Title: A Haunting in the Mistress' Chambers
Rating: T (PG-13) – this one might be a touch scarier because the ghosts are pissed. Miss Bingley has that effect on many...
Disclaimer: Though I write stories based on the novels and characters of Jane Austen, this work belongs to ME and no one else. Unless given express permission, no one besides myself has the right to distribute or profit from my intellectual property. All rights reserved.
Setting: Regency

Summary: BONUS STORY! In which Miss Caroline Bingley's skepticism about ghosts is tested...

I could not resist.

BONUS STORY

Miss Caroline Bingley woke with a start as the clock chimed one, having unintentionally drifted off in the chair at her vanity. She blinked many times in succession as the sticky cobwebs of sleep dissipated from her mind.

The candle on her dressing table flickered fitfully as the flame drew nearer to the puddle of wax surrounding its wick, casting jagged shadows against the wall. How long had she been asleep? She recalled dismissing her maid once the key had been delivered, but nothing after that. Apparently her plan to remain awake by sitting up in a chair rather than tucking herself into bed had been a failure.

'Well, no matter,' Miss Bingley declared silently to herself as she stood up and stretched the stiffness out of her lower back. 'There is still plenty of time...'

Caroline turned to check her reflection in the mirror and assessed any damage caused by her little nap. Aside from a tiny drop of drool at the corner of her lips, easily wiped away with her thumb, there was nothing amiss with her appearance. She stroked the silk nightdress over her hips, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the expensive fabric, and turned around to check the back. It hung a touch loose on her thin frame and she did not fill it out quite so well as her sister did at the top, but the peach color complimented her skin tone and it was revealing enough for its purpose. Nabbing it from Louisa's dressing room had been a stroke of genius; Caroline was glad she had instructed her maid to do it.

With one quick tightening tug to the ribbon that bound her dark hair into its braid, Caroline was satisfied that Mr Darcy would be unable to resist the image she was ready to present to him. That Eliza Bennet – scheming country chit! – would not steal such a prize from Miss Caroline Bingley! Whatever arts and allurements she had been using upon him Caroline would admit a grudging respect for, but that bumpkin would never become Mistress of Pemberley. Not after tonight.

Caroline swept the matching robe from the back of her chair and slipped her arms into its sleeves. Once she had belted it securely at the waist – no need for any wandering servants to catch an improper peek at their future mistress – she picked up her guttering candle and headed for the door, her slippers treading softly upon the carpet.

"Oh!" Miss Bingley exclaimed just as her hand rested upon the cool brass knob that would permit her exit. She swirled around and padded back to the dressing table at a quicker pace, snatching a heavy metal key from the gleaming surface. She deposited it into the pocket of her robe and patted it for reassurance. Had she forgotten this most precious item, the plan would have been ruined.

That crisis averted, Caroline pulled open her door – creeeeeeak – and peeked out into the hallway, glittering eyes darting back and forth in search of witnesses. She could hear Mr Hurst snoring in the chamber directly across the hall from hers, absolutely no sound coming from her brother's next to that one, and saw no random servants going about their business (of course, why should they be in the guest wing in the middle of the night?). She could only hear the wind whistling against the windowpane behind her; all else was draped in the silence of night.

Secure in the knowledge that she was not being observed, Miss Bingley emerged from her room and began her journey down the corridor, confident in her direction. She might be a guest in this house – for now – but she was perfectly aware of the location of her goal.

Her future chambers.

Caroline smiled to herself, predatory like a spider stalking a fly, as she proceeded on her way. As she had suspected, there was no one about at this time of night; perfect for her plans. All she need do now was –

Caroline halted in the middle of the hall, her candle sputtering as a drip of wax fell to the floor at her feet. A door up ahead, the one assigned to that trollop Eliza Bennet, was standing open.

She crept closer, carefully quiet, and listened for any sound that might indicate her nemesis was awake. Should that chit raise the alarm, Caroline would have an awkward time explaining why she was out of bed at such an hour. No one would believe that she was on the way down to the library to retrieve a book and it was even less likely that she intended to traipse down to the kitchen for a morsel of food, so her motives would be rather transparent. Why else would a lady with a reluctant beau leave her chambers but to pay him a clandestine visit? She supposed she could always affect that they had planned a rendezvous and engage his honor that way, but Caroline suspected that Mr Darcy would not be trapped so easily. No, she would have to convince him, as plotted. Failing that, she would tangle him so tightly within the gossamer threads of her web that he could never escape.

There was nothing to hear from Eliza Bennet's bedroom as Caroline tiptoed past – one might have even suspected that the chamber was empty – but she didn't relax in relief until she had reached the corner and turned down the corridor which would eventually lead her to the family wing. Once past that obstacle, she could breathe more freely.

The key weighed heavily in Caroline's pocket and bumped against her upper thigh with each step she took, reminding her of her purpose. It was all so simple, really; let herself into the mistress' private chambers, enter Mr Darcy's bedroom via the door which attached the two and then climb into bed with him. He would wake up, take her virginity and the deal would be sealed! She could officially begin ordering her trousseau in the morning.

Caroline had not intended for it to go this far, she had been ready to rely strictly upon her arsenal of accomplishments and subtle charms to garner her that coveted proposal from Mr Darcy, but the sudden appearance of Eliza Bennet had changed everything. Instead of a summer of delicately flirting with her prey and recommending herself to him with her grace, poise and talents, he was unaccountably drawn to that muddy little mouse from Hertfordshire and all of Miss Bingley's carefully drawn plans were in utter ruin. What did that...that...thing have that Caroline Bingley did not? It was absurd to think that someone such as Eliza Bennet would ever be deemed even slightly qualified as such an illustrious man's wife, much less that he would be tempted to actually take her as such, yet he looked closer to making her an offer every day.

Well, he would not – could not – after finding himself bound to Caroline instead. He would, perhaps, be a bit testy over her methods, but one day (likely sooner rather than later) Mr Darcy would thank his bride for saving him from making a wretched, wretched mistake. After all, what was infatuation compared to maintaining his good name?

Miss Bingley halted in front of the door she had been searching for and a smirk bloomed upon her face. Inside this room was her destiny.

With her free hand, Caroline dipped into the pocket of her robe and retrieved the key that was so graciously purloined by her maid from the housekeeper's room below stairs. She had hoped that the girl – Louts or Lutz or whatever her name was – would have gotten her hands upon the key to the master's chambers, but that, apparently, was kept in the sole possession of Mr Darcy's valet. Having been unable to seduce it from the gentleman's gentleman, she had settled for the alternative. Caroline would have been grateful (possibly) had the maid gotten her what she'd specifically asked for, but she supposed that this one would do. The door betwixt the mistress' and master's rooms was likely to be unlocked and she could gain entrance via that route.

The key turned in the lock, the mechanisms within squealing in rusty disuse, and Caroline triumphantly gained entrance to the boudoir within. She pulled the door open and slipped between it and the frame, closing the light inside with her.

Caroline sneezed as her footsteps raised dust from the carpet. She would put the staff straight to cleaning thoroughly in the morning, once she had rights to direct them. All the furniture, large and overbearing in the darkness, was draped in white covers to protect it from the grime accumulated over so many years of neglect. She chuckled at the notion that it looked as if she were surrounded by spirits; "Ghosts, indeed! Superstitious nonsense..."

Coming deeper into the room, Caroline looked for a place to deposit her dripping candle, but found nothing that was not already swathed in a sheet. Not that the furniture within the room would be worth salvaging – it would all have to be replaced, quite frankly, for none of it was likely to be in the current style – but it would hardly do to set fire to her chambers. Not only might she damage the structure, but it would inevitably distract Mr Darcy from her seduction.

With this thought in mind, Caroline walked to the covered item that looked most like a dressing table and pulled the cloth from it with a swift whoosh. She coughed as dust rose up in a cloud around her, creating a miasma of dirty fog, and closed her eyes against the particles which attempted to invade them. Disgraceful! Did no one ever clean this room?

Miss Bingley set the candle down upon the dull surface of the vanity, still hacking in a most unladylike manner in an attempt to dislodge the grime from her throat, and braced herself upon the edge of the blonde wood table. She struggled to catch her breath; it would not be appealing to Mr Darcy to climb into his bed wheezing.

Once her struggles had abated, Caroline stood erect and considered her reflection in the mirror before her. It was in bad need of a polish and the edges were crusting over, but she was able to determine that her appearance was not too disgraceful after her little fit. She checked for dirt upon her robe, tucked a few loose hairs back into place and dabbed at her dripping nose with a handkerchief before declaring herself satisfied enough.

Now, to business.

Caroline loosened the knot of her dressing gown and released the cord from around her waist, allowing the garment to fall open. She then permitted the cool silk to slide from her shoulders and drop to the floor, uncaring that the borrowed item would very likely become sullied with filth, as she surveyed the lacy peach negligee underneath. It was unspoiled by any of her adventures of the night and would surely tantalize her prey.

It was time. Caroline left her sputtering candle upon the dressing table as she turned to look for the door that would lead to the master's chambers. Ah! There, against the far wall; her access point. With her feral grin firmly in place, Miss Bingley approached the entry to her destiny with as much confidence as she felt she deserved – which was to say quite a bit.

The brass knob was cold, practically frigid, in her hand as she attempted to turn it – but it would not oblige her. Figuring it must be stuck after many years of disuse, Caroline rattled the metal orb and twisted sharply back and forth, but to no avail; the door would not open. Thinking that she might, perhaps, be missing a key, Miss Bingley searched for a hole to insert one, but there was none; it could not possibly be locked against her. In mounting frustration, she hissed and cursed at the contraption as she shook it as violently as she was able, but no amount of her pitiful force could dislodge the door from its frame.

With some derision, Caroline postulated to herself that Eliza Bennet, hoyden that she was, might have been able to wrench the thing from its hinges, but it was hopelessly impossible for a delicate lady such as herself. Should she knock? Mr Darcy would answer the summons and she could encourage him to invite her in, though it was hardly a sure thing. Still, she was wearing a most enticing nightgown...

She would do it. She had come too far to give up the chase now and, moreover, she had great confidence in her looks. Surely Mr Darcy would be unable to resist the lure of so much tantalizing flesh encased in lace and silk.

Caroline arranged her expression into one that would be inviting to a man and raised her fist to rap upon the wood. Before her knuckles could make contact, however, she was distracted by a trickle of cold running down her spine and an inarticulate whisper from somewhere behind her.

"...out..."

Miss Bingley stiffened; had she somehow been discovered? If so, she could always claim that Mr Darcy had invited her – yes, that would do – and they could still become engaged. With a fixed smile upon her face, she turned to deliver her proclamation –

– but no one was there. How strange.

In the dim light cast by her dying candle, the room surrounding her was draped as much in shadow as it was in white sheets. She could not see to all the corners, the chamber being as vast as was suitable for the Mistress of Pemberley, so she could not certainly say that she was alone, but Caroline saw no sign of anyone besides her own reflection in the vanity mirror. Perhaps those silly ghost stories from earlier in the day had tickled her imagination just enough to create a few spooks in the dark.

Caroline shrugged and turned back to the door, raising her fist again to knock.

"Get...out..."

Miss Bingley whipped around again, this time calling out into the darkness, "Who's there? Show yourself."

No one stepped forward to admit their presence. Caroline swiveled her head back and forth, from wall to window, but she could see no one else in the room. Though not at all inclined toward superstitious belief, an unaccountable trill of fear tickled the back of her mind.

"I...I insist that you show yourself," Caroline demanded again, her eyes scanning the bedchamber for any movement aside from her own. Still, there was no one to be seen.

She stepped away from the door that adjoined to the master's chambers and made a quick journey to the vanity to reclaim her candle, feeling more secure in the glow it exuded. She grasped it by its candelabra and picked it up, shining her light in every direction to aid in her search. The hot wax dripped down the back of her hand, but she barely noticed the sting.

Nothing.

Caroline relaxed a touch as the light revealed her own silliness. The storm had ended hours ago, but perhaps the wind outside was still a bit wild. Wild enough to create whispers in the dark.

She set the candle back down upon the dressing table and forced herself to take a calming breath to ease the stuttering of her heart. There was no such thing as ghosts, she was alone in the room, superstitious nonsense...

"Get out...!"

Miss Bingley jumped and swirled around in a full circle; that had most certainly not been the wind! It sounded like nothing short of a human voice, its owner presumably lurking in the shadows where she could not see the source. "Who's there?" she called out, louder and more tremulously than before, "Come out and show yourself! As the future mistress of this house, you shall obey me or forfeit your position immediately!"

CRASH! BAM! SMASH!

Caroline screeched at the top of her voice as all the items in the room surrounding her – furniture, sheets, forgotten nicknacks – all lunged themselves in her direction and crashed to the floor around her. She had to scurry of the way of a falling wardrobe lest she be trapped beneath it and jumped over the splintered remains of a nightstand as she rushed to escape from the avalanche of possessions. A porcelain figurine cast itself at her head in a suicidal mission to injure her and Caroline ducked just in time to avoid receiving a bloody nose.

A sheet rose up in a fog of dust and attempted to cast itself upon her like a net, sending Miss Bingley stumbling to the floor to get away. Her luck had run out, however, and the fabric wrapped itself around her ankle, pulling her across the floor with a sharp jerk. She screamed again as her nightgown rose up her legs in a most undignified way and she skidded across the hardwood with it bunched up around her waist, her foot still caught in the sheet's trap. The door to the hallway sprung open of its own accord, ready to swallow her up if the muslin got its way.

Caroline managed to grab hold of one of the four posts on the bed and held on tightly as the bedding tugged and jerked to dislodge her. She managed to struggle hard enough to kick her leg free of the fabric and scrambled up into a crouched position by the heavy piece of furniture, panting and terrified. Was she in the midst of a nightmare?

Caroline glanced toward the door which led to Mr Darcy's room, wondering why he had not come to her rescue. Surely the racket caused by the furnishings destroying themselves and her own cries for help could be heard all the way to the guest wing! He was far less gallant than his reputation suggested.

Squeak...shuffle...grooooan.

Well, no time to dwell on that now. The items in the room appeared to be positioning themselves for another assault and Caroline was not about to stay put and take their abuse. She dragged herself upward, digging her nails into the wood of the bedpost, and found her footing as the furnishings surrounded her.

What should she do? Caroline's eyes darted toward the door that led out into the hall, but she was indecisive; should she abandon her grand plans to become mistress of this horrible place and seek safety with her relations in the guest wing? Or should she make another attempt to rouse Mr Darcy in her defense and use this circumstance to her advantage? She could always insist that they live in London year round, or possibly take up residence at one of their many satellite estates. Mr Darcy was the type of man who had options available to himself and his family.

As if sensing her thoughts, the ghost made its opinion on the subject known to Miss Bingley in a way that could not be misunderstood. The lady turned as the glass of the vanity mirror shattered, splintering into a spiderweb pattern from the center of the pane, and reflected her image back to her in many pieces. From between the shards seeped a dark, viscous substance that was almost certainly blood. It pooled upon the tabletop, surrounding her candlestick in a sea of glimmering red, and dripped onto the carpet in rivulets.

Caroline released the bedpost and stumbled backwards until she collided with something heavy and wooden – the door leading to the master's chambers – and she froze there, too petrified to make a dart for the open door.

"This cannot be real, this cannot be real..." Miss Bingley muttered this mantra and squeezed her eyes shut tight, blocking the horror from her vision. "This cannot be real!"

A chill began to prickle against her skin, rising up from the soles of her feet to her ankles, calves and knees. It was as if a fog bank were rising from the carpet around her and surrounding her with a damp cold. Caroline could feel her shuddering breaths escape her and caress her cheeks in a warm cloud.

"Get...out...!"

Caroline's lids snapped open as the ghastly voice whispered directly into her ear. Immediately before her was a pair of large, gray eyes, stormy and wild. They were set in the face of a delicate woman who would have been undeniably beautiful had she not been also horrible in every way. Her hair, long and white, flared about her face like the untamed blaze of a fire, framing an expression which was nothing if not full of rage. She verily glowed in the darkness like the full moon upon the surface of a lake, both soft and bright while also somewhat distorted.

In the background, the flame of her pitiful candle finally snuffed itself out, leaving the room cloaked in darkness once more.

"GET OUT!"

Caroline finally found the wherewithal to flee as the otherworldly shriek echoed around her. She tore the hem of her sister's negligee as she sprinted through the icy mist of the spirit, but did not stop even to collect her balance properly. Instinct drove her forward and out into the corridor, away from the phantasm's rage.

SLAM!

Once she had crossed the threshold, the door to the mistress' chambers snapped shut behind her, blocking her from reentry. As if she would ever wish to set foot inside again!

Caroline collapsed against the wall, sliding down the delicate wallpaper she would have replaced as mistress, and trembled. Could that have been real? Had she actually encountered a ghost? Phantom, specter, apparition, banshee, demon, spook, wraith – a departed soul who roamed the land searching for her lover after a tragic end? How could it possibly be, yet how could it possibly not? There was no rational explanation for what she had just encountered.

"Miss Bingley?"

Caroline started so violently that she yelped and tumbled backwards. Only the reflexive hand that darted out in her own protection halted her descent to the floor.

Though terrified of what she would find, Miss Bingley raised her line of sight to the person who had interrupted her ghastly musings – silently praying that whomever it was would be made of flesh and bone rather than mist and moonlight – to find Miss Georgiana Darcy standing over her in a long white nightgown, her blonde hair braided over one shoulder. Her gray eyes were shadowed with confusion and concern.

The sight of a tall lady with pale hair and eyes caused Caroline to flinch back. Indeed, there was something of a resemblance between Georgiana Darcy and the wraith who had just tormented her – though she supposed that must be likely if Pemberley were haunted by its former inhabitants.

"Miss Bingley, are you well?" inquired Miss Darcy, her eyebrows folding down as she observed her guest cowering on the floor. "Have you somehow gotten lost?"

Caroline lunged forward and gripped at the skirt of Miss Darcy's nightrail, startling the girl enough to step back. She clung tightly to the younger lady to prevent escape. "There is a ghost! In there!"

"A ghost?" Miss Darcy asked, tugging fruitlessly at the fabric tangled in Caroline's grasping fingers. "In where?"

"The mistress' chambers!"

Miss Darcy looked to the closed door, blinking at it with apparent surprise, before returning her attention to Miss Bingley. "You have been inside the mistress' chambers?" she asked then, her expression darkening into a scowl, "At this time of night?"

Would the girl not focus? What difference did it make what Caroline was doing there in the middle of the night – there was an otherworldly specter inside! "Yes! It is everything horrible and – what are you doing?" Caroline's voice raised to the pitch of a screech as Georgiana, now disentangled from her house guest, approached the door in question and reached for the knob.

"I am going to look inside," she replied with more intrepidity than Caroline would have expected.

"Have you gone mad?" Miss Bingley lurched to her feet and grasped at her hostess' nearest arm, attempting to drag her away from the portal to hell. "Have you not heard me say that there is a ghost in there?"

Miss Darcy tugged her arm free and attempted to calm Caroline with a soothing voice. "I am sure nothing is amiss inside, Miss Bingley. I have been into my mother's rooms many times and have seen no sign of anything horrible. I shall take a peek inside and show you that there is nothing to fear."

"No!"

Caroline was growing increasingly desperate, and not only from fear of the apparition within; if Miss Darcy did not believe her about her experience, then there would be no reasonable explanation for the mess that she was soon to discover. How could Caroline explain a shattered mirror, broken armoire and general disorder of a space to which, technically, she had no rights? Would they be ejected from Pemberley? That might not be so terrible considering recent events, but to be cut off from the patronage of the Darcys would be intolerable!

Creeeeeeeeeeak.

The door opened under Georgiana's direction with ease and she stepped inside, holding her own candle aloft to observe the space inside. Caroline waited for the girl to exclaim at the mess, but no such rebuke was forthcoming.

"I see nothing amiss, Miss Bingley," said Miss Darcy, pivoting her head to look in Caroline's direction once more.

"What?" Caroline peered over the girl's shoulder, careful to remain on the hallway side of the threshold, to observe what Miss Darcy was seeing. Surely she could not have expected to find the place in pieces!

However, the surprise was all Caroline's; not a single piece of furniture, figurine nor sheet was out of place other than what she had done herself. Her candle rested upon the uncovered vanity table, its wax hardening now that the flame was out, and her sister's dressing gown lay crumpled on the floor beside it. The snatched key lay upon the dull surface immediately beside the base of the candelabra, accusatory in its placement. The mirror was whole and there were no traces of the blood that had been dripping down its surface and puddling on the floor. The rest of the room looked as untouched as she had found it.

"I don't understand," complained Miss Bingley, stepping forward as if to breach the room. A cold, tingling sensation overwhelmed her suddenly, raising goosebumps upon her skin, and she thought better of it.

"Perhaps you were sleepwalking?" suggested Miss Darcy, her eyes darting downward for an instant to indicate Caroline's scantily clad form. When her gaze rose back up to her guest's face, it was rather severe and reminded Miss Bingley of her brother.

"I...ah...," she could not very well tell her prey's sixteen-year-old sister that she had been intent upon seducing her brother, so she accepted the gift of the girl's excuse with as much grace as she could muster. It wasn't much. "I suppose I was."

"And you shall take greater care in the future to prevent yourself from wandering the halls at night?" continued Miss Darcy.

Caroline grudgingly conceded. "Yes, I shall make a point of not...erm...sleepwalking."

"Very good," replied Georgiana as she stepped into her mother's old chambers and retrieved the objects upon the dressing table. The guttered candle and robe she passed along to Caroline, but the key she kept within her possession. "Now, shall I see you back to your room?"

o0o

"There, there, Anne," soothed her husband as his wife slammed the door shut behind that interloping hussy. "Calm yourself. That Bingley girl cannot cause any further harm. At this moment, Fitzwilliam is downstairs with his future bride and well away from her clutches."

"I know," replied Lady Anne as the aura around her calmed, "but she has no right to be in this room. It is reserved for the rightful Mistress of Pemberley, not some upstart from trade."

"Elizabeth has family in trade, if you recall," reminded George Darcy fondly. They hovered before the entryway that would lead into his former bedroom, the one now occupied by their son as he presided over the estate, blocking it from any further trespass from low class young women.

All around them, the room was righting itself and regaining its former orderly (if dirty) appearance. The broken furniture pieced itself back together, not a single seam visible once it had fused into wholeness again, and moved back into position. The porcelain figurines, shattered upon the floor, came back together and retreated to their places. Dust covers flew about the room as if they were full of spirits themselves and swaddled the newly restored furnishings. The only things left alone were those that the trespasser – that upstart – had disturbed or forgotten. Reality had knit itself back together.

Lady Anne waved his comment away, huffing with exasperation. "That is neither here nor there, George! Elizabeth was raised as a gentlewoman and, more to the point, is not after our son simply for his fortune. Were that the case, she would have accepted him in the spring and saved us all much trouble."

"Ah, but she would not be such a charming, worthy young lady had that been the case," replied George, taking his vexed wife's hand and bringing it up to his face. He caressed his luminescent cheek against it and bestowed a little kiss upon her fingers. "And it did the boy some good to be humbled. I believe he had been spending too much time with your brother and sister and gotten a swelled head."

"Hmph."

Creeeeeeeeeeak.

The pair fell silent and observed as the door to the hallway opened again, prepared to frighten away any unwanted visitors. They smiled, however, when their daughter, sweet Georgiana, stepped inside and peered about the room as if looking for a disturbance. She moved back out into the hall and could be heard to say, "I see nothing amiss, Miss Bingley."

"What?" screeched the interloper's voice. "I don't understand."

They could both sense her draw near the doorway and Lady Anne tensed, ready to scare Miss Bingley within an inch of her life if she had the nerve to return. George placed a steadying hand upon his wife's arm and projected a cold, creeping sense of menace to keep her out. The hint seemed to work for Miss Bingley approached no further.

"Perhaps you were sleepwalking?"

"I...ah...," paused Miss Bingley, "I suppose I was."

"Sleepwalking my eye," snorted George.

"And you shall take greater care in the future to prevent yourself from wandering the halls at night?"

"Yes, I shall make a point of not...erm...sleepwalking."

Lady Anne glowered at the doorway. "See that you do."

"Very good," replied their dear girl with a firmness her father could be proud of, either alive or dead. Georgiana marched into the room and collected together the rabble left behind by Miss Bingley's encroachment, removing every sign of their unwelcome guest's presence within the chamber excepting the displaced sheet. She clutched the key to her side as she returned the other items to Miss Bingley and said, "Now, shall I see you back to your room?"

The door closed behind the two ladies, leaving the pair of phantoms alone, hovering just slightly over the carpet. There were no words between them for several minutes.

"I do wish she could still see us," lamented Lady Anne, her forlorn voice reverberating around her old chambers, though the living could not hear.

George nodded as he placed a hand upon his dearly departed wife's lower back and drew her closer. She floated toward him as if gliding upon a breeze. "As do I, my dear, but perhaps it is better this way. The living should not be so involved with the dead. Georgiana has much life to live, after all, and we would not wish to take her away from it."

"Easy for you to say," sniffled Lady Anne as her head drooped upon his shoulder, "you had much more time with her than I did. She remembers me not at all."

"Perhaps not," George conceded, pressing his cold lips to her equally frigid forehead, "but Fitzwilliam has told her all about you and it is as if she knows you. And she certainly has your commanding manner – did you see how well she managed that Bingley woman?"

Lady Anne's laugh was as haunting as her person. "Yes, though I believe she learned such behavior from our son."

"True, but who did he take it from? I have never been able to look so severe."

"I just wish...," Lady Anne paused, gathering her words from deep within her departed soul, "I just wish that I could truly be part of their lives, rather than a shadow that stalks them from another realm."

"As do I, my love, as do I." George sighed, but continued on a more positive note, "However, I believe our intervention this night has been invaluable to our children. Fitzwilliam will now marry that lovely Miss Elizabeth Bennet and raise a family and Georgiana will be spared having that interloping Bingley woman as a sister. Truly, though we are no longer of this world, we have made it better for our descendents."

Lady Anne nodded as they both faded into the darkness, leaving not a trace of their existence behind.

o0o

Miss Bingley rose at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning, unable to withstand even the pretense of sleep any longer. She had not slumbered since her encounter in the mistress' chambers the night before – who could after such a fright? – and had merely waited for the sun to rise, surrounded by the glow of several candles which kept the darkness at bay.

She had spent the intervening hours between her rendezvous with the apparitions and daybreak pacing back and forth in her own assigned rooms, muttering to herself as she tried to rationalize her experience, and she was more physically and mentally exhausted than she had ever been. However, Caroline was more eager than ever to be with living, breathing human beings and only her sister's locked door had prevented her from achieving this goal sooner. Hurst's snores from within had drowned out any hope of waking Louisa from her repose and so Caroline had retreated back into her own bedchamber where she had fidgeted and fretted til morning.

Only once the sun had crept over the horizon, peeking shyly above the mountains in the distance, did Caroline determine it safe enough to venture forth into the house at large. She had called for her yawning and confused maid to dress her for the day, ignoring all the girl's questions about the success of her plans from the night before, and then practically fled the room.

Now Caroline haunted the corridors, alone except for the understated presence of the servants who flitted from room to room, dusting, sweeping and whatever else it was that they did. No one of any worth was yet awake, leaving the fidgety Miss Bingley to wander aimlessly.

Not far from the guest wing was the gallery, which had at least the benefit of something to gaze upon, so Miss Bingley bent her steps in that direction. She breathed more evenly as she entered the hall full of invaluable artwork, finding relief in the flood of sunlight that spilled into the space through the many tall windows. There was nothing supernatural in this part of the house, thank heaven.

Caroline scanned her eyes over each portrait, almost involuntarily searching for a resemblance to the phantasm she had crossed the previous night. Aside from the glossy image of her young hostess, none of the former Darcys looked even passingly like that horrifying spook. In the warm, shining light of a new day, Miss Bingley wondered – had it been some terrible nightmare after all?

Creeeeeeeeeeeak.

A giggle. "Fitzwilliam, stop! I must return to my...mmm..."

Soft murmuring in return; "Come back inside, my love. I have not quite finished with you yet."

Miss Bingley stopped where she was, her contemplation of Georgiana Darcy's features on hold at this interruption, and whipped her head toward the source of the unexpected voices. At the end of the corridor, a door stood ajar, bathing the carpeted floor in cheerful sunlight.

There was a rustle of fabric – Caroline flinched as she recalled the abuse she had taken from a sheet only hours ago – and another bubble of feminine laughter from just beyond the door. "The house is already stirring! I must get back to my chambers before we are discovered."

"Let them find us," countered the second voice; it was deep and rumbled like a man's. "We shall be married that much sooner."

There was a high pitched squeal before the lady spoke again, scolding in a faux scandalized tone, "Fitzwilliam! What a thing to say!"

There was some more scuffling just beyond the door, another muffled shriek of laughter and then some comparative silence. The only sounds Caroline could hear aside from the distant clatter of servants about their business were quick, panting breaths from within the occupied chamber.

Miss Bingley felt rather ill all of a sudden. Even a simpleton could discern the context of this uncomfortable scene and she would hardly classify herself as such. Moreover, those voices were disturbingly familiar.

It seemed that Eliza Bennet had succeeded where Caroline Bingley had failed.

Creeeeeeeeeak.

The door at the end of the hall gaped open a little more, as if smiling smugly at her, to reveal to her eyes what her mind had already deduced. There were Mr Darcy and Eliza Bennet, scandalously dressed in only the minimal amount of clothing allowed before being considered entirely nude, bathed in the warm yellow glow of early morning sunlight as they amorously embraced. Even the dust motes swirling around them seemed to dance in celebration of their newly kindled romance.

"How...how vulgar," Caroline muttered to herself, her lip drawing upward in a sneer. Mr Darcy, so wealthy and respectable, was behaving as a heathen in his own magnificent – if haunted – home! Far from deigning to kiss Eliza chastely, he appeared to be devouring the lower half of her face, his tongue visibly delving into her mouth for the purpose. And his hands – oh, his hands! They were both clasped firmly upon her buttocks and had pulled her close to the lower portion of his body, which he rubbed against her.

Worse, Eliza Bennet was clearly encouraging this behavior by grasping hold of his hair and responding fervently to his kisses. She was even returning some friction by gliding her body up and down, bouncing merrily upon her toes to do so. Caroline had always suspected that her rival was a wanton little hussy, and this proved it beyond all doubt.

And they were both creating the most disgusting noises! Ugh...they were not to be described.

The pair carried on with their petting, clearly oblivious to Caroline's presence, so she made a point of coughing to gain their attention. "Ahem."

There was no reaction at all.

"A-hem!" she coughed again, this time with more asperity.

Still ignored. This was not to be borne!

"I beg your pardon!" she finally said at the top of her voice. It was unladylike, but she hardly cared in the moment; the man she was supposed to marry had clearly been compromised by someone else and so she had no one to impress.

Finally, the couple who had been fused at the lips sprang apart. It was Eliza Bennet who spoke first; "Miss Bingley! I – How long have you been there?" As she said this, Mr Darcy grasped her hips from behind and repositioned her to stand in front of him.

"Long enough," replied their reluctant viewing party with a sniff. "I suppose I am to congratulate you on your betrothal?"

This time, Mr Darcy took the initiative to answer, though he kept Eliza Bennet firmly before him. Cowering behind a woman! He was becoming less and less admirable to Miss Bingley's eyes every moment. In a deeply rumbling, raspy voice, he replied, "Yes, we thank you," a slight pause for awkwardness, "Breakfast shall be presented in the dining room any moment, Miss Bingley. Please feel free to partake at any time."

Caroline lifted her nose proudly into the air and proceeded toward the staircase; she was perfectly capable of taking a hint. She did not bother to dismiss herself from their presence with words for they deserved no such attention.

"Fitzwilliam, I...we..."

"Never fear my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. I shall speak to your uncle in the course of the morning and..."

Their simpering voices faded away as Miss Bingley flounced down the marble steps, huffing with derision. Miss Eliza Bennet could have Mr Darcy and this spirit-infested Bedlam! Miss Caroline Bingley would set her sights higher.

Author's Note: Elizabeth got Ghostbusters and Northanger Abbey, but Miss Bingley got Amityville Horror and Poltergeist. Muahahahaha... ; )

Though, considering the last line, maybe the intrepid Miss Caroline Bingley will still get her HEA. I personally doubt it, but she is determined...

I had not initially intended to write this bonus chapter, but Miss Bingely was just begging for a set down. Besides, I couldn't get the image out of my head once I'd thought of it. One of my reviewers (Ipinney) suggested in her comments on Chapter Two that I should throw her into the lake, which I admit was an admirable thought, but I had already been working on this when s/he said it. I still think this works better since it overlaps with the events of Chapter Three (Clean and MA versions, but not Squeaky Clean), but what a fun alternative! Maybe next time.

Similarly, other reviewers expressed a desire for Miss Bingley to get what was coming to her, which made me happy to oblige. And it was easy to do so since I had already written this short XD I even theorize that one of the reasons why several claimed a preference for Squeaky Clean was the fact that our dear Caroline got some instant (though not supernatural) karma at the end. I liked unleashing Lady Anne on her, personally...but there's merit in both approaches : D

THANK YOU to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited and followed this story. It means so much to me that others have enjoyed it, especially since this is my first foray into JAFF. If you liked "A Haunting at Pemberley," keep an eye out for my upcoming Christmas-themed fic "Welcome Home," which will be posted on my birthday, December 8. It's even longer than this one. My other stories, "Under the Influence" and "Dare to Refuse Such a Man," are currently in progress and posted in this profile.

Happy Halloween 2019!

– MrsMarySmythe