into the entry hall. Though Elizabeth thought they had made eye contact, Mrs. Parrish seemed insensible to Elizabeth’s presence. She rocked slightly, alternately pushing away from the rail and pulling herself toward it. The weak candlelight prevented Elizabeth from reading her expression closely, but she presented a haunted mien.
Caroline shook her head repeatedly, muttering something. Elizabeth could not discern the words with accuracy from this distance, but she thought she heard “no” more than once.
Was Mrs. Parrish sleepwalking again? Still worse to contemplate, might she finish the act she’d attempted in London by hurling herself onto the marble below?
“Caroline?” Elizabeth stepped forward.
Caroline’s rocking ceased immediately as she caught sight of Elizabeth. She backed away from the rail, wringing her hands.
“Mrs. Parrish, let me take you to your room.” Elizabeth ascended the stairs, but stopped midway when Caroline shook her head. “Caroline,” she said gently. “It’s only me, Mrs. Darcy. Let me help you.”
Caroline stared at Elizabeth a long moment. She slowly raised her left hand, cupped, palm toward herself, as if to beckon. Elizabeth advanced. But then Caroline turned suddenly and fled down the corridor. Her rapid footfalls made no sound.
Elizabeth hurried up the remaining stairs, arriving at the top just in time to see Mrs. Parrish’s door close. She blinked, unsure what to make of the incident. Was encountering Caroline in the corridors to become a nightly ritual? She shuddered as a draft caught the back of her neck. A gust of wind beat against the windows.
She scanned for signs that Lawrence Kendall yet moved about, but saw no one else as she returned to her chamber. With great relief, she closed the door behind her and sagged against it.
“I was about to come looking for you.”
Her hand flew to her chest until she realized the hushed voice beside her belonged to Darcy. She slumped against the door once more and released her breath.
He took her fingers in his and led her back to the bed. The sheets still held his warmth. “I apologize,” he whispered. “I did not mean to startle you. But what errand called you out of our room at this hour? Have you followed Caroline Parrish’s lead and taken up nocturnal wandering?”
“More than you know. I just saw her in the hall.” She nestled against him and described her recent adventure. As she spoke, her muscles relaxed. Mr. Kendall seemed less menacing in the safety of her husband’s embrace.
Darcy, in contrast, tensed as she related the tale. At its conclusion, he left her side and slipped into his breeches.
“Where do you go?”
“That man cannot be trusted until morning. I know where Bingley keeps his key. I am going to move the documents in that drawer to a safer location until he can attend to them. Someplace Kendall won’t think to look.”
“Where?”
He kissed her. “Under our mattress.”
“Nothing was to be done that he did not do himself.”
It seemed she had just settled back into slumber when Darcy’s urgent voice penetrated her consciousness. “Elizabeth!”
She burrowed further into the bedclothes.
“Elizabeth!”
No response. She rolled to face him and forced her lids open. He lay fast asleep.
She held perfectly still, listening for the voice again. Had she only imagined it? Had Darcy uttered her name in his sleep? Had someone called from the hall? She would have testified under oath that a voice had come from within their chamber — indeed, from right beside her. An unsettling thought gripped her: Was someone else in the room?
She held her breath and peered wide-eyed into the shadows. The wan firelight revealed no other person. Only the sound of sleet yet pelting against the glass disturbed the night.
The voice must have come in a dream. She sighed and curled into a ball, wondering what time it was and whether she was destined to get any rest before dawn. At this rate, she’d appear a sorry sight in the morning. The wind howled, mocking her sleeplessness.
Despite the heavy counterpane and her husband’s proximity, a shiver seized her. The fire sputtered. She lay in bed, the knowledge that she should add a log to the hearth battling reluctance to leave her cocoon to do so.
She forced herself from beneath the blankets. To delay would only permit the room to grow colder. The floor chilled her toes as she neared the fireplace. For a dying flame, the smell of smoke hung strong.
A basket of extra wood stood beside the hearth. As she reached for a log, she blinked back the sleepy haze that clouded her vision. Or at least she tried. But she could not clear her gaze.
Because the smog wasn’t in her head. Nor, a glance revealed, did it come from the fireplace.
Smoky tendrils snaked in beneath the door.
She dropped the log. “Darcy!”
She rushed to the door, tested its panels for heat. Mercifully, her touch met cool wood. “Darcy! I think the house is on fire!”
He was at her side before she finished the words. She tried to yank the door open but he restrained her panicked movements. “Slowly!” Though his command suggested composure, his tone revealed alarm that matched her own.
Together, they cautiously opened the door. Smoke swirled in the hallway. It seemed to come from the room across the hall. Jane and Bingley’s room.
Elizabeth started forward. Darcy stopped her. “Rouse the others and the servants. Send someone to help me but do
Every instinct urged her to run straight to Jane. But she realized it would take stronger arms than hers to help Darcy get the couple to safety, and many hands to keep the blaze from engulfing the house.
She sprinted down the hall and pounded on the next door. “Fire! Wake up! Fire!” Mr. Hurst answered with greater speed than she would ever have thought he possessed.
“Quickly! Go to Bingley’s room and help Darcy!” Without waiting for a response, she crossed to Parrish’s door.
The American answered before she even knocked. “I heard your cry. But I can’t find Caroline — she’s not in our chamber!”
Elizabeth glanced toward the staircase where she’d so recently seen the elusive Mrs. Parrish. There was no sign of Caroline, but she saw that Darcy had already dragged Jane into the hall and gone back for Bingley. Jane wasn’t moving.
With the door to Bingley’s chamber open, the hallway was rapidly filling with smoke. In just a few minutes more they wouldn’t be able to see a thing. “Ring for the servants while I wake the others,” she said. “Then I will help you look.”
She left the family quarters and dashed up the side staircase. She had no idea who occupied which guest suite, and so just pounded on each door in succession. “Fire! Help!”
Randolph came into the corridor immediately. “What can I do?”
