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Victoria adamantly refused to have a servant sleep in her room, so my father arranged for one to stay outside her door, ensuring she wouldn’t attempt another nighttime escapade without being stopped at her doorstep.

The following night passed without incident, and early the next morning, a doctor arrived, summoned by my father without my knowledge. Madame escorted me to the library where the serious-looking doctor with white hair and spectacles awaited us.

As I recounted my story, his expression grew increasingly grave. We stood facing each other in a window alcove, and when I finished, he leaned against the wall, fixing me with an earnest and somewhat horrified gaze.

After a brief pause, he asked Madame if he could speak with my father. Upon my father’s arrival, the doctor’s demeanor turned somber, signaling something serious. Their conversation, held in the recess by the window, was intense and prolonged.

“My dear, will you forgive me if I risk a conjecture and ask a question?” the doctor began as he and my father talked.

“Of course, ask anything,” I replied. “But you know there are certain topics my mother wants us to avoid discussing.”

“Perfectly understood,” the doctor said. “Now, the marvel of last night consists of your being removed from your bed and your room without being awakened, and this happening while the windows were secured and the doors locked from the inside. I have a theory and a question for you.”

Victoria leaned on her hand dejectedly, and Madame and I listened breathlessly.

“Now, have you ever been suspected of sleepwalking?” the doctor asked.

“Never, since I was very young indeed,” Victoria replied.

“But you did sleepwalk when you were young?” the doctor pressed.

“Yes, I know I did. My old nurse told me so often,” Victoria confirmed.

“Well, what has happened is this,” the doctor explained. “You got up in your sleep, unlocked the door, not leaving the key in the lock as usual but taking it out and locking it on the outside. Then you carried the key away to some room on this floor or elsewhere in the house. Do you see what I mean?”

“I do, but not entirely,” Victoria replied with a furrowed brow.

The doctor continued, “And how do you account for finding yourself on the sofa in the dressing room, which we had searched so carefully?”

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“I came there after you had searched, still in my sleep, and woke up spontaneously, as surprised as anyone else to find myself there,” Victoria explained.

After their discussion, my father looked pale and thoughtful. “I wish all mysteries were as easily and innocently explained as yours, Victoria,” he said with a sigh of relief.

“Ah, you see?” he added, turning to my father. “Should I inform Madame?”

“Of course,” replied my father.

He beckoned Madame over and explained, “Our young friend here isn’t feeling well. It hopefully won’t be serious, but for now, Miss Belle mustn’t be left alone for any reason. That’s the only instruction for now. It’s crucial.”

Madame assured him of her compliance, eager to be of help. “You can count on us, Doctor,” my father added.

“And dear Belle, I trust you’ll follow the doctor’s advice,” he said to me.

“I will,” I assured them.

“I’ll need your opinion on another patient, a young lady with symptoms similar to what I’ve just heard,” my father said to the doctor. “She’s our guest, and since you’ll be passing by this evening, you might as well have dinner here and see her then. She doesn’t come down until the afternoon.”

“Thank you, I’ll be here around seven this evening,” the doctor replied.

With these arrangements set, my father and the doctor left together, engrossed in deep conversation as they paced along the grassy platform in front of the castle.

The doctor didn’t return, riding eastward through the forest after their discussion. At the same time, a messenger arrived from Dranfield with letters for my father.

Meanwhile, Madame and I speculated about the doctor’s urgent instructions. Madame feared a sudden health crisis, while I imagined it was merely to prevent me from overexerting myself or indulging in risky activities common to young people.

About half an hour later, my father returned with a letter from General Hamilton, a guest expected soon. However, my father’s expression wasn’t one of excitement but rather concern, hinting at something troubling him about the impending visit.

“Papa, do you think I’m very ill?” I asked, sensing his unease.

He reassured me, “No, dear. With the right steps, you’ll be on the road to recovery in a day or two.”

“But what does the doctor think is wrong with me?” I pressed.

“Nothing serious,” he replied, a bit curtly. “Let’s not dwell on it now. You’ll know more soon.”

He left the room, returning briefly to announce we were going to Rosewood, where he had some business with the local priest. Victoria would join us later for a picnic at the ruined castle, a plan to distract us all from the worries of the day.

At noon, I was all set, and soon after, my father, Madame, and I embarked on our planned drive. Crossing the drawbridge, we veered right, tracing the road over the Gothic bridge that led westward toward the abandoned village and the decaying castle of Rosewood.

The path we took was nothing short of picturesque. The landscape undulated gently, adorned with lush woods that lacked the rigid orderliness of manicured gardens. Instead, nature’s hand had shaped the terrain with a wild elegance, weaving the road through rolling hills and winding paths that seemed to emerge spontaneously around rugged hollows and steep slopes.

As we rounded a bend, we were surprised to come face to face with our old acquaintance, General Hamilton, riding towards us with his attendant. His luggage trailed behind in a hired cart, following his horse’s lead.

The General greeted us warmly, and after exchanging pleasantries, he gladly accepted the invitation to join us in the carriage, sending his horse ahead with his servant to the schloss.