Prologue Posted on Monday, 31 October 2005
The flickering of a candle cast eerie shadows over the racks with bottles in the dark and well-stocked wine cellar. Some reflected the light weakly; few bottles were left to gather layers of dust in this house.
A man could be seen cradling a bottle in his hands. He stroked its label, its smooth surface, its slender form with a gentle hand that almost trembled; it was a large sacrifice he was going to make. Nobody was ever going to appreciate its contents. It was never going to fill anyone with fervour. Its exquisite taste was never going to be sampled -- it would be gone forever.
But the sacrifice was all for the best. The man's hand trembled again as he stroked the bottle. All for Kitty Bennet.
"Kitty..." the man whispered. He could not begin to describe Kitty Bennet; he could only say her name in an adoring whisper, hoping her lovely form would materialise here in this cellar.
Kitty Bennet was well worth the sacrifice of this bottle. Indeed, he would let the heavenly fluid seep wastefully into the ground, all for Kitty Bennet.
His face hardened as he thought of what he had to do. Perhaps one bottle would not be enough? It would break upon her head and he could not use it for a second blow. He stretched an unwilling hand out towards a second bottle. No! He pulled his hand back. Not two bottles. That was far too much, even for someone like Kitty Bennet. He would try with one and then he would drink this one, when he was celebrating his success together with Kitty. He was certain she would like it. Yes, she must. It was his last one.
But first he had to get rid of what was in his way. He winced. It was nothing more than an object to him, dull, annoying, hated. It would be so easy and so justified. All for Kitty Bennet.
Chapter 1 Posted on Monday, 31 October 2005
Day One
Kitty Bennet -- nay, Kitty Hurst now -- gave a sigh of extreme happiness as the carriage conveyed her and Mr. Hurst towards their new home. Mrs. Bennet had never known that Mr. Hurst owned a home, but as he had explained to Kitty, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief, Mrs. Hurst had always hated the place and now that she had been taken from him in a tragic accident, he could finally spend some time there.
The unfortunate business regarding Mrs. Hurst's demise did not bother Kitty. Mr. Hurst was evidently still recovering from his grief and she felt she could assist him in this task. He was a fashionable man and his mourning apparel made him so handsome. All men with a dark secret or a hidden sadness were vastly interesting. It was more than Kitty could have asked for.
As the wheels of the carriage rattled, Mr. Hurst nudged his new wife. "My dear, your new abode will soon come into view."
Kitty held her breath and then gasped when a large building of rough grey stone emerged from behind the trees. It looked positively mysterious and scary, and the effect was increased by the forbidding darkness of the forest right behind it. "I love it! It is beautiful!" she whispered in awe.
Nobody had ever thought of calling the ruins of Rochester Castle beautiful and Mr. Hurst looked upon them with new eyes.
"Does it have towers and secret passages and torture chambers and cellars?" Kitty asked in one breath, her eyes shining. "Oh, and ghosts! Has anyone ever been murdered there?"
There was a slight pause before Mr. Hurst answered. "Yes, there are towers, as you see, but you may not climb them, for they might collapse."
"Are there any ghosts?" She would love to write home about ghosts. Lizzy, Jane and Lydia could have all the newest gowns they liked, but she would have ghosts.
"Yes, I was told they roam the castle at night. I have never seen one. Ah my Kitty," he said in a burst of some violent emotion. "You will stay with me at night and I will protect you."
Kitty was slumped inelegantly in her carriage seat as Mr. Hurst kissed her ardently. "Like that, Mr. Hurst?" she managed to blurt out. If it got any more ardent she might need to call upon the ghost for protection. The fire in Mr. Hurst's eyes reminded her of the village idiot in Meryton. Perhaps she had mistaken him all along and poor Jem was simply madly in love with someone.
The passages in the castle -- Kitty loved Mr. Hurst all the more for living in a castle -- were dark and shadowy. It was so draughty that even the heavy tapestries on the walls swung lightly. There was constant movement and constant sound, eerie whistling and rattling, and candles were blown out with great frequency. Kitty dared not walk about on her own. Mr. Hurst seemed quite fearless and his heroic courage impressed her. She was resolved to stay close to him.
There were servants, she supposed, but apart from an old butler with a crooked back and a maid with a crooked nose, she had seen none.
Her room was dark and cold and the window was loose. It kept rattling and as if that was not frightening enough, the rain had begun to beat upon it very menacingly. The fire, which could turn the room into a warm and cosy place, was not lit. She wondered why not. It was inconvenient, now that her candle blew out without warning.
Suddenly she was seized and she cried out in fear.
"I have come for you," someone whispered. "Kitty! Are you ready?"
Kitty cried out some more. If the ghost did his ghostly things to her already, she could never boast of him. This was a very ill-timed advance.
"Kitty!"
Perhaps it was Mr. Hurst. It could not be the butler. He would not call her Kitty and the ghost would not know her name was Kitty. "Yes? Mr. Hurst? Is that you?"
"Are you ready? You do not feel ready," he said, feeling her clothes.
"The candle blew out," she said in a small voice.
"Let me assist you, dear wife," he whispered persuasively.
Night One
In the middle of the night, Kitty was woken by a piercing scream. She did not know what had woken her until it was repeated and she opened her eyes instantly, seeing nothing. It was dark. "What was that?" she cried, shaking Mr. Hurst by the shoulder. Strangely enough he had gone all soft through the night and there was no substance left to him. She pounded his soft form in wonder, thinking he felt more like a pillow hidden under the blanket than like a man.
That was indeed what was beside her, a pillow. It was odd. Where was Mr. Hurst and why would he leave a pillow in his place? Was he being murdered by a ghost in a tower?
Kitty felt she had to save her noble and courageous husband from the ghost. She left the room, halting in the complete darkness of the corridor. There was a draught that tugged at her nightgown and the loose locks of her hair. "Mr. Hurst?" she called in a soft voice when she thought she could hear footsteps some distance away. The rain and the rattling windows were still making a racket, so she could not be certain what she heard.
There was a glow appearing at the end of the corridor, where it turned a corner, as if someone with a candle was coming nearer. The light danced and moved slowly and Kitty pressed her back against the wall. It could be a ghost and then it would come upon her, murdering her here all alone.
The light came around the corner and illuminated something white. It looked like a nightgown. The face above it was obscured, but she supposed it had a face at least. It must! That there might be a ghost was one thing, but a headless ghost was another. Trembling, she waited for it to come nearer, but a sudden draught blew out the candle when it was still too far away for her to see who was holding it. Kitty cried out in fear.
"Mrs. Hurst," came the croaking voice of the sinister old butler. "You must not roam the castle alone. It is dangerous. Go to your room."
"B-B-But --" she stuttered in the darkness.
"Go, madam, quickly." He spoke urgently, as if a whole pack of ghosts would soon be upon them.
"Where is Mr. Hurst? I will not go without him." She would not be safer in her room than here, not if she was alone.
"Go, madam."
"Who was screaming?"
"There was no screaming, madam. You must have imagined it." He sounded even more urgent now.
"I heard screaming," Kitty maintained. He was only denying it so she would go. She was not so obtuse as to fall for that.
"Madam, I advise you to go to bed. Mr. Hurst will not like it if you are up and about during the night."
"He left me himself and put a pillow in his place," Kitty defended herself. She was merely doing the wifely thing by looking for him.
"Do not anger him, madam, and that is all I can say." The butler moved away in the darkness.
Day Two
Kitty had returned to her room and fallen asleep eventually. In the morning, Mr. Hurst was beside her, with his head on his pillow, and she wondered if anything had happened at all. Perhaps she had merely been dreaming.
"I thought I heard screaming during the night," she said tentatively when he opened his eyes. "And you were away."
"Away?" Mr. Hurst looked incredulous. "I have not stirred from your side, Kitty. Perhaps you had a bad dream. I would never leave you. How could I, my darling Kitty!"
The old butler betrayed nothing when they were at breakfast, even though Kitty studied him very closely. Perhaps she had indeed been dreaming.
Mr. Hurst explained Kitty's duties to her. Simply put, she had none, save for those that concerned him. The old butler and an equally aged housekeeper took care of everything, assisted by the maid with the crooked nose. Kitty suspected them of a strong allegiance to the first Mrs. Hurst, for they barely acknowledged her.
She was to confine herself to a small set of rooms, not to enter her husband's study on any account unless she was invited and to spend her time reading or doing needlework.
Kitty, still dazzled by Mr. Hurst's personal charms, readily complied with all, even though she had always had a severe dislike of such boring pursuits. She would much rather have him smile than give her an angry look such as he gave if she began a slightly impertinent question.
She tried three or four doors in the gallery when her husband had retired into his study, but all were locked.
"Do not try, madam," said a disapproving voice behind her. It was the old butler. "Mr. Hurst will be displeased."
"I am the mistress of the house," Kitty protested.
"You are not," the butler said coldly and turned.
She was not? Her husband was the sole ruler here? Very well. Kitty would bide her time.
Night Two
During the second night there was again some screaming that woke Kitty up. She noticed that Hurst was away and she almost left her bed to explore, but the sounds were eerier than the night before. She hid her head under her pillow and tried to ignore them.
When she woke again, her husband was back and it was light. She could see dark stains on his night shirt and when she touched one, her finger came back feeling sticky. Holding it up to better light, she saw it was red -- blood -- and it smelled of port.
How blood had got on his clothes was something Mr. Hurst could not explain. Indeed, he even seemed angry when Kitty inquired.
She turned away and cried. Asking about the port did not appear desirable.
Apparently he felt some remorse. "It was the ghost," he said gruffly.
"Ghosts do not bleed. Where did you see the ghost?" she asked, but he did not want to say more. He looked very tormented.
Such was the fate of a wife, Kitty supposed, always left guessing and worrying. There was a feeling of sacrifice in that, even if it was not as strong as that feeling of frustration, but a tormented soul spoke to her heart.
Day Three
After breakfast, Kitty carried out her plan to see the forest and the lands, if she could not look into any rooms. Mr. Hurst had not forbidden anything with regard to the park, although if truth be told there was no park. Save for a vegetable garden there were no gardens at all. It was all wild land, ferocious and untamed.
There were grey rocks strewn across the rough grass between the firs that stood closer and closer together as she progressed along an overgrown path. Soon the forest was impenetrable and she had to turn back, despite having followed a path. She walked towards the small stream instead and intended to cross the bridge. It had all the appearance of a bridge, but it ended midstream with no sign of the remains of the other half.
"What!" said Kitty, measuring the distance like a proper heroine. She cleared it with a run and a leap, for she was not to be deterred by half a bridge. Her ankle was hurt a little by her fall, but she was determined to walk on.
The path that began on the other side of the stream would lead somewhere, she assumed, although in this area it might equally well lead to nothing.
Limping along, she came to a small mill and a peasant touching his hat. She did not know why, but for some reason she expected a goat as well.
"You must be the new Mrs. Hurst -- when the ghost of the old one is still unhappy," he said. Strangely enough he seemed to be sad about that.
What a warm welcome that was, although she was happy that she had found a sign of life in these parts and warm or cold, it was a life. "Ghost?" She was interested in ghosts, especially if they seemed to share a house with her.
"Will not be put to rest till her body is found."
"Body?" Kitty had not known about any missing bodies, although perhaps many bodies were missing and these desolate lands had once been populated.
"Never found, I heard. They buried an empty coffin."
"How?"
"With a spade."
"No, how! Why was it empty?"
"Ask your husband." He touched his hat again and disappeared into the mill.
Kitty was fascinated. They had buried an empty coffin and her husband had known about it? But how had they known Mrs. Hurst was dead, if her body had never been found? Perhaps it was rotting away somewhere and a ghost would indeed not like that. She had to be dead; there could not be a ghost otherwise.
Night Three
On the third night the ghost screamed again. It began to be usual for Hurst to be away when it occurred and Kitty, who now thought the ghost could not bear her a grudge since she had nothing to do with the missing body, was bold enough to venture out of her room.
She walked in the direction of the screams and as she came closer, muffled voices could be heard behind a door at the end of the corridor. It was locked. That was no surprise, since every door in the house seemed to be locked. Kitty pressed her ear against it, but she could not hear it better that way.
The view through the keyhole was limited. She could only see that someone on the other side had a candle. It might not even be Mr. Hurst. It might be the butler and she might be spying into his private room. She did not know where the rooms of the servants were. It was rather odd, however, that Mr. Hurst should be involved in any screaming that took place in the servants' quarters.
She continued to peek through the keyhole and gasped when she saw something white move through her field of vision. Something was there! Unfortunately it moved away with the candle and it became darker and darker on the other side of the door. To whom had the white figure been speaking and had that person moved away as well?
When they were not coming back, Kitty returned to her room and lay awake for a long time.
Day Four
In the morning, Mr. Hurst was nowhere to be found. Contrary to the other days, he had not returned to her room, nor to his own. She asked the butler, the housekeeper and the maid, but nobody knew where he might be, nor did they display the least concern over his absence. There was no way for her to look for him, what with all the doors being closed.
Kitty decided to write home about these strange occurrences. She poured out her heart in two pages and gave the letter to the butler to be posted.
Then she walked out again, this time down the road that led up to the castle. There was a farmer working on a small field and she asked him about the ghost.
"Yes, madam. Last night I saw Mrs. Louisa in her nightgown, traipsing across my field," he said, looking a little anxious.
"Mrs. Louisa? Are you certain?" That proved the miller right -- the ghost was the first Mrs. Hurst. It also meant that there truly was a ghost. Three people had seen or heard it. There was safety and truth in numbers.
"The footprints are still there."
"But she is a ghost."
"They leave footprints too if they want. They can do anything if they want. Something is going to happen, madam," he said with a foreboding shake of the head. "The mistress is not happy."
Kitty thought wryly that the mistress had never been happy, according to Mr. Hurst, so that dying had not changed much for her in that regard. A thought occurred to her. "Did you also see Mr. Hurst last night? He is gone." Perhaps he had been lured into the deep dark forest as he was chasing the ghost. Mrs. Louisa would be evil enough for that, Kitty was sure, because she was dead.
"Already!" The farmer looked afraid. "Go back to where you came from, madam, before you will be gone too."
Kitty thanked him for this advice and returned to the house. She did not yet seriously contemplate a return to Longbourn -- everybody would laugh. Besides, it would be a really long walk.
Someone had burnt something, she noticed as she looked into the only fire that ever burnt. As she examined the remains of paper in the fireplace, she saw it was her letter.