Elizabeth smiled faintly. “Not at all. I like the symbolism—of light driving away darkness, of loyalty, even of rebellion. It feels... human.”
Darcy was quiet for a moment. “My aunt once said the celebration was vulgar. But I disagree. I find it... grounding. Honest, even.”
She turned to look at him, surprised. “That is a sentiment I would not have expected from you.”
His mouth quirked. “I surprise myself at times.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Do you know the Guy Fawkespoem?” she asked.
“Certainly,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Though the whole poem is rather…well, the first stanza is the one that truly matters.” He cleared his throat and recited it.
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot,
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.
“Very good, sir! I confess I know the entire poem, despite the anti-Catholic sentiment expressed within.”
They had reached the far edge of the orchard, where the trees opened slightly and gave a clear view of Longbourn’s façade. The windows, save for the faint candlelight in the drawing room behind them, were all dark.
Until they were not.
Elizabeth gasped and grabbed Darcy’s arm. “There—did you see that?”
He followed her gaze, his brows furrowing.
In the upper left windows—those belonging to the unused nursery and the linen room—a light had flickered. Not a candle. Brighter. Unsteady. It danced for a moment and vanished, only to reappear again, moving from one window to the next before blinking out entirely.
“I thought all the lamps were extinguished,” she whispered.
“They were,” he said, voice low. “I noted it myself as we came around the house.”
“Then who is—?”
“Stay here.”
“No!” She clutched his arm more tightly. “Forgive me, but... I think we should tell my father. I do not wish you to go alone.”
Darcy paused, clearly debating. Then, he nodded.
“Very well.”
They turned, but the orchard seemed suddenly much darker than before. The bonfire still roared, but it now felt distant, dulled by the unease that had settled in Elizabeth’s chest.
As they moved quickly back towards the gathering, Darcy leaned closer.
“There is something odd at Longbourn,” he said quietly. “There have been missing items. And now... this.”
Elizabeth’s breath quickened, not just from the rush of their pace. “You think someone is hiding in the house? Not merely sneaking about when we would not notice?”
“I think someone who knows the house well—well enough to move unseen—is taking liberties. Andtonight, with everyone outside, might have seemed the perfect time for freedom from restraint.”
They reached her father near the fire, where he was arguing jovially with Sir William Lucas about the effectiveness of Roman candles.
Elizabeth pulled Mr. Bennet aside and told him quietly what they had seen. His expression sobered at once.
