Beginning, Section II

Prologue

Posted on Wednesday, 31 October 2007

'This story is ridiculous. The author wishes us to imagine that supernatural happenings could take place in the very heart of England. Also, her usage of words is appalling; she seems to have little to no idea of the actual meaning of most of the words she uses. Stay away from this and stick to Mrs Radcliffe!' - H.T.

-Lucy.
-No.
-Lucy.
-No.
-Lucy!
-Leave me alone.
-You are beautiful, Lucy Steele.
-Where are you?
-I can see you.
-Where are you?
-Do not panic, Lucy.
-Leave me alone!
-I do not think I shall.
-Where are you?
-I am right out here, Lucy. Can you not see me?
-Where?
-Look out of your window, Lucy.
-...
-Come to the window, Lucy.
-...
-Lucy, come to me.
-No.
-Come, Lucy.
-I cannot see you.
-Come out on the balcony.
-No.
-Open the doors, Lucy, and step out.
-...
-Come to me, Lucy. I can show you the world.
-I do not want to -
-Come, Lucy. Come to me.
-Go away. Please, go.
-I will stay with you, Lucy. I am forever with you.
-Don't. Please go.
-Come, Lucy. Come with me. I will show you the world.
-...
-I will show you things you have never seen before. I can take you further than you have ever been. I can take you to places far more distant than you could ever imagine.
-I am happy here.
-Do not lie to me, Lucy. Do not you long to see the world?
-No.
-Have you not longed to go away forever?
-No.
-I know you have, Lucy. I can see it in your heart. You do not want to be here. You want to leave. You want to go away.
-I am happy here. I want to stay.
-You hate it here. You hate everybody who is here. Your fiancé -
-He loves me. And I love him as well.
-Oh, yes, he loves you. But you do not love him, Lucy. You accepted him, because he was the only chance you had to get away from Plymouth. Oh, how you hated Plymouth! How you hated your uncle! You thought you were trapped in that place. You thought you would never again see the sun. When Mr Ferrars came and promised you the world, of course you accepted him. But where did he take you? Here, of all places. Trapped again. In this horrid castle -
-Stop. Stop it. Just leave me alone.
-This horrid castle, with no one as company but that horrid Miss Bingley, who thinks you are below her notice, and Mrs Bingley, who watches over every single of your steps. You thought your fiancé would bring you to freedom, but he only took you to another cage -
-Stop it. I do not want to hear that. Go. Just go. Please.
-I shall go, Lucy. And you shall come with me. This night, we shall leave this place forever.
-No.
-Come, Lucy. Come with me. Let us leave this horrible place, this country. You are not free here. Come with me and you shall be free.
-I cannot -
-You can, Lucy. I know you can. Just come. It is easy.
-I cannot -
-Come to me, Lucy. Take my hand.
-I am afraid -
-Do not be afraid, Lucy. I will not harm you. Take my hand.
-...
-Come to me. Let me be close to you.
- I do not know -
-Just let me hold you, Lucy. You shall be free.
-I shall be free.
-I adore you, Lucy. I long to hold you. I have waited for this so long. Let me kiss you.
-Don't -
-Lucy, my Lucy! Come with me!
-I shall come with you.
-And you shall be free.
-I shall be free.
-Just one more step, love.
-One little step -
-And you shall be free.
-And I shall be free.
-Climb the parapet, Lucy. And you shall be free.
-I shall be free.
-One more step, Lucy.
-One more step.
-...
-No. No ...

Here ends the phonographic record. Wilhelmina Jane Bingley

Derbyshire, 31st October, 1957

By the time you are reading this, I shall probably be dead. Fear not for me, for I shall have had a long and happy life, in all probability. I have asked my lawyers to keep these documents locked away for fifty years. After this, my heirs are free to do with them whatever they like.
This story is not mine, yet I feel it my duty to pass it on. By the time you are reading this, roughly a century shall have passed since the events it describes happened; I feel it is safe to be told now.

You may wonder how I came to this. That story is told soon and not very interesting. A couple of years ago, upon the happy occasion of my marriage, I acquired a house in Derbyshire, for it had always been my wife's wish to settle in that county, of which she had heard so much. Some time later, I came across an old trunk in the attic - are not these things always found in old trunks? - which contained several stacks of documents, all neatly bundled, wrapped in oiled cloth, bound together with black ribbons, sealed and stamped. Each packet was labelled clearly in a strong, loopy hand: ‘Pemberley', ‘Lambton', ‘Delaford' etc. All these names were familiar to me, so, against my better judgement, I opened the one labelled ‘Pemberley' and started to read. What I held in my hands was very similar to what you are looking at now - a stack of machine-typed papers, typed on an old type-writer, it seemed, with what seemed to be diary entries and letters, all copied by the same diligent person.
And yet! As harmless, maybe even boring, it looked, as shocking and unbelievable were the contents. I refused to think it true at first, but the evidence to the contrary is overwhelming.

As much as I wish that the events related in here had never happened, I can assure you that they did. Do not ask how I came by that knowledge, however. Just read this - if you dare. It tells of things that are truly horrible. The events described are of a most appalling and alarming nature. I had never before that such things possible, least of all in England.
But enough of this. Let the manuscript speak for itself - the horrors within are far more real and shocking than anything I could say to you.

There remain only one or two things left to be said by me. I have shown these documents to no one in my family except from Lina, my wife. Together, we decided to take them to someone with more knowledge and we were referred to an authority which I am not allowed to name.
We learnt more about the background and the creators of these documents and we were sworn to secrecy and had to vow not to make these documents public before fifty years had passed, which is precisely why you are holding them in your hands right now.
Lina and I then set ourselves the task of editing the document. There was not much to do. Whoever had compiled them had been careful and meticulous. The typing was clear and showed almost no mistakes. Sometimes we found annotations in the margins by a small, neat hand, which seemed to belong to the typist; and now and again also notes by a different hand, the same bold, loopy hand which had labelled the document. We were also obliged, however, by that certain institution which were are not allowed to name, to omit certain things from the documents and to change a few names - most notably, you will find no precise dates, and if you look more closely at the names - but I stray into dangerous territory here. Suffice it to say that Lina took care of most of the alterations, and that that much would be obvious to anyone who knows her.

There is nothing left for me to say. My history with these documents is over; I pass them on to my children. Patrick, Alice and Jenny - this is for you. Use it wisely.
I have nothing to do now, dear reader, but to remain

Your servant

Alexander Hamilton

Items 1-3

Posted on Sunday, 4 November 2007

'Not enough blood and not at all horrid. The most boring story I ever read' - C.M.

1. Charlotte Collins, Lady Metcalfe, to Mrs Harker Bingley

3rd May, 190-

My dear Jane,

I must apologise for not having written for such a long time, but Collins has invited a couple of guests, and I dare say we have been quite busy. How are you? Are you still as happy with Mr Bingley as you were last Christmas? I am glad to tell you that Collins and I get along splendidly, and live in the utmost felicity.

Dear Jane, you will think me a lousy friend, and I must say I probably am, but I have a big favour to ask of you. I have a friend from school - I do not know whether I ever told you about her - a Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who, after a long stay with an elderly aunt somewhere on the continent, has now, following the death of said aunt, returned to England and is wholly without a place to go to, having no relatives here at all. She has stayed in London with us for the last few weeks but the climate here does not seem to agree with her; she is quite restless and very much out of spirits, and Collins' physician agrees that she best be sent to the country for a few weeks.

My dear Jane - would it be too much to ask you to invite her to Netherfield for some weeks until Collins and I return to Longbourn?
I would be in eternal debt to you.

Tell Mr Bingley my best wishes,

Your friend

Charlotte Collins.

2. Mrs Harker Bingley to Charlotte Collins, Lady Metcalfe

6th May, 190-

Dear Charlotte,

I cannot tell you how glad I was to hear from you at last; I must confess I was quite worried for you. And to hear that you are as happy with Lord Metcalfe as I am with Harker! For that I am exceedingly happy.

As regards your question about Miss Bennet, of course I would gladly invite her to Netherfield, but we are already engaged to visit Harker's friend Mr Darcy at Pemberley for a couple of weeks. If Miss Bennet does think that the climate in Derbyshire will agree with her, do you think she would like to accompany us? I dare say Mr Darcy would not mind an additional guest - that is, pray forgive my asking, but I assure you it is important even though I cannot tell you why - I take it that Miss Bennet is adequately tolerant towards the Roman Catholic faith?

If she is willing to accompany us, we will be in town from 11th to 14th May, and could take Miss Bennet with us on our journey to Derbyshire. In any case, dear Charlotte, I shall call on you as soon as I am in town, for I have dearly missed you, and you can let me know whether Miss Bennet wants to go to Derbyshire when I see you. Give my best wishes to Lord Metcalfe,

Your friend,

Wilhelmina Jane Bingley

3. Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Charlotte Collins, Lady Metcalfe

15th May, 190-

My dear Charlotte,

You were right, Mr and Mrs Bingley are the most amiable couple imaginable and even though I met them only Tuesday, I already like them dearly.

We arrived at Pemberley late in the evening; Mr Darcy himself collected us from the station in Lambton with his auto-mobile. The place is very happily situated, and seems very peaceful, so I hope I shall have opportunity to regain my strength - I dare say that after my rather abrupt departure from Vienna, I need some rest.
Mr Darcy is a very kind host, but he is neither as openly friendly as Harker Bingley, nor as universally charming as your dear Collins; he seems somewhat detached, as if, somehow, he would prefer not to entertain guests at all. He does not talk much and smiles but rarely; I cannot but wonder about him. One cannot really get to know him, I think. Also, he keeps mustering me as if he was trying to make me out, and you know how much I hate that; I always have had trouble with people who try to find out my secrets.
It is a relief to know, though, that he values Catholicism, even though I deem it strange that he should make Mrs Bingley emphasize it. I cannot say whether he is Catholic or not, but I do have noticed that he has - quite recently, it seems - put up silver crucifixes over the doors in the house. He cannot know what that means to me, but I am happy about them anyway. I have put up my own crucifix - the one that you insisted on buying me when I told you what happened to mine in Vienna - above my bed and of course I always wear my necklace, so I do hope that, thanks to Mr Darcy, I shall sleep very soundly tonight, more soundly than I could sleep in Vienna or even in London.

Mr Darcy must of course never know why I am so grateful, but I dare say that if I take all the precautions we talked about, he need never find out. I do not think I shall see that much of him anyway, I suppose he and the other men will spend their time together, which will leave me with the other female guests, of whom I have so far only met Mrs Bingley, because her sister, a Miss Bingley, is to arrive tomorrow. Apart from the Bingleys and myself, there are three other gentlemen visiting, one of whom I have already met, a Colonel Fitzwilliam, who is, as far as I understood, a cousin of Mr Darcy. Tomorrow, a Colonel Brandon and a Mr Ferrars will arrive, who are, as Mrs Bingley tells me, old friends of Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy and his cousin.

Why a man like Mr Darcy, who obviously prefers solitude - or so it seems - to having a house full of guests, should invite so many friends at once, I do not understand, but perhaps this is an English habit - for I have noticed that many English tend to make their lives unnecessarily complicated - yes, even you, dear Charlotte.

You will be pleased to hear, however, that Colonel Fitzwilliam is as unlike his stiff and silent cousin as possible. He is a very pleasing young man - perhaps he is not so young, but he does not act like a man over thirty - indeed, full of charm and easy humour, and, in contrast to his taciturn cousin, very much inclined to talk. He sat next to me at supper tonight and entertained me with all sorts of funny stories of his previous stays at Pemberley, and, upon hearing that I have recently come from Austria, about his various travels around Europe, among them, it seems, several to Vienna and other cities in Austria. (I do wonder, I admit, how a man of the military can have that much free time at his disposal, for he is not retired yet, but when I asked him about it, he evaded my question, which leads me to believe he may be in the Secret Service - or however you call it in England.)

In a similar fashion, I must confess, I tried not to answer too many questions about my stay in Vienna, for I fear to say too much and give myself away one day.
(That I have come so far at all is, I think, largely thanks to you; had you not studied the English language with me hour for hour back at Frau Reimann's school for girls, and had you not so patiently refreshed my knowledge and command of the language when I came to your house eight weeks ago, they might have discovered at once that I am not English. So far, I have been able to explain my slight accent and the mistakes I make with the long stay in Vienna, where I mostly spoke German.)

One thing strikes me as strange, though. Mrs Bingley tells me that Mr Darcy has a much younger sister whom he practically dotes on. She is not here, however, with us, nor is she expected at any time in the near future, it seems. I asked the Colonel about it and he confirms my impressions; Miss Darcy is staying with relatives in Kent and not expected to come to Derbyshire at all this summer. I asked the Colonel whether Miss Darcy did not like to be at Pemberley with her brother, but he said she preferred her brother to all other company. He then would not say anything else about the subject and instead tried to steer the conversation into a totally different direction, which makes me suspect there is more to it than he wishes me to know. But then, am I not a complete stranger to the family, so who can blame them for not wanting to let me into all of their secrets on the first evening?

I have not detected anything really suspicious here, so I do think I shall spend an agreeable time in Derbyshire. I hope you shall have an equally good time this summer,

Yours, Lizzy.

Posted on Sunday, 11 November 2007

'I can give no praise to this meaningless little thing. It is vulgar and insulting. I give no recommendation. It deserves no such thing.' - C.d.B.

4. From the Journal of Col. The Hon. John S. Fitzwilliam

15th May --- Arrived at Pemberley early in the morning. Learnt from Darcy that Mina Bingley is to bring additional guest, a Miss Bennet, whom none of us has met before. Remarked to Darcy that I thought this quite reckless but he says Lady Metcalfe (whoever that may be) vouches for her integrity. Can only hope she won't destroy everything. Also must make sure that no one lets slip anything to her, especially not the Bingleys, who are, I am afraid, too naïve in such matters - in spite of their perceptiveness in many others. Also had to remind Darcy to remove certain items from the library and bring them to their usual place, for they were bound to arise suspicion. Wish Darcy were more of an independent thinker in such matters. He is brilliant in what he does, but practically blind in every-day matters, which fact forces me to put a constant watch on him, especially now that an outsider is around. Am very glad that I trained the English pronunciation with him over the winter; the Dutch accent now hardly shows at all anymore and he will pass for an Englishman.

Am really glad that Caroline is to join us tomorrow; she will, I hope, be able to help me to make sure that Miss Bennet does not learn about things she should not know. (As this is a diary, I might as well be completely honest and add that there may be other reasons that I am glad that Miss Bingley comes tomorrow - but well, no more of that.)

Later --- Miss Bennet has arrived, together with the Bingleys. Am both relieved and alarmed. She seems to be a very likeable and charming young lady, which relieves me, for I feared we might be forced to entertain an old hag to whom Mina had not been able to say no. On the other hand, she is also - or at least seems to be - quite intelligent and perceptive, which makes me fear she will soon notice unusual incidents. Can only hope Brandon will help Caroline and me to keep things under control; not much to be expected from Ferrars, I fear; he is still mourning for poor Lucy.

(NB: must make sure Miss Bennet does not learn any details about Lucy's death. Best tell her right away that a mysterious illness claimed her, and if Ferrars lets slip anything, say that the doctor said that it was one of his stages of mourning to seek for fantastic explanations because he cannot accept that she died of blood poisoning or similar.)

Now that I think of it, quite a lot of things to discuss with Miss Bingley. I hope I shall have the time to explain everything to her tomorrow. It is of crucial importance that she know as much as possible, and as soon as possible. How can I possibly contrive to spend some time alone with her?

5. From the journal of Miss Caroline Bingley

15th May --- I must not retire so late tonight, as I want to leave early tomorrow morning. I have arranged with Mr Hurst that his carriage shall bring me to the station at 8 a.m., which I hope shall be in time for the 8.47 to Lambton. If Hurst only could be persuaded to buy an auto-mobile! But, alas, he calls it ‘progressive nonsense' and does not want to have anything to do with it. I must talk to Harker when I am at Pemberley, and ask him whether I can have an auto-mobile.
I just realise it is already late, but I do not know where time went. The Hursts will long have gone to sleep, they keep such early hours. I can not really have spent that much time on packing, can I?

For a moment I thought I heard a knock on the door, but it cannot be. I daresay it is much too late for visitors and I do not think the Hursts are expecting anyone anyway.
There was the knocking again. I wonder what it is?
I truly can think only of one person who would be so bold and impolite and turn up here unexpected at this hour, and I know he must be miles away. Was I not thinking of him just a few minutes ago?

There is a knock again. It almost sounds as if someone was at my door, but that cannot be. I must be imagining things because I am tired.
(And as regards my thinking of him, I want to make it clear - in case Mina has the glorious idea to type out our journals again - that it was not, in any way ...

Much later (16th May, in fact) --- I was rudely interrupted in my writing by the butler knocking on my door again, telling me that there was a gentleman who had especially asked for me and demanded to see me instantly, and, in addition to that, in my private rooms. I had already had a suspicion who it might be, so I asked the butler to let him enter.
And I was right about him again!
I had barely had the time to close my journal, not wishing him to read the last few lines, when he entered the room, very much at his ease, it seemed.

‘Good evening, Colonel Fitzwilliam,' I said, ‘Do sit down.' I fear that even though I wanted to sound angry and detached - had he not just, with the help of some cheap trick, managed to enter my bedroom late in the evening? - the words came out friendlier than I had planned them to be, for which I must blame my tiredness.
The Colonel, however, in his usual impoliteness, stared around in the room, mustering my bed with, as I think, far too much interest.

‘So this is it,' he finally said, sitting down in my favourite armchair. (I swear he did it on purpose! I simply know it.) ‘I like that shelf next to your bed. Practical to have one's favourite volumes at night, is it not?'
‘The credit belongs to Mr Hurst, not me,' I said, ‘this is his house, not mine. As you fully well know, I have no home of my own and must be a constant guest with one of my siblings.' (Of course he knew. I had oft enough complained, in his presence, about the fact that I could not establish my own estate. It is most unfair. I have both the money and the experience to do it, but society will not permit me, even though such an arrangement would be to my benefit as well as to that of my siblings.)

‘And what do you mean by ‘this is it?' I asked. ‘What is what?'
‘Well, the room in which I can find you,' he said cheerfully, ‘it took me long enough to convince that watchdog of your butler to let me see you. I almost had to tell him you were my fiancée.'
‘Don't you dare,' I said. ‘What do you want here anyway? We were supposed to meet tomorrow, remember?'

His purpose in visiting me was, it seems, to tell me that there was another guest at Pemberley, a Miss Bennet, who must not learn about the existence of the Society and the real purpose of our meeting. The Colonel is of the opinion - and I agree with him - that it will be largely his, mine and Col. Brandon's duty to see to this, as Arthur is far too distracted by Lucy's death, the Bingleys are far too naïve to sense any danger and Darcy is almost bound to let anything slip. (Honestly, how that man manages to find his shoes in the morning, I do not know. I was almost ready to bet, when the Colonel told me about Miss Bennet's visit, that Darcy had already ‘accidentally' let something slip, but the Colonel told me that, in a truly admirable effort, he managed to keep himself under control and did not tell Miss Bennet a single thing she was not supposed to know. He was, however, the Colonel says, very taciturn and seemingly uncomfortable towards Miss Bennet, because he was concentrating very much on what not to say and what not to do, and may have made a rather unfortunate impression with her. The less she talks to him, the better, I say though, and I therefore cannot but applaud this development.)

While I admit that the Colonel is probably right about the precautions we should take, and the urgency of the matter, I do not understand why he saw the need to come here in the middle of the night in order to tell me. He simply could have collected me from the station tomorrow (today, rather) and told me everything on the way to Pemberley, and nobody would have thought a thing about it. Now he shall have to explain why he went to see me (alone!) less than twenty-four hours before we would have met in any case, and why he drove to Mr Hurst's estate in the middle of the night just to see me.
(And who knows what this Miss Bennet will make of his marked preference of me, for as such it would seem.)

I pointed this out to him, and asked why he had thought about that, and he merely said ‘it had not occurred to him.' The nerve of the man! I wonder why he acts the way he does. What goes on in his head? Does he think at all? Sometimes I think his sole aim is to annoy me to death. Well, I must say if that is so, he shall reach his aim soon. I am quite annoyed by his behaviour. I asked him, was he planning to visit Col. Brandon as well, in order to discuss the manners to be taken with him, and he said, he had not planned to, he had thought only of me, but he proposed that we would leave early tomorrow morning and collect Col. Brandon from his home and instruct him on the way. He then told me cheerfully that by early he meant a quarter to five in the morning - I could have slapped him. That means I shall not get any sleep at all this night, for it is after two in the morning and I need to repack my trunk (the Colonel pointed out to me that with Miss Bennet being there to greet us at Pemberley, it would not do for me to turn up in my usual attire (the black shirt, white blouse, black bow-tie and black cardigan I had already laid out), for Miss Bennet might think it peculiar, and he suggested that I put that back in my bag and wear something ‘brighter'. ‘That rose-coloured gown you wore last summer,' he said, ‘do you still have it? It looks good on you, and not at all sombre. You see, even I have discarded my usual black and am wearing this cheerful light grey. You must have noticed how much less depressing I look.'
‘You, Colonel, never look depressing,' I said, ‘your hair forbids that. I swear, were you a woman, they would burn you for being a witch. With hair like that, you cannot look but cheerful, at least to me.' He seemed to take that as a compliment.)

And even if I did not have to pack the cases, what would I do with the Colonel while I slept?
I cannot put him up in a guest-room, for fear someone might see him, and who knows what they might think? The butler I know will disapprove, but not say anything, but the maids?
No, stay here he must, and therefore neither of us is to get sleep tonight (for I am determined not to sleep in the Colonel's presence). At the moment he is sitting in my armchair and scribbling something (it is amazing how Mina got us all to be avid journal-writers), before that he leafed through my copy of Pride and Prejudice, which I had left on the table, while I sit here at my desk. As soon as I have related all that happened this evening, I shall ask the Colonel to step outside for a moment and change into the dreadful pink dress.
(I already have taken almost a dislike for Miss Bennet for forcing me to wear that dress - in a way.)

The only good thing is that with Miss Bennet present, Darcy will not be able to force us to wear our dreadful ‘V.D.'-badges. Seriously, how he came to such a stupid notion, I do not know. The thing makes me blush whenever I look at it and the Colonel is the only one who can actually joke about it (Which again shows how weird a creature he is!)
I shall dress now.

6. From the journal of Col. The Hon. John S. Fitzwilliam

16th May, early morning --- Am right now at the Hursts', for I thought it best to talk to Miss Bingley in person and as soon as possible, therefore drove over after dinner. In the morning, the two of us shall drive over and collect Brandon on the way in order to discuss further procedure with him. Miss Bingley understood my concern and approves of my proposals (somehow, the connection of Miss Bingley and - but anyway), but she seemed somewhat out of spirits, do not know why, perhaps the late hour.

Was very glad to meet her again, had last seen her the night after Lucy's funeral and missed discussing and joking with her. At the moment, am waiting in the hall while she dresses (luckily, managed to persuade her to wear her pink gown that goes so well with her hair and that she wore last summer on the day that I almost kissed her. Do not know why she insists on wearing black even when we are not on duty. She says it is because she is more respected when wearing black, but I think that is nonsense; I certainly do not respect her in any way less only because she is wearing a pink gown.)

Hush! The door opens again. It is Caroline, fully dressed, wearing the pink gown she wore last summer on that day in the park, but looking lovelier than ever ...

7. From the journal of Miss Caroline Bingley

16th May, early morning --- The Colonel managed to surprise me yet again. When I opened my door in order to let him in again, he stared at me like he had never seen me before. I thought he was going to criticise me again, but he did not say anything.
Only after we had re-entered the room and I had closed the door again did he suddenly say, very softly - for the Colonel, at least - ‘You forgot something, Caroline.' (Only now do I realise that he called me Caroline - how dare he?), but instead of criticising me, he took the silver chain - the one with the cross that Harker gave me - from the washing table, stepped behind me and fastened it around my neck. I could swear he stroked my neck, very tenderly, while doing so, but why he would, I have no idea, and I did not want to ask him. Why is it that he is sometimes so nice to me? Why does he do these things?

(I was reminded of that day last summer when I, incidentally, also wore this gown, and he almost - but I will not write about this here, in case Mina snatches my diary again in order to type it.
I am fully convinced Harker should have never given her that typewrite for her birthday last year. I do admit it is rather useful, but she is perhaps a little too enthusiastic about it, and she can read my shorthand, too! (The Colonel cannot. He always writes longhand, very slowly, which is why his journal entries are always much shorter, once typed out, than mine, Mina says.))

While I am hastily scribbling these lines, the Colonel is bringing my trunk downstairs and driving his auto-mobile to the front. (I just realise I have never seen it; he only bought it last month. I wonder what it will look like?)
I left a letter for Louisa, telling her I had quite forgotten that they were sending someone from Pemberley to collect me, and that I would, therefore, not need their carriage.

I do not like to have to steal away like this, but I have to get the Colonel out of the way as soon as possible, who knows in what other compromising positions he might get me?
I shall now leave for Pemberley. It is still dark outside.
The situations the Colonel gets me in!

Posted on Sunday, 18 November 2007

'Very badly done.' - G.K.

8. From the journal of Col. Quincey Montgomery Brandon

16th May --- Do not really know why I am keeping journal again, must be Mina Bingley's influence. No sooner had I received her letter asking me to come to Pemberley as soon as possible, than I felt the need to buy a journal and write into it. Could not do so before, for Marianne might have noticed and found it suspicious - and she still is being suspicious because of me going to Pemberley after receiving letter from Mina. (‘Honestly, Col. Brandon, why would Mrs Bingley write to you if Mr Darcy invites you to Pemberley? This is simply ridiculous!') But in the end, she believed my story about Darcy having broken his right arm and the Bingleys being there to nurse him, and Mina asking me to come to keep Darcy (who had also broken his foot, and could not move) company, for they were engaged to visit another ailing relative soon.

Hate lying to M., but what was I supposed to do? She would never believe the truth (and if she did, how frightened she would be!) and think it a poor excuse of mine to meet other women.
M. was already dreadfully upset when she saw Miss B. & John F. coming to collect me (M. & I were just sitting at breakfast when butler announced ‘a Miss Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam to see you, Colonel'. She made a dreadful scene when I went upstairs to get my bags ready. (‘Who is this woman, Colonel? Why is she here to collect you?') Was glad I could tell her Miss B. & Col. F. as good as engaged, and did not even have to lie about that.

M. became remarkably friendlier after that towards Miss B. and behaved very civilly towards her during breakfast. (Had to invite the two for breakfast, they were positively starving, having started from Hurst Park without eating anything, at 4.30 a.m. There is something fishy about this hasty departure but I do not know what, and they will not tell anything, not even why J. was there in the first place when just the day before I had a telegraph from him telling me he had arrived at Pemberley and would collect me from the train at 5 p.m. (which time I intended to arrive, not knowing I would be collected at 8 a.m.) I suspect they were discovered in a compromising position, just like last summer, when Ferrars and I discovered them in the Park, and they would swear nothing had happened and beg us not to tell anybody about it (which promise we of course kept). Why the two of them do not get married and be done with it, I do not know. I wonder, perhaps Harker forbids the marriage? Must talk to him when at Pemberley, ask him what he means by it.
Still, that would not explain why J. was at H., but I suppose it is just another example of the irrational behaviour of lovers.)

Had imagined difficulties arising in explaining to M. why J. & Miss B. turned up when I was expected to be Darcy's only visitor, especially as I had told M. she could not come with me because there were no other women present, but must say Miss B. picked up my hints remarkably fast and told M. how the Col. had to deliver her to the Bingleys' ailing relative near Pemberley (where her brother and sister were already expecting her) before he had to return to his regiment, and that she had suggested that he take me along, as we were all heading in the same direction.
Miss B. also made several allusions to her long-time knowledge of J., which supported M.'s belief that they were about to be engaged. Really hate having to lie to M., especially seeing this is not my first lie. Could never tell her about my time in the army, and what I really did there, and how I got that limp and was retired, which is why she still believes I was a member of the Horse Guards, even though I cannot even properly ride - at least, not good enough for the Horse Guards (which of course she does not know. She thinks I do not ride because of the limp.).

Quite emotional moment of taking leave of M., luckily her mother and sisters will visit her later today and stay until my business at Pemberley is over, could not bear the thought that I left her all on her own. Know that I will miss M. terribly, but still am looking forward to seeing all the society again; have not seen them since the sad meeting the night after Lucy's funeral, when none of us was in the best of moods.

The purpose of Miss B.'s & J.'s visit seems to have been to inform me about the fact that there is another visitor at Pemberley (meaning that we will not be among ourselves), a Miss Bennet, who J. thinks is rather perceptive, and because of whom we shall have to put a constant watch on Darcy, and make sure that he does not do or say anything he should not. Can understand their arguing and approve of their proposed measures, but do not know why they came hither to tell me - but as I said, irrational behaviour only to be expected.

Am writing this in the auto-mobile. J. is driving and Miss B. fell asleep on the seat next to him the moment we were finished discussing the precautions necessary (which supports my belief that they did not get much sleep tonight - but no more of this; it is their private business, and who am I to judge it anyway?)
I think we shall be at Pemberley soon.

9. Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Charlotte Collins, Lady Metcalfe

16th May, 190-

My dear Charlotte,

I do not know why, but even though everything seems to be in order, everyone is very attentive or even friendly towards me, even though I slept very well last night, I have the distinct feeling that some strange things are going on here. Not dangerous, at least I do hope so, but definitely weird. It makes me believe that at least the majority of the inhabitants of Pemberley may not be totally sane. Yes, Charlotte, even you dear friend Mrs Bingley, who I have come to like very much, is behaving suspiciously.

At breakfast this morning, the Colonel (you remember, Mr Darcy's cousin Col. Fitzwilliam) was mysteriously absent. Upon being asked about the whereabouts of his master, his valet - summoned to the breakfast room by Mrs Bingley - said that he had not seen his master since some point yesterday evening, when he had assisted him into his evening suit, and that his master had not slept at Pemberley.
Mrs Bingley immediately exclaimed that something dreadful must have happened to him, and that a search for him should be conducted immediately. She then mumbled something about measures better be taken at once, and that she did not wish to find the maimed remains of his poor body somewhere.

Mr Darcy, on the other hand, did not appear to be concerned at all, but told us he suspected his cousin would come back sooner or later for 'he (Mr Darcy that is) had controlled everything and was sure that nothing could have attacked the Colonel.' (Yes, he said attacked. Do not ask me why.)
Mr Bingley tried to comfort his wife by alternately telling her that he was sure the Colonel would be very careful and that she knew he never ventured out of the house after dark without 'the usual protection' (his words, not mine) and asking Mr Darcy whether he was really sure that everything was under control. Mr Darcy did not know how to answer these questions except with an assuring grunt. Mr Bingley then, with a mysterious glance at me, tried to change the subject of conversation and asked me whether I was satisfied with the comfort my room was offering. He was the only one at all inclined to talk to me; Mrs Bingley was still sobbing about the cruel fate that had no doubt befallen the Colonel, and Mr Darcy was under his breath reciting something that sounded like ‘the weather, historical sites in Derbyshire, recent developments in literature, impressionist art, favourite dishes, concerts and operas, technical progress, pot plants' - as if he was trying to memorise a list of suitable topics for a conversation that someone had given him.

After breakfast, Mrs Bingley retired to her room, Mr Bingley went to search the grounds due to his wife's orders and Mr Darcy disappeared through a secret door hidden behind a tapestry and was not seen again until much later (I will come to that soon.)

I was left to entertain myself and decided, for want of better things to do, to tour the house. Let me tell you about this mysterious mansion. It has a core dating back to the Middle Ages and several wings from Elizabethan times, but seems to have been subjected to a complete remodeling at the beginning of the last century. The result is that although very beautiful from the outside, and certainly very comfortable from the inside, Pemberley is nevertheless much confusing. All corridors take many turns, staircases leading to more corridors can be found around every corner, staircases between adjoining rooms as well as several staircases leading to landings without doors at all are not infrequent and the proportions of rooms and walls make me think that there must be quite a lot of those secret passages that Mr Darcy seems to use. I do not think that I managed to see everything of the house but what I saw is certainly remarkable. The music room has no door and can only be accessed from the terrace. There is a room on the ground floor in which 16 different tables but not a single chair can be found. There is another room, on the first floor, which has a large table, like a dining-table, but it has no connection to the kitchen at all - in fact, the only possibility to enter this room is through a narrow cabinet full of mirrors. There is a very nice library on the ground floor - even though it has a staircase connecting its northern half to its southern half, for it is built on different levels - which does not seem to be in use at all, even though Mrs Bingley assured me Mr Darcy was a great reader. I spent a considerable amount of time in the portrait gallery, which is situated directly above the main entrance and has thirteen different chandeliers. I saw the portraits of Mr Darcy's ancestors and I wonder whether it is from them that he got his strange habits. Almost all of them chose to be depicted in severe black clothing and with very weird accessory - like a massive silver cross, a skull, a dagger, an enormous rosary or - weirdest of all - a wreath of unidentifiable flowers around the neck. No wonder Mr Darcy turned into what he is now, with such models before him.

After many attempts, I finally managed to find my way back to the room which had been indicated to me, by Mrs Bingley, as the most frequently used drawing-room, but there was no one there. I took a magazine that had been lying around and leafed through it, but it did not present many things of interest to me.
Half an hour later, Mrs Bingley entered the room, her eyes still all red and swollen, sniffing into her handkerchief.
'Has Harker returned?' she asked. 'Has he found the Colonel?'
I told her that I had seen no one during my tour of the house.
'Oh, it is always so difficult when they are out there and you do not know what happened to them, or when they will return - if they return at all.'
She sniffed more loudly.
'And Caroline even insists on joining them,' she told me, 'you cannot know how difficult it is for me to wait here, all alone, sometimes all the night.'

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I let her continue talking anyway, it seemed to help her. From what she said, between loud sobs, I gathered that the same party that was to assemble here later this day had assembled here several times before in the past, upon which occasions the men and Miss Bingley would venture outside, preferably at night-time, on mysterious and probably dangerous expeditions, whilst Mrs Bingley would wait for them to return. I guess it all has to do with hunting some bird or other. You told me how the English men, including your dear Collins, are all mad for hunting, so I suppose that this is also the case here - for what other explanation should there be for it anyway?

Mrs Bingley started to sob again and told me she was sure that Harker (her husband) was stumbling upon the Colonel's bloodless and dismembered body any moment now, and how she would not be able to face the sight when they would carry him back to the house. I tried my best to calm her, but to no avail, she was not to be persuaded that the Colonel had certainly not died an unfathomably horrible death at the hand of a supremely evil being.

I do hope, my dear Charlotte, that you will not think me heartless, but I did not feel as worried for the Colonel's well-being as she was. True, the fact that he had decided to spend the night somewhere that was not his room was peculiar, but was that enough to raise suspicion? I did not think so. In my experience, young men often behave strangely, and to decide to spend a night outside, star-gazing, cannot be dangerous, at least not here, in Derbyshire. It would, of course, be something totally different if this were Buda-Pesht or even Vienna. I could not, of course, tell Mrs Bingley about this, which is why I rather helplessly patted her hand and watched her sob. I kept wondering where Mr Bingley was, as he certainly should be done with his search by then. Also, Mrs Bingley had told me yesterday that Miss Bingley would arrive around 11.30 a.m. at Lambton Station, but there was no sign of her anywhere, even though it was almost 1 p.m. and I was not even sure whether anyone had thought of sending someone to collect her. I asked Mrs Bingley about this and she said she had not given it any thought; normally the Colonel organised such things - and here followed another violent attack of sobs.

You will not be surprised, I think, when I tell you that it was then that I began to think some not very friendly things about Mr Darcy. Honestly - why does he invite people to his house when he is not even to able to remember to collect them from the station? The man must be almost thirty; why on earth should he need his cousin to play his nanny? Remembering Mr Darcy's weird monologue at breakfast, I wondered whether the Colonel - before his mysterious disappearance - had had to tell Mr Darcy about what subjects to talk to me and what not. If this was indeed the case, I did not wonder anymore that the Colonel had decided to escape from his cousin - I only wondered that it had taken him that long to come to that decision. I did not mention this, however, to Miss Bingley, because from what she had said I gathered that she was rather fond of Mr Darcy.
At around a quarter past one, I began to wonder whether I should perhaps ask a servant where Mr Bingley or Mr Darcy were to be found, for Mrs Bingley was still sobbing uncontrollably, telling me between sobs that she feared her husband had probably met the same gruesome end as the Colonel, at the same time maintaining that it was not possible - whatever she meant by that.

In that very moment, the door opened and a servant announced 'Colonel Fitzwilliam, Colonel Brandon and Miss Bingley.' Imagine our surprise at their entrance! None of them looked particularly harmed. Col. Fitzwilliam still looked the same as yesterday. Col. Brandon is older than Col. Fitzwilliam, maybe 35, and less cheerful, though not unfriendly. He has a slight limp and a large scar across one cheek, but it does not render him very ugly - it rather gives him a sort of dignified look. He smiled pleasantly enough when he was introduced to me and greeted me very friendly. He is not as tall as Col. Fitzwilliam, who is exceptionally tall, about 1.9 m (how much is that in your English feet?), but broader, and even smaller than Miss Bingley, who must be almost as tall as Col. Fitzwilliam. She is a rather pretty young woman, with a classical figure, even features and beautiful dark brown hair. She also appears to be rather friendly, although it seemed as if something was annoying her.
As soon as they had entered the room, Mrs Bingley jumped up and alternately hugged all three of them, telling Col. Fitzwilliam how glad she was that he was still alive and thanking Miss Bingley and Col. Brandon for rescuing him from the great danger that he had doubtlessly been in. From the bewildered expressions on their faces I could tell that they had no idea what was going on either. This, I must confess, gave me hope that my holidays here will not be as chaotic as I first thought. What happened next, however, made me doubt this idea very soon though. Mrs Bingley had just calmed herself and sat down again, asking the new-comers to follow her example, when suddenly a portrait on the wall - of a lady in a ball gown, not nearly as sinister as the portraits in the portrait gallery - slid aside and Mr Darcy stepped out of the hollow behind it. None of the assembled crowd seemed particularly taken aback by this and Mr Darcy did not take notice of any of us apart from Col. Fitzwilliam, whose wrist he grabbed, muttering that he needed to talk to him about a matter of some urgency. He dragged the Colonel with him behind the portrait. I looked at the others quizzically. They stared back at me, but remained silent.

Finally, Miss Bingley said 'It must be something to do with the pot plants in the greenhouse. The Colonel knows everything about pot plants.'
'Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam loves pot plants,' Col. Brandon confirmed. 'He adores them.'
Pot plants my foot, Charlotte - something definitely weird is going on here. By the pricking of my thumbs!
Col. Brandon then asked where Mr Bingley was and Mrs Bingley told him that he was still outside in the park, searching for Col. Fitzwilliam. After what looked like - to me, at least - a pleading look from Miss Bingley, Col. Brandon asked Mrs Bingley would she like to accompany him on a stroll through the park, in search of Mr Bingley? He was sure the fresh air would do her good. The two of them left and I found myself alone with Miss Bingley, who, to me, appeared to be the sanest person of them all, which was why I decided to interrogate her a little bit - without her noticing she was being interrogated, of course - in order to find out as much as I could.

Unfortunately, that was not very much. I found out, as I had speculated before, that the assembled party have known each other for quite some time, and have frequently met over the years. There was, Miss Bingley told me, another woman usually with them, a Miss Steele, the fiancée of Mr Ferrars, who is to arrive later this day, but she is dead. Miss Bingley says it is quite a sad story. Miss Steele, it seems, was on the balcony of her room here at Pemberley, when she suddenly had an accident - she slipped or lost her balance or similar, Miss Bingley says, they do not know for sure because nobody saw her and she could not remember afterwards, but she fell down from the balcony. Mr Ferrars, in any case, found her only the next morning, unconscious, with several broken bones and a severe concussion to her head. She was brought back inside, a physician saw her, she regained consciousness and everything seemed to be on the mend when she developed a sepsis and died of blood poisoning a couple of days later, despite several attempts to cure her with transfused blood.

Miss Bingley says it affected them all very much (I can imagine. Such a sad story!), especially Mr Ferrars, who, she told me confidentially, does not cope with her death very well and has started to think that some weird creature has attacked her because he cannot bear the thought that she died from an accident. She asked me not to tell anybody about that and please ignore it if he tried to tell me stories about a monster at Pemberley. I told her that Mrs Bingley had been afraid of a similar thing, it seemed, and she said, yes, she could well imagine that; Miss Steele and Mrs Bingley had been quite close, and it was Mrs Bingley who had tried to comfort Mr Ferrars after her death, so he might well have infected her with his horror tales.

She then changed the topic of conversation quite suddenly, before I could ask anything - they are all masters in this art here - and complimented me on my gown (the yellow muslin one with the buttoned sleeves that we chose together) and asked where I had bought it (how lucky that I could refer her to an ordinary London dressmaker instead of old Frau Glickstein in Vienna, which would have aroused suspicion - although Frau Glickstein's gowns were - still are - the best, and I am quite sorry that I could take none of mine out of Vienna with me.)
I wanted to return the compliment and asked about her dress, but she did not seem too enthusiastic about it. She said something along the lines of ‘Oh, this old rag? I must have had it for ages,' which is strange, because it is a very beautiful gown in a sort of pale pink, and it fits her perfectly. It must also have been quite expensive, for you could not tell its age at all.

Despite all that, Miss Bingley still strikes me as the sanest person in this house, and I am quite happy that there is - apart from Mrs Bingley, of course, who is, I assure you, very sweet, but as you see, not always understandable - one person in this household that could be of assistance in case of need.

Dear Charlotte, checking my watch, I realise how late it is, and I must therefore come to a close, for I wish to change before dinner.

My best wishes to you and Collins,

Yours, Lizzy.

Posted on Sunday, 25 November 2007

‘Lacks a superiority of talent and that certain something which any accomplished project must possess.' - C.B.

10. From the journal of Wilhelmina Jane Bingley

16th May --- I was looking forward very much to our stay here. Indeed, it feels so good to be back at Pemberley Castle, among people who truly understand, with whom I can be myself and do not have to hide behind façades like I so often have to do when being together with strangers. (I do not count Miss Bennet as a stranger at all. Such a dear, sweet girl, we have become fast friends already, and I know that even if she should per chance find out anything, which I do not think very likely, for she would certainly not spy on us, she would keep it to herself and not blab about it.)

When Harker and I received Darcy's letter last month, asking us to come as soon as possible and to invite all the others too, I felt positively elated, to say the least. To be amongst my dearest friends once more, to do worthwhile work once again! I had feared that after Lucy's death, we should never be able to work again, what with the inquiry and all the evidence confiscated by the magistrate, and all the instruments transported to Kent for safekeeping in case the castle was searched. (And what if they had found the secret entrance to the attic?)
But it seems that the authorities have finally accepted our testimonies that it was an accident and are ready to blame a lunatic for what happened to poor Lucy's body, so that we are no longer under suspicion and can meet again without having to fear anything (from the authorities, that is).

It is poor Lucy's death, however, that has changed everything here. It is not the same anymore. All the time I have to think of poor Lucy, and of how horribly she died, and of how Arthur suffered. What if it should happen again? I am so afraid, much more for Harker than for myself. He is so careless sometimes - and John, too, even more than him! What would Caroline do if anything happened to John? What would Harker do if anything happened to me? What would I do if - Heaven forbid - anything happened to Harker?

All the time I have to think about the great danger we are all in, and how we have not yet found anything we can do, and the thought almost makes me sick. I do not feel safe anywhere, not even in broad daylight.
And then I have to think of poor dear Lucy again, and of Arthur, and I feel so sad for both of them and all I want to do is hide in my room and cry, but what good would that do? Oh, if but the days when all this was nothing more than an exciting adventure could come back! How I long for those days, when I reminded the men to keep their diaries, and Harker to put on his woolen socks before venturing out at night. I did not know it then, but I was so happy in those days!

11. From the journal of Miss Caroline Bingley

16th May --- We returned to Pemberley only to find out that we were too late and all hell had already broken loose. And this is, I must add, almost entirely the Colonel's fault, even though even he could not have fathomed what would happen. (Why do I try to find excuses for him? He behaved stupidly and did not think, and this is what triggered all this.)
I tried to save as much as possible, but I am not sure whether I succeeded, and I am positive that she must now think us all freaks, to say the least. Miss Bennet, that is.
Who would have guessed that a day that started pleasantly enough - although with not nearly enough sleep - could turn into such a catastrophe?

For the day did start pleasantly indeed, that I must admit. When we left Hurst Park, I had promised myself to stop quarrelling with the Colonel, for it would lead to nothing anyway, I told myself. ( I do not think I shall manage to keep that promise though.) Thus, I did not berate him for his stupid plans anymore - it may also have had something to do with his auto-mobile, though, for when I saw it first, I simply had to ask all sorts of questions about it. It is simply beautiful! It is all black and it has cream-coloured seats and the latest technique and - I must have sounded very enthusiastic about it, I suppose, when I asked the Colonel about it. How great would it be to have such a snug little thing too! To be able to simply hop into it and dive wherever you like. I think I said as much to the Colonel, for we cannot have driven more than a mile - perhaps even less - when the Colonel suddenly stopped at the side of the road, looked at me and asked, grinning, ‘Would you like to drive the car, Caroline?' (I did not even reprimand him for calling me Caroline, I was so excited about the prospect!) ‘But - I have never -' I stammered. (I do hope the Colonel does not remember that I stammered. I am sure he would tease me about it!) ‘I shall teach you how to do it,' he said. ‘Do not worry, you will learn it in no time.' Oh, in that moment I could have kissed him! But I did not, of course. It was just because of the car.
And so the Colonel let me drive. It was such a fantastic, wonderful, great experience! I did not think it would be so much fun and it was not difficult at all. Hurst was fussing so much about gear-shifting and accelerating and everything after he had first tried out an auto-mobile and refused to buy one afterwards, but it is really so very easy. Even the Colonel would not find much to criticise in my driving, once that I had mastered the basics. I must say, I was not a little pleased with myself.
‘You know, Mr Hurst says women should not drive anything,' I told the Colonel, ‘neither carriage nor auto-mobile. It is nice to see that you do not carry such notions and let me drive yours.'
‘Mr Hurst is an idiot,' the Colonel muttered, ‘although I cannot say I would allow all women behind this steering-wheel. But then, I would not allow Mr Hurst either.'

We chatted in this manner most pleasantly until we reached Delaford.
‘Well, thank you very much, Colonel, for letting me drive the auto-mobile,' I said, ‘and especially for teaching me how to drive. It was very nice of you.'
‘Yes, I am a very nice man, am I not,' he said and grinned at me. ‘Just do not forget that I am.
‘But surely,' he added after a short pause, ‘you do not want to stop driving now, do you? The road from Delaford to Pemberley is full of sharp bends, you surely do not want to miss that, do you?'
‘Oh, Colonel, I would love to,' I said, perhaps a little too enthusiastic, ‘but think of what Colonel and Mrs Brandon would think! Would it not look very peculiar?'
‘Oh, I care not one little bit about what he thinks about you and me and I am sure -'
I think I must have blushed at that point, remembering an occasion when it had mattered, to both of us, what Colonel Brandon would think, for the Colonel suddenly stopped and also blushed slightly; both of us obviously thinking about the same thing. It might have been a very awkward moment, but luckily, just then, the butler stepped out and spared both of us the necessity to say anything further.

I wonder, indeed, what it is with the two of us that neither of us can forget that moment that was not even a kiss. Whatever we do it will come between us and render us both silent. We used to get on so splendidly, but now, there is always an underlying awkwardness in our interaction, as if we were aware of some invisible boundary between us. I cannot explain this. How can five minutes on a sunny day last summer have such an impact on two rational creatures like the Colonel and myself? It is not as of - I mean, technically, nothing happened but that the Colonel stroked my hair with one hand and hold my right hand with the other. Our heads had maybe become slightly closer than usual, but apart from that - well, anyway, in that moment we heard someone clear his throat directly behind us and we both opened our eyes at once and drew apart with a start. I really do not see why this - and I have the distinct feeling that the Colonel feels exactly the same. We are both, I think, rather embarrassed by the way we act now, and still, we cannot stop behaving so childishly.

All this went through my head as we entered the house, and I was rather confused, I fear, and must have looked at Colonel Brandon like a moonstruck calf when he greeted me, for he seemed to be confused (and so was I, and I am sure I looked it.)
The Brandons then left me and the Colonel alone in the breakfast parlour - under the pretence of having to get Col. Brandon's bags ready, but in all probability in order to carry out a dispute (for Mrs Brandon did not seem to be very pleased about the fact that I was there. She did not care so much about the Colonel - Col. Fitzwilliam, that is.) which I thought rather rude, I must confess.
Neither me nor the Colonel seemed inclined to break the silence, so we sat there rather awkwardly, looking at each other - or rather, stealing glances at each other, to see whether the other would perhaps say something - until, finally, the Colonel said, ‘Perhaps you are - I mean, you are probably right - I should perhaps better drive back. I mean, we would not want Brandon to think anything that was not true, would we?' I was glad that we were in agreement at least about this.

Before I could say anything else, though, the Brandons came back and to my relief Mrs Brandon did not look at me as murderously as before and even invited us to join them for breakfast quite cheerfully. I did not quite know what to say to her though. She seems to think that the Colonel and I will merely accompany her husband to Pemberley and not stay with him there; also, she seems to think that Darcy is somehow ill. I fear that Col. Brandon may not have told her the entire truth about our job at Pemberley and I did not really know what topics to discuss with her. Also, she seemed somewhat very interested in the Colonel (Fitzwilliam, that is) and kept asking me questions about him - how did we meet, how long had I known him, did I think I knew him very well, what did the Colonel think about Shakespeare? - I have no idea why, but I answered them all as best as I could, for fear she might turn murderous again. If I have a moment alone with Col. Brandon one of these days, I shall ask him what all this was about, and what exactly he did tell his wife.

After breakfast, we left for Pemberley, the Colonel now driving, and I think I must have fallen asleep after we had told Col. Brandon all that we had agreed upon, because I do not remember very much about the drive anymore.
The afternoon, however, was not nearly as enjoyable - if awkward - as the morning, and I fear that the Colonel is the one mainly responsible for this. It appears that he forgot to inform any of the household - either staff or guests - about his departure yesterday evening, which was why none of them had any idea concerning his whereabouts. Mina seemed to have thought that he must have had a horrible accident and had been (as the butler indignantly informed us - Mina is a great favourite with the staff) crying all morning. I enquired about the whereabouts of Darcy and Harker, only to be informed that ‘the master had locked himself into his study after breakfast and had not yet returned' and that ‘Mr Bingley had been sent out into the grounds by Mrs Bingley, in order to search for Col. Fitzwilliam.' Honestly! How could the Colonel not take into consideration that something like this would happen if he left without a word? And did he not remember that Miss Bennet was there and needed to be entertained? He must know that Darcy cannot for his life entertain any guests and that Mina would frantic if he did not come down for breakfast without leaving any message, for it would remind her of the day we found Lucy!

When we entered the drawing-room to meet Mina and Miss Bennet, I was therefore very sure that we should find that Mina had told Miss Bennet gruesome stories about the Colonel's fate, and I was quite angry with the Colonel.
As it turned out, I was completely right. The moment we entered the room - even before we had the chance to greet anybody - Mina, all puffy-eyed, jumped up and hugged us all, thanking, in between sobs, Col. Brandon and me for having saved the Colonel. After a while, she finally let go and we were able to greet Miss Bennet, who had been sitting on a sofa, watching us bemusedly. I dreaded to think about what Mina might have told her; I had no idea what Mina might have thought was safe to tell her.
As if that was not enough, though, matters only got worse. As soon as we had sat own, Darcy chose to enter the room his usual way, through Annabelle Darcy's portrait - why does he keep thinking the door is beneath his dignity? - and dragged the Colonel with him, muttering something about ‘a matter of urgency'. As it was still day-time, I knew that it could not be anything really urgent, but nevertheless, I was slightly worried; but of course, I could not say that much in Miss Bennet's presence, who was, as I could tell, confused enough as it were.
She seemed to be waiting for an explanation of Darcy's behaviour, but, being only too used to it, none of us had thought of providing her with one. I knew not what to say, until my eyes fell on a potted geranium on the window-sill. ‘Pot plants,' I said finally, ‘it must be something with the pot plants in the greenhouse. The Colonel knows all about pot plants.' Honestly, how lame is that? But in that moment, I did not know anything else to say. Luckily, Col. Brandon confirmed what I said, and, with everyone in this house acting slightly weird today, I can hope that Miss Bennet perhaps thinks this is only normal. At least I hope she does.

Of course, I could not ask her directly whether she bought my story, but I nevertheless intended to find out how much she knew, or suspected, about what was going on at Pemberley. Col. Brandon interpreted my signs rightly and hinted Mina out of the room, on the pretence of looking for Harker (I did not feel very much worried about Harker at that time. I thought that he had simply lost his way in the grounds. I was right. Col. Brandon and Mina found him in the midst of one of the apple-tree fields.) As I had hoped, Miss Bennet started a conversation about the assembled party, asking me how long I had known the others and similar things. I am afraid the Colonel is right - she is a very intelligent girl and we have to be very much on our guard indeed. What the Colonel did not tell me, though (I wonder why?), is that she is also rather beautiful, much smaller than I am, with what I suppose is considered a good figure and very nice reddish hair. But that, of course, does not matter at all in our current situation. She is also rather amiable and friendly, if somewhat distanced, so that I hope I shall get along with her very well - provided of course, that she does not suspect too much. As I had feared, Mina had fed her with horrible tales about gruesome things, but luckily, as far as I have been able to determine, no details, just vague hints. I told her the story about Lucy's death that the Colonel and I had fabricated earlier today - presuming that she would have heard about poor Lucy soon enough anyway - and hoped that with that story, I could explain all the observations she made in Mina - for she immediately picked me up on that, asking me whether this was the cause of, as she called it, ‘Mrs Bingley's unusual behaviour' - and probably also in Darcy and Ferrars.

After this, I though it better if we steered into safer territory again, so I asked Miss Bennet where she had got her dress, and complimented her on it. Unfortunately, this had not really the desired effect. Instead of starting a soliloquy about her dress, like Mina's younger sisters usually do, Miss Bennet started inquiring about mine! The positive thing about that is that she is perhaps not as interested in fashion as it seems - for she appeared rather fashionable and stylish - thus making her a more interesting partner in conversation, but the negative thing is that she is not likely to be distracted by any remarks about fashion I might see the necessity to make at one point in the future or another.

Miss Bennet retired to her room shortly after this, claiming that she had letters to write, and I went to search for Darcy and the Colonel, in order to find out what Darcy had deemed so important that he would make such an exhibition in front of our guests (not, of course, that Darcy was aware that he had done so). In the hall, I met Harker and Col. Brandon, who were supporting a rather exhausted-looking Mina, escorting her to her room, as they told me. It appears that she had another spell of anxiety when they found Harker lying amidst the apple trees, thinking that he was dead. Poor dear Mina, the situation really is affecting her, but of course she would not stay at Netherfield when they got Darcy's letter, claiming that her place was with us and that if she did not return to Pemberley this time, she probably never would. (I think she may be right about that). It is quite useless to tell her that Lucy would not have wanted her to worry all the time, she knows that herself, but she cannot at all control her anxieties, the poor dear. It can only be hoped that it gets better over time.

After Mina, Harker and Col. Brandon had gone upstairs, I inquired from the butler did he know where his master and the Colonel were; but he said that ‘he did not know, ma'am, he had last seen the master entering his study after breakfast, on account of the master always using the other passageways, but he thought he might have heard a noise in the downstairs study, if I knew what he meant.' I did indeed. (It is always amusing to listen to the staff - they always act like there was a big conspiracy going on - even the most serious and senior among them.) I therefore entered the downstairs library - the one with the fake Fordyce volumes - tucked at one of the Fordyces and descended the secret stairway, making of course sure that nobody saw me, knowing how particular Darcy is about his beloved secret passages (does he not realise that all the servants know about them?) I found Darcy and the Colonel in the downstairs laboratory, watching something through a microscope.

‘Most peculiar, indeed,' the Colonel murmured, ‘but are you absolutely positive about the blood?'
I must admit that at this, my interest was wakened and I pushed my anger aside in order to find out what exactly was going on with that blood.
‘What blood, gentlemen?' I asked. ‘Would you care to enlighten me?'
‘Guter Gott, Caroline!' Darcy exclaimed, having jumped around when he saw me, ‘must you always scare me like that? For a moment I thought it was that nosy chambermaid again - she tried to activate the stairs last week!'
‘From what I heard, Darcy, she was only dusting the books,' muttered the Colonel, ‘she knows that the lever is in Fordyce, not Dickens, anyway.'
‘What blood, gentlemen?' I repeated my question. ‘What is it that you are looking at?'
‘We found scratches on the attic door,' the Colonel explained.
‘I found them,' Darcy corrected him. ‘This morning. On the inside.'
I gasped, I fear. ‘Did you check the locked chamber?' I asked. ‘Is everything where it should be? Is the box -'
‘Yes, it is like always,' Darcy said. ‘Of course I looked at once. Nothing is amiss.'
‘Oh,' I said, not sure whether I should be relieved or not. ‘And what is it you are looking at there?'
‘We found some blood on the door,' the Colonel explained. ‘We are now trying to discern whose blood it is, but we have not yet come to a conclusion. It is most peculiar. Have a look yourself.'

He was right. I am most certainly no expert in haematology, but from what Darcy has taught us over the years, I have learnt enough to be able to say that the blood sample I was shown was indeed most peculiar.
‘But - can it be?' I asked incredulously.
‘It seems that it can,' the Colonel said.
‘But - how?' I asked, sounding, I fear, like a dumb oaf.
‘As to that, neither Darcy nor I have any idea,' the Colonel answered. ‘We will have to find out. I propose that we hold a meeting after dinner. Arthur will have arrived by then and we must discuss our next steps as soon as possible.'
‘And Miss Bennet?' I asked. ‘What will she think if we all disappear at nine and leave her to entertain herself?'
‘She will think that we go to bed early,' Darcy said dismissively.
‘No, she won't!' I insisted. ‘She will find it peculiar. She may snoop around. Good heavens, Darcy, she may send the magistrate after us!' (The only thing that Darcy is really afraid of is being investigated by the magistrate again. I know it was evil of me to say this, but how else could I make him see reason?)
‘Caroline is right,' the Colonel said. ‘The last thing we need is another inquiry. We cannot risk anything.'
‘Well, give her a sleeping draught then,' Darcy said, refusing to see any difficulties. ‘Or some brandy. Make her drunk. Where is the problem?'
‘You cannot drug your houseguests!' I said. ‘It is immoral!'
‘You will have to take care of her,' the Colonel said.
‘What?!' I spluttered. ‘Oh, no, Colonel. I am a full member of the society. I take part in all the meetings. I will not play the door-guard while you men are doing the real business. No way, gentlemen.'
‘Caroline, listen!' the Colonel insisted, ‘that is not what I meant. You are just to make sure that she retires early, so that we can all hold our meeting. While we gentlemen retire for port into the library and Mina goes back to her room on account of her headache, you will bore Miss Bennet to death. You are clever, you will find a way. Play a piece on the harp. Imitate one of Mina's sisters. Make her think you are drunk. After fifteen minutes, she will wish to retire. Then you can meet us in the library and we all go upstairs and meet Mina in the meeting-room and can start our meeting.
And no badges,' he added with a stern look at Darcy. ‘And now let us inform the others about our plans.'

‘This is serious, isn't it?' I said to the Colonel as we climbed up the stairs.
‘It is,' said the Colonel. ‘It appears that we returned to Pemberley just in time.'

Items 12-15

Posted on Sunday, 2 December 2007

‘I fear I cannot say many positive things about this; certainly, we must take the author's limited means into account as well as her inability to speak English. I am sure she meant well and blames herself.' - J.B.

12. From the journal of Col. The Hon. John S. Fitzwilliam

16th May --- Arrived at Pemberley in the early afternoon; having collected Brandon on the way back from Hurst Park. Had a most pleasant drive back; managed to convey to Brandon importance of methods proposed by Caroline and me. Caroline must have been exhausted from not haven slept during the night and the driving the car to Delaford - must say, she is a fabulous driver, as I expected - for she fell asleep almost instantly and slept with her head on my shoulder all the way back.

On my return, discovered that Mina had presumed me dead, on account of me being absent for a couple of hours, but luckily was able to clear up that misunderstanding.
Was dragged into downstairs laboratory by Darcy almost immediately; apparently he had found some blood traces on attic door and wished me to have a look at them to confirm his suspicions. Unhappily, he is right. It is W.'s blood, though neither of us has an idea of how it got there.
Caroline found us just as we were making a final comparison with the older samples and she came to the same conclusion as we did almost instantly, without any prompting. I always knew she was very intelligent and perceptive, but it is slightly disturbing to see our findings confirmed beyond a doubt. The situation is very serious indeed - if only we knew anything for certain! - but as it is, we cannot be sure about anything, and that is what upsets me most. Caroline is alarmed, too, I could sense it in her voice, but she is much too brave and resolved as to let that overcome her, let alone show it to anybody, and I admire her very much for that and ...
I fear that was the dinner bell, should get downstairs and not scribble nonsense that is not for Mina's eyes anyway.

13. Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Charlotte Collins, Lady Metcalfe

16th May, 190-

My dear Charlotte,

I feel as if I were pestering you with letters, but there are so many strange things going on here and I must tell somebody, for fear I shall lose my marbles, like my host and some of his guests undoubtedly have - forgive me for these hard words about your friends, dear Charlotte, but this is how it is.
I felt horribly overdressed when I came down to dinner in my pale yellow silk and found that I was the only one who had bothered to change at all. Miss Bingley was still in her - admittedly very beautiful - pink morning frock, Mrs Bingley was wearing sea-green muslin and all the gentlemen were in their morning suits, including the new-comer, a Rev. Arthur Ferrars, who is in mourning at the moment for his fiancée, Miss Steele - I told you about this. Mr Darcy even had stains on his suit and nobody seemed to care in the least.
This is not, however, why I think they are all quite mad, I hope that I did not give you that impression. I am perfectly alright with a relaxed dress-code, I just wish somebody had bothered to inform me that it was to be an informal gathering and I would not have taken the trouble to dress up.

Oh - to the newcomer. As I said before, Mr Ferrars is a Reverend; he is but lately ordained. He is a rather small, slim man, neither particularly handsome nor ugly. The recent death of his fiancée has visibly affected him; he is pale, with a sunken look and dark shadows beneath his eyes, and altogether rather silent and melancholy. I do not think I spoke to him more than a dozen words.
Where was I? Any way, we went into the dining-room and Mr Darcy insisted that the Rev. Ferrars say a prayer and bless all those present, adding that ‘even though Ferrars was only Church of England, he would prefer this to not having a priest for prayers in the house at all, especially in the present circumstances, so Ferrars' prayers would have to make do, for everybody knew how hard Roman Catholic priest were to come by these days.'
Now, if Mr Darcy were working in my line of business, this insistence on a Catholic priest would be understandable, but as it is, it is ridiculous, as is the thought that Mr Darcy could be in any way doing anything remotely similar to what I am doing.
Nevertheless, it is comforting to know that a certain amount of Christian faith is upheld in this house, for it certainly relieves me.

During dinner, I tried to continue my careful interrogation that I had started with Miss Bingley so that I might be able to find out whether there was any mystery behind their odd behaviours or whether they were just genuine weirdoes. My interrogation revealed that they are probably both, but I shall explain that in greater detail.
First of all, let me say that they all behaved strangely.
Mrs Bingley was sobbing silently all the time during dinner, but whenever she was asked whether she was alright, she would claim that she was fine, even though it was obvious from her red and swollen eyes that she was not. Mr Bingley, on the other hand, seemed to be rather guilt-stricken, though it was not clear of what he felt guilty. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley, about whose sanity I had had such high hopes, kept shooting each other mysterious glances, but whether they were of love, fear, or conspiracy, I cannot say. Rev. Ferrars, as I said, was silent and melancholic, and Mr Darcy was his usual lunatic self. The only person behaving remotely normal was Col. Brandon, who kept watching Mr Darcy and tried to keep the conversation focused on topics of general interest - it is almost as if they were trying to prevent Mr Darcy from saying anything incriminating, although what that could be, I cannot say.
But to my interrogation - I dare say you will be rather pleased with me.

‘Col. Fitzwilliam,' I said, ‘forgive me for asking such a stupid question, but unlike you, I am no expert at all in this field. In my room at Lady Metcalfe's, I have a potted bellis perennis on a windowsill facing south, which I water every other day, but despite all my efforts, it does not grow any buds. Do you think that it just is not the season, or have I done anything wrong? Should I have given it any fertilisers?'
‘Erm -' said the Colonel, ‘that is, I am not -'
‘There is no need to be shy, Colonel,' Miss Bingley said, ‘I told Miss Bennet about your interest in pot plants after Darcy had called you to that urgent case in the greenhouse.' I could swear that she shot him a warning glance while saying this.
‘So, what advice can you give Miss Bennet, Colonel?' she continued.
‘Erm - the bellis perennis,' stammered the Colonel. ‘I - err - of course, it is a very rare plant, and - err ...'
I am not an evil person, Charlotte. I ended it there.
‘You probably have never encountered one,' I said, ‘and I suppose you cannot give me much advice unless you saw my specimen for yourself.'
I think he as rather grateful for this escape I offered. My point was proved, though. There is something definitely fishy going on here. I decided then to attack the weakest link - the lunatic himself.

‘Mr Darcy,' I cooed, ‘it is so kind of you to invite all us visitors even though you are so busy, what with the emergency in the greenhouse and everything. I dare say I did not see you all day - you must have been occupied. What did you do?' I asked innocently, fluttering my eyelashes at him.
‘I was watching the blood -'
‘The blood pudding being made in the kitchen,' interrupted Col. Brandon.
‘Yes, blood pudding is one of his favourites,' Col. Fitzwilliam added.
‘Oh, is it?' I said, remembering that ‘favourite dishes' was one of the safe topics on Mr Darcy's list. ‘So you prefer savoury courses to sweet ones?'
You will not believe it, Charlotte, but we discussed ‘favourite dishes' for almost an hour. Whenever Mr Darcy was trying to talk about anything else, one of the Colonels or Miss Bingley always steered the conversation back to the subject of rice puddings, cheese scones or fruit tarts until I was heartily sick of talking food. I wonder what blood Mr Darcy was watching, though. Do you think he might be one of them? It is hardly possible, though. The Christianity fixation clearly speaks against it. And I saw him in broad daylight, so it cannot be. Do you think he is maybe a serial killer, like Jack the Ripper, and the others are covering up for him? But why would they? And surely Mrs Bingley would not have invited me here if my host had the habit of slaying young maidens, would she? I refuse to believe that. But what can it then be? I do not think I am in any real danger - there probably is a totally harmless explanation for all of it - but the uncertainty of not knowing what is going on unnerves me.

After all the food talk, Mrs Bingley begged us to excuse her, as she was not feeling well at all - well, that much was obvious - and wished to retire to her room. Miss Bingley and I then went into the drawing-room whilst the gentlemen were having their port, and it was then that matters started to get even more peculiar. I think I described Miss Bingley as a quite intelligent young woman and probably the most sensible person in the house. I am afraid I must say I was wrong. She is just as mad as the rest of them.
As soon as the doors had closed behind us, Miss Bingley giggled in such a squeaky, high-pitched voice that I almost jumped and squealed, ‘Well, we won't see them for a long time, so we might just as well get comfortable, might we not?'
Before I could say anything, she had opened a chest of drawers and extricated an enormous bottle and two lemonade glasses.
‘Do you care for some good, strong brandy?' she asked. ‘Or perhaps whiskey?' She extricated another bottle, even bigger than the first one. Without awaiting my answer, she poured herself a glass of brandy, topped it up with some whiskey and swallowed all of it in one gulp without even wincing.
‘Are you sure you do not want any?' she said, pouring herself a second glass. I shook my head in silence.
‘I always have a glass after dinner,' she said after she had emptied half of the second glass. ‘It makes me happy.' She drank the rest of the glass.
‘I am very unhappy here at Pemberley,' she said while she poured herself a third glass.
‘Yes?' I said, hoping that the alcohol might loosen her tongue.
‘Very unhappy,' she slurred. ‘Miss Bennet, I must tell you a secret.'
‘Yes?' I said eagerly, watching her down her third glass.
‘Miss Bennet, I am in love. I am hopelessly in love with a man I can never have.'
‘Are you?' I said, my interest fading.
‘I blurry am,' she slurred. ‘Hopelessly, hopelessly.'
‘Uh-uh,' I said noncommittally, watching her trying to pour whiskey into the glass without spilling it.
‘We are talking about blurry Mr Darcy, of course,' she slurred. ‘I blurry love him. I love his chocolate eyes, his chocolate hair, his chocolate voice. The whole blurry man is just blurry chocolate.'
She gave up the attempt to pour out the whiskey and drank directly out of the bottle.
‘I tell you, Miss Bennet,' she slurred after a large gulp. ‘Mr Darcy is blurry fantastic. I want - I want to -'
Here she needed another gulp, this time from the brandy bottle.
‘I want to marry Mr Darcy,' she whispered, as if she were afraid of being overheard. ‘But don't let the rodents know.'
‘Rodents?' I asked, totally perplexed.
‘Blurry lemmings,' she whispered. ‘Blurry lemmings everywhere.'
She leaned over to me and placed a hand on mine.
‘They blurry hate me. They want to blurry kill me.'
She took another swig out of the whiskey bottle.
‘But I won't let them blurry get me,' she said and leaned back again. ‘I am not afraid of blurry lemmings.'
She tried herself at what she must have thought a diabolical laughter, but the effect was spoilt by a hiccough.
‘I will marry Mr Darcy!' she suddenly roared after a large gulp out of the brandy bottle.

Then she jumped up, staggered over to the piano and, trying but largely failing to accompany herself, burst into a song the lyrics of which I can describe with no other word but obscene, at least the parts that I understood, and I shudder to think what the words I did not understand mean. At this point I excused myself and went into my room, where I am now. Is this then what the evening at Pemberley will be like? Mrs Bingley sobbing in her room, the gentlemen getting themselves drunk on port and I facing the choice of either entertaining myself in my room or being entertained with obscene songs and tales about malicious rodents by a drunken Miss Bingley? I am bored already, Charlotte.

After I had fled from Miss Bingley's intriguing chants, I rearranged all my personal possessions in here, laid out my clothes for tomorrow, mended a hole in a chemise and drafted this letter to you, and I have no idea what else I shall do. It is just past eleven and I do not feel tired at all; also I do not know whether it is advisable to sleep when your host may be a lunatic murderer. The only thing to entertain me is asking myself, again and again, what the secret my host and his guests seem to have is, and I fear that the only thing I shall get is a headache. Maybe I should go and see if I can find a nice book in the library, but I feel as if I were posing a terrible cliché if I were to go and search for a book at night, only to walk into Mr Darcy - and I would prefer to meet him alone anyway.
I wonder what - I just heard the strangest noise in front of my door. Someone whispering ...

14. Colonel Quincy Montgomery Brandon to Mrs Quincy Montgomery Brandon

Pemberley, 16th May

Dear Marianne,

I am writing a quick note just to let you know I have arrived safely. Col. Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley dropped me off and said a quick greeting to Darcy before continuing their journey, so now I am alone with Darcy.
The poor chap is still confined to his bed; his man tells me the fracture in his leg is unfortunately rather complicated; and his arm is also still in bandages.
How are you, my dear? Have Mrs and Miss Dashwood and Miss Margaret arrived safely and are you all enjoying yourselves? Please write soon and let me know that you are well so that I need not worry about you.
I must go now, dearest, for Darcy has asked me to play Scrabble with him after dinner, but I shall write again soon.
I am missing you already and send you all my love,
Yours, Montgomery.

15. From the journal of Col. The Hon. John S. Fitzwilliam

16th May, after dinner --- Caroline is brilliant. I never knew she was such a great actress. Brandon and I are watching her and Miss Bennet through the two-sided mirror in the green parlour - or rather, I am watching them and Brandon is scribbling a letter to his wife.
I had no idea Caroline was so good at this. I wonder what really is in these bottles. Surely, it cannot be real liquor? I hope not. If it were, Caroline should be dead by now, judging by the quantities she drank, but she seems to be doing fine. Very fine, as a matter of fact. Lemmings threaten to kill her? That is imaginative.
Oh dear. Now she starts to sing. Dear me. I hope Harker never finds out she knows that song - or who taught it to her.
It certainly had the desired effect on Miss Bennet, who is leaving after a mere fifteen minutes in Caroline's company. The meeting can begin.

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