Elizabeth opened her eyes, and in the flickering of the wax taper, she saw the pretty face of Giselle, the housemaid.
“What is it, Giselle?” Elizabeth asked. She had been dreaming—she had been at a grand ball where all the dancers were, instead of ladies and gentlemen, strange characters and creatures—and she struggled to regain her senses. “It must be the middle of the night.”
“Put this on,” Giselle said. She held a dressing gown. “Quickly now, you must follow me.”
Elizabeth struggled into the dressing gown. The room was chill for the fire had died down.
“Hurry!”
“You must tell me what this is about,” Elizabeth said, fully awake now and her curiosity aroused. “Is something wrong? Is someone ill?”
“No one is ill,” Giselle said. “You must follow me, but be quiet.” She put her finger to her lips
Against her better judgment, Elizabeth followed Giselle out of the bedchamber and into the dim hallway.
“Where are we going?”
“Shhh!” Giselle turned to Elizabeth. “You must be quiet,” she whispered, then proceeded down the hallway.
Elizabeth followed her obediently, her slippers making no sound whether they traversed stone, carpet or tile. The great house was asleep, and they saw no one, although Elizabeth could hear the voices of servants she could not see as they passed the upper story of the kitchen.
Giselle motioned her to stop before a doorway Elizabeth had never seen before. She had not been in this part of the house.
“Go in,” said Giselle. “Go on now. I’m to stay here and keep watch.”
Cautiously, Elizabeth walked into what appeared to be a drawing room—it was hard to tell for it was lit only by a small fire in its hearth—with blood-red walls and red furniture.
“Come,” said a small soft voice.
Elizabeth ventured further and could see a figure seated in the chair facing the fire. The figure turned towards her.
“Anne?”
“Please sit down, Miss Bennet,” Anne said.
Elizabeth did as she was bidden and sat down in the chair facing the young woman. She could feel the heat from the fire which she welcomed as the room was as cold as ice.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep,” Anne said. “It was the only way that we could speak in privacy. My mother, as you may have observed, keeps a careful watch on me through Mrs. Jenkinson.”
Elizabeth had observed that Anne’s companion was always by her side. She now saw the reason for that.
“We shall be alone here. Mrs. Jenkinson sleeps soundly, and Mother never comes in this room.”
Elizabeth wondered what could possibly require the need for privacy, but Anne’s expression prevented her from asking. The young woman—whom Elizabeth had always regarded as aloof, almost a shadow of her mother—was looking at her very seriously and with a maturity well beyond her years.
“What I have to tell you I say in confidence.” Anne turned away from Elizabeth and looked into the fire.
Elizabeth waited patiently, but Anne did not speak, only looked into the fire. It suddenly occurred to Elizabeth that the young woman was unused to conversation, that she was so isolated from company that she was uncomfortable with it.
“I will keep your confidence. When you have as many sisters as I do,” Elizabeth said lightly, “you learn to be careful of what you say.”
“Oh, I should so like to have a sister!” Anne said, turning abruptly from the fire. “You are so fortunate, Miss Bennet, to have sisters.”
“You may have Kitty if you wish,” Elizabeth said. “And Mary too if you like.”
Lady Anne laughed. “I should like very much to have both. Kitty is so lively, and Mary is so wise.”
“Then they will be my Christmas gift to you,” Elizabeth said, as seriously as she was able. “The lively Kitty, and the wise Mary.”