“Intends! My dear, that is quite enough for me. Netherfield shall not remain empty long, I am certain of it. Oh, what will Mrs. Long say? And Lady Lucas! I shall call upon her tomorrow.”
Elizabeth could not help but smile at her mother’s unrestrained delight. Whatever uncertainty may occur in future, Jane’s happiness—at least for the present—seemed secure, and that was something.
Mr. Bennet emerged from his library to welcome them back, embracing both daughters with rare displays of affection. “So you have returned from your fashionable excursion. I trust you did not bankrupt your uncle with purchases of bonnets and ribbons?”
“We were quite restrained, Papa,” Elizabeth said, managing a smile.
Mary looked up from her book long enough to nod a greeting, while Kitty bounced excitedly, demanding to know every detail of the Pump Room and the assemblies. Lydia sprawled in a chair by the window, looking sulky.
“I suppose Bath was dreadfully dull,” Lydia said. “Nothing but old people and invalids. The militia provides far better entertainment here in Meryton.”
“Lydia talks of nothing but the officers,” Mrs. Bennet said with indulgent pride. “Particularly that Mr. Wickham. Such a charming young man! He asked after you both just yesterday.”
Elizabeth felt ice settle in her stomach, though she forced her expression into polite neutrality. “How very attentive of him.”
She cast a quick glance at Jane, and her sister merely raised her brows, as if to say that how she chose to manage the matterrested entirely within her own discretion. Elizabeth inclined her head slightly and resolved that she would address it once they were properly settled.
The afternoon passed in the comfortable chaos of Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet insisted on hearing every detail of their stay, interrupting constantly to exclaim over this or that, though she returned again and again to the subject of Netherfield and Mr. Bingley’s imminent return.
Mr. Bennet retreated to his library after a quarter hour, declaring himself quite satisfied that his daughters had returned safely and in possession of their wits.
It was not until evening, after dinner had been consumed and the family dispersed to their various occupations, that Elizabeth found her opportunity.
***
"Lydia," Elizabeth said quietly, catching her youngest sister in the hallway. "Might I speak with you privately?"
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Why do you look worried?—"
"Upstairs. Now, please."
Something in Elizabeth's tone must have penetrated, because Lydia followed her up to the bedchamber with only token grumbling.
Once the door was closed, Elizabeth did not waste time with preamble. She told Lydia what she could about Mr. Wickham's true character—enough to warn her without betraying Mr. Darcy’s confidences. She spoke of his patterns with young women, the danger he represented, the ruin that awaited any girl foolish enough to trust him.
Lydia protested at first, defending her favorite officer, insisting Elizabeth was mistaken or jealous or simply being disagreeable. But Elizabeth's certainty, the gravity of her tone,the knowledge that shone in her eyes—it finally penetrated her sister's willful blindness.
"You are absolutely certain?" Lydia's voice had lost its usual brashness.
"I am certain. I have it from the most reliable source."
By the time Elizabeth left the room, Lydia was shaken and tearful, but she had promised to be more careful. Whether that promise would hold remained to be seen.
***
Five days later, all of Meryton was in an uproar.
Elizabeth heard the news from Hill, who heard it from the butcher’s wife, who in turn had heard it directly from Mrs. King’s housekeeper: Mr. Wickham had attempted to elope with Miss King under cover of darkness.
The scheme had been discovered only because Miss King’s maid, grown uneasy at her mistress’s secrecy and whispered preparations, had confided her suspicions to Mrs. King. The lady, alarmed and resolute, had followed her discretely to the appointed meeting place—a small coaching inn upon the London road—arriving just as Miss King was being urged into a hired carriage.
The scene that followed had been, by all accounts, most extraordinary. Mrs. King had raised such an outcry that nearly the entire inn had poured into the yard. Voices were raised, accusations exchanged, and more than one gentleman declared himself ready to detain Wickham then and there.
But Mr. Wickham, perceiving his design exposed and his advantage lost, had abandoned Miss King without ceremony and fled into the night.
By morning, he had quitted the neighbourhood entirely.
His debts—far more extensive than had been suspected—were left unsettled. Tradesmen who had long extended him credit now spoke freely of promissory notes and gaming losses.
