Page 10 of Her Brother's Keeper
Elizabeth did not know how to reply. She could hardly tell her that they had met once before, that he was curious regarding the personal details of her life, that his appearance had changed to one of utter sympathy when she spoke of their father and he of his, however briefly, and that he had almost—if not quite—named the handsome lieutenant, Mr Wickham, as the worst kind of scoundrel.
“Just, um, the usual things,” she managed. “Nothing in particular, really.” Jane’s next partner thankfully appeared, and Elizabeth walked slowly back to her former seat at the edge of the room, feeling bewildered.
Could Mr Wickham be so untrustworthy?It seemed impossible.But why? She did not know the man at all. Neither, she reminded herself, did she know much of Mr Darcy. He had therecommendation of Mr Bingley, who seemed an upright and responsible citizen. Or at least, a complimentary one.
There were rules governing civilised behaviour, and the strictest of them were designed to protect the daughters of gentlemen like her father; but by moving to Fox Hollow, she had moved not only beyond the criticism and discipline of her uncle, she had left her best protections. In spite of this, in the six months she had resided there, she had never once felt unsafe. She had never heard of any servant in their small valley being molested. Her church attendance had been more sporadic as Neddy grew more active and less able to stay hushed, but she still tried to serve withallher neighbours, not simply the wealthy ones, on parish committees with women of varying classes. All were respectable. None would stand for abuse in their homes.
She could not overlook, though, how things had changed. The militia had moved in. Its leader, a colonel—had she heard his name was Forster?—mustbe respectable. He had to maintain authority to govern, to discipline, to keep order. Yet…discipline occurredafterinfractions.Aftera woman had been hurt.
As for the residents of Netherfield, she knew little of them, either. Now, thanks to her lack of discretion, one of them, at least, knew too much about her. She cursed herself.
After a short while, however, it occurred to her that her own lapse, although reckless, was hardly the sole source of this information. Many of her neighbours, Mr and Mrs Philips at their head, loved to speak of her foolishness in leaving Longbourn. Her unusual attendance tonight would bring it all up yet again, with her critics doubtless feeling obligated to render their opinions. Loudly.
And the fellow whom Mr Darcy had warned her against? Mr Wickham? Would he hear it as well?
Well, there was nothing to be done about it.
She had made a rather large mistake in coming tonight, but she desperately needed more options. Would Mr Goulding render her some advice on how to protect Neddy’s fortune? Might even he push for another, more diligent trustee to be appointed? Mama had always respected his opinions. He had ever been sympathetic, and he scorned Henry Philips’s pretensions—even though he had never yet lifted a finger to curb them. Could she convince him that it was time to do so? She might even beg a ride home from him, using the opportunity to present her concerns.
He was dancing an energetic reel, she saw, and knew he would likely dance the night away. Mr Morris, it appeared, had joined a group of men playing cards. She no longer could summon any interest in attracting a member of the militia. Mr Darcy had unswervingly landed upon the weakest part of that notion—she did not know them, nor their families. The worst rogue could be clothed in patriotic red. It was going to be a long evening; sighing internally, she prepared to find an unobtrusive corner to wait. With any luck, most would forget she had ever been here.
At that very moment, as the dancers circled, old Mr Goulding dropped like a stone. With three dozen others, she screamed.
Her hopes for help plummeted with him, and terror took its place.
Ten
FLEET OF FOOT
The party was over. Mr Jones, having attended the assembly, was treating poor Mr Goulding. There was talk of sending for a London physician. At least he yet lived.
After slipping out a side door, Elizabeth prepared to walk home. The moon was full, and she knew the way quite well—after all, she had walkedthere, hiding her half-boots in a nearby hedge to be collected at her leisure. In fact, she was crouched at the hedge, trading her dancing slippers for the boots, when Mr Darcy exited. From her vantage point, she saw him standing in the middle of the paved lane, his tall figure hatless, as if he had run from the building, gazing intently down the road as if he wished to penetrate the darkness. He stared in the direction of Longbourn, and by default, Fox Hollow.
Why was he out here? Who did he search for with such intensity? A frightening thought occurred to her—had he wished to encounter her in the dark, alone? Could there be something sinister in the way he had hurried out after her? Didhe have ominous reasons for all of hisveryspecific enquiries? Was warning her about Mr Wickham a ruse to disguise his own nefarious designs?
He couldnotbe looking for her; it seemed impossible. Itwasimpossible; she was indulging, as she had accused him, in melodrama.
Do not be foolish, Elizabeth. Someone points out the obvious to you, and you act as a frightened rabbit.
But she hid in the cover of the hedge until he returned indoors. Sometime later, when a coach approached on the same road she walked, its lanterns swinging, she hid in nearby trees until it had passed. She did not recognise the carriage, and its occupants sat in shadows. It could have been anyone; there were other homes besides Fox Hollow and Longbourn in this direction. A few minutes later, shedidrecognise the next vehicle—her father’s brougham. She waited until they had gone past before walking on; if she hailed them, Mr Philips would fill her ears with insults and his glee over Mr Goulding’s poor health that her mother would somehow never hear, Jane would be upset to no purpose, and Mr Hill, who was driving, would probably risk his position again by accidentally-on-purpose tripping his employer into a mud puddle at the earliest opportunity.
She arrived back at Fox Hollow by midnight. Mr and Mrs Hill were both there now, awaiting her arrival.
“Thought ye would have the sense to take a ride home,” he grumbled. “I looked for ye along the way.”
“I am sorry to have kept you so late,” she apologised, suspecting that Mr Hill understood why she had not let him take her up. She asked after her brother.
“He was fine, Miss Elizabeth, as always. He’s a dear lad. Put himself to bed at the usual time with no chiding from me.”
No tantrums, she thought with some relief. “He is growing older, with less need for me.” Surprisingly, she felt a little sad about that.
“Oh, he is but a babe yet, dearie, and he misses ye when ye’re away. He brought me his books to read to him, and listened to them as raptly as he ever did. ’Tis a good thing he does not try to eat them any longer.” They both chuckled; when Neddy was younger, he had felt the need to taste the oddest things—his own books and their father’s, rocks, dirt, furniture, and nearly everything else.
If only Papa had lived! Papa had loved and adored his only son, for those few precious months he had known him. He would have doneanythingto help him learn, let him eat a hundred books to glean a single word.
Elizabeth was not unrealistic. If it became clear, when Neddy was older, that he could not manage Longbourn by himself, she was willing to find him the help he needed. But to decide when the boy was yet an infant of two or three that he was an animal who never could? It was Henry Philips’s greed and nothing else makingthatdecision. Should Mr Goulding die, he would be on the way to Chancery in a heartbeat, to apply for that guardianship. True, he was not a gentleman ‘of equal or superior consequence’, but the courts were known to favour close male relatives, and Mama would doubtless support him. Most importantly, there was no one to fight against it.
“Thank you again, Mrs Hill. The hens have been laying well, and I have extra eggs for you.” She fetched the basket she had set aside earlier.
