Chapter Thirty-Nine

Elizabeth

E lizabeth stirred when a faint echo drifted to her ears. She was unsure if she had been dreaming or if this was a sound emitted by the house itself.

She was certain she’d heard something—perhaps a floorboard creaking or a gust of wind rattling the windowpanes. However, Pemberley lay quiet, its grand halls bathed in the soft glow of the moon filtering through her window. She shook her head, dismissing the sense of unease as simply the hour’s unfamiliarity.

There was a sudden noise again.

Elizabeth sat bolt upright, her heart hammering in her chest. From below, she heard it clearly—a dull, heavy thud outside her window. She glanced around the dim room, shadows shifting with the flickering glow from the fireplace. The house was usually so still at night that any unusual sound could not go unnoticed, yet tonight, there was an unmistakable tension in the air.

Wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders, she slipped from the bed and padded to the window, pressing herself against the cold glass. She gazed out at the estate grounds, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. There, near the garden wall, shadows moved—figures slipping towards the servants’ entrance, their forms sharp and unmistakably human. They stood out in their dark attire against the snow.

Her breath hitched as she realised the danger unfolding below. The bandits had returned, slipping in like ghosts through the entrance by the gardens, bypassing the main gated entrance altogether. Their stealth sent a chill up her spine—clearly, they knew the layout of Pemberley House and its estate and knew precisely how to avoid detection by the groundsmen.

She backed away from the window, her heart pounding in her ears. How had they been found? Was this what they had feared all along? The threat hanging over Pemberley had finally materialised. Her mind raced, knowing that she couldn’t remain idle, yet terrified of what might happen if she left her room and ran into them. She had to wake Mr Darcy and alert him.

Just then, a muffled clang came from below—a misstep perhaps, or an object accidentally brushed aside. The grand entrance had a marble floor and with the high walls, sounds echoed. Elizabeth was certain this was where the noise came from. And if the men had reached the entrance, then the sweeping staircase to the east wing where her and Maggie’s chambers were located, was close. Elizabeth pressed a hand to her mouth to steady her breathing. She glanced at her bedroom door, suddenly aware of her vulnerability. Beyond it lay a dark, twisting hallway that would lead to the staircase, and perhaps, directly into their path.

Another voice drifted up to her—a man’s voice, low, urgent, and tinged with impatience, clearly audible from the entrance hall. The scrape of metal on stone followed, and she knew they were moving further inside. Elizabeth clutched her shawl, steadying herself against the weight of her fear. She would need to alert Mr Darcy and the others.

Elizabeth took a deep, steadying breath and opened her door just wide enough to slip outside. The hallway was dark and silent, with only the faintest glow of candlelight illuminating the way. Moving swiftly and quietly, she hurried to Maggie’s room just across the hall, her heart thudding with each step.

Inside, Maggie lay fast asleep, curled up beneath the blankets, one small arm wrapped around her beloved doll. Elizabeth’s heart softened at the sight of her peaceful face, her lashes dark against her cheeks, and her little fingers clasped protectively around the doll’s hand. She hated to disturb the child, especially knowing the fear they were about to face together. But there was no choice.

Gently, she knelt beside Maggie and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Maggie,” she whispered, her voice soft but urgent. “Maggie, wake up, sweetheart.”

Maggie stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she looked confused, gazing up at Elizabeth in sleepy bewilderment. But as soon as she saw Elizabeth’s serious expression, her little face filled with worry.

“Beth?” she murmured, sitting up and clutching her doll tighter. “What’s wrong?”

Elizabeth managed a small, reassuring smile. “We need to fetch Mr. Darcy, dearest. I do not want to scare you, but there are people in the house, and it’s safest if we’re all together. Will you come with me?”

Maggie’s eyes widened, and she nodded, fear creeping into her expression. She held her doll close, her tiny hand reaching out to clasp Elizabeth’s. “Yes… I’ll come.”

They moved swiftly through the darkened hall, Elizabeth casting anxious glances over her shoulder as they crept towards Mr Darcy’s chamber. The vastness of Pemberley seemed to echo with unfamiliar sounds—the creak of wood, the faint murmurs that hinted at the intruders’ presence somewhere below.

Finally, they reached his door, and Elizabeth knocked quietly, her heart hammering. A moment later, it opened, and Mr Darcy appeared, his expression immediately sharpening with concern when he saw them.

“Elizabeth?” he said, his gaze moving from her face to the pale, frightened child at her side. “What’s happened?”

“Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, keeping her voice low. “They’re here. I saw them—they broke in through the garden door and I think they entered through the servants’ entrance. I think there are at least two of them, I heard voices coming from the entrance hall.”

His expression darkened. “Thank you for coming straight to me,” he said softly, looking down at Maggie, whose small hand clung tightly to Elizabeth’s. “Now, listen carefully—stay here, both of you. Lock the door and do not move until I return.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but the determination in his gaze silenced her. He was doing everything he could to protect them.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Be careful,” she whispered, unable to keep the worry from her voice.

Mr Darcy’s eyes softened as he reached out, briefly touching her shoulder. “I will. Just stay here—and don’t open the door for anyone but me.”

“No, you cannot go,” she protested.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered as he approached, his voice low but firm, “Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone.”

“Fitzwilliam, what’s—”

“Please, Elizabeth,” he said, using her name with rare intensity. “Trust me.”

Her heart wavered at the pleading in his voice, but a shout from below snapped her attention back to the urgency of the situation. Shadows moved against the wall, voices rose, and with a final, worried glance, Mr Darcy turned and ran to end of the hall. Elizabeth was torn between fear and her instinct to stay close, reluctantly retreated to the shadows, her breath tight with anticipation.

“Will they take me again?” Maggie whimpered, her eyes wide with fear.

Elizabeth knelt beside her, stroking her hair in an attempt to soothe her. “It’s alright, Maggie. You are safe here.” She forced a reassuring smile, though her own heart raced. “Nobody will take you, I promise.”

Although as she stood there and looked at the closed door, she wasn’t so sure this was true. For if Mr Darcy was overpowered, she would be no match for the bandits, that she knew for certain.