At the knock on her door, Elizabeth slowly rose and was taken aback when she saw her mother on the other side. She had been expecting Kitty, hoping to share a room again this night. Elizabeth gestured for Mrs. Bennet to enter. She did and sat down on the bed. She lifted a cushion decorated with a floral pattern and began to run her finger along the embroidery.

"What is wrong, Lizzy?" asked Mrs. Bennet.

"Nothing is wrong," said Elizabeth. "I am tired, but it is nearly midnight."

"That is not what I mean. You were quiet all evening."

Elizabeth was thoroughly confused now, for she had spoken with friends and relations quite often throughout the evening, called out when she won a lottery ticket and laughed at the jokes of her friends. She said as much to Mrs. Bennet.

"That is not what I meant. You lacked…something. Your usual spirit, I suppose. Something is bothering you. I hoped that you might confide in me."

Elizabeth sat beside Mrs. Bennet on the bed. "That cushion is dreadfully done. I do not know why you insist that I keep it."

"Someday you will want to have these early pieces of yours. I treasure this piece, because you were so proud of yourself when you completed it. It is quite a good effort for ten years old." Mrs. Bennet looked down at the cushion and felt a warmth in her heart. "It will be good for you to be able to show your daughters someday. It is often hard to envision our parents as young adults, facing the unknown and trying to find their footing as they navigate the world. When your daughter someday wishes to stop embroidery lessons because she believes she will never make anything pretty or pristine, you can show her this."

Elizabeth smiled at Mrs. Bennet. "Very well. I will keep it."

"Now that is settled, but what is the matter?" asked Mrs. Bennet in her governess voice.

Elizabeth hesitated. With a heavy heart, she wondered how she could share with her mother what Mr. Darcy had told her, when it might hurt someone he cared for? He had not explicitly asked her to keep the secret, but the implication was clear. Still, she knew she needed advice. It did not seem right to keep such a thing to herself either.

"Today in Meryton, Kitty and I made a new acquaintance. We were introduced by Mr. Denny to a Mr. Wickham. He is joining their corps soon. While we were speaking, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy came upon us. If you could have seen their responses to each other, you would not wonder at my reluctance to speak of it! Mr. Darcy ended up refusing to shake Mr. Wickham's hand and escorting us home."

"I know the last, remember?" said Mrs. Bennet. "He tipped his hat to me when he saw me out in the garden as you and Kitty returned home."

"Yes, I nearly forgot you were there. Yes, well, while we were walking, he told me a little about Mr. Wickham. He has known him since childhood, as Mr. Wickham was his father's godson and the son of his father's steward. He says Mr. Wickham is a scoundrel, leaves debts wherever he goes, and is not to be trusted with ladies."

"I see," said Mrs. Bennet. "I am glad Mr. Darcy had the sense that he ought to warn the neighbourhood that there is a snake in our midst."

"Except he did not. Mr Wickham holds a secret that could ruin a lady's good name, so Mr. Darcy is unwilling to reveal anything. Even the cut in town might be too much, as it might anger Mr. Wickham against him."

Mrs. Bennet paused, the silence in the room creating a sense of anticipation in Elizabeth as she awaited her response. "I understand Mr. Darcy's reluctance to make Mr. Wickham's perfidy widely known, particularly if the lady is someone he cares for. If we do not disclose Mr Wickham's character, many people might be at risk. We must be judicious and consider the people we are responsible for, just as Mr Darcy does for his dependents. What of the reputations of the local ladies? What of the shopkeepers he might ruin? We cannot put our people in harm's way for the reputation of an unknown person. After all, Mr. Darcy is very rich. If he cares very much about the lady, can he not buy her a good husband? Our friends and neighbours do not have that ability for their daughters and sisters."

"Oh, Mother! You cannot!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Surely Mr. Darcy will know it was me who told and he shall certainly despise me when we have just begun to be friends."

"Elizabeth," said Mrs. Bennet sternly. "You are being selfish. I do not know if Mr. Darcy shall despise you or not, but we cannot let a scoundrel endanger our people because of your feelings. I am sorry. I am going to tell your father. We shall try to be discreet. We shall tell no one details, but we shall warn the neighbourhood not to be trusting of officers and that they ought to watch their daughters and sisters closely around them."

Elizabeth could do nothing to prevent Mrs. Bennet from doing as she wished, so she allowed herself to be kissed on the forehead and returned the goodnight wishes she was given. She then collapsed onto her bed and screamed into the embroidered cushion.


Wickham flashed a wide, toothy grin at the youngest Miss Lucas as he strutted down the main street of Meryton several days later, his boots echoing on the cobblestones in the early morning. It was too early for most people to be about, but Miss Lucas looked to have accompanied her father to town, for Sir William was nearby, deep in conversation with Mr. Davies. Miss Lucas gave a curt nod and turned away from him.

That was a strange reaction, as Miss Lucas had been one of the more welcoming of his attention. Perhaps it was because her father was with her. With that explanation settled in his mind, he continued on his way until he reached the inn. He held the door open for a local man, who fixed his eyes on him while muttering something that was certainly not an expression of gratitude. Realisation dawned as Wickham noticed that the man looked rather like the milliner's daughter that he had tumbled the previous night. He must be some sort of relation to her. Not her father, for Wickham had met him, but perhaps an uncle or cousin. Wickham could only hope that the chit had not told of their tryst.

Wickham decided it was best not to think of such things now, for he was hungry and could do nothing about those matters until they came to a head. He found an empty table and sat down to wait for the innkeeper's wife or daughter to be free to take his order. They were both plump comely women, with fair complexions and large bosoms. This was not his preference, but he was not too picky about who filled his bed. He caught innkeeper's daughter's eye and motioned for her to approach him. She shook her head and continued with her duties. A few moments later, her mother approached him.

"You owe us a pound," said she.

"I told you that I would pay on quarter day," said Wickham.

"We did not realise just how much you had accumulated. We are not rich, Mr. Wickham. We give credit on the assumption that it shall be paid without fail and before the total rises too high. There's a pound limit from now on, sir. You have no more credit and shall get no more food or drink from us unless you pay." The woman who had looked charmingly plump and pretty before now looked fierce. Wickham was suddenly aware that she likely was several stones larger than him and looked to have a temper besides.

"Very well," said he.

He had a small purse of money from his gambling the previous night. He had meant to use that money to pay off Denny, who was becoming increasingly cross with him over gambling debts, but food was more important to Wickham at that moment. He could return to the camp and eat the terrible burnt eggs being served for breakfast there, but the idea of that was unpleasant. He dumped the purse into his palm, finding it contained eighteen shillings sixpence. He handed the sum over to the frightening woman. She smiled when she saw that the amount was nearly enough for his whole bill.

"I knew what they said about you weren't true. You're too amiable to be such a scoundrel. Well, it ain't all of it, but I think it's enough for you to continue to come here. Be sure to not get your bills so high in the future. It don't look well," said the woman, pocketing the money.

She went behind the bar and got out a ledger and wrote his payment down beside his name. She returned a moment later and asked what he wished to eat that morning. He ordered a large breakfast and coffee, for he had been up late the previous evening and needed to be alert for duty today. Colonel Forster had been more diligent in keeping after the new recruits of late, sending around 'watchers' — his term for the ensigns that were made to report back to the colonel and captains if someone was not where they ought to be. It was much more tiring to be in the militia when he was actually expected to be active during his duty hours.

When Wickham was about midway through his meal, Sanderson entered the inn. Upon sighting Wickham there, he took a seat across from him.

The innkeeper's daughter, whom Sanderson addressed as Deborah, took his order a moment later before leaving them alone.

"Denny and Carter are looking for you," said Sanderson without preamble.

"I am not on duty until ten," said Wickham.

"Not for duty. They have heard that you do not pay debts and wish to be paid what you owe them sooner rather than later. I, too, was curious to learn that you have so many debts. You owe me as well, you know."

"And I will pay you soon," said Wickham between bites of toast. "I had to buy my commission, so I am a bit short now, but I will pay up on quarter-day."

"You must have some very rich relation or an income outside the militia, for from what I gather, you owe nearly seven pounds to various officers. Not to mention whatever you owe here in town. Good lord, Wickham, you have only been here a few days."

"I drank too much that first night and lost more than usual. I will make it up soon. I am good for it."

Sanderson looked at him sceptically. "You had better be. We do not take kindly to people who do not pay debts of honour."

The two men ate in silence once Sanderson's food came. Wickham rose from the table first, bade him good morning, and flashed a smile at Deborah before leaving.

As he walked down the street, he realised that the fathers and brothers held their womenfolk closer as he passed or even crossed over to the other side of the street to avoid him. Several people whispered while trying to not look conspicuously at him as he passed.

"Darcy," Wickham muttered under his breath. "He will regret this."