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“Five will do.” She had prepared a reply to an objection, and was briefly disconcerted to discover that none was required. He took his leave without enquiring whether the Colonel was expected. From the window she watched him enter the carriage, which drew away into the afternoon traffic. He had actually gone.

“You may sit down now,” Charlotte said. “I assure you he hasn't concealed himself behind the curtains.”

Elizabeth turned. Charlotte stood beside the tea-table, and the familiar dryness of her voice did more than holding her hands to bring the old friend back to her. She sat with a sudden, foolish wish to cry, which she suppressed by attending with great care to the fastening of her reticule.

The maid brought hot water. Charlotte asked her to leave the tray and said they would ring if anything more was wanted. The girl closed the door. A cart passed beneath the windows with a clatter that made Elizabeth aware of how quiet the house itself was.

“Are we alone?” she asked.

“In this room, entirely. The servants have work below stairs. If you mean whether Richard is here, he keeps his own lodgings, as I believe you were told.” Charlotte poured the tea without spilling a drop. “He comes when he chooses. The housekeeper admits him before I am asked whether I wish to receive him. He has not come today.”

“I had not been sure what to expect.”

“No. You have examined me as if you expected at least a broken limb.”

Elizabeth received the cup, then put it down untouched. “Charlotte, forgive me. I've wanted to see you for so long that I seem to have forgotten how.”

That earned her a smaller, less guarded smile. Charlotte sat opposite, smoothing the black silk over her knees. Elizabeth remembered the parlour at the parsonage, the chairs arranged to discourage Mr. Collins from lingering where his wife wished to be quiet. This room had been furnished at considerably greater expense. She would not ask whether expense had improved its comfort. Charlotte had already caught her inspecting enough.

* * *

“The rent is paid by the Colonel,” Charlotte said, before Elizabeth could frame a gentler question. “The servants were engaged through his arrangements. Money for the household comes as it is required, generally through the housekeeper. I am consulted about dinner.”

“And about the rest?”

“I may dislike the dinner too. It is a remarkably complete liberty.”

The joke almost succeeded. Charlotte set her cup aside and went to a small bureau near the fireplace. She brought back a sheaf of bills tied with faded ribbon, which Elizabeth recognised as the practical sort bought in quantities and put to half a dozen uses. Even here Charlotte had not abandoned the habit of saving it.

She slipped the ribbon. “These are my copies of the household accounts. I wished to know what living here cost.”

Elizabeth looked where her friend pointed. Coal, candles, a tradesman's bill for alterations, the wages of servants whom she had barely seen: the figures described a life more expensive than Charlotte had ever expected to lead. A mark beside the larger bills showed that they had been settled. There was very little cash recorded as having passed into Charlotte's own hands.

“Has he refused you money?”

“He has never refused to buy anything he approved of.” Charlotte sat down again. “You see the difference.”

Elizabeth did, with a clarity which made her set the papers carefully upon her lap. Her own writing-table had been provided with everything except the right to use it unobserved. Here there were handsome rooms, good food and a widow whose circumstances could be made to look enviable, if one declined to ask what she could carry away.

“We must get you out of this house.”

Charlotte reached for the bills. “Must we?”

“Surely you cannot wish to stay.”

“I wish to choose where I go next. Those are not quite the same concern.” She smoothed the ribbon rather than meet Elizabeth's eyes. “Forgive me. I know you mean to help. But everyone has been exceedingly certain where I ought to live.”

Elizabeth's first impulse was to defend herself. She had not procured the house, paid the rent or visited as if she were entitled to gratitude. She had only looked at Charlotte's papers and immediately begun issuing instructions. It was an uncomfortable resemblance.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Charlotte looked up then. “A place I can afford to remain in. Advice from someone who doesn't dine with either of our protectors. And to tell my father enough that he may help me without discovering later that I have allowed him to act in ignorance.”

The last request troubled Elizabeth more than the first two. Sir William Lucas could be kind, and kindness did not supply a man with discretion in every circumstance. She could picture his astonishment, the well-intended exclamations, his attempts to reassure Charlotte before he understood what required reassurance. Yet he was Charlotte's father, and the objection was not hers to make.

“Then we shall begin there,” she said.

“Not quite there. With the advice.” Charlotte retied the ribbon. “I have made one marriage because it offered a house. I should like my next household to rest upon a somewhat fuller calculation.”