Page 34 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elizabeth had not been especially eager for her aunt Phillips’s card party, but she had promised both her mother and Jane that she would make an effort to appear agreeable.
It was, after all, the sort of evening her younger sisters adored, and where her aunt was involved, there was generally some morsel of gossip to be had.
Mr. Collins, too, had expressed interest in meeting more of his cousins' relations and had decided to attend. Mary was on his arm, and she looked rather lovely that evening. She wore a gown borrowed from Elizabeth, a rose-pink sarsenet with delicate beading. Mr. Collins smiled appreciatively when he saw her, complimenting her loudly on her loveliness. He continued his verbal praises as they drove towards Mrs. Phillips’s house, and Elizabeth turned to look out the carriage window as she made an effort to ignore his constant stream of words.
By the time the Bennet carriage rattled into Meryton, the November evening was already drawing in, the last golden light fading behind the rooftops.
Aunt Phillips’s house, though modest in size, blazed with light from every window, and the sounds of laughter and the shuffle of cards drifted out even before they reached the door.
Mr. Collins helped the ladies out of the carriage, and one by one they filed towards the house.
They were ushered inside into a scene of warm conviviality.
The drawing room was already crowded; card tables were laid out in every corner, each draped with green baize and lit by tall beeswax candles that gave the air a faint honeyed scent.
A crackling fire roared in the hearth, making the room almost too warm with the press of bodies.
The air was thick with the rustle of silk and muslin, the clink of teacups, and the mingled perfumes of lavender water and spiced punch.
Elizabeth’s eye was drawn, as ever, to the variety of gowns on display—Mrs. Long’s violet satin with its unfashionable fichu, Miss Thompson's daring crimson poplin trimmed with jet beads, and Lydia’s own pale blue sprigged muslin that their mother had insisted she wear tonight because “it makes you look so very fresh and lively.” Kitty, of course, had chosen a gown of white lawn with pink ribbons, fluttering about her like a small, excitable dove.
Aunt Phillips bustled towards them. “My dear girls, I am so pleased you have come!” she exclaimed, kissing each niece in turn. “You are just in time—there is a hand of whist nearly ready for you, and I have the most delicious syllabub in the dining room.”
Mrs. Bennet introduced Mr. Collins, who promptly insulted Mrs. Phillips’ drawing room by comparing it to a small one at Rosings Park.
Mary quietly corrected him, and he assured the lady he had no intention of being rude, but meant to compliment the lovely gathering area.
Pacified, Mrs. Phillips welcomed him more warmly before turning to her other newly arrived guests.
Mrs. Bennet immediately joined Lady Lucas and Mrs. Goulding by the fire.
There, the matrons drank tea and discussed the latest news from the village and the surrounding area.
Mrs. Long eventually joined them, and their charges found spots at the various card tables spread throughout the drawing room.
Elizabeth floated from table to table, more desirous of conversation than of entertainment. She met many of the officers who had since arrived in Meryton. Mr. Denny and Mr. Sanderson were especially amusing.
Mr. Collins stayed by Mary’s side. He proved to be abysmal at cards, and eventually he and the object of his attentions meandered off to a quiet corner of the room where they could engage in pleasant conversation. Eventually, Charlotte Lucas joined them.
“Lizzy, you must come sit here!” Lydia called across the room, already settled with Kitty at a corner table.
Aunt Phillips sat beside them, cheeks pink from the heat and her own excitement.
“We have been telling our aunt about the strange happenings at Longbourn! She believes it is a ghost as well. And she has something to relate that will confirm my suspicions.” She shot a triumphant look at her sisters.
“Longbourn is haunted, and now we shall hear the proof!”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “Pray do not frighten us too much, Aunt Phillips.” Her sarcasm was lost on the older matron.
Her aunt gave a little flutter of the hand, clearly relishing her role as storyteller. “It is not my doing if the truth chills your blood, Lizzy. Now, you know, of course, that Longbourn has stood in its present form for some seventy years?”
Kitty furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? Longbourn has been in our family’s hands for seven generations.”
“Yes, but the manor itself is far newer. Before your grandfather’s time, the old house stood on the same spot, though built quite differently. And it was in the days of your grandfather’s father—Mr. Bennet’s grandfather—that tragedy struck.”
Kitty and Lydia leaned in, their eyes bright.
“Your great-grandfather Bennet had three sons. The elder, Mr. Malcolm Bennet, was the heir, and a wild young man by all accounts, given to drink and gaming. He was derelict in his duties and did as many heirs do, spending his inheritance before it had rightfully fallen to him. His father gave him a stern warning to improve or risk being disinherited. Naturally, Mr. Malcom did not take that well and strove to behave even worse. One night, returning home in his cups, he somehow managed to set a fire in the library. Some say he knocked over a candle; others, that he fell asleep in his chair and dropped it. However it happened, the flames spread faster than anyone could have imagined.”
Never had Elizabeth seen her aunt so serious. Though the room was bright, the candles seemed to cast dancing shadows across her face, making Mrs. Phillips look serious and frightening.
Elizabeth felt her brows knit. “I have never heard this story.” It sounded eerily similar to one she had read recently…in the library at Netherfield Park.
“Most do not speak of it,” her aunt said with relish.
“But that night, the heir from Netherfield, a fine young man, came galloping over at the first sight of flames. When he arrived, he heard cries from the servants’ quarters in the basement.
Falling timbers had trapped there the housekeeper and several maids. ”
“Oh!” Kitty clasped her hands, horrified.
“Yes, and he, brave fool that he was, rushed in to try to save them. They say he fought his way down into the very bowels of the house, but the smoke and fire were too much. When the roof gave way, they all perished together. By morning, Longbourn was nothing but a blackened shell.”
Lydia shivered in delighted horror. “That is exactly why it is haunted! His spirit must still walk there, looking for his lost love—perhaps one of the maids!”
Elizabeth felt a strange chill at the thought. “And the servants’ quarters?”
“Boarded up,” Mrs. Phillips said solemnly. “Your great-grandfather would not have them reopened. There were too many deaths in those rooms. When the house was rebuilt, they were sealed away, hidden behind paneling and brick. To this day, no one has gone inside.”
Kitty looked both alarmed and thrilled. “Then how do you know they are still there?”
“Oh, the workmen told plenty of tales at the time,” her aunt said. “And your grandfather, may he rest in peace, admitted once to my late father that he could never bear to walk the east wing after dark.”
Elizabeth’s curiosity sharpened. “Where is the entrance?”
Her aunt shook her head. “That I cannot tell you, my dear. It was meant to be forgotten. But there is more. After the fire, your great-grandfather’s finances were in ruin.
Rebuilding the house depleted his coffers entirely.
He was forced to sell off several tenant farms. That is why Longbourn brings in so modest an income even now. ”
“Two thousand a year,” Elizabeth murmured.
Mrs. Phillips nodded gravely. “Worse yet, the heir—the one who set the fire—had fled to London not long after, living a life steeped in debauchery and… licentious conduct.” She cast a glance at Kitty and Lydia and lowered her voice further.
“It is said he kept a mistress in Covent Garden and squandered what little remained of his inheritance on cards and brandy. ”
“He sounds dreadful,” Kitty said, though she did not seem entirely disapproving.
“He died before his father,” Mrs. Phillips continued, “without any legitimate children. That is when your great-grandfather and grandfather agreed to the entail—to keep what was left of Longbourn safe from wastrel heirs and fortune-hunting females. It was written to pass only to the legitimate male heirs of the body—which is why, after your father, the estate must go to Mr. Collins.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “And Mr. Collins descends from…?”
“The third Bennet brother,” Mrs. Phillips supplied. “He married an heiress and took her name. Thus, the current Mr. Collins.”
Lydia tossed her curls. “Well, I still think the Netherfield heir’s ghost might fancy me.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “And why should a ghost be so foolish?”
“Because I am young and pretty,” Lydia declared. “And he might watch me as I sleep!”
Kitty giggled. “And me too!”
Elizabeth, though tempted to scold, found herself far more intrigued by the notion of the boarded-up servants’ quarters. If they truly existed, what secrets might they hold? She resolved to make some quiet inquiries of her father, though she doubted he would be forthcoming.
The rest of the evening unfolded in the usual fashion—hands of whist, the rattle of counters, and the rising laughter of those who had won more than they expected.
Elizabeth partnered with her aunt for one game and was amused by Mrs. Phillips’s ability to talk without pause even as she played a very decent hand.