Page 62 of Midnight at Pemberley

“She is not.” Darcy touched the knob of the only closed door in the hallway. “I can sense Wickham, and I hold no premonition.”

Elizabeth sighed audibly. “I despise it when you are reasonable.”

“You must accustom yourself to it, my love. I am rarely illogical.”

“Let us be at it, Mr. Darcy. I wish to be quickly from this place.”

Darcy turned the knob slowly and let the wood swing open to reveal a darkened room. Cautiously, he crossed the room to open the drapes to the natural light.

Nothing appeared from place. The water pitcher. The glass. The hairbrush. The folded towel. He surveyed every inch of the room. At length, Elizabeth edged into the room. “What is that?” She pointed to dark streaks on the pale-yellow cloth of the chintz bed cover.

They cautiously approached the four-poster. “I do not know.” He touched the black streaks spread in a curving pattern across the flat surface. He brought the mixture to his nose and sniffed. “I think it is earth.”

“Earth?” Elizabeth questioned. “Why would there be dirt all over the coverings? It makes no sense. Even if Wickham had mud on his jacket, it would not be in a definite pattern. Step to the foot of the bed. Can you not see that it is an outline of someone lying here?”

Darcy did as she suggested. “It is indeed.”

“Did Wickham sleep here on this earth-streaked bed?”

Darcy walked away to examine the remainder of the room. “As clean as the other rooms appeared. It must have something to do with him.”

“Is there anything more of importance? This room is most unwelcoming.” Elizabeth closed her eyes and shivered. “Wickham slept here after both of his attacks on us.”

“The only other thing that appears from place is the hand towel. All the others are neatly folded. It has a smear, as if someone wiped their soiled fingers on it.” Darcy held the towel aloft.

Elizabeth moved closer to have a look. “This does not look like the same dirt as is on the bed. It is greyer and has an odd smell—more like ashes.”

“Earth and ashes,” Darcy summarized. “I suppose we will add them to our growing list of vampire theories.”

“Our observations must fit together somehow,” Elizabeth warranted.

“Let us depart. We have seen enough.”

Entering Darcy’s Town house some thirty minutes later, Elizabeth quickly slipped away to freshen up and add their findings to their growing list.

“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Thacker cleared his throat. “You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Darcy asked, annoyed.

“It is Mr. Bingley, Sir. I assumed you would wish me to admit him.”

“You are correct, Thacker. Where is Mr. Bingley?”

“The gentleman waits in your study, Sir. I took the liberty of ordering tea upon your return. I will serve it momentarily.”

“Thank you.” The inevitable moment had arrived. He walked quickly towards his private room, a sense of guilt claiming each step. He should have sent Bingley word of his marriage, but he avoided acknowledging his obsession with Elizabeth. Would Bingley understand? “Bingley,” he called as he entered the room. “I thought you were in Hampshire!”

Bingley sprang to his feet and shook Darcy’s hand. “We heard nothing since we left you along the London Road. I came to assure myself you suffered no harm.”

Darcy motioned his friend to return to his chair and then took the one opposite. “I am ashamed to have put you through such trouble, Bingley. As you can see, I am well.”

“I am relieved, Darcy.” Bingley shot a quick glance at his friend before adding, “You were in some distress when we parted.”

Darcy cleared his throat, preparing to confess everything, but before he could speak, Mr. Thacker carried in a tray of tea and cakes. Both men waited for the butler to deposit the refreshments on a nearby table. “Thank you, Thacker, I will pour,” Darcy said.

“May I pour instead?” Elizabeth stood framed in the doorway. She had changed into a deep green day dress, which complemented her eyes.

Bingley sprang to his feet and bowed. He stammered, “Miss … Miss Elizabeth! I did not expect to see you at Darcy House.”