The Unknown Guest ~ by Ulrike

"You know, Caroline," Mr Bingley announced, "I have been thinking about that ball."

"Ball, Charles?" Miss Bingley said, pretending not to know what her brother was talking about.

"I thought… would it not be fun to have a masquerade, on All Hallows' Eve?" Mr Bingley asked. Miss Bingley's mouth fell open. "A masquerade, Charles?" she asked, the moment she had recovered her usual composure. "This is not at all the thing! Just imagine what our London acquaintance will say!"

"Hertfordshire is not London," Mr Bingley pointed out. "London, I grant you, is another matter, and I admit I would not like to see any of my sisters attending a London masquerade, but in the country a masquerade is nothing improper. Or is it, Darcy?"

Mr Darcy replied that, though he did not care for masquerades himself, his parents had been fond of them, and that there had been one at Pemberley on Twelfth Night every year.

"You see?" Mr Bingley said, triumphantly. "Can anyone have an objection to a masquerade in a respectable house? Miss Bennet! What do you say? Would it not be fun?"

Miss Elizabeth Bennet, being thus addressed, admitted that the idea had something appealing.
She noticed the contemptuous look that passed between Miss Bingley and her sister and added defiantly that she should be glad to help finding a suitable motto for the ball.

"What would you suggest, Miss Eliza?" Miss Bingley demanded scornfully.

"I am sure you, Miss Bingley, are much more qualified to make a suggestion," Lizzy said archly.

"A night in a haunted house?" Miss Bingley asked, icily. "I do wonder where one can hire a ghost for the occasion?" She laughed at her own joke, but no one joined in.

"Hire a ghost for Netherfield when it already has one?" Lizzy asked, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Are you trying to frighten us, Miss Bennet?" Mr Bingley laughed, and even the reserved Mr Darcy lowered his book and gave Lizzy an expectant look, as if asking her to go on.

"You must tell us more about it," Mr Bingley said eagerly.

"I do not wish to frighten your sisters, sir," Lizzy protested. "It is only a story, and I thought Sir James Marlowe had told you."

"Sir James Marlowe did not tell me a single thing, Miss Bennet, and my sisters are too rational to believe in any such thing as ghosts," Mr Bingley said. Lizzy was strongly inclined to believe him. Their rationality certainly forbade them to believe anything they were disinclined to accept as true.

"Do tell us," Mrs Hurst said politely, but without showing much interest. "Is there any tale connected with Netherfield?"

Hesitantly, Lizzy began to recount the local legend.

"Netherfield, as you know, was built in Queen Elizabeth's days, commissioned by a certain Sir Joshua Marlowe. Sir Joshua was extremely rich and a great favourite at the Royal Court, but here, in Hertfordshire, he showed his real face. They say Sir Joshua was a libertine, and that no personable female was safe from him. He had a violent temper, too, and was accustomed to having things his way. In Meryton, at that time, there was a glover – a respectable man. One day, when Sir Joshua called at the man's shop, he happened to see the glover's daughter, a beautiful girl, seventeen years of age, and fell in love with her – though I believe it can be safely said that his intentions were far from honourable. The girl, aware of his reputation, resisted his advances – she was engaged to be married to a young man from Meryton, and would have none of Sir Joshua. Seeing that his powers of persuasion had failed, Sir Joshua tried to force his attentions on her, but she escaped before any harm could be done. Furious, Sir Joshua swore that since he could not have her, no one else should. Soon after that, the girl was to be married – but the bridegroom never made it to the church. They found him dead in his house – murdered."

Miss Bingley gasped.

"How dreadful!" Mrs Hurst said coolly, while her husband helped himself to another drink.

"Go on, Miss Bennet," Mr Bingley encouraged Lizzy.

"Everyone knew Sir Joshua had had his hand in this," Lizzy continued. "The girl openly accused him of having murdered her husband-to-be. The matter came to the Queen's ears somehow, and she ordered the affair to be cleared. Sir Joshua was called to court, but denied to have done anything to the young man. Being a nobleman, he could clear his name by merely swearing on the Bible that he had not murdered the man. "If I am guilty," he said, "I shall die, and my body shall not decay!" Sir Joshua was discharged, and returned to Netherfield a free man. Two weeks later, he died of a sudden seizure and his body was interred in the crypt of St Botolph's Church in Meryton. That was the end of the matter – or so people thought. During the Civil War, Cromwell's men opened his tomb, and found the corpse – still looking very much the same as it had on the day when Sir Joshua had died. However, the act of opening the tomb seems to have released Sir Joshua's restless spirit, and he seems to have returned to Netherfield once again. He was often seen hereabouts, wandering around in the gardens, and in the house. As in life, he seems to have a marked preference for young ladies."

"What a terrible story!" Miss Bingley exclaimed. "This explains why I have never felt quite comfortable here!"

"Why, Miss Bingley, I thought you were too rational to believe in ghosts," Lizzy said mockingly and rose. "If you will excuse me, I must go and see how my sister is doing." She left the party behind and walked up the stairs to Jane's room. Talking about the legend attached to Netherfield had made her feel uncomfortable, too – while walking along the upstairs corridor, she felt watched. Seeing that there was nothing of an alarming nature lurking in the dark corners, Lizzy congratulated herself on being such a fool and entered Jane's room. Still, she hoped they would be able to leave Netherfield soon.

Back home in Longbourn, Lizzy soon forgot all about the ball in Netherfield. The arrival of Mr Collins put such frivolous thoughts out of her mind. Only when the invitation reached the Bennets, the ball became foremost in their thoughts again. It was to be a masquerade, just as Mr Bingley had suggested, and the guests were requested to dress as characters from Shakespeare's plays.

"I think Mr Bingley had you on his mind when he thought of this," Lizzy said to Jane, teasing her. "I cannot blame him, for a lovelier Juliet has never been seen." Blushing, Jane asked Lizzy to stop, while Lydia, having overheard their discourse, demanded that Jane should give up the notion of being Juliet.

"I want to be Juliet," she cried. "Mama, tell Jane she cannot be Juliet! She does not look like Juliet at all!"

"Pray, what does Juliet look like," Lizzy asked Lydia with a smile.

"I do not know, but certainly more like me than Jane," Lydia insisted. This provoked a quarrel between Kitty and Lydia, for Kitty was not inclined to leave the most desirable – and best-known – heroine to her sister without claiming her for herself. However, Lydia won the argument, and triumphantly set about creating her costume, while Jane comforted Kitty by suggesting that she would make a beautiful Ophelia, and picturing her costume (an immaculate white muslin gown and flowers in her hair) in a way that soon made Kitty think that she had won the quarrel for the best heroine. Ophelia, Lizzy had assured her, was certainly as well known as Juliet, and, Kitty thought, had the much prettier name.
Mary, after having expressed a general disinclination to attend a masquerade, was persuaded to come along, and chose – to the surprise of everyone – Portia.

"Is she going to put on one of Papa's old suits, I wonder?" Jane asked Lizzy.

"Mary?" Lizzy simply asked and shook her head. Mary was the very last person to do such a risqué thing as that – it was the sort of thing Lydia would have done, had she known that any such character as Portia was in existence.

Mrs Bennet was not quite sure which character she should choose, and delayed her decision until she had heard her husband's advice. Mr Collins had some serious qualms regarding the respectability of the project, but promised he would give the matter some thought, and it only took Mrs Bennet two or three fits of hysterics to make her husband promise he would attend the ball – dressed as Prospero, for, he told his favourite daughter, "I quite envy the gentleman".

As Lizzy and Jane came down the stairs on Halloween, they encountered the entire family including Mr Collins in the drawing room. Their mother seemed to have made up her mind regarding her costume – there was a hint of Lady Macbeth in her appearance – and Mr Collins seemed to have overcome his doubts, as well. He was dressed in a scarlet robe and, when asked whom he was impersonating, informed them that he was to be Cardinal Wolsey.

"Who are you?" Lydia demanded to know.

"I beg your pardon?" Jane asked.

"I believe Lydia wishes to know about your costumes," Mary said dryly.

"We are a pair of sisters," Jane said, smilingly.

"Although, to be authentic I ought to beat Jane with a stick," Lizzy said, smiling mischievously.

"I said you were too kind-hearted for this role," Jane said.

"Will anyone tell me what they mean?" Lydia asked, thoroughly annoyed as always when she was not the centre of attention.

"The Taming of the Shrew," Lizzy said and added, with a laugh, "I am The Shrew, while Jane is my sweet sister Bianca – the one with all those devoted suitors."

Mr Bennet was the only one able to appreciate their costume idea. Lizzy saw his broad smile and was glad to see it – it had been the first time she had seen him smile for days.

On their way to Netherfield, Lizzy still expected to see Mr Wickham there, and did not talk much. Instead, she listened to Lydia and Kitty arguing which costumes the officers would wear (it was amazing how many Hamlets and Romeos there were, Lizzy thought).
The full moon shone brightly when they left the carriage at the entrance of Netherfield, but there was a slight mist. Lizzy felt that during the night the fog would set in and it would not be altogether pleasant to travel home in this fog.
They were ushered into the drawing room, where the Bingleys were greeting their guests. Mr Bingley introduced himself as the Duke Orsino, while Miss Bingley's costume betrayed her immediately, even without her having to tell anyone that she was Titania. No one had ever looked more like a Fairy Queen. Mr Hurst was to be found just where Lizzy had expected him to be – seated in closest proximity to the liquor cabinet – and Lizzy credited him for having chosen the most suitable character for himself, for Mr Hurst was Falstaff. Mrs Hurst remained a mystery to Lizzy just now, but she strongly suspected Mrs Hurst was to be Desdemona. Mr Darcy was nowhere to be seen.

A young man addressed Lizzy, and only when he had been speaking to her for a while she realised it was Mr Denny, who told her that Mr Wickham would not be at the ball, as business had taken him into Town.
"I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here," he said, and threw a speaking look at a gentleman who, at that moment, entered the room. It was hard to tell, but when Lizzy gave him a closer look she recognised Mr Darcy.

She did not dwell long on Mr Darcy's faults – Charlotte Lucas came towards her, and after having guessed at each other's costume, they exchanged all the news they had to relate, for they had not seen each other for an entire week. Lizzy informed Charlotte of what Mr Wickham had told her about Mr Darcy, and even though Charlotte understood Lizzy's condemnation of the gentleman, she warned Lizzy not to snub him too openly.

The first dance was struck up, and Mr Collins led Lizzy to the set. These, she thought, were the worst dances she had ever had to go through. Mr Collins was not only a bad dancer but also convinced of his own perfection – Lizzy felt that she had never been so humiliated in her life. After having danced with an officer, she sat with Charlotte for a while, and was so absorbed in her conversation with her friend that she accepted to dance the next two with Mr Darcy before she knew what she was doing.

"Oh, why could I not think of an excuse," Lizzy said miserably.

Charlotte tried to console her. "I daresay you will find him very agreeable," she said with a reassuring smile.

"Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! Do not wish me such an evil."

Mr Darcy came to claim her hand, and together they took their place in the set. For a while, none of them spoke, and Lizzy was quite content with this. After a while, however, she decided that a little conversation might be expected, and said, "Mr Darcy, I must compliment you on your costume – even though I admit I am quite at a loss. It is easier to guess at the heroines, do you not agree?"

"Shall I give you a hint?" Mr Darcy said, smiling faintly.

"By all means, do," Lizzy said.

"Very well then," he said. "Which quote may come to your mind, looking around in this room?"

Lizzy looked at all the people dressed in flamboyant costumes, each one trying to outdo each other, each of them impersonating a character from a play…

"All the world's a stage?" she suggested. Mr Darcy's eyes widened in surprise, but he merely said, "Well done, Miss Bennet."

His reaction showed Lizzy that he had not expected her to find an answer at all, let alone make a correct guess. Probably he had not thought her an accomplished woman. Considering what a woman, in his opinion, needed to be accomplished, this did not come as a big surprise either. They danced on, and Mr Darcy seemed to be content to be silent. Lizzy had no objection to that, until she fancied that her partner might consider it a greater punishment id he were obliged to speak. Therefore she made a trivial remark about the dance, to which Mr Darcy replied curtly.

"It is your turn to say something now, Mr Darcy," Lizzy said after a few moments' silence. "I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, the number of couples or the costumes they are wearing."

"I shall say whatever you wish me to say, Miss Bennet," Mr Darcy said.

"Very well," Lizzy said. "That reply will do for the present."

They went on in a similar fashion, Mr Darcy asking Lizzy whether she always talked by rule when she was dancing, and Lizzy challenging Mr Darcy by telling him that conversation ought to be arranged in a way that one might have the trouble of saying as little as possible. When Lizzy thought about their dance afterwards, she could not remember how the conversation had suddenly turned to Mr Wickham, but so it did, and, Lizzy observed, the subject did not particularly please Mr Darcy. He seemed almost grateful when Sir William Lucas came towards them, congratulated them on their superior dancing and wished that they would find ample opportunity to repeat this in the future. After Sir William disappeared in the crowd again, they continued to dance, and Mr Darcy, it seemed, was anxious to avoid the re-introduction of Mr Wickham into their discourse. However, Lizzy was not going to let him off quite as easily.

"I remember hearing you once say, Mr Darcy," she suddenly said, "that you hardly ever forgave; that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created."

"I am," he said firmly.

"And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"

"I hope not."

"It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first," Lizzy said.

"May I ask to what these questions tend?" Mr Darcy asked.

"Merely to the illustration of your character," Lizzy said, smiling. "I am trying to make it out."

"And what is your success?"

"I do not get on at all," Lizzy said, shaking her head. "I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."

"I can readily believe," he said, "that report may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either."

"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity," Lizzy said teasingly.

"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," Mr Darcy replied coldly. The music having finished, he led her back to her seat, bowed, and left her to herself.
Lizzy, feeling hot, decided to go outside to the terrace to catch a breath of fresh air. Her dress, she thought, was far from comfortable – the heavy brocade favoured by the ladies in Mr Shakespeare's days (and in her mother's days as well, for one of Mrs Bennet's old gowns had supplied Lizzy with the material for her costume) was, unfortunately, very warm.

Outside, the fog was thickening, and one could hardly see as far as to the balustrade. Even though the merrymaking was going on inside the building, here, on the terrace, Lizzy felt all alone…. until a gentleman she had not seen all evening came up the steps from the garden. He was dressed in clothes from Mr Shakespeare's period, but his attire made a rather shabby impression on Lizzy. The gentleman himself was handsome, if one made allowances for his beard. There was a merry sparkle in his eyes, and his smile was, in a way, irresistible.

"Alone, at last!" he exclaimed theatrically. "That I should have to wait all evening to catch a glimpse of my Kate!" His way of saying this made Lizzy laugh out loud.

"Signor Petrucchio, I presume," she said lightly. "I should have known you would be late. Have you been hunting?"

"I still am," he said mysteriously.

"Any luck, sir?" Lizzy asked, amused by his odd manner.

"Not yet," he answered. He laughed as he saw Lizzy's puzzled look, but did not attempt to explain his meaning. There was something familiar about him, Lizzy thought, but she did not know where she had met him before.

"You look familiar, sir," she therefore said, hoping he might enlighten her. "Could it be that we have met somewhere?"

"I do not think so," the gentleman said.

"Now I know!" Lizzy exclaimed. "You bear a resemblance to Sir James Marlowe!"

"That may well be," Petrucchio said. "We are in some way related."

"Though Sir James is older than you are," Lizzy continued.

Petrucchio laughed. "That I doubt, Miss Bennet," he said.

Lizzy frowned. "You do know me then," she said. "You know my name!"

"Let me say as much – you remind me of someone I used to know," Petrucchio said. Through the open French windows, the music could be heard. He held out his hand to her. "Shall we dance, Miss Bennet?"

Something held Lizzy back – she did not know why, but she did not want to take the proffered hand. "I had rather go in," she said faintly. "It is getting cold out here."

"Oh yes, one might well catch one's death tonight," Petrucchio said indifferently, but he did not offer to take her back into the ballroom.

"If you do not want to go in," Lizzy said, "I shall have to go by myself."

"Oh, do stay but for a minute," he said.

"What for?" Lizzy asked.

"For a bit of advice," he said. "Never judge by appearances, Miss Bennet, unless you have seen the entire picture."

Lizzy shook her head. Why did he say that? Why did he think that she needed that kind of advice – and from him, of all people? A man she had never seen before in her life?

"Do you think me someone easily taken in by appearances," Lizzy asked, nettled.

"To be honest, yes, I think you are," he said. "That, too, reminds me of the person I used to know."

"This is an infamous thing to say," Lizzy exclaimed, furiously. "I am not going to stay out here to be insulted by this kind of talk!"

"I did not intend to insult you," Petrucchio said, and laughed. "Now you are like my Kate – if you could, you'd scratch my eyes out." He reached out for her. "It makes me want to kiss you," he said, with that irresistible smile.

Lizzy was not certain whether she had understood him correctly. "I beg your pardon?" she said, seething with anger that he should propose such an improper thing.

"I think you have understood me," Petrucchio said. "Just give me a kiss! I promise you will like it!" He sounded slightly impatient now, and there was something threatening in his attitude.

"I do not even know your name," Lizzy protested indignantly.

"You will find out who I am before the night is over," he said smilingly. "And what does it signify?"

Lizzy felt that the situation was getting out of hand, and that this was the moment for her to go back inside and escape. Yet she did not wish to be a coward – she had never run away from anyone, and she was not going to start that habit now. There had to be some other way of dealing with this.

The French window opened, and Jane came out. "Lizzy! Here you are!" She shivered. "Dear me, it is cold out here! You ought to go back in before you catch your death of cold!"

Lizzy had never been so glad to see her sister as at that moment. Now that Jane was with her, Petrucchio could hardly conduct himself with as much impropriety as he had done before.

"With whom were you talking?" Jane asked, searching the terrace with her eyes. "I thought I had heard you say something."

"With a… a gentleman," Lizzy said. She turned around – and found the terrace empty, apart from herself and Jane. Petrucchio was gone. Lizzy shivered, but it was not the cold that made her do so. She wondered what she had seen – and then, with a determined effort, told herself that someone at her age should not believe in ghost stories. Petrucchio had probably been one of the officers, someone who had made use of the masquerade to approach her, and maybe play a trick on her. It was quite easy to disappear in this fog.

The rest of the evening did not give Lizzy much pleasure – at the supper table, her mother made a spectacle of herself by loudly announcing how pleased she was with Jane for contracting such an advantageous marriage, Mr Collins insisted on making himself known to Mr Darcy (Lizzy could not help but think of Jaques' words - A fool! A fool! I met a fool i' th' forest! - even though, in this case, Jaques had met the fool in a ballroom), and Mary managed to bore the entire company with her non-stop singing. Had it not been for Jane, who seemed so happy in Mr Bingley's company, Lizzy would have wished to go home. All this time, she looked around to see whether "Petrucchio" was somewhere to be seen – but he was not. Probably, Lizzy thought, he had left the ball after becoming aware of his outrageous behaviour.

The Bennets were the last party to leave Netherfield – somehow Mrs Bennet had contrived to delay their departure to the last moment. They were waiting in the hall for their carriage, and Lizzy was well aware that the ladies of the household heartily wished them to be gone. As the carriage was announced, Mr Bingley came up to Lizzy to say goodbye.

"By the way, Miss Bennet," he said. "The story you told me the other day – I found it interesting enough to look up the register at St Botolph's, and I have found you have omitted some interesting facts." He smiled. "Did you know that the girl's name was Bennet?"

Lizzy shook her head. "I had no idea," she said. "But certainly she cannot … cannot have been a relation of ours!"

"I would not know," Mr Bingley said. "I only thought you might want to know."

As Lizzy turned to go, her eyes fell on a portrait that hung over the main staircase, and she suddenly realised just why Petrucchio had looked so familiar. While staying at Netherfield, she had seen him every time when she had gone up those stairs. Petrucchio was Sir Joshua Marlowe.

Lizzy was not soon reconciled to the fact that she had, in all probability, seen and talked to a ghost. But there seemed to be no other explanation. Many of the things he had said hinted at it – he had said he was related to Sir James Marlowe (which he was, Sir Joshua had been Sir James' great-great-great-uncle, or something like that). He had doubted that Sir James was older than he. But one thought haunted Lizzy more than anything else. Sir Joshua – if it had indeed been him – had told her that he had been hunting, and that he had not been lucky yet. Had she, Elizabeth Bennet, been his quarry? She did not even want to think of what might have happened, had not Jane come onto the terrace at precisely the right moment.

Lizzy did not tell anyone about her encounter with the unknown guest. She felt that no one might believe her, and could even imagine what people would say, if she told them the story. She soon found out that the advice Sir Joshua had given her had been well-meant, and wished she had thought more about it when she received Mr Darcy's letter in Hunsford.
Yet, Lizzy could never determine what Sir Joshua had really wanted. Had he wanted to give her some advice? Had he wished to clear his name? Or ... Lizzy shuddered whenever she thought about it … had he wanted to take her with him? What would have happened, had she taken his hand, or succumbed to his wish to kiss her?

One thing, however, was certain – people kept seeing Sir Joshua Marlowe in and around Netherfield, and the stories surrounding the estate remained. Servants told all kinds of odd tales, and Mr Bingley was finally obliged to give up the place. Although many people in Meryton laid the blame for this at Mrs Bennet's door, Lizzy knew the truth. It had simply become too difficult to find servants willing to stay at Netherfield – unlike Sir Joshua, who was, apparently, unwilling to leave.