Chapter 1 – Spooks and Suitors – Lighthearted Halloween Pride and Prejudice Variation

#chapter 1
It was a truth universally acknowledged that Netherfield Park was haunted. Or so the rumors in Meryton insisted. Ever since the estate had sat vacant these last five years, tales of ghostly happenings and strange noises in the night had spread through the village like wildfire. Now, with the arrival of Mr. Bingley and his party to take up residence, the speculation only increased.
On their first morning in the grand house, talk turned to these rumors over breakfast. “Haunted, you say?” Mr. Bingley chuckled as he helped himself to a generous portion of eggs and ham. “I shall have to keep a sharp eye out for any lurking specters. I should hate to wake up to a ghostly figure at the foot of my bed!”
“Do not make light of it, Charles,” his sister Caroline chided him. “I have heard the servants already whispering of lights flickering in abandoned rooms and chilling drafts that come from nowhere. This house is positively medieval. Who knows what tragic histories lie within these walls?” She shuddered dramatically as she spoke.
Their brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, gave a great yawn, seeming more interested in the platter of kippers than any silly ghost tales. But Mr. Darcy glanced up from his newspaper, his gaze thoughtful.
“The locals are likely just eager to spook the newcomers,” he remarked. “I am sure there are perfectly logical explanations for any unusual occurrences.”
“Let us hope you are right, Mr. Darcy,” said Bingley amiably. “For I should be quite distressed to find Netherfield haunted by some poor soul unable to rest in peace!”
The notion made Caroline shudder once more. “Ugh! I do not even wish to think of it! Spirits floating about, moaning through the night. It is too horrid!”
Mr. Darcy gave her a wry look. “I rather doubt we shall encounter anything so dramatic. But if we do, I promise to defend you from any lurking specters, Miss Bingley.”
Caroline flushed at his gallant promise, while Mr. Hurst gave a great snort into his tea.
“Speaking of hauntings,” Mrs. Hurst interjected, “I daresay eligible young ladies are just as frightening to some as any specter.”
She and Caroline exchanged a conspiratorial glance before Caroline added teasingly, “Why Mr. Darcy, we all know how you abhor society’s crowds. Would you rather contend with a ghostly vision floating down the corridor or have to make conversation with one of the ladies who shall be vying for your attentions at the next ball?”
Mr. Darcy looked up from his paper, one brow arched wryly. “You presume too much, Miss Bingley. While I will admit an aversion to some of the more…determined ladies of the ton, I would by no means liken them to wandering spirits.”
“No indeed!” Caroline laughed. “For at least with a ghost you need not dance or make small talk. You may simply ring for your manservant and have him banish the creature from your presence!”
“Caroline, really,” chided her brother with a chuckle. “Comparing young ladies of good breeding to common wraiths!”
“I speak only in jest, of course,” Caroline amended quickly. “Though I daresay even dear Mr. Darcy cannot predict how vexing this country neighborhood’s young ladies will prove until he meets them himself!”
Mr. Darcy offered nothing more than a noncommittal “Hmm” before returning to his newspaper. But privately, he had to admit that Miss Bingley’s teasing held some truth. Attending the society balls and soirees of the county was sure to be a ghostly prospect indeed.
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Later that day, the Bennet daughters gathered in the parlor at Longbourn, abuzz with curiosity about the new occupants of Netherfield Park.
“Do you think they are very fashionable?” asked Lydia eagerly. “I have heard Mr. Bingley has £5,000 a year!”
“Who cares for fashion or fortune?” said Elizabeth. “I simply hope they are amiable company. Though with our mother determined to throw us all at any eligible bachelor, I dare say any sensible man would run from the county!”
The girls laughed as Mrs. Bennet bustled into the room. “Now, now, my dears! You mustn’t speak so of your poor mother. I only have your best interests at heart.” She settled herself importantly on the sofa. “And with these newcomers, we must take every opportunity to introduce you girls to society. Why, Mr. Bingley could very well marry one of you!”
“If he is sensible, he will flee for the hills,” Mr. Bennet remarked dryly from the corner, not looking up from his book. “No fortune in the world is worth the misery of a Bennet daughter.”
“Oh, do not tease me so, Mr. Bennet!” his wife scolded. “I only wish for my girls to be well settled.”
“Perhaps if Longbourn itself were settled, we would have better luck,” said Elizabeth. “For I hear Netherfield Park is haunted by spirits most unhappy.”
Her father lowered his book, eyes glinting with mischief. “Is that so? I suppose we had best warn Mr. Bingley of the restless ghosts that stalk his halls.” He rose and went to stoke the fire. “In fact, this talk of spirits reminds me of a tale I heard…”
Mr. Bennet paused before the fireplace, turning back towards his captive audience with a wry smile. “Some years ago, it is said a young gentleman caller to Netherfield fell victim to the ghostly apparitions that wander those empty halls at night. He was found the next morning sleeping under a hedge in the gardens, having been scared out of his wits by the spirits!”
“Heavens!” Mrs. Bennet clutched her chest. “How perfectly dreadful!”
“What did he see, Papa?” asked Lydia eagerly.
“Well, my dear, he spoke of ghastly whispers and cold breath upon his neck. And when he turned, no one was there!” said Mr. Bennet, dropping his voice ominously.
The girls gasped and giggled.
“Oh, you are too wicked, Mr. Bennet,” his wife scolded, though she seemed intrigued in spite of herself. “You will frighten the girls with such talk.”
“It is but a story, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet. “Perhaps we shall learn the truth of the matter when we call on our new neighbors. If Mr. Bingley survives the night, that is…”
His eyes glinted with humor as his daughters laughed.
“Now, do not go putting ideas in Mr. Bingley’s head!” chided Mrs. Bennet. “We must make them feel most welcome. I dare say even ghosts would not deter me from securing Mr. Bingley for one of you girls!”
“Let us hope he will find one of the Bennet sisters far more charming than any spirited specters,” Mr. Bennet replied drolly.
The laughter and excitement from the day’s events still lingered as the Bennet sisters readied for bed. Lydia and Kitty giggled in their room, recounting the rumors of Netherfield’s ghostly inhabitants. In the room next door, Elizabeth smiled as she brushed her hair, amused but unconvinced by the talk of spirits. Mary, however, clutched her prayer book tightly, her eyes wide.
“Do you really think it’s haunted?” Mary asked anxiously. “How perfectly frightening!”
“Oh, I’m sure Papa was just teasing us,” said Jane soothingly, though she shivered at the thought.
“Well I hope it is haunted!” declared Lydia, jumping onto the bed and making it creak ominously. “I should love to meet a ghost! Imagine how thrilling!”
“Lydia, do stop that!” scolded Elizabeth. “You’ll scare Kitty.”
“There’s nothing thrilling about ghosts,” mumbled Kitty from under her blanket. “It’s dreadful.”
Lydia laughed and continued to bounce. “Ooooooh,” she moaned eerily. “I am the ghost of Netherfield! Ooooooh!”
“Lydia, stop that!” cried Jane.
“Girls!” Mrs. Bennet’s voice sounded sharply from down the hall. “Settle down this instant! What is the meaning of this?”
She hurried into the room, candle flickering. Seeing Lydia leaping dramatically on the bed, she pursed her lips in disapproval.
“Lydia Bennet! Cease that foolishness at once!”
“But Mama,” Lydia whined, “we are playing ghosts!”
“Playing ghosts! In your night clothes! Have you no sense? Into bed, now.”
She shooed her protesting daughter under the covers and tucked them all in briskly, though her eyes betrayed her own lingering fear.
“There will be no more ghost talk tonight,” she declared. “You will frighten yourselves and be unable to rest. We must make a good impression on the Netherfield party on the morrow, and that means beauty sleep for you all!”
With that she took her candle and bustled from the room, casting a nervous glance back as she closed the door firmly behind her.
The youngest girls stifled their giggles in the darkness.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Honestly, does she think we are children to be so easily frightened by ghost stories? Though I suppose Lydia does not help matters, leaping about like that.”
Jane smiled indulgently. “She is just excited. We all are. It is not every day a party from Netherfield comes to stay.”
“Yes, and did you hear they are all single gentlemen of good fortune?” added Kitty eagerly. “I cannot wait to meet them tomorrow.”
“Kitty, you must not get your hopes up too high,” Elizabeth cautioned. “We know nothing about them yet.”
“Oh but I heard the eldest Mr. Bingley is quite dashing,” said Lydia. “And ever so wealthy. Five thousand a year!”
“My dear, let us not judge by fortune and looks alone,” replied Jane gently. “True character is found in one’s principles and conduct.”
“Jane is right,” agreed Elizabeth. “Wealth does not make the man. But I confess I am curious what they shall be like.” She smiled playfully. “Shall we imagine, just for fun?”
Kitty clapped her hands. “Oh yes, let’s!”
“Very well,” laughed Elizabeth. “I shall picture…a brooding, mysterious gentleman who spends his days reading and shuns society.”
“Goodness, he sounds frightfully dull!” exclaimed Lydia.
“I imagine someone quite kind and good-humored,” offered Jane. “And a lover of all things beautiful, like music and art.”
“You would think that, dearest Jane,” teased Elizabeth. “Always seeing the good in everyone. Well, tomorrow we shall meet these gentlemen and see for ourselves what they are truly made of. Though I hope for Papa’s sake there is at least one who can tolerate a ghost or two!”
The sisters dissolved into muffled laughter before finally drifting off to sleep.
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The Red Lion public house was bustling with activity. Locals crowded the worn wooden tables and benches, filling the air with lively chatter and rowdy laughter. At the center of it all were several officers of the militia in their scarlet regimentals.

“Another round for my friends here!” called Lieutenant Denny, already flushed from one too many ales. A cheer rose up from the other officers at his table as the barmaid set down freshly filled tankards.

“To his Majesty’s militia!” Lt. Denny proclaimed, raising his drink high.

“Huzzah!” came the rousing response. The men clanked their tankards together before drinking deep. Ale sloshed onto the table as they heartily slammed their empties down.

“Capital ale, my good lady!” Lt. Denny directed towards the barmaid with a wink. She gave him a demure smile before gathering the empty tankards.

“You’ll turn the poor girl’s head with your flattery, Denny,” chuckled a smooth voice.

All eyes turned to take in the newest arrival, a tall young man with an easy smile and rakish good looks. Though dressed similarly to the other officers, an air of casual elegance surrounded him that drew the admiring glances of many.

“Wickham, my good man!” cried Lt. Denny jovially. “Come, join us for a drink!”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Mr. Wickham replied, pulling up a chair. As soon as he was seated, a full tankard of ale appeared before him, courtesy of the attentive barmaid.

“We were just toasting his Majesty’s militia,” Lt. Denny informed him. “But now we ought to toast you, Wickham, for deciding to join up with us. The ____shire militia is honored to have a fine soldier like yourself among our ranks.”

“The honor is all mine,” Mr. Wickham responded modestly. “I could wish for no finer group of comrades than those I’ve met here in Meryton.”

Nods of agreement circled the table at his words. In the brief time since the militia had arrived, Mr. Wickham’s affable manner and gracious demeanor had swiftly endeared him to the townspeople of Meryton.

“I say, Wickham,” spoke up a young lieutenant, “regale us again with the story of how you single-handedly routed that band of French marauders.”

“Oh come now, Caldwell,” Mr. Wickham laughed, “surely you’ve all heard that tale enough times already.”

“No such thing!” Lt. Denny insisted. “Come man, give us the story. There’s a good chap.”

“If you insist,” Wickham conceded with an air of nonchalance betrayed only by the gleam of pride in his eyes. He took a swig of ale for fortification before launching into his thrilling account.

“Picture it – the French countryside, not far from Lyon. My regiment had received reports of a rogue band of Frenchmen turned outlaws, former soldiers who had deserted Napoleon’s army but still thirsted for English blood. They’d been terrorizing the countryside, raiding farms and ambushing travelers. Strike and vanish, that was their way. Devilishly hard to catch.”

Wickham had the rapt attention of everyone now. Locals edged closer, eager to hear the tale.

“So there we were, my company of 30 men, sent to root out these brigands and restore order to the region. We tracked them for days with no luck. They knew the land too well, always managed to evade us. It was on the fifth night, as we made camp, that they finally showed themselves.”

The officers leaned in, hanging on Wickham’s every word as he continued the thrilling tale. The listeners let out a satisfied cheer at the rousing climax. Wickham gave a modest bow of his head before continuing.

“With their leader dead, the brigands’ morale cracked. We pressed them hard, driving them back into the tree line. The devils realized they’d lost and melted away into the shadows. Just like that, it was over. We’d won the day, though we lost some good comrades. But without that daring counter-charge at the critical moment, it could have been a massacre. Thankfully, fortitude and English courage carried the day.”

He sat back with an air of quiet satisfaction as the officers and locals all broke into enthusiastic applause, much impressed by the thrilling tale of heroism.
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Caroline tossed and turned restlessly, unable to fall asleep. The day’s speculation about Netherfield’s ghostly inhabitants kept intruding into her thoughts whenever she closed her eyes. Strange creaks and groans from the old house settling made her jump. Shadows cast by the moonlight outside seemed to flutter and move of their own accord across her bedroom wall.
At last she could stand it no more. Caroline leapt out of bed, threw on her dressing gown, and hurried down the hall to her sister’s room.
“Louisa!” she whispered urgently, shaking her sister awake. “There is something in my room, I just know it! Some ghost or spirit haunting this dreadful old house. I cannot sleep there another moment!”
With much soothing and coaxing, Louisa convinced her sister to return to her room, reassuring her it was all in her imagination. But Caroline spent the rest of the night huddled under her blankets, trembling at every small noise. Odd clangs and bangs echoed through the halls, making her shudder and pull the covers tighter. Shadows seemed to creep along the walls, while the wind moaning outside sounded like mournful whispers.
Come morning, the effects of her sleepless night were evident. Caroline arrived late to breakfast, her eyes shadowed and movements languid as she slumped into her chair.
“Good heavens, Caroline, are you ill?” her brother Charles exclaimed at her appearance. “You look absolutely exhausted.”
Caroline flushed, hesitating to admit the truth. But under her siblings’ concerned gazes, she finally confessed in embarrassment, “I was frightened in my room last night. All the talk of ghosts…I allowed it to prey on my imagination. I scarcely slept a wink with all the odd noises and shadows!”
Charles did his best to hide his smile of amusement, while Louisa patted Caroline’s hand in sympathy. Even Mr. Hurst paused in devouring his breakfast to chuckle at her admission.
“There, there, sister,” said Charles kindly. “I am sure we shall all rest easy soon enough. This house takes some getting used to, that is all.”
Caroline managed a weak smile.
Mr. Bingley smiled broadly as he spread jam on his toast. “I confess I am quite looking forward to the assembly this evening and meeting our new neighbors. It will be a fine chance to make acquaintances in the area.”
“Yes, I am sure you will find the society quite pleasing,” said Louisa Hurst politely.
Mr. Hurst grunted in agreement, not looking up from his plate piled high with sausages and eggs.
Mr. Darcy sipped his coffee, his expression impassive. “I suppose it is a necessary duty in these country neighborhoods.”
“Oh yes, I have heard some of the local families are quite respectable,” Caroline added quickly. “Though of course they cannot compare to the first circles of London.” She glanced at Mr. Darcy as she spoke.
“I do not have such lofty standards,” said Mr. Bingley amiably. “I look forward to meeting people of all walks of life and am not worried about comparing them to London society.”
Caroline gave a tinkling laugh. “Dear brother, you are ever so generous and accepting. Though I daresay some of the country manners may surprise you.”
“All the more reason to keep an open mind,” replied Mr. Bingley. “I am sure there are many fine people to meet, and excellent dancing partners as well.” His eyes shone with anticipation for the evening’s entertainment.
“Well said, Bingley,” said Mr. Hurst. “If the food is decent and the wine flows freely, I shall have no complaints.” He chuckled and reached to refill his glass.
Mr. Darcy said nothing, his face still impassive as the rest of the group discussed their expectations for the evening. Caroline cast frequent glances his way, hoping to discern his feelings on the matter, but his composure was inscrutable as always.