VIII. Search

von Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

When we entered the room, everything was just as it had been, untouched except for the chaos we had caused. Gradually, our panic began to fade, and we regained our composure enough to send the men away. Mademoiselle suggested that perhaps Carmilla had been startled awake by the commotion at her door and, in her fright, had jumped from her bed and hidden herself in a closet or behind a curtain, waiting for the majordomo and his men to leave before she could come out. We resumed our search, calling her name once more.

But it was all in vain. Our confusion and worry only grew. We checked the windows, but they were locked tight. I pleaded with Carmilla, asking her to stop this cruel game if she was hiding and to come out so we could end our anxiety. But my pleas fell on deaf ears. By then, I was convinced she wasn’t in the room or the dressing room, which was still locked from our side. There was no way she could have slipped past it. I was completely baffled. Had Carmilla found one of those secret passages the old housekeeper had mentioned, rumored to exist in the castle but whose locations had long been forgotten? Surely, time would reveal the truth, even if we were utterly perplexed for the moment.

It was past four o’clock, and I decided it would be better to spend the remaining hours of darkness in Madame’s room. Daylight would bring no answers to our dilemma.

The next morning, the entire household was in a state of turmoil, my father leading the charge. Every corner of the chateau was searched, and the grounds were scoured. No sign of the missing lady could be found. They were about to drag the stream for her body, and my father was beside himself with worry. What a dreadful tale to tell the poor girl’s mother upon her return. I, too, was nearly frantic, though my grief stemmed from a different source.

The morning dragged on in a haze of alarm and excitement. It was already one o’clock, and still no news. I rushed up to Carmilla’s room and was stunned to find her standing at her dressing table. I could hardly believe my eyes. She silently beckoned me over with her delicate finger, her face a picture of fear.

I dashed to her, overwhelmed with joy, kissing and embracing her repeatedly. I hurried to ring the bell, hoping to summon others who could help ease my father’s anxiety.

“Dear Carmilla, where have you been all this time? We’ve been in such agony worrying about you,” I exclaimed. “What happened? How did you come back?”

“Last night was a night of wonders,” she replied.

“For heaven’s sake, please explain everything you can.”

“It was past two when I went to sleep as usual in my bed, with both doors locked—my dressing room door and the one leading to the gallery. I slept soundly, as far as I know, without dreams. But I just woke up on the sofa in the dressing room, and I found the door between the rooms open and the other door forced. How could all this have happened without waking me? There must have been a lot of noise, and I’m particularly sensitive to sound. How could I have been carried from my bed without waking up? I’m startled by the slightest movement!”

By this time, Madame, Mademoiselle, my father, and several servants had gathered in the room. Carmilla was quickly overwhelmed with questions, congratulations, and welcomes. She had only one story to tell and seemed just as puzzled as everyone else about what had happened.

My father paced the room, deep in thought. I noticed Carmilla’s gaze follow him for a moment, a sly, dark look crossing her face.

Once my father had sent the servants away, and with Mademoiselle off searching for a small bottle of valerian and salvolatile, only my father, Madame, and I remained with Carmilla. He approached her thoughtfully, took her hand gently, and led her to the sofa, sitting beside her.

“Will you forgive me if I take a risk and ask you a question?” he said.

“Who could have a better right?” she replied. “Ask whatever you wish, and I will tell you everything. But my story is simply one of confusion and darkness. I know absolutely nothing. Feel free to ask anything, but you know the limits my mother has set for me.”

“Of course, my dear child. I won’t touch on the subjects she wishes us to avoid. Now, the mystery of last night lies in how you were taken from your bed and room without waking, especially since the windows were still locked and both doors were secured from the inside. Let me share my theory and then ask you a question.”

Carmilla leaned on her hand, looking dejected, while Madame and I listened intently.

“My question is this: Have you ever been suspected of sleepwalking?”

“Never, since I was very young,” she answered.

“But you did sleepwalk when you were younger?”

"Yes, I know I did. My old nurse has told me so many times."

My father smiled and nodded in agreement.

"Well, here’s what happened. You got up in your sleep, unlocked the door—not leaving the key in the lock like you usually do, but taking it out and locking it from the outside. Then you took the key with you to one of the twenty-five rooms on this floor, or maybe upstairs or downstairs. There are so many rooms and closets, and with all the heavy furniture and clutter, it would take a week to search this old house properly. Do you understand what I mean?"

"I do, but not completely," she replied.

"And how do you explain her finding herself on the sofa in the dressing room, which we searched so thoroughly?"

"She must have gone there after you searched it, still asleep, and then woke up on her own. She was just as surprised to find herself there as anyone else would be. I wish all mysteries could be explained as simply and innocently as yours, Carmilla," he said with a laugh. "So we can be relieved that the most straightforward explanation involves no drugs, no tampering with locks, no burglars, poisoners, or witches—nothing that should alarm Carmilla or anyone else about our safety."

Carmilla looked enchanting. Her colors were more beautiful than ever, and I think her beauty was heightened by that graceful languor that was uniquely hers. I sensed my father silently comparing her appearance to mine, for he said, "I wish my poor Laura looked more like herself," and he sighed.

So, our worries came to a happy end, and Carmilla was restored to her friends.