Page 27 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)
Still, Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted, drawn inexorably back to Kitty and Lydia’s catalogue of strange events.
The image of floating lights in the garden returned to her mind—two pale orbs moving soundlessly in the night.
She told herself it could be lanterns, foxfire, or even a trick of the eyes…
yet unease threaded through her all the same.
Opposite her, Mr. Darcy was silent, his gaze turned to the window. The low winter sunlight caught at the edge of his profile, and Elizabeth wondered—half in jest, half in hope—whether he, too, was thinking of what the Bennet girls had said.
When the carriage rolled up the gravel sweep of Netherfield Park, the household was already astir with preparations for supper.
A groom came forward to take the horses, and the party moved inside, shaking off the cold.
Miss Bingley swept ahead with Mrs. Hurst, their voices floating back in soft, assessing tones about the quality of the sermon.
Jane followed with Mr. Bingley, the two of them in quiet, contented conversation.
Elizabeth lingered in the entry hall, untying her bonnet ribbons more slowly than necessary. Mr. Darcy, handing his gloves to a footman, glanced towards her. The faintest question rested in his eyes—one that needed no words.
She stepped towards him, her voice pitched low. “I have been thinking of what Kitty and Lydia said. I cannot help but feel there may be more to their stories than mere mischief.”
Mr. Darcy inclined his head slightly. “I have been considering the same. Is it not curious that some of the oddities at Longbourn bear a faint echo of what we read in the Moore journals? The missing belongings, the disturbances at night—small things, perhaps, but they trouble me.”
Elizabeth’s gaze flicked upward, checking the position of the others, before replying. “If there is a connection, it might be in the history of the place. I wonder if my father knows more than he lets on. If we ask directly about a fire in the area—”
“—we may learn more about the Longbourn fire,” Darcy finished, his tone thoughtful. “If it occurred as Moore described, others in the district would have remembered it.”
Elizabeth nodded. “My father has a habit of keeping old papers and ledgers in his study. If such records exist, he may have them.”
Darcy’s mouth quirked faintly. “Then it seems we must become historians as well as investigators.”
She allowed herself a small smile at his phrasing. “Better that than idle guests. At the very least, we shall know whether this is merely local lore…or something that casts a longer shadow.”
A stir from the drawing room signaled the return of Miss Bingley’s voice, bright and insistent. “We shall have cards before supper!” she was declaring.
Elizabeth’s shoulders sank almost imperceptibly. “It appears we are to be social this evening,” she murmured.
Darcy’s eyes warmed with understanding. “Patience, Miss Bennet. The library will still be there tomorrow.”
But as they stepped into the drawing room and took their places at the card table, Elizabeth could not quite banish the thought of dust-coated shelves, faded ink, and the half-told tale waiting in the black-bound journals.
She caught Darcy’s gaze across the table more than once during the game, and each time, the same message seemed to pass between them: soon.
The card tables had been cleared away, and the company lingered in the drawing room, each person occupying themselves as they pleased.
Jane and Mr. Bingley sat together near the fire, speaking in low, contented tones.
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley were bent over an embroidery frame, the former stitching while the latter offered intermittent “advice.” Elizabeth had taken a seat near one of the long windows, her attention half on the gentle rain pattering against the glass and half on the conversation flowing through the room.
Mr. Darcy, standing with a cup of coffee in hand, turned to Mrs. Nicholls, who had just come in to inquire if more refreshment was wanted.
“Mrs. Nicholls,” he began in his courteous, deliberate manner, “I wonder if you are familiar with the history of this district—whether the manor houses hereabouts are all their original structures, or if any have been rebuilt.”
The housekeeper blinked, clearly taken by surprise at the question.
“Oh, I couldn’t rightly say, sir,” she replied.
“I am not from Hertfordshire myself—born and raised in Surrey, I was. I’ve been at Netherfield for but twelve years, and even then, the estate was already as you see it now.
” She paused, her expression brightening.
“But perhaps a lifetime resident might know..”
Darcy inclined his head. “I am obliged to you for the suggestion.”
Bingley, overhearing this, looked up from where he sat beside Jane. “Why, Darcy, what a curious line of inquiry! Are you contemplating a treatise on Hertfordshire estates?” His tone was light, but his eyes held genuine curiosity.
Darcy did not attempt to evade. “Not quite. I came across a reference in an old journal—an account of a manor house in the area having burned to the ground. I simply wished to learn more about the situation and what happened after the fact.”
Elizabeth, keeping her expression composed, felt a ripple of interest pass through her. She did not miss how Mr. Darcy deliberately did not name the estate .
“A fire, you say?” Bingley leaned back in his chair. “How very dramatic. I cannot think which house that could be. Miss Bennet, do you know of such a tale?”
Jane shook her head gently. “No, I cannot recall hearing of one.”
Miss Bingley glanced up from the embroidery frame, her brows lifting in polite surprise. “My word, Mr. Darcy, you do choose the most singular topics for conversation. Surely if such a catastrophe had occurred in this district, it would be common knowledge?”
“Not necessarily,” Darcy said evenly. “If it happened many decades ago, it might linger only in private records or the recollection of the elderly.”
Mrs. Nicholls curtsied and withdrew, leaving behind a faint sense of expectancy in the room.
“Well,” Bingley said cheerfully, “if you wish to speak with someone in particular, I daresay I can arrange an introduction. I have become very well acquainted with the residents in the area.”
“That would be most useful,” Darcy replied. His gaze flickered briefly towards Elizabeth, and though his expression was unchanged, she read the message plainly enough: they had just taken their first step towards uncovering the truth .
Elizabeth, pretending interest in the rain-darkened view from the window, listened closely as the conversation shifted back towards lighter matters.
The card tables were being folded away by a pair of footmen, and Mrs. Hurst began describing a musicale she had attended in Town, extolling the talent of a certain Italian tenor.
Miss Bingley added a string of details meant to impress, but Elizabeth’s attention remained fixed on Darcy’s remark about the journal.
When the room’s noise swelled enough to mask private speech, Darcy crossed to where Elizabeth sat. His gaze flicked towards Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, still occupied at their embroidery, and then to Bingley and Jane, whose conversation was quietly absorbing them both.
“I think,” he said in a voice pitched for her alone, “that speaking with someone who was there will be essential. Based on the dates in the journal, the fire occurred within living memory. Of course, those who know will be very old now.”
Elizabeth tilted her head slightly. “Do you believe it to be connected to the other…oddities?”
“I cannot yet say,” he admitted. “But if a manor burned so completely that it had to be rebuilt—or abandoned—it would have been a significant event. Such occurrences often leave behind more than rubble. ”
“More than rubble?” she echoed, a faint smile touching her lips.
His answering look was steady. “Rumours, perhaps. Secrets, if one listens closely enough.”
She found herself matching his tone. “And you intend to listen?”
“Only if you will as well, Miss Bennet.”
Before she could answer, Miss Bingley’s voice rang out. “Miss Eliza, will you not join us? Louisa has just completed the most charming floral motif, and I am certain you will admire it.”
Elizabeth rose, smoothing her skirts. “With such an invitation, how could I refuse?” She caught Darcy’s faint, knowing glance as they rejoined the others, the unspoken promise between them as tangible as any vow.