Elizabeth opened her mouth, her mind racing for words.
“You have been out of this house the entirety of the morning,” Mrs. Bennet declared. “You left your sisters to do the work required to ready for the arrival of your odious cousin on their own. And for what? A fox. A fox, of all things. One likely shot stealing from our hens. You are a dreadful, ungrateful daughter who thinks only of herself.”
“Yes, Mama,” Elizabeth murmured, acutely aware that the sisters she had not helped regarded her now.
“Elizabeth should not be permitted to stay for tea with Cousin Collins,” Lydia said.
“No, she should not,” Kitty promptly agreed.
Elizabeth’s stomach growled at that threat, the sound far more pathetic than menacing.
Beside their mother, Mary smirked.
Jane and Mr. Bennet, however, both appeared thoughtful, far more worrying than Mama’s anger or the sniping of Elizabeth’s younger sisters.
“A fox, then, Elizabeth?” Papa asked, his eyes narrow. “Mr. F., Mary reported.”
Oh no. Had Mary told them of the fox, or related their entire conversation, to show how smart she was in guessing that Elizabeth spoke of a fox? Elizabeth’s astute father and older sister would not be so easily led into a deception of their own making as Mary had been.
As her father still regarded her with suspicion, Elizabeth swallowed and nodded. “Mr. F.”
“Who has been shot?” Mr. Bennet pressed from where he sat to one side of the room, a paper held loosely in one hand.
“Yes, he has been shot. In the leg.”
“Front or back?” Jane asked, her regard at least as suspicious as their father’s.
“Front or back?” Elizabeth repeated, her mind racing. She did not wish to lie if she need not.
“Foxes have front legs and hind legs,” Jane clarified.
“None of us cares where the vile creature was shot,” Mrs. Bennet snapped. “Only that Elizabeth has been missing all morning, tending vermin that should have been shot and should be again. And feeding it from our larder. Heaven knows it does not need to steal our chickens if you are going to bring them to it, cooked and seasoned and all.”
“I am sorry, Mama,” Elizabeth offered, for she was. She had not meant to avoid her share of the work, but Mr. Fox needed food and a blanket more than their cousin needed Elizabeth to polish the silver. Or whatever chore Mama would have given her.
Mr. Bennet set aside his paper. “I believe Elizabeth and I should discuss this in my—”
“A carriage,” Lydia squealed.
She and Kitty scurried to the window, Mary following more slowly.
“Oh, what a fine carriage,” Kitty breathed. “Do you think it is our cousin’s? With such a fine carriage, he must be terribly handsome.”
Elizabeth struggled to contain what she thought of such inanity, for her father had turned to the window as well and she didn’t want to recapture his attention. Only Jane still watched her, her eyes worried. Hoping to reassure her sister, Elizabeth crossed to join her on the sofa.
“The crest on the door has nothing to do with the Bennet family,” Mary observed. “I doubt the carriage is our cousin’s. If he is inside, it is likely loaned to him.”
“Still, it is very fine,” Kitty breathed. “Maybe even finer than Mr. Darcy’s that the colonel arrived in. Certainly finer than Mr. Bingley’s.”
“Or your father’s,” Mrs. Bennet muttered.
“He’s getting out,” Lydia cried, pressing her nose to the glass alongside Kitty. Mary, on Kitty’s other side, showed more decorum.
“Were you truly tending an injured fox?” Jane whispered.
Elizabeth shook her head, whispering back, “A gentleman. He was kidnapped and escaped, and they shot him. He is very unwell.”
Jane turned round eyes on her.
