The moon hung high in the velvety night sky, casting a silvery glow over the village. Elizabeth's steps were purposeful as she made her way through the quiet streets, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to align, and she was determined to unearth the truth that had remained hidden for far too long.

The old mill stood before her, its weathered facade a testament to the passage of time. Elizabeth's fingers brushed against the rough wood as she pushed open the creaking door, the sound echoing through the silent interior. Moonlight streamed through the gaps in the boards, illuminating the space in a ghostly shimmer.

"Mr. Collins?" Her voice carried a note of caution as she called out into the darkness.

A soft rustling drew her attention toward a corner of the mill. There, amidst the shadows, stood Mr. Collins, his figure hunched and his eyes wide with apprehension.

"Miss Bennet," he stammered, his voice quivering. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Elizabeth took a step closer. "Mr. Collins, we've been searching for you. What are you doing here?"

Mr. Collins hesitated, his gaze shifting away before he finally spoke, his voice laden with guilt. "I'm hiding from the truth, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth's heart quickened. "What do you know?"

With a sigh, Mr. Collins began to reveal a tale that spanned generations, a tale of rivalries and forbidden loves, of choices made in the shadows of history. He spoke of the founding families of Longbourn, their intertwined destinies, and the lingering echoes of a scandal that had been buried beneath layers of time.

"It was George Wickham, seeking revenge for a perceived injustice that had haunted his family for generations." Mr. Collins confessed, his voice a mix of regret and sorrow. "The woman he murdered was Mr. Darcy's client. The old mill and surrounding land belong to her family, and she wanted to develop the area. It would've made her a rich woman. But Mr. Whickham believes that her family wrongfully took the land from his family. They were locked in a fierce legal battle when she came to look at the land and seek relevant documents from the local library. He must have followed her. I don't know what happened the night she was murdered, but I saw Mr. Whickham leaving the inn with the murder weapon clutched in his hands and his clothes bloodied. He saw me, too."

Elizabeth's eyes widened in shock. The revelation was like a thunderclap, shaking the very foundation of her understanding. She felt a whirlwind of emotions – anger, sorrow, and a renewed determination to see justice served.

"But why didn't you report him?"

"I was scared and didn't think." He sighed. The ordeal must have taken its toll on poor Mr. Collins. He wasn't a man of strong constitution.

Elizabeth realized that was why Mr. Whickham was looking around the village. And he must have known Elizabeth was looking into the murder. Hence he sought her out the other day. The thought made her angry. That conniving man needed to be behind bars. "I'll find Mr. Darcy and go to the police. Meanwhile, you should stay hidden."

"No one is going anywhere," the voice brooked no argument. "I must thank you Miss Bennet, you have led me straight to the man I was looking for."

"Mr. Whickham," Elizabeth said, "What do you want?"

"I want what is rightfully mine and no one will stand in my way."

That's when Elizabeth saw the glint of a revolver and her breath hitched. The truth had been unearthed, but would the justice prevail?