silence.
”
“I doubt that – one of us loves speech much more than the other. You will at least attempt to draw me out, I am certain.”
I gave him a small frown, though such an expression had no place in the dance. “I am certain I will not. This is why you chose me for your partner; we are both of a taciturn, self-sufficient nature and require no speech at all.”
He raised an eyebrow and I was startled by the playful expression, but not startled enough to lose my step. He said, “That description doesn’t match your character in the slightest. I suspect that you do find it an apt sketch of my character. I’ll not try to dissuade you from the picture of me you hold so dear.”
I was flustered and felt the blood rise to my cheeks. If I’d known he would match my banter with unwavering civility and a sharp wit, I would have been more cautious. I’d never seen him this way. And here I had thought I understood him.
He cleared his throat. “May I ask, Miss Elizabeth, do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?”
“Oh, yes. It is a welcome distraction when the weather holds.” I watched him, wondering at his motivation for asking. “When you met us there the other day we were making a new acquaintance.”
A dark expression crossed his face and my suspicions were confirmed. His eyes narrowed, glued to mine. What was it about Mr. Wickham that made the usually staid Mr. Darcy give me such a brutish stare? “Mr. Wickham is blessed with the happy manners to make friends, but whether he can retain them is another matter entirely.”
“He has lost your friendship, it is sure. And he suffers for it to this day.” I clamped my lips closed to avoid rebuking him further – it was not my place to do so. I had already gone too far.
Mr. Darcy shook his head, but his glare did not let up. He was offended, certainly.
“Mr. Wickham has told me of your disreputable behavior toward him. Do you deny his words?” I challenged him. I shouldn’t have, but as usual I could not stop my mouth once it decided to run away with me.
