Lizabeth stared at William, her purse in her hands. "We need to talk. I sort of figured you would stop by again."
She sounded so impersonal that he wasn't sure that he wanted to continue. For more than a week, he had attempted to contact her without luck or response, hoping that she would return his calls or texts. Now that she was ready to speak, it put him off. He shook his head, wondering if some part of his mind was attempting to sabotage what might be his only chance.
"Do you want to just walk around, or shall we get something to eat?" he asked.
"Eat please," she remarked, then turned to exit her work area, opening and shutting the counter-door. They met at the office's front doors; he held them open, and they walked outside into the May sunshine.
"Did you have a place in mind?" he asked.
"Someplace quiet," she indicated vaguely.
"Have you ever been to Mama Harringtons?"
"No. I've never heard of it," Lizabeth answered.
"I hope it's still here. Last I heard, her daughters were going to take over. It was a favorite place of mine when I was little. Okay if we drive?" William asked.
"I think the Judge will understand if I am a little late today. Lydia can open back up at one." She didn't joke about belligerent men complaining about the office opening late. Lizabeth hadn't recovered her sense of humor and didn't want to joke about their first meeting. William was parked in the garage, and it was a matter of a minute to retrieve the car. The silence between them was maddening as neither knew how to begin.
"How are you?" he finally asked.
"It's been an experience. It was terrifying." Her voice was flat and unemotional, and she didn't sound like the same person, the Lizabeth, he felt he knew. He used his producer's ears to listen then over the next hour, waiting to make sure that she was done speaking before asking a question or making a comment.
"I have a story to tell," she began. "I got very caught up in doing research and speculating about all of this news, these happenings in Merton. I had various theories, and that Sunday, I decided to do some fieldwork—and went out to look at the proverbial 'scenes of the crime.' But there were pieces that I didn't have, information, I didn't understand. I didn't know or hadn't figured out that Ryan had conspired with those two men." He glanced at her, but she was staring out the car window.
"I never figured my rotten cousin was capable of this. That either of my cousins was capable of what they did," he remarked.
"I think we never quite understand people. We may love a person, but we don't necessarily understand them or like them," she said. He wondered if she was considering her mother with that speech. "I had to hide, get away from the events of that day."
The restaurant, a locally-owned one, had been in business for as long as William could remember. Uncle Lewis would take him, Anne, and Ryan out to eat there as a treat. It stood waiting for them; the interior had been redecorated, the staff was different, but the menu appeared to be the same.
After they ordered, there was silence again as they stared down at their laps, attempting to find their conversation again. It was Lizabeth who took it up.
"I needed to hide away, forget for a time," she started where she had left off in the car. "At first, I needed to deny that what had happened had. It was…bad. Do you know how panicked I was when he tied me up, and I realized that I couldn't untie myself? You were gone, had hung up." William wanted to protest that he had hung up to call the police, but he didn't. "Logically, I knew help would come. But my brain couldn't believe that. I could only panic as I struggled with my bonds. I couldn't undo them. Couldn't budge them."
Her hand came up to the table, and she ran her fingertips across the tabletop. "Then I found some flame of strength. A way of calming myself and discovered that I had the patience to wait for help to arrive. I know it wasn't long, though it seemed forever. But when the police came, their guns were drawn as though I was the criminal. It was awful."
Lizabeth was making a face. Her cheeks rose; her lips were a grimace. William thought he wouldn't be able to take a single bite of the food that they had ordered. "I'm sorry," he whispered and stared, stony-faced, fearing a smile would be the wrong response. "I'm sorry."
"Ryan spoke to me. He's a bit of a braggart." Her voice changed and became reflective. "He said it was payout day as he left. That it had been a long journey, and he felt this payout was a just reward. I could tell that he didn't feel that he had done anything wrong."
"Again, I'm sorry that you got caught up in this. I can't help but feel that this was my fault," said William.
"I think it's my fault for always being nosy. Part of it was knowing you." He winced. William didn't like hearing that, but she continued. "There were bits and pieces that I wouldn't have known about had I not known you. But other things I discovered simply because of my curiosity. It sparked, kept me going, even after you had gone."
His stomach lurched.
"I'm the one who discovered the Pemberley connections. I was curious about the bit-coin offering even before we were together. I discovered that Anne had named her company, Pemberley LLC. And when I saw that one of the biggest companies tied up in the Goulding investment had an address listed as Pemberley House, it led me to Ryan. So I drove by. They say that curiosity killed the cat." Her eyes were unfocused, mostly still staring down as she traced patterns on the tabletop with her fingers.
He didn't think Lizabeth realized how close to harm she had come. Maybe she had and was making more light of it now, he didn't know but didn't want to ask. Not yet, anyway.
"I still can't fathom all of this, or I don't understand it," William admitted. Their food arrived. Mostly he pushed it around on his plate and didn't eat.
"I had a long list of questions that I postulated as I went through all of this. Jason Jones has done a good job of answering many of them. Did you see that he gave me credit in one of his stories?"
"No," he answered, surprised.
She explained about differentiating between the different investors. "I came to the conclusion that if you were going to defraud people, you wouldn't hit up the same people for money. Jason agreed and included my research in his article, and gave me credit."
But the exuberance vanished as she continued, "there are facts or information that you and I know that I think even Jason doesn't know, facts that weren't relevant for the public."
"Such as?" William prompted.
"I believe that George Wickham knew that Mr. Goulding's 'son' was his grandson. That's how he persuaded William Goulding to sell the land. After all these years, Mr. Goulding still wanted that secret buried even if it could be confirmed or revealed if someone merely looked at David's birth certificate."
"I think you're probably right, that it's not something to be made public," he agreed. The last time that they had discussed the topic came back to him. William hadn't been comfortable enough to share his own family's ties to that brewing mess. Before, he had reflected that it was self-preservation—preservation of his family's name and honor. But given everything that had happened, such an argument was moot now. "Lizabeth, I want to share something."
"Yes?" she was part eager, but also a little surprised. This had been her narrative so far, and William was interrupting.
"I made you a promise that I would share how I knew George Wickham. But I never shared the connection. I was afraid when we discussed it to reveal what I knew. So many things hit me, both memories and emotions, that I was afraid to tell you. But Dennis Wickham is Anne's father. My aunt had an affair with him. However, my uncle knew and loved Anne despite her parentage and raised her as his child." Lizabeth stared wide-eyed at him as he spoke. "Anne is George's older sister—half-sister."
"Wow!" Lizabeth sat back. "This is all so weird. Do you think your cousin knew?"
"My uncle told me that though he knew, he begged me not to let the secret get out which I took to mean that he didn't want Anne to know," William began. "But I've since wondered if she hasn't always known. That there's been this resentment on Anne's part towards her mother for wanting to maintain this fiction of being the devoted wife of a beloved judge, when in fact, Catherine had an affair with a playboy (one that ended his marriage) and got pregnant."
"Wow," she said again. "Anne probably did know. I think kids know or suspect, and figure these things out."
"I've spent a lot of time this past week wondering how what happens to us as children affects us, or doesn't affect us. I can't come up with any insight beyond the fact that each person is different," he mused.
"I think you're right. I sometimes think I should be more…warped than I am. Or maybe I just don't know that I'm confused or prejudiced," she said, looking introspective suddenly.
"Perhaps we are all biased and a little deranged because of our upbringing," he said, trying for a little humor. "But that doesn't mean we choose to go to such extremes as my cousins."
"Ryan said he would be seeing Anne in Moscow," said Lizabeth.
William's fork clattered back against his plate. "He did help her!" he cried, his voice rising. His gut tangled up again; he didn't think he would be able to eat again for days.
"So it seems," she responded to his pain. "It was just a brief comment, more boasting, but it seems each knew what the other was up to."
There was a long silence. Now the pair stared at each other and not at their plates.
"Did you know she invested twice in Goulding's property?" It was a tentative question from Lizabeth.
"Twice!" he exclaimed. She nodded. "More research of yours?" Part of William's brain thought that the two of them sounded like two people in a business meeting rather than two lovers discussing their feelings for each other. But were they going to talk about the two of them? He thought he had never been so confused with an ex-lover or friend or, what were they? He wasn't quite sure where they stood. Was he even a friend?
"Where did you go after you spoke to the police?" William finally braved a topic that had been weighing on him.
"I stayed with Mary."
"Who's Mary?" he asked.
"She's a queen." For the first time, he heard amusement in her voice.
"A queen?" he repeated.
"A lounge-lizard queen; she plays the piano at the hotel. She's a friend. I don't know what compelled me. Somehow, out of all the people I know, (and I even have family in town: my aunt and uncle), I thought that she would be the best person to reach out to. To talk to, or not to talk to, because sometimes you don't want to talk or can't," she explained.
William knew the piano player. On Friday, she had been listening to his discussion with Charles and Jane; her amusement now made sense.
"I did eventually go to see my parents, that was awful," Lizabeth made a face. "Inevitably, word would get to them about the incident. I'm sure my uncle or aunt would call and tell them. But so far, the story of my being involved, tied up, has largely been suppressed. For the first few days, the police withheld it as they searched for Ryan, Victor, and Josef. Once it became apparent that they had escaped, the fact that I had been rescued so quickly didn't matter, it was old news by then."
William braved asking, "how did the visit to your parents go?"
The face Lizabeth made indicated everything he needed to know without her having to tell him anything about the visit. "I spent three days with them. Let's just say that Mom ever being right about harm befalling me means that she thinks I should be laminated, then encased in a protective steel cage, and kept in my former bedroom where she can safely pass me food through a slot in the door. Dad even expressed concern for the first two days and was distracted from sports—on the weekend! But I was finally able to assert my right to conduct my life as I choose and left yesterday." Having to share that much seemed to bring her to the verge of tears.
"How's the cat?" Changing topics seemed to be the best bet.
"Shirley has her. I just hope Shirley will give her back. I haven't gone over to pick her up or visit yet," Lizabeth explained. "I need to take care of myself right now." He admired her strength; Lizabeth was battling issues on several levels but appeared to be weathering them. Though appearances can be deceiving, and William didn't want to make assumptions. "Did Ryan search you?" He had to know.
"Yes. Quickly, but it must have been something he did for his job." She made a face. William, despite years of work in Hollywood, couldn't put a label on the emotion that flickered on her face just then.
"But he didn't find your phone?" This was another point he wanted clarification on.
"He must not date much." She gave William a small smile. He felt encouraged as he saw something of the old Lizabeth in it.
"I must not date much as I can't imagine where you put your phone that he couldn't find it."
Lizabeth's smile turned into a wider one. "It almost begs not telling to keep you in suspense." She took a bite of food, chewed, and swallowed. "In my bra. It's where a lot of women put their phones. Women's clothing never has adequate pockets, and we make do."
He still had questions but didn't want to be the reason that she was late back to work. William had only eaten about a quarter of his meal. "We should leave soon to get you back," he remarked, "but who's your assistant?"
"She's not my assistant; she's probably my replacement," Lizabeth answered as she got ready to go.
"Have you given notice!" he exclaimed.
"I think I am done with the job. In some ways, it has been a little too tempting for someone like me; I bent the rules a few times and feel bad about doing so. But I want to…I am thinking of leaving Merton," she said.
William waited until they were outside the restaurant before he asked about her leaving. They weren't quite to the car yet, but she stopped to look at him.
"It was horrible, even if I was only tied up for fifteen minutes. When I first saw Ryan loading a car, had I known he was collaborating with the other two, I would have run back down the driveway, screaming. It wasn't until we spoke, and I realized what I had tangled myself up in, that I panicked." Lizabeth started crying. "It was horrible, and all I can think is, that it happened because I choose to live in Merton—that they're all connected."
He took two steps over to gather her up in his arms, and the dam burst then as a flood of tears made a rapid release. A hand came up to stroke her head as William attempted to soothe her. He felt like he was in unknown territory—all of this was unfamiliar territory. But she snuggled up in his arms with a familiarity that made his heart hurt. He tightened his arms, not heeding anyone else in the parking lot as Lizabeth wept.
His hand stopped stroking her hair and rested against the crown of her head as her breathing slowed. Suddenly her arms wrapped tightly around his waist for a hug, then released their hold almost as quickly before she pulled back.
"Thank you. I'm still working all of this out. It will just take time," she said in a clipped tone. He felt she had retreated to being detached Lizabeth again.
As they drove back to her office, William considered that Lizabeth had experienced so much of adult life drama in a short space of time. Most people get to ease into life, but she had to wrench herself free from her parent's control only to sort of fast-track through many of life's ups and downs in her short time in Merton. For all her 'innocence' she had totaled up a lot of experience.
"Want me to drop you off or walk you in?" he asked, parking in front of the office in those limited time-zone spaces.
Lizabeth looked beaten up when she turned to answer. "Are you staying in town?"
"I will stay if you want me to," he answered. "If I can be of help."
"I fear I am disrupting your work," she countered as if she feared to ask.
"Let me know if I can help," he said.
"I have a lot of thinking to do." Her face scrunched up as if she was about to cry again, but a large breath calmed her. "Sometimes, we need to start alone, and then we can fit people in, or figure out how to reach out and ask for help or support. That's what I did last week. I'm sort of still at that point. I need to do a great deal of thinking—to talk to people when I have a question, but I just have to do it this way."
William wasn't convinced that wasn't a rejection, but when it came to Lizabeth, his experience with other women didn't apply. "I am always available for you, just call," he said. "Whatever you need."
"Thanks." She turned and got out, shutting the car door and waving awkwardly through the rolled-up window. He waved briefly and drove off.
Lydia had opened the office and was staring at the document entry screen with a blank marriage license form in front of her when Lizabeth returned. She only briefly glanced at Lizabeth before staring back at the screen.
"How come the fields on the screen don't follow the fields on the form exactly?" she asked, tapping the computer screen with a finger. Her nails weren't manicured but looked like she had nibbled them due to constant worry.
"Because the engineer who built the computer system did it his way, without thought to how we would be entering the information," Lizabeth answered as she put away her purse and hung up her jacket.
"Bastard," said Lydia as she scrolled down, comparing the online form with the paper one.
The rest of the afternoon, Lizabeth spent checking the paper trails of all the documents that had come in while she had been out. The Judge had been supportive when she had called about what happened to her. Officially, she had to take a week without pay, but she just appreciated not being fired over not showing up or not calling that first day.
Looking back, she had made a lot of mistakes with this job and wondered that she hadn't been fired several times, what with tearing open the wall to get the cat, or using her work computer for personal research (even if it was her break time), or failing to call about unscheduled time off.
Lizabeth moved through her days with a low-level sense of panic that she couldn't shake. As if some nebulous bad man was going to jump out at her when she least expected it. She figured it was a reaction to her experience, even if it had been short, it was still traumatizing. Talking through the events of that day helped, but she was beginning to think that seeking some guidance from a psychologist might help her rid herself of her jumpiness. Her mother wouldn't approve of such a step; Dawn didn't 'believe' in therapy.
Judge Metcalfe had quickly found Lydia Wickham as a temporary replacement for Lizabeth during her week off, with Andrea Younge filling in the first two days (apparently she had helped out Mimi in the past when she had worked in the Recording Office). But now that Lizabeth was considering leaving town, she wondered if Lydia wouldn't want to stay on permanently. After all, George had only recently been released from jail. There was no telling what sort of consequences his very public arrest would have on his future employment. Lydia probably needed the job; she might still be supporting her mother.
Lizabeth was torn as running away was never a solution; she knew that. But Merton might have too many memories as she had tried to explain to William. She had family there, though she still questioned Uncle Edward and Aunt Chrissie's loyalties. And Merton was way too close to her mother. Proximity. She also thought that if she was closer to William, a relationship might work, but it would also be beneficial if she were farther away from her mother to sever those cords.
Lizabeth did a lot of thinking, which sometimes became brooding at the weekend, but she imagined herself in many situations, almost as if she was playing a role. It seemed odd to consider her life as though she were an actress deciding on which part to perform on stage. But the next direction she took in life didn't feel like a calculated one. One she had worked hard for, as though there was this set of stepping stones leading her to a specific goal. Instead, she felt that her destination was a misty hilltop way over there, and she wasn't quite sure what waited for her there once the mist cleared.
Perhaps that was what life was really like. It wasn't measured and ordered as much as her mother had insisted, despite attempting to control her life even down to earmarking a potential husband.
The idea of moving swirled more and more in her mind over the next few days, though Lizabeth stuck to a routine of work and home. She finally went to Shirley's house to retrieve Kitty. Worried that the cat would be upset and distant, Lizabeth was relieved that she only had to live through a half-hour of cold staring before the cat curled up on her lap.
Mary asked her to check-in, and she did, indicating she was surviving even if she wasn't thriving just then. Going to the hotel wasn't in her plans, so she didn't see the lounge lizard queen or Jane. But Charlene had called both the previous week and this one to ask about getting together, so Lizabeth agreed to meet for their usual lunch date.
Her friend hugged her when they met in front of the Hill Café. Lizabeth was a little stiff in bringing her arms around her friend to accept or return the hug. Theirs hadn't been an affectionate friendship, but she welcomed this small change in routine before they walked in to order lunch.
Once settled, Charlene stared rather forcefully at Lizabeth, who had begun to spoon her soup up. It was unnerving.
"Did you want to ask me about it? It's okay, I can talk," Lizabeth offered.
"I…I guess I've been so caught up with Lyle that even this crazy news didn't distract me until I read your name in the paper last week. I'm sorry. I don't think I've been a good friend."
"You have," said Lizabeth. "You had your focus and moving in with Lyle to occupy you. And I didn't want to share that William and I broke up." Charlene's eyes went big over that news. "I distracted myself with local news as I attempted to get over him but got caught up thinking I was some sort of reporter. In going to 'crack the case,' I stumbled into a situation I shouldn't have witnessed and stayed instead of calling the police."
"I…I can't imagine." Charlene looked away, unable to process Lizabeth's pain. "How is it now, after?" Her eyes moved back though her head was slow to follow.
"I'm coping. It has made me jumpy when I never used to be. I'm just coping, but I am thinking about making some changes."
"What sort of changes?" Her friend finally settled back in her chair and began to eat.
"I think I need a new job; it's time to put my degree to good use and maybe move a little farther away from my mother. I can't even begin to explain how hysterical she was when I told her about this. I feared she would imprison me and never let me go."
"That would be like a repeat of what you went through, though," said Charlene, her spoon hovering.
"Yes. I need to minimize the stresses in my life."
"Moving away," her friend whispered as though she had never considered it. Lizabeth thought that Charlene wasn't a person who would up and move boldly across the country, though she had welcomed the chance to move in with her boyfriend.
"I heard from Mary that Jane might move to LA," Lizabeth ventured before taking a big bite of her sandwich.
"I thought she insisted that she would never move," said Charlene. "Can't imagine it."
"All these crazy events have made Jane realize that bad things happen everywhere. If she's in love with Charles (or maybe if she just likes him a lot), why not take a chance and move to LA to be with him?"
"Are you thinking of LA, too?" her friend asked.
"I don't know. Maybe. That's a tomorrow thought. Today I need to finish a to-do list of all the projects I'm in the middle of at work and consider how to discover if I've missed anything with Lydia's training," said Lizabeth.
Talking about a subject made it either clear or brought to light questions. Or, in this case, bringing up a topic made her realize that part of her wanted to move as an excuse to try things again with William. She wasn't sure if that was a legitimate reason for moving and for once didn't want to ask her friend.
"Lydia seems young," said Charlene.
"She is, but Lydia is motivated. She may be the breadwinner of the family for some time," Lizabeth remarked as she began to bus her items.
"Really? I couldn't do that. I don't know if I could be in a relationship where we both didn't pull our share," murmured her friend, who looked thoughtful.
"Marriage changes things, maybe?" Lizabeth commented as she stood. "You weather the lows and don't walk away."
"Hmm." Charlene seemed to be considering how far she would go to support Lyle. But after Lizabeth said goodbye, she thought more about Lydia and George. Initially, she suspected that their marriage had been so George could help Lydia out financially. But now it had flipped, and she was working to support the two of them. That's what you did in a relationship, one based on love and trust. Could Lizabeth have that?
When she reached out to Jane Sweet on Friday during her lunch break, she got a curt response. While her friend answered, Jane indicated it was her one free weekend in between all those weddings at the hotel, and she was off to see Charles in LA.
"You're going down?" Lizabeth managed to ask.
"Yes. I'm testing the waters to see if my fears aren't ill-founded. Swing by the hotel on Monday or Tuesday, and we can talk." The line went dead.
Lizabeth was part annoyed and part jealous of her friend's news. She walked back to the office considering whether she could do the same thing right then—drive down to LA—but she had called things off with William. And he had expressed no interest in getting back together during their brief discussion that day at lunch. Perhaps he had moved on and had someone else?
But during her dead week, he had called her every day to ask how she was, and could they meet in person? At the time, Lizabeth hadn't been capable of returning his calls. She had been wrapped up in the terror of her confinement, short though it was, up in the turret in Pemberley House. Her stomach still flipped whenever she recalled those minutes.
The air stilled as the memory of the coldness of the room, and the tightness of her bonds made her feel sick again. Lizabeth pushed down those memories and that icky feeling inside her gut and walked up to unlock the office doors. She was ten minutes early, but didn't bother to lock them again; the office could open early for the afternoon.
The unfinished business had been completed, and her to-do list for Lydia was done. She pulled out the 1900 map book and settled into the comfort of scanning maps for the remainder of the afternoon, letting Lydia handle anyone walking in, and answering questions if asked. Otherwise, her replacement could wing it; it's what Lizabeth had done from the beginning.
At home, after finishing her routine of chores, she pulled out her phone and stared at it for a long while, uncertain about this phone call. Finally, she tapped her contacts, found her selection, and called Caroline Bingley. Lizabeth had no concept of whether Caro would answer, whether she would remember her, even, or what she did on Friday nights.
But the phone was answered on the third ring. "Hello?"
Her gut twisted at her boldness. "Hi, Caroline. It's Lizabeth Bennet. We met…months ago."
"Lizabeth, how are you?" Caroline asked.
She wasn't sure if that was a sincere question, but answered, "okay. Life has been interesting. I realize it's weird for me to call out of the blue."
"Not at all. I meant it when I gave you my number. Is something bothering you? Something wrong?"
"No, yes. I need advice," Lizabeth explained.
"Advice?" Caroline's voice wasn't one that betrayed much emotion, but she was curious.
"I am thinking of looking for a new job, and I wondered if you had ideas?"
"Interesting." Lizabeth had hoped for a better response. But perhaps Caro needed to think about it? "Have you ever done any writing?" Caroline asked.
"Writing? Like storytelling? No," Lizabeth answered quickly. Then she thought about the research she had done for Jason. "I did help a reporter with some background research for a story."
"I've told William that we need a historian on our team to make sure that we don't get into historical hot water," Caroline remarked.
Lizabeth couldn't help gasping. Working for William or his production company hadn't been her intention. "I don't want to work for you!" she blurted out.
"Interesting," Caroline repeated.
"I just needed advice, ideas about a job. I'm a librarian by trade, so to speak. But I'm not sure where I should look. I don't think reading books to small kids is what I want to do. Maybe research? But I don't know who would hire me to look things up," Lizabeth explained.
"Have you considered acting?" Caro asked.
"What!" This conversation wasn't anything she had anticipated. "No, never. I just want a new job. I'm ready to move, in more ways than one. I want a new job, but I also want to move out of Merton. There are too many weird memories now."
"I get it," said Caroline. "I can ask around and brainstorm, see if I can figure out a good fit. But think about acting. Both William and I thought that you'd be good in front of the camera. The lens would love you."
"No! That would be, too…revealing," said Lizabeth. "I appreciate any help or advice." They hung up.
She curled up on the couch with Kitty wondering about acting. It seemed something most little girls dreamed of as a career at least once in their life, but hadn't ever been a dream she held.
Life at home had been dramatic enough that Lizabeth had never considered acting. Not that she was seriously considering it now, but having Caroline mention it made her file it away with all the other thoughts that swirled for dominance in her brain. It helped to stave off her always thinking of William.
A/N: Stay safe. COVID hit close these past two days. A friend lost a mother. A Twitter writer I follow lost her mother-in-law one night, then her mother the next day. Stay safe.
I tried to include every P&P character, but missed one. Anyone note who I forgot? Besides the spouses of pairs (like Mr. Hill because of course it's Mrs. Hill who runs the cafe)? I'll reveal next chapter.