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Page 7 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth pushed open the door to Jane’s room and found her sister hunched over her dressing table, rifling through the drawers with a distracted intensity quite unlike her usual serene manner.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, but the room felt dim and unsettled, as though the tension lingering from yesterday’s events had seeped into the walls.

Jane turned at the sound of Elizabeth’s footfall, a furrow between her brows. “I cannot find it,” she said, her voice quiet but tinged with frustration. “My pin money. I know precisely where I left it—in the bottom drawer, wrapped in a handkerchief beneath my hairbrush. It is gone. ”

Elizabeth’s brows drew together. “Gone? Are you certain it has not simply been misplaced?”

“I thought that at first,” Jane admitted, moving towards the nightstand and opening it.

She peered inside, then shook her head. “But this is not the first time something has vanished. A ribbon here, a bottle of lavender water… But I always assumed they had been borrowed or moved.” She hesitated, her voice dropping further.

“This time, I hid the money better than before. And Lydia has not been in my room in over a week.”

Elizabeth crossed the room, her pulse quickening. “Do you suspect her? She has protested many accusations in the last while.”

Jane’s expression turned troubled. “I do not wish to. I truly do not. But who else…?”

Elizabeth rested a hand on her sister’s arm. “There have been other things missing. You remember Kitty’s locket? Mama’s gloves and candles, Papa’s decanter just recently—and food from the pantry. I fear it is not simply mischief or carelessness. Something odd is happening here.”

Jane’s eyes widened, her breath catching. “I did not know about all of that. Oh, Lizzy…” She glanced around the room, then leaned in. “There is something else. I hesitated to mention it for fear of seeming fanciful.”

Elizabeth’s voice was steady. “ Tell me.”

“The night before last,” Jane said softly, “I was nearly asleep when I heard thumping. Not outside—within the walls. Just behind the bed. A dull sound, repeated twice. Then silence.”

Elizabeth’s blood ran cold. “You are sure it was not the house settling? A branch against the window?”

“No,” Jane said firmly. “It was from within—and on the opposite side of the room as the window. It was as though someone were trying to pass through, or…something.”

They were both silent for a long moment, the weight of their shared realization settling over them like fog.

“I am beginning to think,” Elizabeth said slowly, “that someone is moving through Longbourn unseen. Someone who knows the house well enough to remain hidden. And if they are in the walls…” She trailed off, the implications too strange and too alarming to speak aloud.

“Though how someone could hide themselves in such a manner is a mystery.”

Jane reached for her hand, and Elizabeth grasped it tightly. “Do you think we ought to tell Papa?” she asked, her voice wavering.

Elizabeth shook her head. “Not yet. He will dismiss it—or worse, mock it. But I have confided in Mr. Darcy. He believes me.” Her cheeks warmed slightly at the admission. “I trust he will help us discover the truth. ”

Jane looked surprised but not displeased. “I am glad,” she said softly. “He seems…very different from how he first appeared.”

Elizabeth gave a short laugh. “Indeed. I can hardly recognize him. But his concern feels genuine—and just now, I am very glad for it.”

They sat together for a moment, sisters bound by both blood and growing apprehension. Outside, the wind rattled the windowpane like fingers tapping, and Elizabeth shivered.

Something—or someone—was disturbing the peace of Longbourn, and she would not rest until the mystery was solved.

The clink of porcelain and the soft scrape of silverware filled the air as the Bennets assembled for breakfast, though the usual chatter was notably absent.

A peculiar hush had settled over the room—perhaps the early hour, or perhaps the ever-growing sense of unease that had crept into the household like a persistent draught.

Elizabeth sat beside Jane, her thoughts tangled and restless after their conversation upstairs.

Her eyes flitted to the end of the table where the tea service gleamed dully in the pale morning light.

The old silver was in use, strange considering Mrs. Bennet had recently purchased new.

A full sugar bowl. A polished serving spoon. Oddly complete, but somehow…wrong.

Mrs. Bennet stared at the setting with pursed lips before leaning out of her chair and clapping her hands twice. “Hill!” she cried out. “Mrs. Hill, come in here this instant!”

The housekeeper appeared in the doorway almost at once, smoothing her apron with damp hands. “Yes, madam?”

Mrs. Bennet gestured broadly at the breakfast table.

“Where is the new silver? This is the old set.

What will people think if they drop by for breakfast and find this laid out?

“ she asked, scandalized. “Appearances must be maintained, Mrs. Hill! One never knows when the Lucases or even Mr. Bingley himself might stop by to beg a favor or gossip over toast.”

Mrs. Hill paled. “Madam, I—I meant to say something earlier…”

The room seemed to still around them. Mr. Bennet lowered his newspaper a fraction, his brow furrowed in consternation .

Mrs. Hill twisted her hands. “The key to the silver case is missing. My ring of keys—gone entirely. I discovered their absence first thing this morning.”

A sharp silence followed. Every Bennet daughter froze in place, even Lydia, who had been noisily buttering a scone. Jane glanced at Elizabeth with wide eyes. Elizabeth’s stomach turned.

“You lost the keys?“ Mrs. Bennet cried. “How do you lose the keys to my silver? It is your responsibility to keep track of such things!”

“I did not lose it, madam,” Mrs. Hill said quietly. “It was hanging on the hook near the larder, as always, when I retired last evening. This morning, it was gone.”

“Oh, saints preserve us!” Mrs. Bennet pressed her hand to her forehead and let out a theatrical sigh.

“First the gloves and candles, then the food, and now the silver locked away, and the keys gone with it! We are being haunted, robbed, or cursed! Hill, you must find it! My reputation cannot survive this!”

“I will, madam,” Hill said in a trembling voice, curtsying and stepping back.

“Let us not forget my decanter and Kitty’s locket, my dear.” Mr. Bennet appeared distracted as he folded his paper and placed it on the table.

Kitty leaned across the table towards Lydia. “Did you hear that?” she whispered loudly. “It must be the ghost again! I would wager it is the same one that took your pearl ribbon!”

“And my stockings!” Lydia chimed in, eyes wide. “I told you something was moving about at night—I heard it near the stairs again just last week!”

When had the stockings and ribbon gone missing? Elizabeth twirled her fork as she listened, alarmed at how large the list of missing items grew daily.

“I do not believe in ghosts,” Mary muttered, not looking up from her book. “There is always a rational explanation. Likely a servant with sticky fingers.”

“Enough.” Mr. Bennet’s voice cut through the din like a blade. He folded his paper slowly and set it aside, his eyes scanning the room with sharp disapproval. “Mrs. Hill, send for Mr. Hill. I want every servant’s room searched—immediately. The responsible party will be dismissed without reference.”

Mrs. Hill curtsied again and exited in haste, her skirts swishing against the floor.

“I daresay,” Mrs. Bennet moaned, “we shall never recover the key—or the silver—and then what shall I do? I cannot serve tea in front of guests with the old spoons. It will be the death of my nerves! ”

“You may calm yourself,” Mr. Bennet said dryly, reaching for his cup. “I shall see to it that your precious silverware is freed from captivity later today. You may prepare yourself to entertain in grandeur once more.”

Mrs. Bennet dabbed her eyes with her napkin, though no tears had yet fallen. “Freed from captivity, indeed! As if it were in gaol! Oh, how you jest in the face of disaster.”

Elizabeth pushed her food around her plate, appetite gone. The rest of the meal passed under a cloud, the weight of unspoken suspicions and mounting tension hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. She met Jane’s eyes once more, and her sister’s look said what neither dared speak aloud.

Something—or someone—was inside Longbourn, hiding in plain sight and was only growing bolder.

The drawing room was cloaked in a heavy sort of hush, though each of the Bennet ladies attempted to feign calm in their chosen pursuits.

Jane sat closest to the window, her delicate needle threading in and out of an embroidery hoop with practiced grace.

Her face was serene, but Elizabeth noted how often her eyes strayed towards the hallway, where muted footsteps hinted at the ongoing search.

Mary, settled with her back perfectly straight, read a small volume of Fordyce’s sermons, her expression solemn and lips occasionally moving as she murmured passages aloud to herself.

Kitty leaned against the arm of the settee, sketching in a battered sketchbook that contained more flower borders than anything else.

Lydia, predictably restless, flitted from chair to chair, occasionally peeking through the lace curtains and sighing dramatically each time she failed to catch sight of Mr. Denny or another officer.

Elizabeth had taken up a book as well— The Mysteries of Udolpho , though she had not turned a page in some time.

Her mind was far from Radcliffe’s gothic ruins.

Her attention instead lingered on her mother, who sat in her favorite chair near the fireplace, a neglected basket of mending in her lap and her fingers fluttering like nervous birds.

Every now and then, she would make a soft, agitated sound or pluck at her shawl.

For once, Elizabeth could not fault her mother’s display. At least now , she thought grimly, she has a legitimate reason to suffer a case of nerves.

The house had been stirred to its foundations that morning with Mr. Bennet’s declaration. Servants’ rooms searched. Questions asked. Accusations implied. But nothing yet revealed.

The door creaked open, and all eyes turned as Mrs. Hill entered, her face pale and mouth drawn into a tight line. She curtsied but did not wait to be invited to speak.

“We have looked in every corner, madam,” she addressed Mrs. Bennet directly. “The servants’ rooms, the linen cupboards, under mattresses and in trunks. There is no sign of the missing keys, nor the silver, nor your gloves, ma’am, nor the crystal decanter. Nothing.”

Mrs. Bennet gasped audibly and pressed a hand to her breast.

“But worse still,” Mrs. Hill continued, casting a wary glance around the room, “some of the staff have reported their belongings missing. Blankets, shawls, and pillows. One of the footmen claims two of his shirts are gone. And Cook says food has gone missing again—this time from the locked larder. She swears she secured it last night herself.”

Elizabeth felt a chill course down her spine. The pattern was clear—increased frequency, varied, and disturbingly personal. No longer just trinkets and wine, but comforts, necessities.

Mrs. Bennet let out a strangled moan and rose from her chair as though propelled by a sudden gust of wind.

“We shall all be murdered in our beds !“ she cried, her hands trembling violently.

“They have blankets and pillows to smother us, and knives from the kitchen to slit our throats! We are being watched , hunted !”

“Mama—” Jane began, setting aside her embroidery in alarm.

But Mrs. Bennet could not be consoled. “They have taken my gloves, my silver, my peace of mind! What shall I do? What shall we do? It must be gypsies! Or vagrants! Or highwaymen dressed as servants—oh, I knew we should never have let that new scullery maid in—!”

“Mama, please—” Elizabeth tried, but it was too late.

”I cannot stay down here,” Mrs. Bennet declared, turning in a flurry of shawls and skirts. “I must lie down before I fall into a swoon. Hill! Hill, attend me!”

“Yes, madam,” Mrs. Hill replied wearily, stepping aside to allow her mistress to storm from the room.

They could still hear her muttering all the way up the stairs—something about poison in the tea and a letter to Lady Lucas—and then, at last, the house fell silent again.

Kitty released a breath. “Do you think she will stay upstairs all day?”

Mary did not look up. “We can only hope.” Her wry wit came as a surprise, and Elizabeth chuckled quietly in response.

The humor faded quickly. Elizabeth met Jane’s gaze across the room. Her sister’s calm demeanor was cracking; concern darkened her expression. There was no denying it now: something was terribly wrong at Longbourn.

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