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.” Sheshivered 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 isdoingthis—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 withoutbeing 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 quitenecessary.”
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 forthe 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.
Chapter Ten
Monday, November 2, 1811
