Page 49 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)

Kitty tittered, and the two launched into a spirited account of the evening’s dances, naming each gentleman and debating the merits of their steps and conversation.

Mary, seated opposite Elizabeth, maintained a serene silence, her hands folded over her reticule as though she had no opinion on the matter at all.

Elizabeth, though smiling at the chatter, felt the warm glow of the ballroom receding as the carriage swayed through the dark lanes.

The thought of returning to Longbourn—of stepping back into shadowed halls where candlelight might fall on more than friendly faces—brought a subtle tightening to her chest.

Her gaze shifted to Jane, who sat with a serene contentment that seemed to fill the space around her.

Mr. Bingley’s joy had been as transparent as her sister’s, and Darcy’s quiet assurance earlier—that Jane would be both safe and happy—echoed in her mind.

She wanted to believe it, to let that certainty banish the unease that still lingered.

Outside, the rhythmic clop of hooves on the wet road marked their progress, the night beyond the glass a blur of hedgerows and bare-limbed trees.

Darcy’s parting words returned to her: When I dance with you, the rest of the room ceases to matter.

They stirred something deep in her, warm and unsteady, that kept her from dwelling too long on the darker corners of her mind.

By the time the carriage turned up the familiar drive, Mrs. Bennet was enumerating all the guests who would surely call upon them in the coming days to offer congratulations.

Elizabeth forced herself to listen, to answer when addressed, though her gaze was drawn to the looming silhouette of Longbourn against the pale moonlit clouds.

The lamps in the lower windows gleamed faintly—watchful, as they had seemed when she left.

Yet tonight, after the joy and quiet promise of the ball, they no longer felt entirely foreboding.

Somewhere in the darkness, danger still lurked…

but she carried with her the memory of Darcy’s hand over hers, and the steady conviction in his voice when he spoke of protecting those he cared for.

It was a fragile comfort, perhaps—but for tonight, it was enough.

The Bennets returned to Longbourn chilled but merry, the lanterns on the carriage still swinging when they stepped into the hall.

The familiar scent of beeswax and wood-smoke greeted them, mingled with the damp of their cloaks and the faint perfume clinging to gowns and hair.

Hill and the footmen hurried to take wraps and gloves, and soon the family was ushered towards the drawing room, where a bright fire leapt and crackled on the hearth.

Mr. Collins excused himself almost at once, declaring that “the exertions of the evening and the weight of such elevated company” had exhausted him beyond measure. He bowed to each in turn before retiring upstairs with his candle, his shadow lurching along the wall as he went.

Mrs. Bennet lingered just long enough to remark—twice—on the excellence of Jane’s match and the certainty of a second such union in the family before long. Then, with a flutter of ribbons, she too declared herself fatigued and made for her chamber.

The younger girls were dispatched to put away their ball shoes and hair ornaments before retiring. At last, the drawing room was quiet save for the pop and hiss of the fire.

Elizabeth and Jane took chairs near the hearth, their skirts brushing in the narrow space between. For a long moment, they sat in companionable silence, the warmth seeping into their chilled fingers.

Jane’s eyes were alight, her cheeks still faintly flushed. “Lizzy,” she said at last, her voice low, “I hardly know how to tell you—though I suspect you already know.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Mr. Bingley’s absence from the ballroom just before the final set, and your absence with him, gave me a fair suspicion.”

Her sister’s blush deepened, though her smile widened.

“He spoke with such…such earnestness, Lizzy.

He said he has never been so certain of anything in his life.

That from the moment we met, he thought me —She broke off, laughing at herself.

“Well, you know how he speaks. It was all so sincere, so…kind. I could not imagine refusing him, even had I been inclined.”

Elizabeth’s chest warmed with genuine joy. “I am so very happy for you, Jane. Truly. I think you will be well-loved every day of your life.”

Jane’s expression softened. “And you, Lizzy? I hope—”

A sudden, piercing scream shattered the quiet. It was high, sharp, and filled with such raw terror that Elizabeth felt her stomach drop.

From above came the frantic rustle of skirts and the thud of hurried footsteps. Mrs. Bennet’s voice rang down the stairwell in a panicked wail: “Mr. Bennet! Oh, Mr. Bennet!”

A heavy crash followed—then another, and another.

Elizabeth and Jane flew from their seats, skirts tangling about their ankles as they rushed into the hall. The younger girls burst from the passage at the same moment, their eyes wide.

On the staircase, Mrs. Bennet was halfway down, slumped awkwardly against the banister. One slipper lay several steps above her, as though flung aside in her descent. Her cap hung askew, and her breath came in ragged gasps .

“Mama!” Kitty cried, dropping to her knees beside her. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Lydia was already tugging at her mother’s arm, glancing wildly about the hall. “Where is he? Was it the man?”

Elizabeth’s gaze swept upward—and froze.

At the top of the stairs, half-hidden in shadow, a tall figure stood utterly still. She saw only the pale oval of a face in the dim light, the dark mass of hair, the suggestion of a long coat. He stared down at them for a single, breathless moment—then turned and fled.

“There!” Elizabeth cried, pointing. “Father!”

Mr. Bennet, who had come running from his study at the sound of the scream, did not pause. He took the stairs two at a time, his tail coat flaring behind him. “Hold her there,” he threw over his shoulder, and in another heartbeat he was gone, his footsteps pounding towards the upper hall.

But when he reached the landing, the figure was nowhere to be seen. Doors stood ajar, shadows spilled across the carpet from guttering lamps, but the corridor was empty.

By then, Hill and two footmen had come running, hastily fastening their coats. “Search the house—every room, every cupboard!” Mr. Bennet ordered, his voice tight. “If he is here, we shall have him yet. ”

The household stirred into a frenzy. Servants clattered through the passages, calling to one another; the younger girls, though ordered to remain in the drawing room, hovered anxiously in the hall.

Mrs. Bennet, supported by Jane and Kitty, was helped to a chair.

She trembled violently, fanning herself with shaking hands, insisting she had nearly been “done in” by the shock.

Elizabeth remained at the foot of the stairs, her gaze fixed on the darkened upper landing where she had seen the man. Her pulse still hammered; the image burned into her mind—the way he had paused to look down at them, as though weighing something.

When the servants returned half an hour later, their expressions grim, it was to report what Elizabeth already feared.

The intruder had vanished.

Mrs. Bennet was roused and helped carefully to her feet, her slipper-less foot gingerly finding the stair.

She winced, clutching at her husband’s sleeve as if the very act of standing might send her tumbling again.

A swelling knot was already rising high on her temple, just visible beneath the edge of her cap, and her weight shifted unsteadily as she favored her left foot.

Rather than launching into her usual high-pitched lamentations, she surprised them all by breaking into low, unguarded sobs. Her shoulders sagged, trembling under the weight of her fear, and she leaned heavily into her husband’s side like a child seeking shelter.

“Come now, dearest,” Mr. Bennet said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, almost coaxing. “Let us take you to my chamber. I shall stay there tonight and ensure nothing else befalls you.”

Her red-rimmed eyes lifted to him, searching his face.

“Do you mean it, Thomas?” she asked, her voice quavering between disbelief and relief.

“I could not bear to be alone after that…” Her breath shuddered, and she pressed a handkerchief to her lips.

“Oh, it was dreadful! I entered my chamber and saw—” She broke off, clutching at his sleeve more tightly, as though the memory alone might summon the figure back into the hall.

Mr. Bennet guided her down the remaining steps, Jane and Kitty close behind, their faces pale. “Tell me, my dear,” he urged gently. “What did you see?”

“A figure,” she whispered, her gaze flickering over her shoulder towards the shadowed landing above.

“It was standing beside the bed. It had pulled down the curtains, tearing them from the rings. When I cried out, it turned—turned and came towards me! I ran for the stairs, but it was behind me—I swear it was!” Her words tumbled out, growing faster with each breath until they broke entirely into sobs.

“Did you get a look at the intruder?” Mr. Bennet pressed, though his own voice was low and measured.

“I think it was a man,” she said between gasps.

“Tall. His hair was long, matted, and he had a beard—unkempt, horrid—just as Kitty described. His clothes were filthy, as though he had slept in a ditch! Oh, Mr. Bennet!” Her voice cracked, and she gripped the fabric of his coat as though she might anchor herself there. “He had a knife.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Kitty; Lydia muttered something about the “ghost” taking a darker turn, but Elizabeth silenced her with a look.

“A knife, you are certain?” Mr. Bennet’s tone sharpened, though his hand never left his wife’s elbow.

“I saw the glint of it in the candlelight,” she whispered, her voice breaking again. “What if he meant to kill me?”

At this, her composure collapsed entirely.

She buried her face against her husband’s shoulder, her sobs shaking them both.

For once, Mr. Bennet did not tease, nor did he deflect with irony.

His arm tightened around her, and he looked over her cap at his daughters with a gravity Elizabeth had not seen since… well, she could not remember.

“We shall speak of it in the morning,” he said firmly. “Tonight, your mother will rest. Hill—hot water, and something for her ankle. Jane, fetch a pillow from her chamber. Kitty, Lydia—see that the bed in my room is turned down.”

“And what of the intruder?” Lydia demanded, her eyes still darting towards the upper landing.

“The house will be searched again, from cellar to attic,” Mr. Bennet replied. “And this time, we shall bar every door and window before a single candle is put out.”

“Should we send a note to Netherfield?” Jane asked.

Mr. Bennet shook his head. “Darcy is coming in the morning. Tomorrow is soon enough to inform them.”

Elizabeth watched as her father led her mother slowly towards the west wing, Jane walking ahead with a lamp to light their way. Mrs. Bennet’s steps were halting, her hand still clenched around her husband’s sleeve, but her sobs had quieted into soft, uneven breaths.

In the hall, the younger girls whispered together, their voices high with excitement and fear. The footmen returned with lanterns, their faces set in grim determination as they moved off to carry out Mr. Bennet’s orders.

Elizabeth lingered at the foot of the stairs, staring into the dim shadows above. Somewhere in this house—these rooms she had known all her life—someone had stood beside her mother’s bed with a weapon in hand. Someone had been close enough to touch her .

Her grip tightened on the banister. Whoever this intruder was, he had crossed from mischief into menace. And she had no doubt that when Darcy heard of it, he would treat it as nothing less than war.