Page 33 of Faceless

Mrs Bennet looked up from her chair. Jane was on the settle beside her, perfectly upright, her hands folded. She had been sitting with their mother all morning, which told Elizabeth everything about the kind of morning it had been.

“Well?” Mrs Bennet said.

“I met his mother.”

“And?”

Elizabeth took off her coat and hung it on the peg by the door. Jane was watching her and not asking.

“She is very devoted to him,” Elizabeth said. “She has a great deal to say about his qualities.”

“There, you see,” Mrs Bennet said. “A man his mother speaks well of—”

“He broke a glass at luncheon.”

Mrs Bennet blinked.

“A servant poured the wine incorrectly — too full, or the wrong glass, I could not see what. Mr Sibley came out of his chair. He swept the decanter and two glasses off the table, broke a plate against the sideboard, shouted in the footman’s face — not proper words, Mama, profanities and howls — and called the man a name I will not repeat in this room. The footman stood with his head down and did not speak. Mr Sibley’s mother told me afterwards, quite calmly, that he has very high standards. That he has always been very exacting. That one learns to manage it.” Elizabeth kept her voice even. She had worked at it all the way home. “Half a minute later, Mr Sibley returned to his chair, laughed, took my hand across the table, and told me the household needed a lady’s hand because men on their own grew careless. His mother laughed with him. I did not.”

“Well!” Mrs Bennet sniffed. “There you are. He just needs a woman’s influence.”

“Mama, his servants move like frightened dogs. All of them. The footman who poured the wine. The maids who brought in the next course as though nothing had happened. The housekeeper in the hallway. None of them looked up when we passed. The older woman who took my coat was flinching before I spoke to her.”

Nobody spoke.

“One learns to manage it,” Elizabeth said again. She was not speaking to anyone.

Mrs Bennet set down her needlework. “Men have tempers,” she said. “Your father had a temper.”

“Papa’s temper ran to sharp remarks and closing doors.”

“And Mr Sibley’s runs to a broken glass, which servants are paid to clean up. They are servants, Elizabeth — of course, they are quiet and mindful. That is what well-trained servants do. You have had Hill all your life, who took your father’s kindness as though it were the natural order of things, and you have never seen a proper London household where the servants know their place. You do not know what you are looking at.” She picked the needlework back up. “You are making a great deal out of nothing. He did not strike anyone, I take it?”

“Not while I was watching.”

“Elizabeth, the settlement on you alone would keep Kitty and Lydia housed for years. It would keep me housed. It will keep Mary housed, whatever she — it is more money than this family has seen in twenty years, and you are sitting there pulling faces over a broken glass. You will thank me for this.”

Jane’s hand found Elizabeth’s on the settle and held it very tightly.

Elizabeth kept her eye on the wall. Thirty years of broken glass and no door to close. Thirty years of one learns to manage it spoken by a woman who had borne it herself and saw nothing wrong with passing the task along. She weighed the phrase. She weighed the other side — Sibley’s face while he did it, deliberate and unperturbed, the glass gone before anyone had drawn breath. It might have been different if he had seemed angry. Anger could be justified. This was just…cold.

She was still there, Jane’s hand in hers, when the knock came at the door.

Mrs Bennet looked up. “Who on earth—”

Jane had her own hands clasped white in her lap, her eyes glassy with tears she would not permit. Elizabeth went to the door.

The man on the step was middle-aged, neatly dressed, and he held a card. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Mr Erskine. I am a solicitor, engaged by a client in Edinburgh.” He glanced past her into the hall, briefly. “I wonder if I might speak with Mr Edward Gardiner. I have a matter of some urgency.”

Elizabeth’s eye went to the card. Mr James Erskine, W.S. Edinburgh.

“My uncle is not here at present. He is expected within the hour.”

“I will wait,” said Mr Erskine, “if that is convenient.”