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Unfortunately, the dead man continued to be blamed for damaged roofs, broken doors, emptied vessels, and nocturnal attacks. The heart was burned without improving his conduct, and the town descended into such terror that families abandoned their homes. Tournefort considered the panic a disorder of the imagination. Elizabeth agreed with him, but agreement provided no explanation for Mr Wickham’s black eyes or Mrs Hurst’s hand. Mykonos had contained a decomposing corpse and a frightened population. Hertfordshire contained several cold people and Mr Collins, which was not the same arrangement.

She discovered Southey’s Thalaba the Destroyer on a lower shelf, less dusty than Calmet and considerably more dramatic. The dead Oneiza appeared with “livid cheeks, and lips of blue,” while a brightness more terrible than death occupied her eyes. The resemblance to Mr Wickham was not exact, yet Elizabeth felt the cold trace of his mouth against her hand as she read.

The remedy in Southey was immediate:

Thro’ the vampire corpse

He thrust his lance.

The creature fell, howled, and released the demon inhabiting it. Oneiza’s true spirit then appeared, beautiful, innocent, and inconveniently separate from the body which had just been pierced.

Elizabeth closed the poem. Southey had at least committed himself to an answer, although his solution required a lance, a demon, and the ability to distinguish a beloved woman from the malignant creature wearing her corpse. None was readily available at Longbourn.

By the middle of the afternoon, Mr Bennet’s desk had disappeared under books. Dust streaked Elizabeth’s sleeves and one side of her face, while the study steps were stranded before the upper shelves. She had acquired vampyre, oupire, Vroucolacas, and several methods of mutilating the dead, but no explanation which survived comparison with Netherfield.

The authorities described buried peasants who rose at night. Mr Darcy attended assemblies and declined to dance unless provoked. Their corpses were ruddy and swollen; he was pale, handsome, and controlled. They consumed relations in their beds; Mr Bingley sat opposite Jane and restrained himself from touching her hand. Nothing explained cold skin, avoidance of sunlight, untouched food, absent mirrors, or a house arranged to exclude the day. No scholar had anticipated a silver punch bowl which followed Elizabeth through corridors, carried fruit knives, and had stronger romantic convictions than its owner.

Either the books were incomplete, or Elizabeth had assembled unrelated peculiarities into a monster of her own invention. The first possibility offended her faith in scholarship. The second offended her faith in herself.

She returned to Calmet and opened it at random, but another Servian corpse did nothing to improve the English problem. Mr Collins would not speak, Mr Wickham had already offered a history constructed to injure Mr Darcy, and Mr Bingley could not conceal a pleasant surprise, much less a preternatural secret. Mr Hurst would turn every enquiry into a jest and leave her uncertain whether she had been mocked or warned.

That left Mr Darcy.

Elizabeth surveyed the books, the dust, and the growing evidence that several learned men had devoted their lives to becoming inconclusive. If she continued reading, she might reach the Grand Duchy of Warsaw before dinner without moving from her father’s study. Netherfield was only three miles away, and Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst provided all the propriety required for a call.

She would go there, find Mr Darcy, and demand the truth. The printed authorities had failed her; she would have to consult the suspected corpse.

ELIZABETH’S DECISION to confront a suspected corpse survived until she remembered that a young unmarried woman could not call alone at a house occupied by two unmarried gentlemen, even if one unmarried lady and one married couple also lived there. Society had established rules for every dangerous circumstance except the discovery that one’s neighbours might drink one’s blood.

She sent a note to Lucas Lodge that afternoon, requesting Charlotte’s company for a call at Netherfield the following morning. She offered no reason beyond a desire for sensible companionship, which Charlotte would recognise as evidence that the matter was neither simple nor sensible.

Shortly before noon the next day, the Longbourn carriage carried Elizabeth to Lucas Lodge. Charlotte was waiting, already dressed for the visit, and entered the carriage after exchanging a few words with her mother. Lady Lucas stayed at the door long enough to instruct the coachman to take care near the muddy section of road, although he had driven through it twice that week without losing either horse or passenger.

Charlotte settled opposite Elizabeth and waited until the carriage had passed the gates before speaking. “Your note was unusually vague.”

“I feared that honesty might prevent you from coming.”

“Honesty has never prevented me from going anywhere. It has occasionally required stronger shoes.”

Elizabeth watched the hedgerows pass. Overnight rain had left the branches black and bare, while water collected in the ruts and reflected a sky too pale to promise improvement. “There is something evil at Netherfield.”

Charlotte considered this without flinching. “Mr Collins believes so.”

“He has told you?”

“He has told me nothing, which is more suspicious. When I questioned him, he described Mrs Hurst’s hand as cold, denied that she had injured him, and then stared at the door through which she had departed.”

The carriage struck a shallow rut, and Elizabeth braced one hand against the seat. “Yesterday I spent several hours in my father’s study reading about vampires.”

Charlotte absorbed this with remarkable composure. “Did the books assist you?”

“They recommended stakes, beheading, and fire.”

“Then I am relieved I chose my sturdiest boots. I had feared we were making an ordinary call and would seem too plain.”

“The books described corpses rising from graves, attacking their relations, and returning to coffins full of fresh blood. They contained nothing about gentlemen who lease estates, avoid sunlight, and become angry when an officer touches my hand.”

Charlotte’s fingers ceased moving against the glove ribbons. “Did Mr Wickham hurt you?”