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* * *

They moved nearer the window, where the light was better and a small draught disturbed the air. Charlotte confessed that she disliked the drawing-room curtains. Their silk was heavy enough to furnish another dress, and she could not look at them without calculating the waste. Elizabeth said it was a comfort to discover at least one matter on which wealth had failed to corrupt her.

“I have grown very fond of having enough coal,” Charlotte said. “You need not think my principles entirely secure.”

Elizabeth laughed, then caught her friend's hand and held it on the sofa between them. Charlotte let it remain there. For a little while neither spoke. The pleasure of sitting together without watching a third person's face was so great that Elizabeth resented the time they had already spent on fear.

“My uncle Gardiner is a sensible man,” she said at last. “He has been appointed trustee of the provision my father obtained for me. I need to ask him about it, and I could ask whether he knows someone to advise us.”

“Does he know what happened at Hunsford?”

“No.”

Charlotte's fingers tightened, then relaxed. “I don't want him told while I am not there.”

“I would never tell him without you.” Elizabeth stopped. She had been ready to promise what she had nearly done in her first eagerness to offer help: carry the whole account to someone better placed to act, and ask Charlotte to trust the result. “You shall tell him yourself, if you choose to tell him at all.”

The hand in hers grew easier. Charlotte wanted the first enquiry confined to practical matters: a widow in an uncomfortable arrangement, dependent on a gentleman's money, seeking advice about leaving it and support while another home was found. Elizabeth could say that much. She could also ask whether Mrs. Gardiner would receive them together. The circumstances of Collins's death would wait until Charlotte knew whom she was addressing and for what purpose.

“And I must tell my aunt and uncle about my own marriage,” Elizabeth said.

“Then tell them about your marriage. You needn't tell them how my husband died in order to say what yours has done.”

It was so simple when Charlotte said it. Elizabeth had treated their secrets as if they were sewn into the same garment, so that she could not loosen a stitch without exposing her friend. But she could speak of intercepted letters. She could speak of the bargain Darcy had made without naming who had struck the blow, and stop where the account ceased to belong only to her.

They agreed that Elizabeth would call on the Gardiners the following day and send word of whatever could be arranged. Charlotte would ask the housekeeper for copies of any account she lacked, and consider what could properly be taken when she left. There was no sense in claiming the furniture because she disliked its purchaser.

“Though I confess I should enjoy seeing him carry those curtains home,” she said.

Elizabeth was still laughing when the clock struck the half-hour. They had thirty minutes left. She refused to spend all of them upon arrangements, and asked after Charlotte's mother. Charlotte wished to hear about Jane. For the remainder of the visit they spoke as women whose acquaintance had begun before either had possessed a husband, and who might have a great deal to say to one another after the present troubles were finished.

* * *

Darcy returned at five. Elizabeth heard his arrival in the hall, then the maid's knock, and rose reluctantly. Charlotte gathered the bills from the sofa and carried them back to the bureau. The ribbon had left a faint indentation across her fingers.

They embraced before the door opened. Elizabeth wanted to promise that everything would soon be well, but the afternoon had cured her of at least that particular arrogance.

“I shall send to you tomorrow,” she said.

“I shall expect it.”

Darcy waited in the hall. He asked Charlotte after her health, accepted her answer and offered his arm to Elizabeth. She took it to descend the steps, acutely aware of the strength beneath the sleeve, the ease with which she had learnt to rely on him for small comforts. Once they were seated in the carriage, he waited until it had moved before speaking. “You have had your conversation.”

“Yes. Thank you for keeping your word.”

“Was she able to relieve your concerns?”

Elizabeth folded her gloves upon her lap. “She is well enough to be annoyed by them. She wishes to see her father.”

“I can arrange for Sir William to come to London.”

“Charlotte will decide how to ask him.” She had answered too quickly. Darcy's head turned, and she forced herself to meet his eyes instead of smoothing the refusal into something he might prefer. “She must be allowed to do that.”

He sat back. In the close carriage his displeasure was impossible to ignore, and she discovered how much she had wanted to return cheerful, offer some harmless account of their visit and keep the agreeable husband who had discussed foolish novels with her. A report would have cost her very little. It would have cost Charlotte the one conversation she had been promised was her own.

“I promised privacy,” he said at last. “I did not expect secrecy.”

“She spoke to me because you were absent. I cannot bring you into the conversation now.”