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Page 6 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)

Chapter Six

“Mrs. Bennet.” Mr. Bennet entered the drawing room where the ladies of the house had gathered to wait for callers, his brow furrowed and his steps brisk with poorly contained agitation.

He clutched the edge of the doorway as though steadying himself, his eyes sweeping over his wife before settling into a hard stare.

“The crystal decanter in my study is missing. Did you have it moved?” His tone was clipped and sharp, each word weighted with irritation and accusation.

Naturally, his wife bristled, sitting straighter in her chair and pressing one hand to her bosom as if mortally offended by his suggestion.

“Why would I bother myself with your decanter?” she blustered, her cheeks flushed with indignation.

“I had it filled with brandy when it was empty, as always. Perhaps you misplaced it after your last use.” Her voice rose in pitch with each word, the righteous anger of a long-suffering wife on full display.

“It was there last night when I went to bed,” Mr. Bennet responded bluntly, his tone as dry as sandpaper and his eyes narrowing. “Now it is gone.”

Mrs. Bennet stuck her nose in the air, a gesture that suggested finality, though her lips quivered with annoyance.

“You will have to take it up with Mr. Hill, then,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand as if swatting away an irritating fly.

“I had nothing to do with it. I have no interest in your dusty old decanters unless they need filling.”

The conversation seemed innocuous enough, just another of their frequent domestic squabbles.

Indeed, the other girls appeared entirely unmoved, Lydia humming as she flipped through a fashion plate, Kitty idly twirling a ribbon between her fingers.

Mary, immersed in a book, barely glanced up.

The atmosphere was one of practiced ignorance, the younger sisters well-versed in ignoring their parents’ bickering.

But Elizabeth’s attention was riveted on the discourse, a pit growing deeper in her stomach with every word exchanged.

Another missing object? First food, then Kitty’s locket and her mother’s gloves, now her father’s decanter—there was a pattern here, though no one else seemed willing to acknowledge it.

She pressed her lips together, nervousness settling like a stone in her chest. Surely, they had a thief in their midst. And she did not believe, not for a single moment, that a specter was responsible.

Longbourn was many things, but haunted it most certainly was not.

“How dare your father accuse me of taking his silly decanter?” Mrs. Bennet declared to the room at large, her voice full of wounded pride, her fan snapping open and shut in her agitation.

Mr. Bennet had already stalked back to his study in search of answers, leaving only his wife’s sharp words in his wake.

“The man misplaces everything. Mark my words, girls,” she continued, looking around as though imparting a hard-won truth, “you will deal with the same thing when you marry. Men lose their belongings and blame their wives—it is a universal affliction.”

Her tirade continued in that vein for some time, a familiar litany of complaints, while Elizabeth barely heard her.

She could not stop replaying the argument in her mind, every missing item another piece of a puzzle she had to solve.

Was someone truly stealing from their home?

Was it a servant, a desperate villager slipping through open windows, or… something else ?

The uneasy silence of her musings was broken by a sharp rap at the door.

In a trice, the ladies set aside their embroidery, books, and ribbons, smoothing skirts and straightening posture, every trace of familial tension vanishing behind practiced social smiles.

The rustle of gowns and quick whispers filled the room as Hill appeared in the doorway, her voice announcing with perfect decorum, “Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth’s heart leapt the moment the latter gentleman stepped into view, his tall, imposing figure softened by the warmth in his eyes when they met hers.

It was as if a ray of sunlight had pierced through her lingering anxiety.

Relief rushed over her in a wave, unexpected and all-consuming.

She needed to confide in someone, and since Mr. Darcy already knew something of her unease—the strange happenings, the missing things—he was the perfect confidant.

The tension coiled in her chest loosened just slightly as his familiar presence filled the room, grounding her in a way she had not realized she needed until that very moment.

Elizabeth waited until the gentlemen had settled, Mr. Bingley engaging her sisters in lively conversation about a recent soiree while Darcy, as ever, remained a little apart, his posture erect and his gaze calm yet watchful.

It was the perfect opportunity, for Mrs. Bennet had turned all her efforts towards impressing Mr. Bingley, fluttering and fawning as though he were already her son-in-law.

Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eye and tilted her head ever so slightly towards the hallway.

A faint crease appeared between his brows, but he nodded and rose, waiting for her to follow.

They slipped away unnoticed, stepping into the quiet of the narrow corridor that led to the smaller sitting room.

The hush of the hall was a stark contrast to the bustling noise they had left behind, the faint tick of the longcase clock the only sound.

Darcy closed the door softly behind them, leaving it open but a crack, his expression concerned but patient.

“You have that look about you again,” he said gently, his low voice carrying an undercurrent of warmth that steadied her nerves. “Tell me what troubles you, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth clasped her hands before her, trying to will away the lingering unease that had been gnawing at her since dawn.

“I fear Longbourn’s strange happenings are worsening,” she began quietly, meeting his steady gaze.

“This morning, I overheard the maids speaking as they tended my fire. They believe the house to be haunted.”

Darcy’s brows drew together, a flash of surprise passing over his features before he masked it with calm attentiveness. “ Haunted?”

Elizabeth nodded. “They spoke of food disappearing from locked rooms, of doors unopened yet somehow emptied of bread and cheese, preserves vanishing without explanation. Some of these events happened when the servants were all accounted for at church! Then today, my father discovered his crystal decanter missing from his study. It was there last night, and now it is simply…gone.” She drew a slow breath, recalling the scene vividly—the anger in her father’s tone, the wounded pride in her mother’s, and her own growing dread.

“It is not only that. Last night, when I was awake long past midnight, I heard…footsteps in the hall outside my chamber. Heavy ones, not at all like a servant’s soft tread.

And then a strange thump, followed by a hiss, as if someone had tried to muffle a noise.

When I opened my door, there was nothing there. ”

For a long moment, Darcy said nothing. His gaze sharpened as though he were weighing every detail, turning the puzzle over in his mind.

At last, he stepped closer, his hand almost—but not quite—brushing hers, the gesture protective without overstepping propriety.

“These incidents cannot be coincidences,” he said, his voice low, the timbre edged with restrained intensity.

“There is someone in this house, Elizabeth, someone with enough access to come and go unseen. Whether they are a thief or something worse, they are growing bolder. ”

Elizabeth’s heart fluttered at the way he spoke her name, so softly, yet with such certainty and resolve.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“I feared you might think me fanciful,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I have not yet confided my worries to anyone else. The maids report Papa dismisses Mrs. Hill’s accounts of the missing food. But this…this feels deliberate.”

Darcy’s eyes met hers with unwavering seriousness. “I do not think you fanciful. I believe you.” The words fell like an anchor in turbulent water, steadying her. “You were right to tell me. We must keep watch. Perhaps a pattern will reveal itself if we are vigilant.”

She nodded, her lips pressing together in both gratitude and worry. “I dread to think that one of the servants could be responsible, but what other explanation could there be? Unless someone is slipping into the house from outside?”

“Whoever it is, they are taking great care to remain unseen,” Darcy said, his jaw tightening slightly. “But if they mean harm, they will not succeed. I will not see you—or your family—frightened in your own home.”

For a moment, Elizabeth could only look at him, struck by the quiet fierceness in his words and the unspoken promise that lay beneath them. Warmth bloomed in her chest despite the unease, a fragile comfort amidst the growing mystery.

When they returned to the drawing room, Elizabeth found it difficult to focus on the lively chatter around her. But one thought repeated in her mind, soothing her fears: she was no longer alone in this. Whatever lurked in the shadows of Longbourn, Mr. Darcy would help her find the truth.

Darcy

Darcy sat in the quiet of his chamber at Netherfield, the fire casting a dim, flickering glow over the room.

The evening’s social bustle had faded into silence, leaving him alone with his thoughts and an ever-deepening unease.

He leaned against the arm of his chair, one hand curled loosely around a glass of brandy, though he had barely taken a sip.

The weight of Elizabeth’s words pressed upon him like a stone on his chest, refusing to let him rest.

He had watched her closely during their call at Longbourn.

Though she had composed herself admirably, her eyes betrayed her fear and uncertainty.

It troubled him deeply—not only because Elizabeth’s distress stirred a fierce desire in him to protect her, but because every detail she shared spoke of a calculated presence in the Bennet home.

A presence that lingered where it should not, prowled unseen, and acted with brazen impunity.

Darcy set the glass aside and ran a hand over his face, thinking back to her recounting of the maids’ conversation, the locked larder, the missing decanter, and those footsteps in the night.

The servants had been at church when the food disappeared.

Whoever was responsible had knowledge of the house’s routines and enough familiarity to avoid arousing suspicion.

A stranger could not achieve such freedom of movement. This was no common thief.

The thought of Elizabeth lying awake, frightened in her own bedchamber, tightened something in his chest. He could not allow this to continue unchecked.

Rising from his chair, Darcy moved towards the adjoining room where his valet, Brisby, was preparing garments for the following morning.

The man looked up as his master entered, his sharp eyes always attentive.

“Brisby,” Darcy said quietly, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. “I have a matter of some delicacy to entrust to you.”

“Of course, sir,” Brisby replied, setting aside the cravat he had been folding.

Darcy closed the door, ensuring their conversation would remain private.

“There have been troubling occurrences at Longbourn,” he began, choosing his words carefully.

“Objects vanish, food disappears, footsteps are heard at night. Yet the servants were accounted for during at least one of these incidents. This is not the work of a common burglar. It suggests someone close to the family, someone who can move about unnoticed.”

Brisby’s brow furrowed slightly, but his expression remained calm. “What would you have me do, sir?”

“I need information. Quietly,” Darcy said, his voice low but firm.

“Discreet inquiries among the staff here at Netherfield, and in Meryton if necessary. Learn what you can about who comes and goes from Longbourn. Anyone who is often about the house, perhaps with cause to be trusted, yet whose presence might be overlooked at certain hours.”

Brisby inclined his head in understanding. “You suspect someone within their circle, then.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened as he stared into the firelight dancing on the wall.

“Yes. Someone familiar enough to walk those halls, to know where valuables are kept, to vanish without notice. Elizabeth is unsettled, and I will not rest while she and her family are subject to such disturbance. Whoever this is, their purpose is unknown, but I cannot believe it is harmless.”

Brisby nodded once, his expression grim and resolute. “I shall see to it, sir. Quietly, as you say.”

Darcy exhaled slowly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “Good. Report to me directly when you learn anything, no matter how small. I want this matter resolved before harm comes to anyone under that roof.”

As Brisby withdrew to begin his inquiries, Darcy remained by the fire, his mind restless.

The warmth of the flames did nothing to soothe the chill in his veins, the unease that whispered of danger too close to Elizabeth Bennet.

Whatever this mystery was, he would uncover it.

He would not allow shadows to haunt the woman with whom he fell deeper in love daily.

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