Page 55 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)
“We shall keep him here until Sir William arrives,” Mr. Bennet was saying. “I have no doubt we have ample proof of theft—and likely worse.” His gaze flicked towards Darcy. “But I suspect this is not the end of the matter.”
Darcy glanced towards the dark mouth of the passage they’d just left. “No,” he agreed quietly. “It is not.”
The old hallways still held their secrets, and tonight’s rescue had not answered the most pressing question—how Malcolm had managed to move through the house unseen for so long .
As the door to the passage was barred behind them, Darcy could not shake the certainty that Longbourn’s shadows had not yet been banished.
Elizabeth
Elizabeth could hardly think for the din. The return from the old passages had been utter chaos—a confusion of voices, pounding feet, and the muffled protests of the bound man between them.
Malcolm Bennet the Third, as he styled himself, had been half-dragged, half-driven from the hidden servant’s hall and up into the main body of the house.
His arms were lashed behind him, his ankles tied, and now, at Mr. Bennet’s order, a gag was stuffed between his teeth to stem the torrent of invective he had been spewing since the moment he regained consciousness.
Still, he managed to sneer around the cloth, his black eyes glittering with malice as he stumbled forward.
Mrs. Bennet was confined to her chambers—thankfully—her ankle still tender from the night’s earlier fright.
The reprieve from her high-pitched wails was a mercy.
Elizabeth resolved to remain where she was until the man who had terrorized their family was removed from the passageway.
Jane met Elizabeth with tear-bright eyes and hands that trembled as they clutched her sister.
“Lizzy! Oh, thank heavens,” Jane breathed, drawing her into a fierce embrace. “When I heard—when I thought—” Her voice caught, and she hugged Elizabeth again as though to reassure herself she was truly there.
“I am quite safe, dearest,” Elizabeth whispered, though her knees still felt weak.
The footmen shoved Malcolm forward, his boots scuffing the floorboards. Kitty, who had been hovering in the corridor, took one look at him and shrieked.
“That is him! That’s the man who stood over me in the night!” she cried, clinging to Lydia’s arm.
Lydia’s eyes widened, her usual bravado faltering. “Then it is a wonder you are still alive, Kitty.”
Malcolm only sneered, a low sound rumbling in his throat behind the gag, and tossed his matted hair out of his eyes.
The footmen paid him no heed as they muscled him through the back door and into the rain-damp night towards the stables, where he was to be kept under guard until Sir William could be summoned.
Elizabeth’s breath left her in a rush as the door closed behind them. The tension that had held her rigid for hours seemed to ease all at once, leaving her lightheaded.
Mr. Bennet’s voice cut through the quiet. “Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy is in the study. I imagine you will want a word.”
Her pulse gave a strange little leap. She murmured something about wishing to thank him, and slipped away down the hall.
The door was ajar, and a low fire burned in the grate, casting the room in amber light. Darcy stood near the desk, his head bent, hands braced on the polished wood as though he had only just wrestled his emotions into order.
At the sound of her step, he turned sharply. Relief softened his expression, but there was still a tension about his eyes that made Elizabeth’s heart ache.
“You are unharmed?” His voice was quiet, yet carried the weight of hours of dread.
“Yes,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Thanks to you—and to Mr. Bingley. ”
His lips curved faintly. “Bingley was splendid. I will owe him the remainder of my life for striking when I could not.”
Elizabeth crossed the carpet towards him. “I cannot think what might have happened if you had not found me so quickly. It was—” She broke off, the memory threatening to overwhelm her.
Darcy’s gaze gentled. “Do not dwell on it. It is over now.” He reached for her hand, enclosing it between both of his, warm and steady. “I never wish to be parted from you again, Elizabeth. Not after tonight.”
Her breath caught. Her heart seemed to climb into her throat. Surely—surely he meant to propose?
“I… see,” she managed, her pulse racing.
He drew a breath, his brow furrowing slightly. “There is something I wish to say, but it would not be fair to you if I said it now. Not in the shadow of danger, not with gratitude and relief clouding what should be clear.”
She blinked, startled—and then, quite unexpectedly, she found herself smiling. “You mean you would have it be more than a desperate avowal after a harrowing night?”
His lips quirked. “Precisely.”
Elizabeth gave a soft laugh, the sound easing the lingering tightness in her chest. “Then I shall thank you for your consideration, sir—and tell you that I will look forward to your proposal when you deem the moment right.”
Something warm and unguarded lit his eyes. He squeezed her hand gently, and for a long moment, neither spoke. The fire popped in the grate, and outside, the wind sighed through the damp hedges.
Darcy’s thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles. “Then I shall endeavor to make it worthy of you.”
Elizabeth’s smile lingered as she met his gaze. “I have no doubt of that.”
For the first time since her capture, she felt truly safe.
The clatter of hooves and the rattle of wheels announced Sir William Lucas’s arrival before the magistrate himself stepped into the front hall, shaking off the lingering damp. His coat was of a sober brown, his expression grave as Mr. Bennet ushered him towards the study.
“This way, Sir William,” Mr. Bennet said, holding the door for him. “You had better hear the matter from start to finish.”
Darcy, Bingley, and Jane were already gathered there, along with Elizabeth, who had refused to leave Darcy’s side since her rescue. The air in the room still felt close with the tension of the night before; the low fire did little to ease the chill that had settled over the household.
Malcolm Bennet the Third was brought in between two sturdy footmen. His hands were still bound, his ankles tethered, and the gag had been removed at Sir William’s request. The man’s black eyes darted around the room, lingering on Elizabeth with a grin that made her stomach turn.
Sir William took a seat behind Mr. Bennet’s desk and inclined his head. “Mr. Bennet, you may proceed.”
Mr. Bennet wasted no time. In measured tones, he recounted every incident—the thefts, the messages left behind, the intrusions into private chambers, the attack on Mrs. Bennet, Kitty’s midnight fright, and finally Elizabeth’s abduction from the servants’ passages.
“Given what this man has put my family through,” Mr. Bennet concluded, “I am resolved that there shall be no leniency. Not for theft, nor for assault, nor for trespass. His conduct was deliberate and dangerous. He must answer for it in full.”
Sir William’s gaze shifted to Malcolm. “You have heard the charges against you. What have you to say for yourself?”
Malcolm gave a slow, mocking nod. “I say I am no trespasser. I am Malcolm Bennet the Third, rightful heir to Longbourn. My great-grandfather built this house—what was left of it after the fire—and it should be mine by rights. I’ve merely come to take my place.”
“Your place?” Sir William’s brows drew together. “You believe yourself dispossessed?”
“Aye. I came to claim what’s mine. And if some had to be…removed to make way, so be it.” His mouth twisted in a grim smile. “The first step was already done for me. Poor sod never saw it coming.”
Elizabeth felt her breath hitch. Darcy stiffened beside her, and Bingley’s eyes narrowed.
Sir William sat forward sharply. “What do you mean by that?”
Malcolm only chuckled. “Ah, you’ll find out soon enough.”
Mr. Bennet’s jaw tightened. “Enough riddles, sir. You have admitted enough already to hang yourself twice over. Spare us your gloating.”
Malcolm shrugged, unrepentant.
Mr. Bennet turned to Darcy and Bingley. “I must say, gentlemen, you have shown yourselves quite the heroes. You have my gratitude—and my pride—to count you both as friends. Had you not acted when you did, I shudder to think what might have happened.”
Bingley flushed with modest pleasure. “We did only what needed to be done, sir.”
Darcy inclined his head in silent acknowledgment, his hand brushing Elizabeth’s briefly, the contact speaking volumes.
The room seemed to exhale as Sir William ordered Malcolm to be kept under guard until arrangements could be made for transport to Meryton. The footmen dragged him out, his boots scraping the floor, his muttering growing fainter down the hall.
It was Mary who broke the quiet that followed.
“Where is Mr. Collins?” she asked as though suddenly realizing their cousin was not present.
The rest of the party looked around the room Mary had a faint crease between her brows as she continued.
“He was not in the drawing room after all the commotion, and I have not seen him since...”
A strange stillness fell. Mr. Bennet’s expression sharpened. “Search the house,” he ordered. “Every room.”
The household sprang into motion—servants and family alike scattering down the corridors. Elizabeth felt the dread gather in her chest as they reached the guest chamber that had been assigned to Mr. Collins. The door stood ajar.
It was Darcy who pushed it open. The lamplight flickered over the figure sprawled motionless across the bed, eyes glassy and unseeing. His cravat was twisted awkwardly, and his face was pale with the unmistakable stillness of death.
Jane gasped. Mary gave a small cry, clapping her hands over her mouth.
Mr. Bennet’s voice was low but steady. “So that is what he meant.”
Elizabeth’s stomach turned cold. The finality of it sank in. Malcolm’s hint had not been empty boasting—Mr. Collins had been dead since the night before.