From the morning room, Mrs. Bennet’s voice rose to a new crescendo. “And another thing, Lydia has been shamefully treated by that Mr. Wickham, who has been paying particular attention to Kitty. Not a glance at Lydia; Lydia is by far the handsomest and tallest, and Kitty has no conversation and is always coughing. I told Mr. Bennet it is a deliberate slight.”
The words were as cold and precise as a winter wind. Elizabeth caught Mary’s eye, and together they flew for the morning room.
“Mamma, what is this I hear? About Mr. Wickham?”
Here, her mother appeared to preen and recoil in disgust at the same time—a feat of facial contortion Elizabeth could only attribute to her versatile nerves.
“Heavens! I must say that Mr. Wickham is ever so charming. Why, he is clerking with your uncle Philips—such an enterprising young man. And so handsome too, but your father is so pigheaded. He sits in the library and reads books, not at all speaking to poor Mr. Wickham, who wishes to call on her.”
“Then he has not given his consent.” Elizabeth felt a rush of relief.
“Except Kitty has been walking out with him, and your father will not receive the man. Something about investigations, but all I ever see him investigating is an old Greek tragedy. I forgot, is it Medea or Orpheus? Hard to tell if it is all Greek to me!”
“Walking!” Jane gasped. “Without Papa’s permission?”
“And talking,” Mrs. Bennet smiled. “If I do say so, he speaks only good of you, Lizzy. And he has been very eager to know all about your situation, your townhouse, the properties, and even boring things like those canal shares. Whether Mr. Darcy still managed your affairs. Whether you had formed any particular attachments. I told him nothing, as I said, but Kitty tells him everything, including your most generous gift of the Consols. And of course, the merchants are happy to extend credit based on the income, although not as much as fifteen thousand a year, but the wine merchant Mr. Wickham recommended was ever so kind. Your uncle Philips is ever so pleased with the young man. Why, he has been in London on his behalf, to manage some small matter…”
“Lizzy?” Jane’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “You have gone very pale.
“I am well, but Mamma, I believe I shall take Mary next door to call on Georgiana.”
“It is Monday,” Mary protested. “I practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“Today you practice on Monday. Bring your new Haydn.” Elizabeth’s voice held no room for negotiation, and Mary, who recognized the tone from a lifetime of sisterhood, collected her music without further question.
“Did you say next door? To see Miss Darcy?” Mamma rose from the best chair in the breakfast room. “Despite her brother’s dour demeanor, I am eager for Lydia to make Miss Darcy’s acquaintance.”
Lady Sophia, having heard too much, stood and, along with Nettle, positioned herself in front of Mrs. Bennet. “Perhaps, Mrs. Bennet, you and Miss Lydia would like to assist me with my knitting. My balls of yarn appear quite tangled by this terrier, and these old eyes and fingers are not up to the task of sorting my basket.”
“But Lady Sophia, you do not knit,” Mary said. “And I can help you.”
“Mary. The Haydn. Miss Georgiana is waiting.” Elizabeth looked at Lady Sophia and understood the extraction. She required a reason to call at Darcy House, and Mary and the Haydn were sufficient.
“But, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet protested. “You shall require your mother as a chaperone.”
“Not when I am meeting my trustee about the Consols and your debts. I go under Lady Sophia’s authority, and Jane will accompany me.”
“I do believe Elizabeth is entitled to a Monday meeting with her trustee,” Lady Sophia said. “He usually arrives mid-morning, but Mrs. Bennet, the schedule is perhaps too full for you and your dear Lydia.”
“I shall wish to speak to him about the?—”
“Mamma, allow me to address the loans on your behalf.” Elizabeth pulled on her spencer and grabbed her parasol.
“Go now, and leave dear little Nettle with us. We shall occupy ourselves delightfully until you return.” Lady Sophia beamed at the terrier to drop her leather ball at Mrs. Bennet’s feet. “I shall not be receiving callers today, nor attending any engagements. We shall be quite cozy, your mother and I.”
Calling the maid for her yarn basket, Lady Sophia led the way to the drawing room with Nettle trotting hopefully at Mrs. Bennet’s hem, having just sentenced Mrs. Bennet to house arrest without Mrs. Bennet noticing. Lydia shot her sisters a final pout before taking the leather ball and tossing it down the corridor.
Darcy’s butler admitted them with his customary composure.
“Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth. Miss Mary.” The butler’s inventory was efficient. “Miss Georgiana is in the music room, awaiting Miss Mary. Shall I conduct you?”
“Please.” Elizabeth hesitated. “My sisters will join Miss Georgiana. I must speak with Mr. Darcy regarding a trust matter.”
Fletcher’s expression revealed nothing. “Mr. Darcy is in his study, Miss Bennet. He has asked not to be disturbed, but I shall announce you?—”
“Thank you, Fletcher. I know the way. Please see that my sisters are settled first.”
She did not wait for the butler to object. Jane gave her a look of quiet understanding—Jane always understood—and followed Fletcher toward the music room with Mary. Elizabeth turned down the corridor toward the study.
