Page 34 of Faceless

She turned to him. He returned the look without hurry, without disclosure.

“Come in,” she said.

She brought him into the larger of their two rooms, because there was no other room in which to put him. Mrs Bennet rose immediately, her hand to her throat, her eye travelling over Mr Erskine as though he might be a visitation from Providence or a bailiff, and demanding to be told which. Mr Erskine bowed, accepted the tea Elizabeth poured for him, and waited — speaking when addressed, volunteering nothing, returning Mrs Bennet’s questions with courtesies that contained no matter. Jane sat beside Elizabeth with her hands white in her lap. Mary was upright on her pallet-turned-settle, hands folded. Kitty had come to the doorway and stood there, unwilling to come fully in and unwilling to go away. The air in the house was the air of a place that had stopped doing anything but wait.

Mr Gardiner arrived forty minutes later. He took in the room in a glance — Mr Erskine with his untouched second cup of tea, Mrs Bennet leaning forward in her chair, Elizabeth and Jane on the edge of the pallet, the card in his hand when Elizabeth passed it to him — and said, “Mr Erskine. There is a public house at the corner with a quiet back room. If you will step out with me a moment, we can speak there.” Mr Erskine rose and followed him without a flicker, and the two of them went out.

They were gone twenty minutes. When they came back, Mr Gardiner came in first. He did not sit.

“Edward, you must tell me at once what this is,” Mrs Bennet began. “I have sat here for a full half-hour while you took a stranger out of my daughter’s room to a public house of all places — a public house — and the girls and I have been made to wait upon—”

“Fanny.”

It was not loud, and, as far as Elizabeth could recall, he did not speak now in affection.

“You will hear what Mr Erskine has to say as Elizabeth hears it. You will not speak until he has finished. If you cannot do this, I will ask you to wait in the other room until the matter is concluded. Is that understood?”

Mrs Bennet opened her mouth.

“Is that understood, Fanny?”

“Why, I never… oh, you are very unkind, Brother.”

He ignored her and turned to Elizabeth. “Mr Erskine has a matter to lay before you. It is a proposal. I have heard the terms. I have asked him to present them to you as he presented them to me, because the decision is yours, and no one in this room will make it for you.”

“A proposal! But I have one already. Do you intend for me to back out now?”

“I think… You might consider what Mr Erskine has to say. That is all. Mr Erskine?”

Mr Erskine set his case on the table and opened it.

“I am here on behalf of a client,” he said, “who has asked me to conduct this matter on his behalf rather than in person. He is the Baron of Auchengray — a Scottish barony of ancient standing in Aberdeenshire. The title is legitimate, his property unencumbered, and everything I am about to present has been verified through the Edinburgh firm of Erskine and Sons, of which I am a principal.” He placed a document on the table. “The baron wishes to propose a marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Mrs Bennet made a cry. “But she is already — Mr Erskine, my daughter is to marry Mr Sibley tomorrow. The settlements have been signed. A gentleman of — of what did you say — a Scottish barony — presenting himself now, on the evening before her wedding — a man Elizabeth has never laid eyes on in her life — why should she—”

“Fanny.”

“Edward, she has never met him! She has never heard of him. You cannot expect her to—”

“Fanny, you will be silent, or I shall have you removed from the room.”

Mrs Bennet pressed her lips together.

“How did I come to the baron’s attention?” Elizabeth asked. “I cannot imagine that a gentleman in Aberdeenshire knows anything of a family in Hertfordshire.”

“It came to the baron’s notice, through a mutual acquaintance in London, that certain young women of good family were in want of suitable marriages. This acquaintance moves in circles where such information passes quietly between gentlemen. The baron heard something of Miss Elizabeth’s character and disposition that he found — well, he has asked me to convey that he does not propose to say more on that point.”

“He will not say what he heard?”

“He will not.”

It struck her, sitting there with the document between them, that nobody in the room had yet asked what kind of man the baron was. Not her uncle, not herself. Only what he was willing to offer. She was not sure whether that said more about their circumstances or about the offer itself.

“What are the terms?”

Mr Erskine turned the document towards them.

“The settlements are £10,000 for Miss Elizabeth Bennet. An equal sum for Miss Jane Bennet. Five thousand each for Misses Catherine and Lydia Bennet, and for Miss Mary Bennet — all to be paid upon completion of the marriage and held in trust for each woman independently of any future husband.”