THE GHOSTS AT PEMBERLEY
BY
FENELLA J MILLER
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of The Author - Fenella J. Miller
The Ghosts at Pemberley, Copyright © Fenella J. Miller, 2014
This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
COVER DESIGN
JANE DIXON-SMITH
MY THANKS TO
FAY CUNNINGHAM, MONICA FAIRVIEW
&
RACHEL BEVAN
DEDICATION
This book is for Maddie & Nat Bishop
My wonderful grandchildren.
Jane Austen Variations by Fenella J Miller
Miss Bennet & Mr Bingley
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Chapter One
The carriage rocked violently as it traversed yet another rut in the road. Miss Kitty Bennet, despite her hold on the strap, was flung painfully to her knees in the well of the vehicle. Her sister, Mrs Jane Bingley, exclaimed in horror.
‘Kitty, my love, have you sustained any injury from your fall? Allow Bingley to assist you to your seat.’
‘I am unhurt, thank you, Jane. I can recover my place unaided.’ With these words she scrambled to her feet, taking care not to reveal her ankles in the process. Once she was comfortably settled and the rug snugly around her knees, her sister spoke again.
‘This journey is beyond tedious, Charles. I had quite forgotten just how far away Derbyshire is from Netherfield. I know it was my suggestion to escape from my mother’s constant interference, but I should have considered the parlous state of the roads in December.’
Bingley smiled and squeezed his wife’s mittened hand. ‘The journey has taken far longer than I had anticipated, my dear, but I believe us to be within a few miles of Pemberley. Despite the discomfort of the past three days I am looking forward to seeing Darcy and spending Christmas in such wonderful surroundings.’
‘I believe this road to be in poor repair which is why we are being jolted so unpleasantly,’ Kitty stated unnecessarily. ‘I am black and blue all over, and when I tumbled from the squabs just now I landed on the brick I was given to keep my feet warm this morning.’
‘How unfortunate! Ah, I do believe the road is smoother here and we have picked up our pace at last.’
The carriage was travelling more quickly but Kitty was concerned the coachman had sprung the horses without having sufficient knowledge of the locality. What if there was a second patch of road with potholes?
‘Bingley, we could overturn if a wheel drops into a rut at this speed.’
‘I shall ask Tom to reduce the pace – better to arrive late than not arrive at all.’ Bingley checked his beloved Jane was comfortable before pushing himself upright. ‘I shall open the window and call out for I doubt he would hear us over the wind and rain if I do not do so.’
Just as he was struggling with the leather strap that held the window firm, the coach veered sharply to the right in order to negotiate a turn in the lane. Bingley lost his balance and fell backwards and his head hit the floor with a sickening thud. The window dropped open and Kitty’s scream was heard by the coachman.
‘Kitty, we must do something to stem the blood. Quickly, tear some strips from your shift and I shall use mine to make a pad to press against the gash in his head.’ Jane was made of sterner stuff than she and was already on her knees beside her husband. As the coach rocked to a standstill both ladies raised their skirts and began to tear off sections of cotton. There was a prodigious amount of blood and Bingley remained unconscious, which was decidedly worrying.
The coachman clambered down from the box causing the vehicle to rock violently. Kitty heard him shout to the groom. ‘Billy, get to the horses and hold the team steady. They’re like to bolt in this storm.’
‘I have the strips here, Jane, are you sure you know what to do? Lizzy was always the one to handle any accidents for us.’
Jane was almost as pale as her husband, but showed no sign of succumbing to a fit of the vapours. ‘I am going to lift his head and put this folded material against the gash at the back, when I do so you must wind your strips around in order to hold it tight. I pray this will be enough to stem the bleeding until we can get him to a physician and have sutures put in.’
Together they managed to apply the makeshift bandage and Kitty was in the process of tying it together when the coachman threw back the door. A gust of icy wind blew through the carriage.
‘I reckon there’s a grand big house no more than one hundred yards ahead, madam. Shall I take us in there?’
Jane looked up, her face tear-streaked and her mittens quite ruined. ‘Do that. Mr Bingley requires the attention of a doctor immediately. He hit his head on the brick when he fell and I fear he has a concussion.’
Tom pulled the window closed, fastened the leather strap and then slammed the door. Moments later they were in motion again, but this time they travelled at a snail’s pace. Kitty scrubbed her eyes dry with her sleeve.
‘I should have moved the brick when I fell on it. This is all my fault…’
‘Nonsense, my love, the accident is no one’s fault. We must use all the rugs to wrap Charles in – he has lost so much blood his skin is becoming cold to the touch.’
There was no room in the well of the carriage for both of them, indeed Kitty’s legs were in the way. She handed down the furs that had been covering her knees and then swung her legs onto the squabs in order to give Jane sufficient room to tend to the patient.
‘I believe we are turning into a drive, Jane, it is too dark to see much of the house, but the drive appears to be smooth and I can see lights in the windows.’ She almost fell off the seat when Tom sounded the horn used to warn other vehicles of their approach on narrow lanes.
By the time the carriage was stationary Kitty could see the front door was open and several figures were running down the front steps towards them. ‘Someone is coming to our assistance, sister, poor Bingley will be in the warm and taken care of very soon.’
The coach door was flung open and a dark-haired gentleman thrust in his head. ‘I am Adam King, the rector of this parish.’ He turned and shouted to a figure behind him. ‘Jim, take Bess and ride for Doctor Bevan.’ He then issued instructions to other minions to fetch a trestle upon which they could place Bingley. ‘Ladies, allow me to assist you from the carriage. My housekeeper, Miller, will take care of you.’
‘I shall not move from here until my husband can come with me,’ Jane replied.
Kitty scrambled along the seat intending to place her feet back on the floor and then descend thus leaving the rescuers more room to manoeuvre within the vehicle. Unfortunately she was unable to extricate her legs from the voluminous material of her travelling gown and remained, her cheeks scarlet, stuck on the seat.
‘Allow me, miss, you appear to be in some difficulty.’ Without a by your leave Mr King reached in, gripped her around the waist, and lifted her as if she weighed no more than a bag of feathers.
As her skirts settled around her ankles Kitty could not help but notice that the gentleman who had so kindly assisted her was a handsome man. He lived in a house far bigger than L
ongbourn and had more than a dozen servants at his disposal, which was another thing in his favour. The rain continued to pour down on them but he seemed unbothered by it.
Despite the inclement weather she gave him her most charming smile, however, he appeared unimpressed and rudely gestured that she make her way to the house. She was escorted by a parlourmaid and handed over to a statuesque woman dressed in dark green bombazine. This lady had grey hair scraped back in an ugly bun at the back of her head and a set of keys attached to her belt.
‘If you would care to come with me, miss, I have a chamber prepared for you upstairs. Do you have your dresser with you?’
‘I do not, the carriage containing our baggage and our staff will already be at Pemberley. My sister, Mrs Darcy, will be most anxious at our delay.’ Kitty thought it would help with her prestige if she mentioned the family connection to Fitzwilliam Darcy.
The housekeeper was suitably impressed. ‘I shall have a message sent to Mrs Darcy immediately informing her of the accident and saying that you will be remaining here overnight. Will you require a fresh gown or has your cloak kept you dry?’
Kitty checked her gown was wearable. ‘Thank you, I believe I shall do very well in this one. The gentleman who has received the injury is my brother-in-law, Mr Charles Bingley. He is a very close friend of Mr Darcy.’
Miller’s expression changed to one of horror. ‘Mr Bingley has been injured? How dreadful! He and Mr Darcy are well-known in this neighbourhood and very highly thought of.’
If that was indeed the case, then why had Mr King not recognised Bingley? She could hardly enquire from the housekeeper, gossiping with the staff was not something a well brought up young lady would stoop to.
‘Kindly excuse me, Miss Bennet, Sally will show you to your chamber. I must see what assistance I can offer downstairs.’
Before Kitty could think of a suitable response Miller was hurrying downstairs. She followed the parlourmaid to her designated room. She was amazed that a household so remote from Hertfordshire was aware to whom Mr Darcy had become affiliated.
‘Hot water has been sent up, miss, and there will be two girls to assist you.’ The maid curtsied and vanished through a hidden door in the fine wooden panelling that covered the walls, leaving Kitty to enter her temporary accommodation alone.
She looked around the bedchamber with appreciation. The hangings on the tester bed were of a pretty floral pattern and the chaise longue was upholstered in matching fabric. Upon the boards was a dark green, deep pile rug which complemented the furnishings admirably. Kitty was impressed. This room was more than adequate, indeed, she rather thought it quite as good as her own bedchamber at Longbourn – although obviously, not as fine as she expected to find at Pemberley.
Her only complaint was that the chamber was a trifle chilly, the fire had not been burning long enough to make the room warm. However, the luxurious appointments just served to confirm her initial impressions. Mr King might be the vicar, but he was not reliant on his stipend, and must be independently wealthy.
She frowned. If this were the case, why would he have chosen to study divinity at university and become a man of God when he could have remained a gentleman of means without the bothersome duties of a cleric? This was a conundrum she was determined to unravel. There was nothing she liked more than solving a puzzle. Indeed, her interest in officers and parties had dwindled since Lydia had run away to marry the objectionable Wickham.
Two chambermaids were waiting to attend to her needs, neither of them much older than herself. The slightly taller girl curtsied. ‘Miss Bennet, there is hot water for your ablutions in the dressing room if you would care to follow me.’
*
Adam had no time for frivolous young ladies and was unimpressed by Miss Bennet’s flirtatious manner, especially in the circumstances. He returned his full attention to the injured man within the carriage.
‘Mrs Bingley, the trestle is arriving and it will be impossible to remove your husband whilst you remain within the vehicle. Please allow me to assist you to descend.’ He didn’t wait for her agreement but reached in and gripped her firmly about the waist and lifted her to the ground. ‘Go inside, madam, there is little point in staying out here and becoming saturated.’
She shook her head. ‘A little rain is of no concern to me, Mr King. I shall wait here until my husband is inside with me.’
He had instructed his head gardener to fetch a tarpaulin with which to cover the injured man so at least he would be dry even if his wife was soaked. Both doors of the carriage were wide open in order to remove the patient. ‘It will be easier to remove Mr Bingley head first, take the trestle to the other side of the carriage if you please.’
He hurried to join his men in order to supervise the operation. ‘I shall take his shoulders, Sam and Jethro climb inside and lift his legs. Hold steady, men, I have no wish to make matters worse by dropping Mr Bingley on the gravel.’
Between them they were able to extricate the injured man without doing him further harm or causing the bandage to slip from the head wound. Adam was concerned that Bingley was still comatose – in his experience the longer a person with a head wound remained unconscious the more dangerous the situation.
With the tarpaulin held over the trestle protecting the man beneath, he directed his men up the steps and into the vestibule. ‘Miller, have you prepared the apartment that old Mr King used in his dotage? We cannot take Mr Bingley up the stairs, he must remain on this floor.’
‘I have, sir, and one message has gone to Pemberley as well as one to fetch Doctor Bevan.’
‘Excellent. Send word to the kitchen to have refreshments ready for our visitors. Nothing elaborate, dinner must go by the board tonight, I believe soup and meat pasties would be ideal in the circumstances.’
Fires had been lit in all the rooms in the downstairs apartment and the bed was turned down and waiting. Mrs Bingley nodded to him. ‘I thank you for your assistance, Mr King, but I can take care of my husband until the physician arrives.’
It was hardly his place to remind her that she was dripping upon the carpet and likely to catch a morbid sore throat if she remained in her saturated garments. Then common sense overrode his sense of propriety. ‘Madam, I insist that you go upstairs and change into something dry. You will not be of any use to your husband if you contract a fever yourself.’
‘Very well, I shall do as you suggest, but I shall come down again immediately.’ She turned to the waiting footmen. ‘Make sure you do not dislodge the bandage when you undress him. I shall be back directly.’
Adam stepped aside and nodded to his butler, Vernon, who was hovering outside. ‘Have someone take Mrs Bingley to her apartment. Leave a footman outside the door to escort her back here when she is ready.’
As soon as she was gone he returned to the patient. He intended to supervise the removal of his clothes himself. Undressing Bingley was more difficult than he’d anticipated – removing his boots almost impossible. Eventually the patient was in a borrowed nightshirt and snugly encased in blankets and red flannel. Warm bricks had been put on either side and the fire stoked up with extra coals.
They had just settled him when the physician was announced. ‘I shall leave you to attend to Mr Bingley, sir, his wife will no doubt join you soon.’
Satisfied he could do no more he strode off to take care of himself. He was drenched through to his undergarments and he was as much in need of fresh clothes as Mrs Bingley. He met her hurrying down as he reached the upstairs landing. She was wearing a plain, rust-coloured gown that had obviously been borrowed from the housekeeper.
‘Madam, your husband is comfortable and the doctor is with him. Word was sent to Mrs Darcy and I expect someone from Pemberley will arrive before long.’
‘Thank you, I trust that our luggage will also be fetched here. We much appreciate your kindness in offering us accommodation.’ With a small smile she continued her journey to be at the side of her injured husband.
M
rs Bingley was exactly the kind of wife he would like to find for himself; he had always had a preference for fair-haired young ladies. Not only was she beautiful but also kind, intelligent and gently spoken. Even in a borrowed dress she looked every inch a lady. An image of her younger sister flicked into his mind. He frowned. Although attractive enough, with nut-brown hair and a trim figure, she lacked the refinement and elegance of Mrs Bingley.
His valet, Hobson, was waiting for him. ‘I have put out fresh garments for you, sir, and there is hot water waiting.’
In less than a quarter of an hour he was freshly garbed and on his way downstairs. As he reached the landing that overlooked the entrance hall the butler and two footmen were bowing in Mr and Mrs Darcy. He paused to examine his illustrious guests. He had yet to meet either of them as they did not attend his church having their own chapel and chaplain at Pemberley.
Mrs Darcy was dark-haired like Miss Bennet but there the resemblance ended. Mrs Darcy was taller and even enveloped in a blue, worsted travelling cloak he could see she was the epitome of elegance and good breeding. Darcy was as tall as him, his shoulders were as broad – but there the resemblance ended. Whereas his hair was nut-brown, his visitor was as dark as Lucifer.
He must not lurk like an urchin gawping at his betters, but go down and greet his guests.
Chapter Two
Elizabeth Darcy looked around the spacious entrance hall with interest. Since she and Fitzwilliam had returned from their wedding trip last week there had been no time to gallivant about the countryside meeting her neighbours. Mr King had arrived less than a month ago to take up the position as rector to the parish of Bakewell. She was surprised that his home was so luxurious and elegant, hardly the establishment one would expect a man of God to reside in. The butler bowed deeply.
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