3

22 December, 1811

After a pleasant night with her bed all to herself, Elizabeth woke to her second day of near-solitude with calm resolve. A messenger had been sent after the Bennets the previous evening, and the prospect of her family returning ere long had only made Elizabeth determined to enjoy the rare tranquility at Longbourn while she could.

Hill had gone to the village for provisions, certain that the family would want a hot meal when they returned to collect Elizabeth, who was in no particular hurry for this eventuality. She would have been content to remain curled up on a chaise by the fire in the parlor all day, reading the new novel her aunt had gifted her. Indeed, she did remain in just such an attitude for above an hour, stirring only when she grew a little too warm beneath the blanket she had wrapped around herself.

Elizabeth did not wish to extinguish the fire, for she might then grow too cold before Hill could return and make a new fire. Instead, Elizabeth decided she would open the window just a little, and a few minutes of wintry air on her face would sufficiently cool her. She opened the window no more than an inch, and let the gauzy white curtain fall back over the glass, for the sun shone especially bright at this hour on the eastern side of the house.

She lingered near the window, the chilled air a pleasant balm after growing so hot, and the movement of pacing a relief after sitting so long in one pose. She rolled her shoulders, stretched her legs, and then gave a merry spin of contentment. And then she stilled, for she heard voices very near to the house. The voices were both male, and though vaguely familiar, they did not belong to her father nor uncles. Neither had she heard the sounds of a carriage - this could not signify her family’s return.

Curiosity drew Elizabeth closer to the window, and dread held her fixed there, poised to listen from behind the concealment of the curtains.

“There’s nobody ‘ere, Marv. If there was, I reckon we’d hear the old mum shrieking before we was ‘alfway up the drive.”

“What about the housekeeper?”

“She was going on about her son being laid up at their cottage - their cottage, Marv. She don’t live in the big house.”

“But there’s smoke coming from the chimney.”

“Well, I reckon she don’t fancy freezing to death while she polishes the silver.”

“Lot of silver to be got, eh?”

“An’ I seen the lady o’ the house in some mighty fine jewels, Marv.”

“The girls, too.”

“Aye. Fetch us a fine price, it will.”

“But if they come back, Harry?”

“They ain’t coming back, Marv. Not when they just left the place yesterday, and told the colonel they meant to be gone a whole month.”

“The colonel's wife said she saw the housekeeper buying enough meat for the whole family this morning at the butcher’s.”

“Well, she’s a plump old girl, ain’t she? And I don’t recall nobody asking Mrs. Forster a thing about it, she’s dafter than you, Marv, an’ that’s sayin’ a lot.”

“Oy! I did the drawing, didn’t I? The diagram, George called it. All the entrances and windows to the place, it’s our little treasure map.”

“And you’ve smudged it, you idiot. Give it here.”

“You’ve crumpled it, Harry! We’re meant to deliver that to the boss.”

“Aye, and let’s get on with it, Bloody freezin’ out here, innit? I say we head back, tell ‘em we had a look about and didn’t see nobody. We can come back tonight when it’s full dark and finish the job.”

As the voices grew distant, Elizabeth stood rigid beside the window, her mind awhirl. There could be no mistaking their intentions, for all their talk of silver and jewelry. Her fingers slowly rose to her neck, clutching the emerald pendant her uncle had gifted her for her last birthday. Edward Gardiner had always been generous, but in the last few years, as his business had prospered, he had taken to giving his sister and her daughters fine jewelry on special occasions. Elizabeth had not shared her suspicions that her uncle wished them to have such things should their mother’s fears ever come to pass - they might keep themselves out of the hedgerows if they could part with their finery.

And apparently Elizabeth was not the only one to consider the value of what her mother thought only of flaunting. The beautiful baubles had done little to attract suitors for the Bennet sisters they adorned, but they had caught the eyes of the wrong sort of men entirely.

Courage and curiosity finally won out, and Elizabeth carefully pulled back the curtain a few inches, revealing the retreating figures of two red-coated officers. One was tall and broad, his black hair long and unkempt. The other was small and lean, and had hair so blond it was nearly white.

She watched them go without recognizing either officer from such a distance, and though she played their words over again in her mind, their voices revealed nothing of their identity to her. Their intentions, however, were perfectly clear.

Elizabeth shivered, and pulled the window closed. The chill on her skin was enough to set her in motion - first she paced in front of the fire, frantically grasping for a solution to her dilemma, and then she was running down the stairs and out of the house.

Elizabeth hugged her cloak tight about herself as she hastened to the Hill cottage, where Alice was tending to her injured brother Johnny; their mother had not returned from the village yet, nor was she likely to for another few hours. The old widow was one of the most well-liked personages in all of Meryton, and even when the demands of her job were greater than at present, Mrs. Hill managed to make the rounds and visit several acquaintances when she ventured into the village.

After repeated assurances from Alice that her assistance was not needed in tending to Johnny’s ankle, Elizabeth left the Hills’ cottage and made her way to the village. Sir William Lucas, the local magistrate, had taken his family to Kent and could be of no help to her, but she could appeal to the colonel of the regiment. After all, he had promised her father that all would be well while the Bennets were away. Elizabeth would tell Colonel Forster what his men were up to, and he would put a stop to it.

***

The carriage jostled to a halt, and Mr. Bennet sighed sadly as he stared down at the book in his hand. It was a rare and beautifully illustrated copy of A Comedy of Errors, which he had purchased at a bookshop he had found when they had arrived in Bedford the previous evening. He had been so eager to gift it to his Lizzy, though a megrim prevented him from doing so. He had retired as soon as he returned from his walk about the village to the inn where his family - the cause of his megrim - had taken rooms. He had missed what must have been a boisterous family dinner in the public room of the inn; so rowdy, in fact, that none of his children, his in-laws, or his silly wife had noticed Elizabeth’s absence.

It was not until that morning that Mr. Bennet had awoken, certain of finding his favorite child breaking her fast earlier than their relations, only to realize she was not amongst them. After spending above an hour questioning every member of the family, he could not learn that anybody had even seen her for the entirety of their first day travelling. Nobody remembered riding with her in their carriage, or speaking to her at any of their stops along the way.

While his wife was reduced to weeping, shrieking hysterics at this dreadful discovery, Mr. Bennet had been determined to act with alacrity. Despite the snow that had fallen overnight, that had continued to fall all day, he would get back to Longbourn, to his Lizzy. The innkeeper, several villagers who interjected their opinions, and even the other men in his party were set against the notion of traveling in such weather; fortunately, his new son Bingley was a foolish fellow, and perfectly willing to accommodate him.

He had been happy to leave the rest of his relations at the inn in Bedford, riding with Bingley and Jane in relative quiet; he perused the book he had purchased his beloved daughter, ignoring the honeyed harmony of the newlyweds for twenty miles. Now, as Bingley opened the carriage door and confirmed that an axle had been broken, the very title of that tome seemed to mock him.

They had just reached Luton, and it seemed they would get no further any time soon. Even so, Bingley’s optimism was indefatigable. He was confident that for the right price, he could inspire somebody in the village to make the repair in all haste. Mr. Bennet tucked the book into his coat pocket and descended the carriage to have a look at the damage himself. The most unusual equipage he had ever seen had stopped alongside them, and a large man with a thick Romany accent had joined Bingley and the coachman in assessing the visibly shattered axle.

A window of the colorful caravan opened, and an olive-skinned woman of about thirty peered out at them from beneath a vibrant headscarf. Bingley immediately greeted her with his usual effusion, explaining their predicament. She listened, nodded, and then spoke to the tall foreigner in their native tongue. He clucked his tongue and shrugged his shoulders, and the matter seemed settled. The woman smiled and pointed at Mr. Bennet. “Christmas, we understand. You are the father? You come with us?”

***

It began to snow as Elizabeth reached the village, and she was glad she had worn the thick woolen cloak, which she had chosen as the hood would allow her a certain degree of concealment should she happen upon the two unsavory officers. Elizabeth wondered what their fate might be as she approached the little house the colonel had taken after his marriage. Conspiring to rob a local family, and at Christmastime! Fear and outrage mingled in her chest, and she hoped the punishment for the officers’ treachery would be severe enough to deter any repetition of such awful scheming.

A very curt footman informed Elizabeth that the colonel was occupied at present, and then she was left in a rather drab antechamber to wait. A few minutes later, the thick oak doors that connected to the colonel’s private study were flung open, and two officers emerged. Elizabeth had been perusing a shelf of books, and looked back over her shoulder at the sound of familiar voices.

She recognized the two retreating officers at once, for she had seen them not an hour earlier in the very same attitude, whispering together as they stalked away. Elizabeth instinctively turned her back to them, fearing she would be recognized. After they had gone, Colonel Forster called out to her from his large and cluttered desk, and the footman waved her over before hurrying away.

Elizabeth hesitated in the open doorway. The colonel was an imposing figure, and she began to feel foolish. Perhaps he had already disciplined the two officers for their wicked scheming - or perhaps he would not believe what Elizabeth had come to tell him. If Jane was here, she would be assuring Elizabeth that it must all be some great misunderstanding.

As Elizabeth stepped into the shabby, rather unkempt office, her gaze landed on the colonel’s desk. Amidst the stacks of books, letters, maps, and other debris, was a crumpled piece of paper with what looked like a smudged pencil sketch. She shivered involuntarily; here was the diagram the villains had sketched of Longbourn.

The colonel rearranged the detritus strewn across his desk, shifting a thick folder of papers on top of the diagram as he looked up and greeted her. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, what an unexpected pleasure. Do sit down - can I offer you some tea?”

Panic rose in her chest; she had never considered the colonel’s complicity, but sudden certainty crept over her now, and she knew she could not confide her distress in the man before her. She managed to shake her head and say, “No, thank you. Perhaps there was some mistake - it was Mrs. Forster I had meant to call upon.”

“What a surprise that would have been for her, if she were at home. We had understood your family to be traveling north with the Bingleys.”

Elizabeth was not sure if she ought to offer an outright lie, or if a half-truth would suffice. “Oh - no - that is, my relations are expected to return to Longbourn this evening.”

“I do not think that likely,”

Colonel Forster replied evenly. He held her gaze for a moment before smiling. “There is a storm headed this way - I understand it has already affected many towns not too far from here - the road north is quite impassable, and a great deal more snow is expected.”

He tapped his hand on the almanac that rested atop the chaos of his desk.

As if to emphasize his triumph, a gust of wind whistled through the cracked windowpane, blowing the rapidly falling snow about. Elizabeth looked out upon the dismal landscape and sighed.

“Really, Miss Bennet, you have taken quite a risk on coming here, in such weather as this. If your family is away from Longbourn at present, perhaps you would do better to remain in the village. You might take a room at the inn - surely your father has credit at the Red Lion - if you must, you may tell Mr. Hawkins to send me the bill.”

The colonel offered her a gracious smile, though it did not reach his eyes. “It is the least I can do - I was not aware you were on such friendly terms with my wife.”

Elizabeth was not - she could not even recall Mrs. Forster’s given name. Harriet, perhaps? Determined not to stammer her way through another weak falsehood, she matched his smug smile with one of her own and said, “My sister Lydia does tend to monopolize her time. When my family returns tomorrow, I am certain she….”

The colonel cut her off, giving a loud guffaw before fixing Elizabeth with an assessing gaze. “I think I know what you are really up to, Miss Bennet.”

He paused long enough for his words to rattle her, though Elizabeth squared her shoulders in defiance, willing herself not to be frightened of the villain who leaned back in his chair, posturing pompously.

“I suspect this is about Lieutenant Wickham,”

he said, giving her a wink. “My wife has told me of George’s popularity with all the ladies of Longbourn. In your sisters’ absence, you might put yourself forward with one of my favorite officer, eh? I am told you are clever.”

Elizabeth’s stomach turned over. She had once been partial to the poor lieutenant, finding his company as enjoyable as their shared complaints against a certain gentleman who scarcely deserved the word - but that had been before Mr. Wickham had diverted his attentions to Miss King and her ten thousand pounds. Something else nagged at her - had not the miscreants she knew only as Harry and Marv mentioned being in cahoots with someone called George?

The colonel laughed again, taking Elizabeth’s silence for coquettish concurrence. “Perhaps I can do you a good turn, Miss Bennet. When you go to the Red Lion to take a room for the night, you are sure to see Lieutenant Wickham there, and I have some instructions to communicate to him. I shall spare my messenger and send the missive with you - I trust you shall respect the need for secrecy, and it will give you some opportunity to speak with your beau.”

Elizabeth would have agreed to anything, at such a moment, that provided a timely escape from the colonel. She allowed her growing ire to flush her cheeks and affected the sort of flirtatious yet bashful demeanor Lydia so frequently exhibited with the officers. The giggle that followed was genuine, as she considered her own absurdity.

“Well then,”

the colonel said with a nod as he drew a fresh sheet of paper before him and began to hastily scrawl out the note. Elizabeth regretted that she had come no further into the room than the doorway, for she could not at all make out what he was writing.

When he had sanded and folded the letter and sealed it with wax, he handed it off to Elizabeth, looking just as relieved as she was that they were to part company. “If you see my wife in the village, do remind her that she possesses enough ribbons and bonnets for a lifetime.”

He again attempted a modicum of innocent mirth. “How expensive pretty wives are!”

Elizabeth was fuming as she departed the colonel’s house and hurried across the snowy thoroughfare. She had often wished that she were a man - generally so that she could attend university or inherit Longbourn or travel the world - or remain unmarried and be thought eccentric rather than pathetic. Today, she cherished such a desire for more violent reasons, and she imagined the satisfaction it would have given her to punch Colonel Forster in his deceitful, despicable face.

She shook the snow off her cloak with furious vigor as she strode into the Red Lion. She had no intention of taking a room there, when she would either have the satisfaction of seeing her family return for her, or the rare delight of enjoying her home in peace and quiet. She did, however, intend to have a word with George Wickham.

At least, that was her plan, until she saw the company he kept. At the back of the tavern, he sat laughing and drinking with the two men she recognized - officers she had laughed and danced with over the past few months. Lieutenant Harrington and Captain Marveston. A lump formed in her throat. Harry and Marv. Elizabeth reflexively took a few steps back, fearful of the would-be thieves spotting her, until she collided with a girl of about Lydia’s age.

“Oh! Miss Lizzy! Distracted by the pleasant scenery, eh?”

Young Susan Hawkins grinned at Elizabeth, her eyes darting back to Mr. Wickham for a moment.

Did the whole village really think her to be so enamored with the man? Elizabeth let out a heavy sigh and shook her head. “Oh - no - I was just looking for….”

“Mrs. Hill? Aye, she’s here. She and Mamma are in the kitchen, gabbin’ away,”

Susan said with a good-natured laugh.

A wave of relief washed over Elizabeth upon hearing that one of her staunchest allies in all the world was so near. “Perfect,”

she breathed.

It had not occurred to Elizabeth that her coming to the village should cause her housekeeper such distress, but she was obliged to reassure the kindly old woman that all was well with herself, as well as Alice and Johnny.

“It was kind of you to look in on them,”

Mrs. Hill said. “I’ve just come for one of Helen’s special concoctions - she’s promised to make a poultice for poor Johnny. Perhaps some special tea for you, young lady - you’ve got that look about, as if a megrim is coming on.”

“Aye, I’d be happy to brew you up a little something,”

Mrs. Hawkins agreed. “Just as soon as I’ve finished getting the stew ready. We’ve a full house tonight, and I reckon the travelers will be hungry.”

Elizabeth nodded, considering that she could not have taken a room at the inn after all, even if she had wanted to. But she had never intended to do so - the colonel only wished her out of the way so that his officers could divest her family home of everything of value, and she was resolved that she would not allow it. She would sooner take the pistol from her father’s desk and demand that Johnny Hill teach her how to use it.

Her attention was caught by the mention of Mr. Wickham, and Elizabeth began attending the conversation more closely. “But he’s so handsome,”

Susan crooned, giving Elizabeth a broad grin as she sliced vegetables for the stew.

“Too handsome, if you ask me,”

Mrs. Hawkins grumbled. “Too silver-tongued by half; from what I’ve heard, he’s already talked his way into places he had no business being.”

“I begin to think you’re right, Helen,”

Mrs. Hill agreed, her wary gaze landing on Elizabeth for a moment. “My late husband’s cousin Mabel works at Haye Park, and I saw her at the grocer’s not an hour ago, and she says that Mr. Wickham and one of the other officers were caught peeking through the window of the manor! Can you imagine anything so bold?”

Mrs. Hawkins frowned. “I had thought the Gouldings meant to visit relations in Tunbridge Wells until after the Twelfth Night.”

“And so they were meant to, but they have all of them taken ill,”

Mrs. Hill tutted. “Apparently Mr. Wickham heard of the family’s illness, and thought to take advantage by paying a call on Miss Goulding, or at least catch a glimpse of her.”

Elizabeth sat rigid on the stool she had been offered in the corner, out of the way. Had Mr. Wickham and his companion been about the same mischief as Harrington and Marveston? She hated to think so ill of the man, but it seemed far more likely than his sudden fascination with Eleanor Goulding, who was plump and plain and nearly thirty.

Her hand drifted into her pocket, reaching for the letter the colonel had asked her to deliver to Mr. Wickham. Surely it could not contain anything to do with the conspiracy she had discovered - surely the colonel was not so brazen as that! And yet there had been a glimmer of challenge in his eyes as he had dispatched her; she could not reflect on her interview with him, without imagining an ominous veneer of malice over everything.

She knew she would have to tell Mrs. Hill about all that she had seen and heard, and what she suspected - but perhaps not until after the housekeeper had returned home from her gossip tour around the village. In the meantime, Elizabeth’s curiosity prevailed, and she withdrew the note from her pocket.

Mrs. Hawkins had just lifted the lid from the pot of stew to stir in the carrots Susan had sliced, and steam billowed across the kitchen. Elizabeth took advantage of the other womens’ distraction and held the letter up where the steam was thickest, gently tugging at the wax seal until it loosened without breaking, and she was able to unfold the letter.

W,

As you can see, the bearer of this letter is not traveling north as expected, though M and H failed to detect her presence at L. She claims her family will be returning this evening but this seems doubtful in such weather. Convince the chit to take a room at the inn or pass the night elsewhere, and return with M and H this evening to ascertain if the family truly returned to L. Burn this immediately.

F

Elizabeth felt rage swelling within her as she read over the vile missive. What could the colonel have meant by asking her to deliver this letter? Did he mean to taunt her? Was he laughing over it even now, that he had made her complicit in the scheme against her home? Was he so sure of his own ability to intimidate her that he had not imagined she possessed the temerity to defy him and read the letter herself? Or was it meant to frighten her, to remind her that she was alone and defenseless, and that even if there were anyone whom she could apply to for aid, she had no real proof? There was nothing explicitly incriminating written down; it would be her word against the colonel of the regiment, if she knew who else to petition for aid.

But there was nobody else who could help her. She could not allow the Hills to put themselves in any danger, the local magistrate Sir William Lucas was away, and there had been no word from the messenger she had sent to catch up to her family on the road north. Even the Gouldings would be unable to assist her, for they were all ill, and perhaps still a target themselves for mischief.

“Miss Lizzy, you are looking very unwell, my dear!”

Mrs. Hill turned her attention from Mrs. Hawkins’ gossip to give Elizabeth a gentle pat on the shoulder. “I am sure this beastly weather shall give you a horrid megrim, poor child! But here is the special tea Helen has made, and I have added extra sugar just as you like.”

Elizabeth sipped at the warm liquid that was thrust at her, and she smiled appreciatively at the two older women. “Thank you. I confess I do feel a bit dizzy.”

And then she coughed, trying to conceal her reaction to the foul aftertaste of the medicinal tea.

Mrs. Hill tutted approvingly, while Mrs. Hawkins and her daughter went about their cooking. “You ought to get home before the snow gets any heavier, dearest. I have a couple more calls to pay, and then the grocer’s boy Freddy is going to bring me home in his cart with all the provisions, and help me move Johnny - of course, I meant to ask - but might we use the rooms below stairs?”

It had been many years since any of the servants at Longbourn had actually resided at the manor, as most of them were relations of the tenant farmers. Elizabeth did not know the condition of the downstairs quarters, but she could see the merit of having the Hills in the house. “Of course, I am sure it will be easier for you to tend to Johnny if he is at Longbourn.”

“Aye, I’m getting to be too old to be scampering back and forth from my cottage to the big house a dozen times a day,”

Mrs. Hill laughed.

Elizabeth forced a smile, knowing she would have to warn Mrs. Hill of the danger. Her hand balled into a fist at her side, crumpling the colonel’s note to Mr. Wickham; she stuffed it back into her pocket, her head fairly spinning from so much anger, panic, and frustration. Why could she not think of some course of action? Another wave of dizziness washed over her.

“Perhaps you had best not walk home by yourself, my dear girl,”

Mrs. Hill said with a frown. “You look likely to faint away in the snow. Well, if you don’t mind waiting on me to fetch what we need from the grocers, you can ride back to Longbourn with me in Freddy’s cart.”

Elizabeth needed solitude to clear her mind, to contrive some sort of plan. “I shall not be too cold if I keep a brisk pace, and I am sure the walk will be refreshing.”

Mrs. Hill eyed her dubiously, but gave a nod of approbation, and Elizabeth departed.

The Red Lion Inn was situated on the end of the main thoroughfare of the village, just before it curved around and connected to the road that led to London. Longbourn was also situated to the south of Meryton, and Elizabeth set off in haste, relieved to leave the village behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder, wary that she might be followed, but the bustle of the village carried on as if indifferent to her. She shivered, pulled her cloak tighter around herself, and hurried on her way.

Elizabeth had scarcely gone a dozen steps before the despair of her situation brought on another spell of dizzying anxiety, and then everything faded to black.