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Since Lizzy hadn’t planned to attend the Netherfield ball after the confrontation with Darcy, she’d made no effort to prepare an outfit for the evening. That morning, she’d examined the options available to her and decided the best course of action was to take an old favorite and refresh it with some new lace at the neckline. With that task in mind, she was walking to Meryton later in the morning, and she had the pleasure of only her own company.
She would’ve enjoyed having Jane along, but her sister was busy preparing for the ball, just as the younger girls were. Madame St. Croix was at the house when she left, there to ensure the new gown Mrs. Bennet had ordered Jane fit to her specifications. That made her even happier to flee the area, since Kitty and Lydia were both still whining about the unfairness of not getting a new dress as well.
Lizzy sympathized with them, but she also understood the expense of buying a new dress for each of the girls for every event was untenable at her father’s income of two thousand per year. It was generally understood among everyone in the household Jane required the most attention currently because she was likely to become Mrs. Bingley in the near future. When the other girls’ prospects were as promising, Lizzy had no doubt they would each receive new gowns, and perhaps an entirely new trousseau.
For her part, she was content to wear the same old thing, for she had no one she wished to impress. Her enthusiasm for Mr. Wickham had grown cold in light of learning his true character, and after hearing Darcy’s withering words about her dear sister, how could she wish to acquire his attention?
She almost tripped as she had the thought, realizing she had been entertaining the possibility of softening toward Darcy until he revealed his true self again. How could she have forgotten how prideful and supercilious he was? She must have allowed the goodwill that had generated between them during their brief endeavor to solve the robberies of Meryton to influence her to accidentally believe there might be a man worth knowing underneath all the aristocratic pomp.
She snorted with amusement at the idea now as she continued walking, not paying nearly enough attention to where she was going. Before she knew it, she had stubbed her toe on a rock, and it sent her flying forward. She put out her hands to keep from falling on her face, and she landed in the undignified position of being on her hands and knees. She muttered to herself as she recovered from the unexpected injury and the shock of it, taking a moment to get to her feet.
As she took a deep breath, she glanced to the side, and something about her new viewpoint allowed her to see a glimpse of red below. It moved quickly away, and Lizzy was convinced there a living creature moving around down there. The thought it might be Wickham got her to her feet, and she dusted off her hands and dress before continuing on, though she made a note of the area where she had fallen. She wanted to investigate the flash of red, but she wasn’t about to do it while there was a possibility Wickham still lurked there.
She continued on to Meryton before deciding she was being entirely too cowardly. The flash of red she’d seen had seemed to be fleeing, so he was unlikely to be lingering. It seemed the most responsible course of action to discover if he had simply been passing through, or if there was something more to his occupation of the area.
Straightening her shoulders, she turned and walked back to the spot where she’d seen the red, carefully moving down the side of the hill, grimacing when her foot squelched in mud when she reached the end of the hill. She was near the riverbank, and it was a convenient campsite for someone living rough. She didn’t doubt that was what she was seeing with the fire ring composed of carefully arranged rocks.
When she knelt to get closer, putting a hand near the charred wood, she discovered it was still warm, and there was a faint hint of smoke coming from it. There was a metal plate and cup nearby resting on a tree trunk, and she recognized the drab greatcoat she had seen Wickham wearing before hanging over a tree branch. It appeared to be drying, and she imagined he’d been caught in the rain last night.
Satisfied she’d discovered his camping spot, she made note of the location and hurried back up the hill, having to drag herself up a couple of spots due to the steepness. By the time she reached the road, she looked quite a mess, and she considered returning to Longbourn instead of going on to Meryton, but she needed to alert Constable Walters to having found this location. Upon consideration, she decided to approach Colonel Forster first.
With that thought in mind, she went straight to the militia barracks when she arrived in Meryton, finding Mr. Denny standing guard. He looked alarmed, and she frowned. “Is something troubling you, Mr. Denny?”
“The state of you, miss,” he said before flushing. “You look like you have been injured.”
Lizzy looked down, giving him a rueful smile. “I was distracted and tripped. I should be fine. Is Colonel Forster available?”
He frowned as he shook his head. “I am afraid not, Miss Bennet. He was called to London this morning and shall not be returning for a few days. At that point, the militia will begin preparation to move to Brighton.”
“That is a shame.” Lizzy wished they would be around longer, at least until Wickham’s apprehension. After thanking Mr. Denny and declining to speak with anyone else, because she couldn’t think of someone who would be equally helpful, she turned away from the barracks and approached Constable Walters’s office. Realizing all hopes rested on him was a dismal feeling, and she was sure it was futile even as she climbed the stairs and walked into his small building.
He wasn’t at the front desk, so she cleared her throat and said loudly, “Constable Walters, are you in?”
After a long moment, she heard shuffling sounds coming from the back, and then he appeared. He shot her a baleful glare, as though she’d greatly inconvenienced him. “What do you want, Miss Bennet?” His words were stiff, indicating he still hadn’t forgiven her for the insult of insisting he do his job.
She frowned at him. “I believe I have found Mr. Wickham’s campsite, Mr. Walters.”
His eyes narrowed. “I have half a mind to speak with your father, young lady. You do not need to be constantly interfering and inserting yourself into investigations where you do not belong.”
She glared at him. “It was an accidental discovery, Constable Walters.” She kept her voice tight and cool, attempting to get him to listen, though she knew it was useless. “I fell while walking and noticed a flash of red. I moved closer and saw evidence of where he’s been sleeping.”
The constable turned away from her, not even giving her the courtesy of eye contact. “Just your imagination, Miss Bennet. You likely want to feel important, since Mr. Darcy was kind enough to allow you a small bit of inclusion with his investigation into Wickham. It must have been exciting and giddy, but your time would be better spent focusing on finding a husband rather than pursuing this foolishness. The militia will find Wickham in good time.”
“I was under the impression it was also your job to look for him, Constable.”
He stiffened as he turned to glare at her. “I know my job.”
She rolled her eyes, being frightfully rude, but done with the conversation. “Yet you continually refuse to do it. If Wickham gets away, it will be on your head, Constable Walters.”
With a sniff in his direction, she turned and marched from the office, almost turning back to Longbourn automatically before recalling the errand that had brought her into Meryton. Instead, she changed course and headed to the general store, procuring a few yards of ribbon and ignoring the looks sent her direction. When she reached the front counter, Etta gave her a concerned look. “Are you injured, Miss Bennet?”
She almost snapped at the woman before realizing she was still experiencing anger at Walters, and she had no business venting her spleen at the poor shopkeeper, who was only asking after her health. She forced a smile she wasn’t quite feeling when she said, “I tripped on my walk here. I grew distracted and fell after stubbing my toe on a rock. I was already closer to town than home, so it seemed silly not to finish my errand.”
“Of course, Miss Bennet,” said Etta, though she appeared uncertain. Likely, she couldn’t contemplate any young woman of Lizzy’s standing finding it acceptable to appear in town as anything less than perfectly groomed. Lizzy would’ve returned home if her only task had been to procure lace, but it had seemed crucial to alert Colonel Forster she had found Wickham’s campsite. She wished she had simply gone home.
After she had paid for her purchase, she turned and walked sedately from the store. She struggled to maintain decorum, torn between annoyance and frustration that Walters wouldn’t listen to her. She had a compulsion to seek out Fitzwilliam Darcy, who had more sway with the constable, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Colonel Forster would be back in a couple of days, and though the militia would be decamping soon, surely they would find Wickham before they left for Brighton.
Assuring herself she had done all she could in the circumstances, short of going to Darcy, a prospect she found completely untenable, she made her way home instead. She didn’t even linger at the spot where she’d tripped on the rock, though she did glance down, unable to see the campsite when standing.
That would make it more difficult for the militia to find as well, but she was determined to present herself to Colonel Forster upon his return and offer to personally show him the location she had discovered, assuming Wickham hadn’t moved by then. If he had, they would be back to fruitless searching again.
When she returned home, Lizzy went upstairs and got out her sewing kit, more than capable of applying a little lace herself. Madame St. Croix had left already, and quiet had been restored to the household.
She was in the middle of adding the lace when there was a knock at her door. It startled her enough for her to stab her finger with the needle, and she muttered under her breath before calling, “Come in,” as she dabbed the wound with a handkerchief she drew from her pocket.
Mary entered a moment later, looking uncertain. “Do you have a moment, Lizzy?”
It was unusual for Mary to come to her, so she made time for her. “Of course. What is wrong?”
Mary looked uncertain for a moment. “I do not think anything is wrong, per se, but I worry about Lydia and Kitty. They behave most inappropriately with the officers.”
Lizzy nodded. “That is why we must keep a close eye on them and ensure they do not do anything they will regret or that reflects badly on the family. At least the militia will soon depart for Brighton.”
Mary took a seat on Lizzy’s bed as Lizzy returned to sewing. “They do flirt shamelessly with them. It is no wonder every soldier believes our sisters are in love with them all.” There was a strange note to her voice.
Lizzy nodded, somewhat distracted by her task and wanting to avoid stabbing her finger again. “Mmhmm.”
“If they are so forward and flirtatious, how can young men fail to notice such a thing?”
Something in Mary’s tone alerted Lizzy the conversation wasn’t strictly about Kitty and Lydia’s bad behavior. Abandoning her lace, she turned to Mary and sat on the bed beside her. “The flirtations bother you?”
Mary frowned. “Not so much... That is, I do not understand them. How do they manage to convey their casual interest and have the young men at their mercy?”
Lizzy’s lips twitched, but she struggled to stifle any show of amusement. “Is there a particular young man whose interest you wish to acquire, Mary?”
Mary’s eyes widened, and she shook her head forcefully, but she appeared to be denying the possibility too strongly. “Of course not. I was simply...curious about human behavior. That is all, and I know you are well-read, so I assumed you might have an opinion about it.”
She struggled to maintain a serious expression and keep her tone more academic than personal. “That is all part of a larger dance between men and women. Each party sends out signals, and it is up to the other to respond. It is how one establishes interest in another. Some are more skilled at this tactic than others. I confess, I have never been much of a flirt. If you wish to know more about the art of flirting, you will need to speak with Lydia or Kitty.”
Mary looked disconcerted. “If one wanted to establish a connection without shameless flirting, it seems you would be a better person with whom to speak.”
Lizzy laughed then. “Because I have such experience upon which to draw,” she said in a gently teasing tone. “I imagine the younger girls would give you the opinion that you should not be too intelligent, and you should defer to the man’s interest while allowing him to take the lead. I find such advice too restrictive. I think it is better for us to be ourselves right from the start, but you also know my stance on marriage.”
“A leg shackle you intend to avoid unless you fall deeply in love.” Mary nodded. “I do see the sense in that, and I thought that was a sensible course until recently.”
“Has someone in particular changed your mind?”
Mary flushed slightly. “It is nothing. Merely academic curiosity.”
“Of course.” Lizzy stood up. “If you are done discussing academics, I must finish this lace. However, if you need to continue our conversation...?”
Mary stood up hastily, smoothing down her dress. “No, you have fulfilled my curiosity on the topic satisfactorily. Thank you, Lizzy. I always enjoy an intelligent discourse.”
Lizzy maintained a straight face until Mary had left, and then she allowed herself a small grin. It was a wonder Mary had noticed any man at all with the way her nose was almost always buried in “Fordyce’s Sermons” or focused on the sheet music she played at the pianoforte for as long and as often as she could before their mother’s nerves inevitably led Fanny to imposing silence upon all of them.
Lizzy speculated a bit about which man had Mary’s interest, and she struggled to recall if she’d seen her sister interact with any man particularly more than the other recently. She remembered at a recent visit to their uncle’s office, Mary had seemed to speak for a long moment to the clerk. Could that be the man who had captured Mary’s attention?
He was a studious fellow, and she imagined he would match Mary well in temperament, but Lizzy had a difficult time imagining the two of them overcoming their shyness to express interest in the other. It seemed like that would be a long courtship if she had identified the correct party. She wished her sister well, but after her recent emotional disappointments, she was certainly in no frame of mind to want to revise her opinion on marriage or commitment.
When her thoughts tried to turn to Mr. Darcy, she ruthlessly squashed them and focused on the lace, determined to finish the project in time to prepare for the ball that evening. She had no one to impress, but she intended to look stunning nonetheless.