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Page 9 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)

Chapter Nine

The fire in her hearth had long since dwindled to glowing embers, casting faint shadows that danced along the walls of her bedchamber.

Elizabeth lay curled beneath her quilts, the chill of the November night settling in despite the warmth of the blankets wrapped tightly around her.

She stared at the canopy overhead, wide awake.

Creak .

There it was again—that long, groaning sound, as if a weight shifted across the floorboards in the corridor beyond her door. She held her breath. The house was old; it often made noise. But this…this was different. Deliberate. Slow. Measured.

Another soft creak, closer now .

She sat up a little in bed, the blankets clutched to her chest. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the edges of her room in silver-blue.

The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with anticipation.

Elizabeth’s hand hovered near the edge of the coverlet, tempted to rise and check the hallway—perhaps even emboldened by her earlier conversation with Mr. Darcy.

But then came the faintest sound, like the click of a latch—or had she imagined it?

No. Not tonight. Not alone.

She pulled the quilt over her head and squeezed her eyes shut, willing the noises away. She told herself there must be a logical explanation—an old house settling, the wind in the flue, perhaps a mouse—but unease twisted in her belly all the same.

Elizabeth awoke to weak morning light filtering through the curtains. Her head ached from her restless sleep, and the strange sounds of the night still lingered uneasily in her memory. She was just beginning to sit up when a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” she called, voice hoarse with sleep .

Mary entered, her hair unkempt beneath her cap, her complexion paler than usual, and her eyes ringed with tired shadows. She clutched her shawl tightly around her shoulders, glancing back at the hallway before closing the door behind her.

“Lizzy,” she whispered. “Something happened last night.”

Elizabeth frowned and motioned for her to come closer.

Mary sat at the edge of the bed, wringing her hands.

“I heard footsteps outside my door. They stopped, and then…” She swallowed.

“My door opened. Just a little. Slowly. I got up at once, but—there was no one there. And this morning…my prayer book is missing.”

Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Your prayer book?”

Mary nodded, clearly distressed. “I wanted it for a specific passage—one about banishing evil. I thought I might pray it aloud tonight for peace of mind. But it is gone.”

The sisters sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Mary’s confession hanging heavy in the air.

“What if Kitty and Lydia are right?” Mary asked, her voice almost too quiet to hear. “What if the house truly is haunted?”

Elizabeth reached for her sister’s hand, offering a gentle squeeze.

“Why would Longbourn suddenly be haunted? We have lived here for many years without so much as a specter. There is likely a rational explanation for your book having gone missing. Perhaps someone borrowed it. Perhaps you misplaced it.” But even as she spoke the words, her thoughts drifted to her own sleepless night, marked by the creaking floorboards and the sense of being watched.

“Still,” she added with a quieter voice, “I shall help you look. We shall find your book.”

Mary nodded, but the doubt in her eyes remained. As Elizabeth rose to fetch her dressing gown, she could not help but feel a flicker of dread. The prayer book, the footsteps, the open door.

Something strange was happening at Longbourn, and no one could pretend any longer that it was all in their imagination.

The breakfast table at Longbourn was again unusually quiet for a household of so many women.

The clink of cutlery against china rang sharper than usual, underscoring the subtle tension that pulsed in the room like a steady drumbeat.

Elizabeth stirred her tea, her eyes drifting across her family with mounting unease .

Kitty and Lydia, seated side by side, leaned towards one another in breathless whispers. Elizabeth caught only fragments—“wardrobe opened,“ “beside my bed,” “he watched me”—but it was enough to send a cold prickle crawling up her spine.

“My wardrobe was closed when I went to bed!” Kitty hissed, her eyes wide and voice rising as she addressed the rest of the table. “But this morning, both doors were wide open and my bonnet box was on the floor.”

Both sisters seemed to have decided the rest of the family needed to know what odd things had happened the night before.

Lydia tossed her curls over her shoulder with a dramatic flourish.

“That is nothing. My dressing table chair was moved. It was right beside my bed this morning, Lizzy. What if it was a ghost? A handsome ghost come to admire me as I slept?”

Kitty giggled, but the sound was laced with nervousness. Elizabeth could not bring herself to laugh.

Their father, behind his paper, made no comment, but Elizabeth noted the way his eyes narrowed slightly over the edge.

He was listening, though as usual, he made no move to interrupt.

Mrs. Bennet’s chatter about a new lace supplier in Meryton filled the rest of the silence.

She was either oblivious to the thread of unease weaving through the room or deliberately ignored it.

Elizabeth could not finish her toast. Her stomach felt tight and sour.

The culprit—whoever it was—was growing bolder.

The morning sun had barely burned off the frost when Elizabeth wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders and stepped outside. The air was sharp, the sky pale blue above bare branches and the browned remains of summer’s glory. She needed to walk. She needed to think.

She had not gone far when a familiar figure approached from the path near the grove. Mr. Darcy, with his long stride and somber countenance, looked as though he too had been in search of solitude.

He greeted her with a quiet, “Miss Bennet,” but the concern in his eyes was immediate. “You seem troubled.”

Elizabeth did not even attempt to disguise her distress.

“More things have gone missing. Or moved. My sister Mary’s prayer book vanished from her bedside, and she is certain her door opened during the night.

This morning, Kitty’s wardrobe had been rifled through, and Lydia’s dressing table chair was—moved beside her bed.

” She shivered despite herself. “She claims it was a ghost, but I think…I think someone was watching her sleep.”

Darcy’s expression darkened. “That is disturbing. Very disturbing.”

“It is more than disturbing, Mr. Darcy. It is terrifying.” Her voice trembled with a tension she had held in too long.

“No one would want Mary’s old prayer book for its value.

Whoever took it—whoever is doing this—is not after wealth.

That frightens me even more. It suggests some other purpose.

Some—twisted fascination, or grudge, or… “ She broke off, clenching her hands.

Darcy reached forward and took them gently in his, his gloved hands warm and steady against hers. The gesture was intimate, protective, and it made her heart lurch.

“I promise you, Elizabeth,” he said softly, “we will get to the bottom of this. I swear it.”

She did not protest the use of her Christian name, though he had not asked explicitly to use it.

Elizabeth liked how her name sounded when he said it.

She shook her head, frustration making her throat tight.

“But how? We have no real indication. The servants appear innocent. They were accounted for when some of these things occurred, and even Mrs. Hill’s keys have gone missing.

How is someone moving about the house without being seen?

This is not some sprawling estate—people come and go all the time. The halls are never truly empty.”

“Which means,” Darcy said, releasing her hands only to fold his arms, “the person knows the routines. The household. The patterns of movement. They must be close.”

“Too close,” she murmured.

The wind stirred her curls as they stood in silence, each lost in the storm of their own thoughts.

Elizabeth’s nerves were frayed, her mind racing with unanswered questions and shadowy possibilities.

But with Darcy beside her—his brow furrowed in shared concern, his gaze steady on hers—she felt a little less alone and a little braver.

The warmth of the midday sun had faded by the time Elizabeth returned to Longbourn, but the walk with Mr. Darcy had done much to settle her nerves.

The air inside the house felt less oppressive than it had that morning, though a pall of tension still lingered beneath the surface.

And the silver remained locked away, so Mrs. Bennet had yet to descend from her rooms. The servants moved about with a wariness that had not been present days before .

Hill met her in the front hall and passed along a simple message: Mr. Bennet wishes to see you in his study.

Curious, Elizabeth made her way through the familiar halls to her father’s sanctum. The door was ajar, and she tapped lightly before entering.

“You summoned me, Papa?”

Mr. Bennet looked up from a clutter of papers spread across his desk, his expression pinched with frustration. “Ah, yes. Come in, my dear.” He gestured vaguely towards the chair across from him. “I have just finished reviewing this infernal list of repairs for the Shipton cottage.”

Elizabeth took the offered seat and folded her hands in her lap. “And?”

He leaned back in his chair with a long sigh, rubbing his brow.

“It is extensive. According to your notes, the roof is in need of replacing, two windows are shattered, the front door is hanging off its hinges, the porch is sagging, and there is talk of chimney work and rotted floorboards. I must say, Lizzy, it reads more like a haunted ruin than a tenant farm.”

Elizabeth’s lips twitched. “It is in poor shape, Papa. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley accompanied Jane and me. Mr. Darcy examined everything himself. He is of the opinion that the repairs are quite necessary.”

Mr. Bennet snorted softly, picking up the list again as though it had personally insulted him.

“Darcy, is it? Of course the man would wish everything to be in perfect order—he has his large estate to compare. But Longbourn does not have the luxury of such deep coffers. These repairs will not come cheaply.”

Elizabeth met his gaze evenly. “I understand that, sir. But it is not right to let a new family take up residence in a home that is not fit to live in. How can they be expected to pay their rent if they are falling ill from damp, or twisting ankles on a broken step? A warm, dry roof and safe floors will give them a far better chance of success.”

He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled, long and slow.

“You have your mother’s knack for costly persuasion,” he said at last. “Very well. I will send word to the steward and see what can be done. The worst of the repairs must be handled before they arrive.”

Elizabeth’s shoulders loosened with relief. “Thank you, Papa.”

Mr. Bennet waved a hand in dismissal and reached again for his paper. “Let us only hope this new family proves a better investment than the last.”

As she rose to leave, Elizabeth allowed herself a small, hopeful smile.

She could not say what the future held for the new tenants, but she hoped—fervently—that with a sound roof over their heads, they might thrive.

At the very least, she thought, they would not suffer for the faults of those who had come before.

As Elizabeth closed the study door behind her, she lingered in the hallway for a moment, listening to the muted scratch of her father’s pen as he returned to his work.

The knowledge that the repairs would be made brought a measure of peace to her heart.

It felt like a small victory—a moment of clarity in the haze of unease that had settled over Longbourn.

Perhaps with this act of restoration, the household might begin to mend in other ways too.

She paused by a window overlooking the lane, watching the wind scatter the last of the autumn leaves.

New tenants, repaired walls, and honest work—perhaps hope could begin there.

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