Page 12 of Rosings Park (Happily Ever Afterlife #2)
CHAPTER TWELVE
M r Collins’s lamentations followed Elizabeth and Freddy as they departed the parsonage and could, in fact, be heard well into the woods. It was several yards before the trees muffled his diatribe to the point of escaping it, by which time it was Elizabeth’s turn to make her displeasure plain. “Had I known you were going to dig up Mr Collins’s daffodils, I never would have brought you with me. You never behave this way at Pemberley. For shame, Freddy!”
The dog, plodding along at her side with muddy paws and a lolling tongue, merely tilted her head at Elizabeth in an affectedly innocent manner.
“Do not give me that look!” Elizabeth scolded around a laugh. “You know very well what you have done. I shall have to tell Darcy, and then you must face the consequences.”
Freddy’s head lowered, and she emitted a pitiful whine. Her pace slowed from a jaunty walk to a trudging crawl as if she intended to delay the inevitable punishment. Elizabeth continued at her usual pace, expecting her friend to follow rather than be left behind.
Just as she was reaching the final bend that would bring the manor house into view, Freddy barked to garner her attention. It sounded from such a distance away that Elizabeth halted on the path and turned round, perplexed. Freddy was lingering several yards back, standing to attention with her ears pricked up into sharp points and staring at her mistress expectantly.
“Come,” called Elizabeth, lightly patting her leg.
The dog barked again, wagging her tail and prancing on her forelegs. She remained otherwise stationary, as if expecting Elizabeth to come to her.
“ Come ,” Elizabeth repeated with firm emphasis.
Freddy twirled about in a circle then lowered her front to the ground, backside jauntily propped in the air and wiggling playfully. She barked again from this position as if enticing her mistress closer.
Elizabeth raised her gaze to the heavens, begging for patience. “Do come along now, before Darcy realises I am gone— Freddy ! Where are you going?”
In the middle of Elizabeth’s speech, Freddy had apparently grown impatient and darted off into the woods. Picking up her skirts, Elizabeth dashed back the way she had come. She dearly hoped she would not have to resort to wading into the weeds and brambles in order to retrieve her canine friend.
When Elizabeth reached the spot Freddy had fled from, she peered into the trees for any sign of the animal. To her surprise, she discovered signs of a rutted lane, largely overgrown, leading deeper into the woods. Some distance along it, Freddy stood watching her and wagging her tail expectantly.
“How odd,” Elizabeth commented, largely to herself. As these words drifted gently from her lips, her feet began moving towards the newly discovered passage of their own volition. “I have walked this way numerous times before and never noticed this path.”
Freddy spun in another circle, bouncing and barking happily at Elizabeth’s approach. The next moment, she bounded off again, tunnelling her way through the detritus of dead leaves, wilted grass, and newly sprouted wildflowers that had sprung up along the path. The greenery was dappled in sunlight through the canopy above, casting a mystical air about the place as she followed the canine deeper into the trees. With wood anemone growing in abundance and birds lustily twittering their songs above her head, Elizabeth almost felt as if she were being shown the way into the Faerie Queen’s bower.
After a short distance, the trees opened up into a large circular clearing. She halted at the edge of the mottled shade and brought her hand to her mouth, which had hinged open on a gasp. A castle!
It was not a castle, of course, not really. It was a round stone tower about three storeys tall, standing directly in the centre of the clearing—presumably the one she had spotted from her chamber window. Elizabeth’s eyes scaled the length of it from bottom to top, taking in the weather-beaten stone that seemed prepared to crumble at the lightest touch and the ivy that appeared to bind it together. It was turreted at the top, hence her initial impression of it belonging to a castle, and boasted at least a dozen slender windows ascending its face at an angle. Just below the line of the roof, a large round window of stained glass was sunken into its face. Around the base were various shrubs and wild greenery, which clung to the tower in a manner that suggested it had sprung up amongst them like one enormous flower.
She followed the lead of her curiosity and slowly perambulated about the tower, investigating it from a closer aspect. There were various rocks and boulders scattered about, though without any clear origin. They matched the structure, yet there were no breaks in the masonry or any other indication that there had ever been more to the building than she presently observed. She could see no sign of crumbled walls, discarded artefacts, or exposed rooms—it had always been, as far as she could discern, a single tower standing sentry amid the trees.
With that, Elizabeth thought she knew the truth of the matter. It had been fashionable once to build false ruins upon one’s grounds, a silly fancy meant to pretend antiquity where there was none. It had no doubt cost a great deal to construct yet served no purpose. Even so, she was admittedly impressed by the tower, which had been rendered so lovingly and so completely as to be a work of art. She was certain that Sir Lewis had not regretted the expense.
Directly below the stained-glass window, at ground level, was a whitewashed wooden door with a brass ring. A pair of stone steps, artfully worn, led up to it, tempting her to go inside and explore more thoroughly. Elizabeth bit her lip with indecision; ought she to trespass?
Freddy appeared to have no qualms on that score. After she had thoroughly sniffed about the shrubs around the base of the tower, frightening at least one squirrel out of its wits, she scampered up the steps and began scratching and whining at the door.
“Stop that, Freddy,” Elizabeth cried, lunging to pull the dog back by her collar. “You will damage it.”
Freddy looked up at her with what Elizabeth swore was incredulity. In fairness, the paint on the door was already peeling and distressed, warped from many years of exposure to the elements. Even so, it was not their place to invite themselves in.
“We ought to go. We do not belong here.” As Elizabeth moved to leave, a sweet spring breeze pressed into her back, urging her forwards instead. She closed her eyes and inhaled; it smelt of wildflowers and fresh damp. She could not be certain, but she thought she also heard the light jingling of bells tickling her ears, though she had no notion where they might originate from. Birdsong, undoubtedly.
By the time she opened her eyes again, she had experienced a change of heart. “I suppose it would not hurt to look inside. It is not as if anyone lives here.” Or so I hope.
Grasping hold of the brass ring, Elizabeth gave the door a tug. It budged, but only a little, so she added her other hand to the effort and leant her weight into it. The door gave way with a squealing protest, and she stumbled back a step. Once she had caught her balance, she was free to enter .
Inside the tower it was cool and full of cobwebs, and Elizabeth saw no sign of recent human habitation. The thick layer of undisturbed dust on the flagstone floor attested to that much, as did the musty scent assailing her nose. She left the door ajar to allow in the delightful spring breeze that had encouraged her exploration.
The inner walls were more structurally sound than the outer, further bolstering Elizabeth’s theory that Sir Lewis had erected the tower rather than it belonging to any of his ancestors. It was a singular round space, about the size of her mother’s favourite parlour at Longbourn, and a spiralling staircase was its primary feature. It twisted upwards towards a distant ceiling comprised of wood and stone and was illuminated at evenly spaced intervals by the slender windows she had observed from without. She could not see the inside of the round window, so she presumed it must exist beyond the ceiling above her.
Freddy, her nose to the ground, was already proceeding up the staircase, enraptured by some scent that her human companion could not discern. Carefully, Elizabeth placed one booted foot upon the lowest stair and tested its strength; it did not give way or even bend, though there was a slight creak when she applied pressure, so she proceeded upwards at a careful pace.
By the time Elizabeth reached the uppermost landing, she was breathing heavily. Pausing, she looked up, and just above her at the top of a smaller set of stairs was the outline of a trapdoor. She climbed these as well and pushed against it. The trapdoor opened easily under her persuasion, allowing her entry to the floor above.
As she climbed through, Freddy at her side, Elizabeth looked about in wonder. It was a sitting room—one which was richly furnished in the style of a lady. There was a large, round carpet upon the floor in a deep primrose hue with a pair of armchairs and a sofa, all upholstered in complementary blush, settled upon it. A small fireplace was set into the wall next to the seating area, flanked by short, whitewashed shelves filled with various well-loved tomes. There was even a rosewood desk and matching chair perched under the round window she had been searching for. Due to the sunlight streaming in through the stained glass, the entire space was cast in a delicate pink glow flecked with golden glimmers. On either side of this incredible casement, a pair of tall, arched windows allowed in natural light to brighten the room. Aside from being horribly dusty, the place looked recently abandoned by a gentlewoman of delicate taste.
Elizabeth spun about in the centre of the room—careful to avoid the open hatch in the floor—and took it all in. “How wondrous! I wonder whether Darcy knows about this place.”
Elizabeth began moving from one object to another in the room, trailing her fingers lightly across each as she approached for a closer look. On the surface of the desk was a set of carved initials set into the lower righthand corner: AdB. Anne de Bourgh .
Elizabeth’s fingertips traced the embedded initials as a wave of sadness washed over her. She lamented the opportunity she had missed to know Anne. She had assumed, wrongly, that the young woman was as haughty and disdainful as her mother, but her husband had assured her that such was not the case. Anne, by his report, had been a soft, gentle creature who was easily cowed by the stronger personalities surrounding her, though by no means lacking in her own opinions. Her health, too, made her less inclined towards conversations and making friends, being sadly deficient in the energy required for such endeavours. Elizabeth pitied Anne for her sickly constitution and her loneliness and wished that she could make amends, but it was far too late for that. “You poor thing.”
Creak.
Elizabeth inclined her head towards the unexpected sound and discovered one of the smaller windows listing slightly open. Her brow furrowed. How odd. I was sure it was closed a moment ago.
A sweet breeze wafting into the room through the mysteriously ajar casement brought with it the loud clang of the church bell, which signalled three o’clock. With a frantic glance at her watch, Elizabeth winced; how had it become so late without her noticing?
“Come, Freddy,” she commanded, swiftly but carefully quitting the room via the floor hatch. While the dog passed her on the stairs, Elizabeth lingered a moment longer to look about. With a sigh and a promise to herself to return, she lowered the trapdoor and began her descent.