November 1-2, 1811
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Thefireinherhearth 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 withoutso 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? Ahandsomeghost 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 deliberatelyignored it.
Elizabeth could not finish her toast. Her stomach felt tight and sour.
The culprit—whoever it was—was growing bolder.
