Page 72 of A Debt Inherited

Chapter 27

Longbourn, October 1811

From the passage came a flurry of voices and the unmistakable scent of singed ribbon. Bennet shut the study door with deliberate care and turned the key. Hill, who had followed him in, looked relieved.

“They will find you, sir,” Hill said, a folded cloth over one arm.

“Not before the carriage is called, I hope,” he replied. “A father has so few liberties left him in his own house.”

Beyond the door, Mrs Bennet’s voice rose. “Lydia, hold still! Kitty, that pin is crooked—do not sigh, child; it will not shorten the task.” A scurry of feet, the scrape of a chair, and then Elizabeth’s laugh—low, quick, unguarded—ran down the corridor like a small harbour in storm.

A shriek overhead. Hill inclined his head towards the ceiling. “All is well, sir.”

“Then we are quite undone.”

Hill moved to the decanter. His hand paused. Bennet looked at the glass, then at the door.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Very good, sir.” Hill set the stopper back with a quiet click.

The handle rattled once—the lightest trial of courage—and fled. Bennet crossed to the chair by the fire, sat, and folded his hands upon the head of his stick as if it were an ally. Another squeal—triumph or tragedy; in that house, they often resembled one another.

“How long, do you think?”

“Till perfection,” Hill said. “And therefore late.”

“Ah.” He let the silence draw itself out. Silence wore well in that room.

A louder stir came from the passage—quick steps, rustling silk, and the tap of pins in a dish. Bennet rose, crossed to the sideboard, and reached for the port.

“One finger,” he said to himself.

Hill crossed the room without comment, lifted the decanter, and carried it to the far sideboard.

Bennet watched this treason with grave attention. “Et tu, Hill?”

“A precaution, sir.”

“Against whom?”

“Against to-night.”

He considered the distance the decanter had gained. “Very well. If I fail, it shall not be for want of your loyalty to the enemy.”

Another shriek. Hill did not even glance upward this time. “All is well, sir.” He departed as noiselessly as he had arrived.

“Then the house is lost beyond rescue.”

He lowered himself into a chair and closed his eyes. The door opened again. He looked up.

“Hill,” Bennet said. “If I am to escort them, I must appear to know what I am about.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then when the carriage is called, I shall require my best coat, and you will forbid any more improvements to my daughters after that time. A man cannot defend a moving target.”

“I will try, sir.”