Molly bit her lip and cast a furtive glance towards the door, as though fearing Mrs. Hill herself might materialize in the threshold. “Mrs. Hill will scold me for telling tales, miss,” she whispered, voice low as if the very walls had ears.
Elizabeth leaned forward, folding her hands neatly in her lap, her eyes bright with interest. “Mrs. Hill can only scold you if she finds out,” she reasoned softly. “And she will not, for it is only you and me here. I promise, Molly, I will keep your confidence. Please—I confess to some curiosity and would dearly like to hear what you know.”
For a moment, thegirl hesitated, wringing her hands, torn between fear and the desire to unburden herself. At last, she burst into hurried speech, her words tumbling over one another. “Things have been disappearing below stairs for a few months,” she said breathlessly. “At first it was just bread and cheese—a slice here, a wedge there. Then some preserves went missing, and even a few trinkets of more value. Mrs. Hill started keeping careful count. Nothing terrible at first, but when she told Mr. Bennet, he only waved it off, said we were imagining things.”
Elizabeth frowned, her brows knitting together. It sounded like more than a servant’s fancy. “Does Mrs. Hill suspect thievery among the staff?” she asked, recalling Mr. Darcy’s own quiet suspicions about theft at Longbourn.
“She did at first,” Molly admitted, casting another nervous glance at the door. “But then one Sunday…while we were all at church—every groom, every maid, every footman accounted for—the larder was locked up tight, and Cook had the only key. Yet when we came back, a whole mince pie, a loaf of bread, and three jars of preserves had vanished. The door was still locked, the key still on Cook’s ring.” Her voice dropped to an uneasy whisper. “There is no earthly way anyone in the house could have done it.”
Elizabeth sat straighter, unease creeping down her spine. Missing food was troublesome enough, but this…this was peculiar. “And what of Miss Kitty’s locket?” she prompted.
“Aye, we thought that was Miss Lydia at first, if you pardon my saying so,” Molly said quickly, cheeks pinking. “But then the mistress’s gloves went missing, and her best candles, and—” Molly’s voice fell to a trembling murmur, her eyes darting about the room as if a phantom might step forward at any moment. “There are sounds in the walls, miss. Scratching, soft footsteps, sometimes a knock when there’s nobody there.”
Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. She remembered the heavy tread outside her door last night, the peculiar creaks in the darkness, and felt a chill settle over her skin. “Sounds in the walls?” she echoed softly, her alarm genuine. “Molly, I promise you I will not repeat what you have said. But we must be vigilant and uncover the truth. There is surely an explanation to be found.”
The maid’s eyes widened in gratitude, a mixture of relief and fear. “Thank you, miss,” she whispered. With trembling hands, Molly returned to her task, quickly arranging kindling and coaxing a flame to life. The crackle of the fire filled the silence that followed, its warmth doing little to dispel the unease that lingered in the chamber.
Elizabeth leaned back against her pillows, suddenly exhausted, her mind whirling with unansweredquestions. The flicker of firelight danced across the walls as Molly finished tidying the grate. At last, when the maid departed, Elizabeth let her eyes close again, though sleep was fitful this time. Ghosts or thieves, she could not say, but one thing was certain: Longbourn held a secret.
Elizabeth came down to breakfast a few hours later. Lydia and Kitty were still at the table, speaking between themselves.
“You are quite the lay-a-bed this morning,” Lydia chirped, spearing a piece of egg with her fork and popping it into her mouth with an air of triumph.
“I did not sleep well,” Elizabeth confessed as she took a seat and filled her plate with a modest portion of toast and eggs.
The girls giggled, exchanging mischievous looks. “It is the specters and phantoms of All Hallow’s Eve,” they tittered, their eyes bright with mischief.
“Hmm?” Elizabeth looked up from her plate, arching a brow.
“Oh yes,” Kitty said with mock solemnity, “tonight the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest. If youlisten closely, you may hear the whispers of wandering spirits in the halls of Longbourn.” She wiggled her fingers dramatically, sending Lydia into a fit of giggles.
Elizabeth managed a weak smile. “Ah, yes, it is October thirty-first,” she said, her mind immediately returning to Molly’s frightened whispers about missing food and strange sounds in the walls. The uneasy feeling that had haunted her since dawn returned, settling like a weight in her chest.
But her younger sisters were far from somber. “We are going to try the apple-peel trick tonight,” Lydia announced eagerly, reaching for a slice of bread thickly spread with jam. “If you peel it in one long strip and toss it over your shoulder, it will land in the shape of the initial of the man you are destined to marry!”
Kitty clapped her hands, eyes shining. “And I heard if you put a candle in a dark room and stare into a mirror, you might see your future husband looking back at you!”
Elizabeth stifled a laugh, though a shiver crept down her spine at the thought. “And what if you see nothing at all?” she asked lightly, taking a sip of tea to hide her unease.
“Then you are destined to be a spinster,” Lydia declared with mock horror, her tone far too loud for the hour. “But not me—I am certain I shall see a handsome officer smiling at mefrom the glass!”
The girls dissolved into another fit of laughter, chattering about roasted nuts to test the fidelity of beaux and soul cakes to please wandering spirits. Elizabeth tried to join in, but her thoughts wandered. Molly’s tale of locked doors and missing food mingled uneasily with the memory of footsteps outside her chamber in the dead of night. For the briefest moment, the cheerful dining room seemed dimmer, as if unseen eyes lingered just beyond its bright windows.
She shook the feeling away, forcing a smile for her sisters’ sake, but deep down she resolved to keep watch that evening. Whatever haunted Longbourn—ghost or otherwise—she intended to uncover the truth.
Chapter Six
October 31, 1811
Longbourn
Elizabeth
“Mrs.Bennet.”Mr.Bennetentered 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 withindignation. “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.”
