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“I was not asleep.”

“No.”

Mrs. Reynolds drew the chair forward and remained beside her while she sat. Elizabeth pressed her palms together. She could still smell damp wool, though there was none near her.

“What did you see?” the housekeeper asked.

“A bed. A different wall, or a different room. I heard a key.”

“Was someone locked in?”

“I do not know.” Elizabeth spoke more sharply than she meant to. “Forgive me. I only heard it turn. I did not see a door.”

Mrs. Reynolds nodded at once. “Then we shall leave it at that.”

They sat without speaking until Elizabeth’s hands ceased trembling.

It had been less complete than a dream and far more difficult to put aside. She could not blame a disturbed night’s sleep for it.

“We should write it down,” Mrs. Reynolds said at last. “Before the account in the book becomes mixed with what you saw.”

Elizabeth fetched a clean sheet. At the top she put the date, October 2. Beneath it she wrote the bed, the light, the smell, and the sound of the key. The list looked pitifully small for an experience which had left her afraid to touch the table.

“Nothing about Nicholas,” she said.

“You did not see him.”

“No. And nothing about what was locked.”

Mrs. Reynolds read the little account and agreed. Then she covered the journal with her own hands.

Elizabeth did not object.

They had done enough for the morning. The housekeeper had linen to issue and Elizabeth had promised Jane another hour with the cap. She washed her hands, although there was no mark upon them, and went to her sister’s room.

Jane looked up from her work. “Which edging did we choose?”

“The narrower.”

“I thought so. Caroline prefers the other.”

“Then I shall defend our choice with renewed vigour.”

Elizabeth sat beside her, took up the little cap, and began where she had left off. The stitches required attention. For the moment she was very willing to give it.

Chapter Twenty-two

ANNA HAD LEARNED to pull off a cap.

Darcy discovered this when Martha placed her in his arms and turned to untie her parcel. By the time she had opened the string, the child had caught the edge of her own cap, dragged it over one eye, and begun to complain of the result.

“Allow me,” Darcy said.

Anna pushed at his hand. He freed the little strings beneath her chin and removed the cap altogether.

“That is better.”

“She will have it again directly,” Martha said.