Lady Catherine entered the drawing room that afternoon and found Mrs. Bennet seated alone near the fireplace.
“Ah. Just the person I wished to see.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had been leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed, opened them and regarded Lady Catherine with some doubt. After a moment, she closed them again.
“I doubt I have anything to say that you would wish to hear,” she said wearily.
Lady Catherine paused, then took a seat nearby. “Why do you say so?”
Mrs. Bennet opened her eyes and looked at her. “I am tired. I have just lost my home of more than twenty years. I am not inclined to argue.”
Lady Catherine’s expression softened slightly. “I am sorry if you believed I came only to trouble you.”
Mrs. Bennet gave a small nod. “Then what is it you wish to discuss?”
“Miss Elizabeth.”
Mrs. Bennet let out a short, knowing laugh. “Ha. Then I was right. You do not like my Lizzy.” She shook her head faintly. “It will not signify. She does not concern herself with who likes her or who does not. She does what she believes is right. But she sees that we are all cared for. You would do better to find someone else to criticize. She will not give you the attention.”
Lady Catherine studied her. “Tell me more of her. How did she come to manage Longbourn?”
Mrs. Bennet closed her eyes again, her voice quieter now. “She was always curious. Always asking why things were done, and whether they might be done better. Before long she was speaking of saving money. I did not always like it at the time.” She gave a faint, tired smile. “But she was right. She saved us. She made it possible for us to purchase Netherfield.”
She opened her eyes and looked directly at Lady Catherine. “She promised me I would have a home. And she kept that promise.”
There was a brief silence.
“You would be wise to leave her alone,” Mrs. Bennet said at last.
She closed her eyes once more and leaned back in her chair.
***
Wickham approached Longbourn through the woods. It was not entirely dark. The moon, nearing its last quarter, cast a faint, uneven light, though beneath the trees all remained dim and shadowed.
His horse moved slowly, picking its way across the uneven ground. Moonlight flickered between the branches, and when the animal stepped upon a twig, the sharp crack seemed louder than Wickham would have liked.
At last, he reached the edge of the woods, and the house came into view.
Wickham dismounted and tied the reins loosely about a low branch. He made his way forward on foot, his steps measured and quiet. He had to suppress a laugh. Mr. Bennet would pay for the trouble he had caused.
He reached the east side of the house and tested the windows one by one. All were secured. Irritating.
He moved toward the front of the house.
A low growl stopped him.
Wickham froze.
He looked about and saw nothing. Perhaps he had imagined it. He took another step.
The growl came again, unmistakable this time.
Then he saw it. A lean, rough-coated dog stood some ten feet away, its posture rigid, its gaze fixed entirely upon him.
Wickham took a careful step backward.
The dog barked.
