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Posted on Sunday, 30 October 2005

This story contains adult themes, content, and intense situations equivalent to a pg-13 rating. Therefore it is not suitable for younger readers on this site.

Chapter One

Lord Robert Caldhart walked confidently through the early winter air. His superior countenance was easily observed by those he passed, most of whom he did not deign to recognize with even the barest of civility. He was tall, rich, powerful, and still handsome, and he knew it. Despite his advanced years of one and sixty, time had been a good friend to his Lordship. He had a fine head of wavy silver and black peppered hair, and his steel blue eyes still flashed around his numerous crow’s feet. He had forgone the current fashion of long sideburns or mutton chops for a full, though extremely trim beard and moustache. He rather resembled a royal courtier of Richard the Lionheart if one considered it, but the overall look was a man quite dashing if perhaps not in his prime. As far as Lord Robert was concerned, he was in his prime, and trifling things such as age and doctors’ warnings were not going to slow him down. Naturally, advanced years still took their toll; his waist was not what it had once been, and he really could not partake in any of the more vigorous activities that men of the ton fancied. He had last tried to fence almost a year ago and had had to excuse himself rather early in the exercise due truthfully to loss of breath but, to his foe, he sheepishly claimed an earlier forgotten appointment. Lord Robert quickly dismissed such activities as unworthy and continued in his lovely rose coloured world of utter superiority amongst men and society.

Not that such an opinion was completely unfounded. For Lord Robert was a man envied by most as the luckiest devil alive. He was born to a well titled family with a fair amount of wealth and no hint of major scandal to blacken the family name. That in itself would have been enough to garner the envy of many, but, when his Lordship was barely a man, hardly past many seasons in town, he had gained the attention of a rather plain, though exquisitely dowered young debutante by the name of Miss Emily Spottingham. A short courtship and sumptuous wedding followed four months later. His Lordship admirably performed his duty to his wife and family and, just a few years later, was blessed with two healthy sons. As if the fates could not bestow upon him sufficient kindnesses, he was further gifted with widowhood shortly after the birth of his second son. Thus at just five and twenty, Lord Robert Caldhart was an outrageously wealthy widower with an heir and a spare, his late wife’s one hundred and twenty thousand pounds firmly planted in the vaults of his family’s banker, and absolutely no need to marry ever again. So not marry he did, frequently, and with passion rarely seen (much less available) to any other man of Society.

Lord Caldhart’s mistresses were famous. There was really no other word for it. He had spent a lifetime with the finest woman flesh the world had to offer. Many a man dwelt on his uncanny ability to find a superior lady better than most of them could find their next horse. Over the years the men’s clubs of London fairly buzzed with news of his latest “acquisition”. Of course, picking a mistress probably involved more effort than picking a horse, and most men were quick to agree to such a notion, but what most (actually all) of them failed to understand was that Lord Robert was not just good at making such a choice, he was the premier expert.

He sighed contentedly when thinking of his extensive personal history. It was his passion in life; finding the woman, the best possible woman for himself. His parameters were beyond high and exacting. He wanted not just beauty, not just desirable physical attributes, but also a mind, and an ability to entertain, delight, and engage for a very long time. He was if nothing else, very practical. To have to rearrange his circumstances every few months simply made no sense whatsoever. A mistress who only lasted 6 months or a year would hardly suffice for a man who was determined to live a very long time. Good heavens, the attorney bills alone would deplete his excellent fortune under such demands. No, a woman whom he could rely upon for a good many years made much more sense, and so Lord Robert began his personal career; a lifetime of planning, hunting for, and acquiring exquisite, enviable mistresses.

Now after over thirty years of such activities, most people would think his Lordship would slow down, and at the very least, choose an older, quieter companion to share the last, sweet days in his ‘autumn in life’ sedately, and out of the limelight that he had commanded for so long. But Lord Robert was not accommodating.

And so it was with no thought at all to acquiesce to the opinions of the good people of England that Caldhart hastened to the newest jewel in London, a cigar shop that his good friend, a Mr. Henry Lloyd, had recommended to him: Johnson’s House of Cigars. An excellent cigar was almost as good as an excellent woman of course, and such pursuits were a highly desirable activity for his Lordship.

Entering the establishment Lord Robert was struck by the elegance and taste of the shop. One felt as if he had just entered his club. There were comfortable leather chairs, discreetly placed away from the street, at the back of the store near a small fireplace; dark, masculine panelling adorned the lower half of the walls while the upper was painted in a rich umber. Nowhere were the typical cases of row upon row of product on display. Only a large gentleman’s desk on the side of the room indicated that any business might take place here. One would almost think that one was supposed to actually consume one’s cigar on the premises, instead of purchasing said article to return home with. Most surprising of all, instead of a man, a woman approached him, curtseying low before him.

“Good afternoon sir, how may I be of service to you?” she inquired. Her accent was strange, not exactly the London shopkeeper accent he was so used to, but still revealed her lower station, despite the inability to place her origin.

“I beg your pardon, I am not exactly sure how one proceeds in this establishment. I wish to acquire a supply of fine cigars, but I do not see any such things for sale.”

The woman, her head deeply bowed to him, smiled slightly. She stood with hunched shoulders, plainly dressed in a dull and modest grey print gown, no hint of a figure perceptible. She wore a white lace cap, typical of the married ladies of the day, pulled well down her forehead. She also wore a pair of thick spectacles upon her nose. Overall it would have been difficult to say what the woman actually looked like, considering how much of her was not available to been seen. This, combined with her demure habit of keeping her head bowed, did not provide any information about her personal attributes, if there were any that could be discerned. She simply blended into the background of her shop, as if neither female or male --just a person.

“Of course sir; you are new to our shop. Please let me explain how we might be able to help you. Please allow me to ask you questions pertaining to your past experiences of what you found enjoyable, and most importantly, not enjoyable in your cigars. Based on this information, I will be able to recommend a suitable, and I hope highly satisfactory smoke for you.”

Lord Robert was quite taken aback. How unusual! To find someone who could custom design his own blend based on what he could tell them. He was reluctant to reveal such news to a stranger, however slight the importance of what he smoked.

Seeing his hesitancy, she reassured him, “I will blend and make up a short for you, which you are welcome to partake of here, to see if it meets your approval, and then decide if you wish to make a purchase.”

“Singular!” he thought. “If she truly has a talent for this, it is an excellent way to conduct business.” He then proceeded to allow the woman to ask a series of ever more detailed questions of his smoking habits. She was patient and thorough, an inherent intelligence showing in her well executed questions. He had not thought much on what he liked and why, but she had a way of extracting detailed information for analysis that he had never really considered. Given how much he liked his after dinner smoke, he considered how ill thought out that really was, but he still left any decision as to whether Johnson’s could provide him with a superior product to purchase to his now anticipated sampling.

She guided him to a seat and excused herself to her workroom, behind a curtain in the rear, to make up his cigar. A few minutes later she returned and he lit up. Unparalleled taste filled his mouth; it was all the things he liked in a cigar rolled into one very delightful concoction. He grinned in decadent satisfaction, as one who has his favourite dessert served before him.

“Perfection,” he sighed. The lady bowed her head and curtsied again. She left him to savour his new found treasure while she wrote up the details of the blend she had prepared for him at the desk.

He sat relishing the piquancy of his prize, when the bell at the door cheerfully jingled the arrival of several new customers, distracting the proprietress from him. The first gentleman greeted her as Mrs. Johnson and knowing exactly what he wanted, gave her his name and requirements, while she looked up his blend in her record book. She had just glanced up at her other customers, a man and a woman, when Lord Robert heard her sudden sharp intake of breath, and he turned his head, curious to see what had caused such a reaction. She quickly bowed her own, but he could see from the lower position in his seat that her eyes were furiously darting to and fro and her shoulders betrayed her rapid breathing. It was as if she did not know what to do, and was fighting unsuccessfully a frantic urge to bolt. He noticed where the proprietress’s stare had been focused; it was on the couple. The man was almost as tall as himself with dark wavy hair and a smug, satisfied air about him that seemed gentlemanly. That is until the young woman next to him spoke. A small shapely blonde, dressed rather provocatively considering she was out shopping; neither her person nor her speech did anything to raise anyone’s opinion of her. She was most definitely not a lady, and being in her company brought Lord Robert’s opinion of the young man immediately down.

“Georgie, my love,” she squawked, “surely you don’t mean to spend your tuppence on cigars? I want you to take me to shop for a new bonnet. Do you not want to see your best Sally girl in a new bonnet? Think how everyone would be green with envy!”

This “Georgie” smiled sweetly to his lady love and pretended to whisper intimately in her ear, but spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“My dear, they envy you already for being my lady.”

He was rewarded with a vulgar squeal and a pair of shocked raised eyebrows, before the woman eagerly nodded and they both headed out the door. It happened very quickly, but the scene’s effect on the shopkeeper was unmistakable. She was clearly in great distress. She abruptly excused herself on the pretence of mixing the newest gentleman’s blend, and disappeared behind her curtain.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Lord Robert decided to move to the chair closest to the back room, where he could not see, but he could now hear her, though she spoke under her breath.

“George Wickham!” she hissed through gritted teeth. “The nerve of that rake, that cad, to come into my shop and flaunt his newest trollop in front of everyone. Smile if you dare, fustian cur, breathe the sweet air while you can, for now I have seen you, your days are numbered. I will find you, I will find Lydia, and you will pay in every way I can concoct and more that I have yet to devise, but I will make you suffer as we have. I will have justice, and if I am very lucky, your damnable head on a platter.”

Caldhart swallowed hard at having heard such venom spoken, then two thoughts entered his mind almost simultaneously: “My, she certainly is a fiery woman!” And then, “Wait a moment! Where did her accent go?”

Now this was interesting. As she spoke no more, he rose and moved about before returning to the chair originally given him. Moments later she appeared with her customer’s cigars and finished the sale. Lord Caldhart discreetly pretended to not pay attention, hoping to gather any further information on her situation. After seeing the gentleman to the door, she stayed there, perusing the streets attentively, obviously trying to see where this George might be. She stood on tiptoe and frowned hard as if something very far away had caught her eye, and lifting her spectacles off her face, she peered carefully.

This motion had two effects on Lord Robert. First, having finally been afforded an unobstructed view of her face, he had to stifle a gasp, as he gazed upon a pair of the finest eyes he had seen in these many years, set in a very handsome woman. The second, was shock, for her dress, which he had previously considered modest and demure, was nonetheless not very heavy, and her position at the front of her shop, with the afternoon light pouring in through the large windows, and his position in the darkened back of the shop gave him an incomparably clear view of the lady’s not at all modest figure, now standing tall and straight. Good Lord! She was magnificent! He felt his blood burning in appreciation of such loveliness.

“Curse my traitorous body,” he thought. But his reverie was soon interrupted, as she shrunk back into her former modest self and came to stand before him.

“I am sorry to interrupt you, Sir, please feel free to take your time and if there is any way in which I may be of help to you, please do not hesitate to ask. I will keep myself busy while you finish and until you are ready.”

Her accent was back, but her voice betrayed slight tremors as she still struggled for her control. He could not help wondering what her situation was, who was George, who was Lydia, and most importantly; who was she? Not a lowly shopkeeper; that was obvious. He was determined to learn more.

Almost as much as the excellent dozen cigars he now had tucked under his arm as he left the shop, Lord Robert Caldhart thought he would enjoy discovering the mystery that was Mrs. Johnson.

Chapter Two

“Six months.” Elizabeth thought, “It was six months ago today that I last saw him.” She sat at her dressing table, staring into the glass at a woman she no longer recognized. This woman looked plain, dowdy, worn out and very married. She shook her head at her image. She knew she had only herself to blame.

Then she remembered how he had looked as he turned the corner of Pemberley, standing directly in front of her, neither of them believing their eyes. How handsome he was. Even with his hair dishevelled, and the grey black dust from the road clinging to the shoulders of his green coat, he took her breath away. She was sure he could tell. She had replayed that beautiful day over and over again in her mind’s eye, along with the rest of that lovely afternoon. She remembered all of it; his civility, his solicitude, his kindness, with a sweetness and pain at the same time. Like a beautiful dream it would start with a wonderful beginning, the joy she had felt, the giddy feeling in her heart, the constant blush upon her cheeks, but then came the bitter disappointment, the agony, and later, the despair.

Derbyshire, July 1812

The Gardiners and Elizabeth spoke little on their return trip from Pemberley to the Lambton Inn late that afternoon. Lizzy was too deep in thought over the wonder of seeing Darcy again and the Gardiners were far too surprised at his treatment of their niece and themselves. They arrived well before sunset and were just settling into the dining room when the servant girl came in with the earlier delivered mail. Lizzy had two letters from Jane, the contents of which could not be believed. Her youngest sister Lydia had eloped with Mr. George Wickham. After her outburst and tears, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were given the letters to read for themselves. While consoling Elizabeth as best they could, they arranged for their immediate departure to Hertfordshire. Their concerns over Lydia and the family still reeling in their heads, it would not be until late that night, at an inn far from Derbyshire, that Elizabeth would suddenly recall her failure to leave any word to Mr. Darcy about their sudden absence, and their inability to be present for his introduction of Miss Darcy. She realized how terribly rude it would reflect upon them. Unfortunate as that was, she also knew in her heart that all acquaintance between them would now be at an end due to the scandal her thoughtless sister had thrust upon her and her family.

“Perhaps it was best,” she thought, “I would never wish to bring such shame to him.” But with that thought she also realized that her desire to protect him and his sister was not out of duty, or even friendship, but from a much more tender emotion. It had budded in her heart, tiny and unnoticed, the day he had given her his letter in Kent. It had begun to grow as she read the letter over and over, and had had the time to reflect on both of their behaviours and most especially her reactions to him. After understanding her own vanity and how it had prejudiced her against him, she had begun to realize his true value. Finally today, when she had come face to face with him, uninvited at his home, instead of reproach, or anger, he had treated her with every civility, better than she would have thought possible, and she could not help but admire him all the more. It was then she understood that she was in love with him. It truly was the most horrible day of her life.

Longbourn, October 1812

Elizabeth woke as the light of dawn slowly eased the dimness of her bedroom away. The house was yet still, as no one usually stirred this early. She relished this quiet time, before the storm of noise that was her family would rain down upon the house. She knew she must find her peace where she could, as there was little chance of any happiness this day.

Her mother would start the day in high hopes that a letter would come, informing them that her brother Gardiner had succeeded in finding Lydia, that she and Wickham were undoubtedly already married, and that the whole thing had been an unfortunate error of miscommunication. Mrs. Bennet thought if she could will it, it would be done, therefore she would repeat it, out loud, tautologically. Lizzy knew, that as the day wore on, she and her sisters would be required to attend Mrs. Bennet more and more, as her mother’s hope would turn to anxiety, and finally crescendo into a crying fit by end of day. She would watch her sisters exhaust themselves trying to appease a woman incapable of being helped, and selfish in her need for attention from everyone in the house. This day would be like all the other days had been for the past two months.

Her father rarely came into any of their presence anymore. Elizabeth would not have thought it possible for him to hide away in his library more often than in the past, but he did manage it. He could no longer bear to listen to his wife’s endless effusions and, if he did appear, she would badger him for news that he simply did not have. Soon they avoided each other almost as enemies. Elizabeth suspected that her father was feeling the shame of his neglect in his parenting duties, while her mother was blaming him for her own. The tension in the house was palpable.

Not knowing where Lydia was, or if she was well, was in the forefront of everyone’s mind. The unanswered questions of whether she might be ill, hurt or hungry were constantly nagging them. They were concerned, but also furious with Lydia. These two emotions contrasted and fought within each family member’s heart.

Sadly, the daughters did not know what to do with such feelings. They had no guidance as to how to react to them. Their parent’s failures were never more pronounced.

As each day passed and the reality of the inevitable seemed more and more obvious, they were at a loss as to how to proceed. Not being privileged to the actions their father and uncle were undertaking, the daughters had no idea if they would give Lydia up for missing. Would they try to get on with their lives without her? Should they start to think to their own futures? What futures could they even reasonably consider? The girls were frustrated but, instead of spending any time solving anything, they were required to attend their mother and diffuse the animosity between their parents.

Kitty chose to remain in blissful ignorance of the enormity of the scandal. She whined about trivial pursuits she felt herself denied, and joined her mother’s woeful cries each day about how put upon she was.

Mary was happy to continue her self-proclaimed role as spiritual advisor to her family. She smugly considered herself to be personally above reproach, and therefore, entitled, nay, required to set those around her on the path to righteousness. She was not a little vexed when no one heeded her sermons or recitations of Fordyce. Soon she would learn the evil of guilt by association, when no amount of purity on her part would be able to wipe away the stain of her sister’s sins that bled onto her.

Jane had assumed her typical role as nurturing peacemaker and, angel that she was, kept up her smiling countenance, which was a boon to all around her. Only Elizabeth was privileged to her true sadness. At night, when the house was abed, they would confide in one another. Jane was determined to stay strong and serene for her family, but it was Lizzy upon whom she relied to open her heart and unburden herself of her sorrow. Jane was no fool, she knew with Lydia’s disgrace, the future was bleak for them all, and she felt it exceedingly.

Perhaps her family would have been able to bear the stressful situation better with the help of concerned family and friends. Unfortunately, they would not know. Soon after Mr. Bennet returned from London without a clue as to where his daughter was, the Bennets began to feel the ramifications of Lydia’s foolish actions.

Aunt Philips was the first to inform them of their neighbours’ interest in, and shock at, the Bennet’s misfortunes. Indeed, according to their aunt, there were few people in all of Meryton and the surrounding countryside who were not talking everyday, about everything, that had happened in the Bennets’ lives. A good many things that had not actually happened were discussed as well, as they made for an even better story. No one could be pleased with being the subject of the town’s gossips, but there was little that could be done. Mrs. Philips promised to call everyday, and keep them apprised of the latest news.

As the following days passed, the news to be related was mostly confined to their own troubles. Mr. Bennet’s unsuccessful endeavours and subsequent return to Longbourn from London was considered the most interesting of all. Some two weeks after this event, Aunt Philips came at her usual time with rather disturbing tidings. It seemed that the evening before, several of the prominent families in and around Meryton, gathering in private council, had together decided that the Bennet’s society was no longer considered respectable. The next day at church services confirmed the new status the Bennets had been affixed: no one would acknowledge them. As they entered the church, whispers floated through the air and “scandal, shameful, no decency, and offensive people” could be heard. The buzz quickly grew as most eyes were averted from them, while the tongues wagged. They walked home in stunned silence, even Mrs. Bennet could not think to speak. The life they had known seemed to be slipping away; they were now unwanted strangers in their own neighbourhood.

The next week when Elizabeth attempted to call upon Charlotte Lucas at Lucas Lode, she was informed by the housekeeper the family was not in. This surprised her, as morning calls were a particularly favoured activity for Lady Lucas, and she rarely missed the opportunity to participate. The second time Lizzy tried to call upon the Lucases and was given the same answer, she was effectively enlightened to yet a new aspect of her family’s social status. Apparently even her cousin Mr. Collins and his new wife found the Bennet’s society beneath them.

Mary, Kitty, and Jane all had similar experiences around the neighbourhood. Most of society chose to use the excuse of the family not being at home, though some people were frank enough to allow the housekeepers to tell the girls they would no longer be received. Although difficult to hear such a thing while standing in a hall of a former acquaintance, it at least saved them from bothering with future visits that would be fruitless.

Finally, the most cruel of acts occurred to Kitty and Jane in Meryton. The two had gone to shop for bonnet ribbons in the new autumn colours, and had just entered the store where two of their neighbours had been speaking with the proprietress. Mrs. Evans and her daughter stopped mid speech upon spying them, raised their noses into the air, and told Mrs. Hawkins, the owner, they would return to make their purchases at a time when the shop was more suitable for ladies.

Not satisfied enough with this small insult, Mrs. Evan’s then continued, “Perhaps Mrs. Hawkins, you should consider your clientele more carefully. If you wish people of respectability to continue to give you their custom, then you should serve only those who are worthy.”

The Evans party then made a show of walking widely around them lest they somehow should come in contact with the Bennet sisters as they exited.

Jane and Kitty were mortified. Kitty’s eyes were already starting to gloss from tears, when Jane put a comforting arm around her shoulders. Mrs. Hawkins stood, mouth agape looking after Mrs. Evans, and not sure of what she should say. Quietly, and with as much dignity as she could, Jane led her sister silently out of the shop and back to their home.

Elizabeth would always remember Jane’s pale face as she and Kitty returned that morning; Kitty silently weeping into Jane’s shoulder, Jane whispering endearments to Kitty, praising her gentility, telling her how she would always be a lady, and that no one could ever take that from her. All the while her voice remained calm, but Jane’s face betrayed the trauma she had been through. Only after Kitty had settled and was resting in her room, was Lizzy able to get Jane out to a secluded section of the garden and Jane’s long held composure finally broke. Falling to her knees and covering her face in her hands, Jane sobbed loudly, forlornly, and mournfully for nearly half an hour. Lizzy thought her heart would break. She had never seen her darling Jane so emotional before.

“Oh Lizzy, I cannot believe the cruelty of people. I did not think such viciousness existed. How we are to endure, what is to become of us, how can we live like this?”

She began sobbing again, her chest painfully heaving to allow her gasps of breath in between her cries. Elizabeth knelt down next to her beloved sister and wrapped her in her arms, rocking her as if a child, holding Jane’s head to her cheek as she tried to kiss away the pain. Jane cried for all the pent up sadness she had pushed far back into herself, and had not allowed to surface. She cried for the weeks of happy faces she had forced herself to show to the world while inside she had felt such vexation. She cried for a future she feared would be bleak. She cried the grieving, moaning cry of someone who had lost a loved one, and indeed, that was exactly how Jane felt, as though all of them had lost happiness itself.

If Mr. Bennet heard any of his daughters’ cries, he did not acknowledge it. Elizabeth knew he could not have missed that morning’s drama. His usual routine of ignoring what he did not like, was yet another vexation to her. Jane’s questioning cry was turning over and over in her mind: how were they going to live like this?

No one was more frustrated than Elizabeth. Besides the daily dealings with her mother, she had tried to help her father and uncle in their endeavours. Her father, feeling his inadequacies at finding any evidence of the missing couple, had simply given up and come home, much too soon in her opinion. The last thing his wounded ego could support was a willingness to listen to his daughter’s questions, ideas and schemes. Instead of realizing the potential worth of her contributions, he considered her ridiculous for even thinking she could help and dismissed her out of hand, more than once. He was mortified to think he should have to bear the disapprobation of one of his own children.

Her shame knew no bounds. That her father would be so selfish as to sit in his manor house, comfortably reading his books, rather than search for his youngest daughter was beyond her comprehension. She was ashamed he would allow her uncle to take up this task, a man with four young children and a business to run, compared to her father with four grown women perfectly able to care for his estate concerns in his absence. She was always aware of his shortcomings, but his indulgence of himself over his family in their time of need, stunned her. Her mother’s own indulgence was already a matter of practice, but that, now combined with her father‘s, wounded her greatly.

Her nightly talks with Jane distressed her as well. Seeing her sister’s bloom waning under their burdens and knowing that Jane was taking the most responsibility in helping everyone, fuelled her anger. It was not Jane’s duty to give so much and receive so little in return. She knew if things were left as they were that her parents had the ability to crush her dear spirit, until there might not be anything left to give, and happiness might never be possible.

She was furious with Lydia. Furious with her parents for having indulged her all her life. Furious with Colonel Forster and his silly excuse of a wife for not chaperoning her properly. Furious at London for providing the couple with so easy a place to hide. But mostly, she was furious with one man.

She felt the limitations of her sex excessively. If only she were an elder brother; she could be in London, searching daily. She could walk the streets at night without fear. Her inability to be able to do anything was maddening. She wanted to hurt something. She wanted to give pain to something. She desperately wanted to scream and yell, and make someone pay for the unhappiness her family was forced into.

Time is not always a friend. Time can wrought hatred, contempt, and evil in a mind that was once tuned to love, wit, humour, and the ability to laugh at human folly. Time can be most cruel to those who undeservedly are wronged and must endure for days, weeks, months on end, the hopelessness and despair of ever being happy again. Time allows feelings that never before had been known to silently, stealthily and like a deadly cancer, worm their way into the heart and choke the goodness that had once overflowed. Time wore on Elizabeth until she no longer saw the good, but rather the contempt of her fellow man, and most especially in one man, the one man she saw as the single reason for her, and her family’s unhappiness: George Wickham.

Before the onset of winter, the Bennet household was blessed with unexpected visitors when the Gardiners arrived. Mr. Bennet did not seem well pleased to see his brother-in-law and family, much to his daughter’s surprise. The girls however were relieved to have their sensible, much loved aunt and uncle with them. Elizabeth watched her father and uncle’s interaction with barely disguised agitation. She knew they would soon head off alone to her father’s library for a private conference. She was dying to know what developments might have occurred to bring her uncle to see them from London. After they had adjourned from the ladies, she quietly slipped out from the drawing room and into the hall to try to hear any hints through the impeding door that barred her from the library. Luckily, her father’s voice could be plainly heard.

“And what has this Mr. Brooks come up with, Edward? What results has he produced after all the money we have paid out, eh?” Mr. Bennet snidely remarked.

“I am sorry to say Thomas, not a thing. Mr. Brooks came well recommended, and I believe he has tried his best, but they have vanished into the slums of London, and no one has heard a word. There is nothing for the poor man to sniff out. Wickham’s regiment is on the lookout for him, but they will hardly spare any men to look for a deserter. I am afraid it’s useless, brother. I have little hope, and I hardly need tell you, little time left. I must attend to my businesses or my family’s welfare may soon suffer along with their reputation. I am truly sorry not to bear better news.”

“Then it is as I feared; she will never be recovered.” She heard the scraping of his desk chair, and then the poker stabbing at the logs in the fire. “I will never hear the end of it from your sister,” he spat bitterly.

“Yes, well, Frances never was a quiet girl to be sure, but I would think after almost twenty-five years you must be used to it.” Silence again. Many minutes went by without any speech.

Finally, Elizabeth heard a loud bang; something fell upon his desk, and her father’s voice, now loud and authoritative, “Then I have no choice left but to accept that Lydia is dead to me.”

“Thomas?”

“I will not have her wanton ghost hanging about my neck. She chose her fate, and she will have to bear it alone, I want nothing more to do with her, her memory or her future. I will remove her from my home, my will, and my mind. Let us return to the ladies, and I will make my announcement.”

“Brother, I have to object!” he protested. “How can you so easily give up on your daughter? Surely you will want to come back to London with me and start up where I must leave off?”

“No, Edward, I have given this a great deal of thought these last weeks without any leads, or new information these past months; I see no future, no success and no reason to continue. My decision is final.”

“But what of your other daughters, and Frances? You cannot expect them to simply stop their feelings for Lydia, stop talking about the situation in which they are all entrenched. You must give them a chance to grieve, Thomas!”

“I have had my ears full of grief!! Every waking hour this house howls with grief! I want no more of it! Lydia is dead to me and everyone here, starting now! This conversation is over!”

Elizabeth stood stunned in the hallway. The library door violently tore open, causing her to startle. Her father, scowling and fuming swept past her and subjected the drawing room door to the same punishment.

“Daughters, Sister, Mrs. Bennet,” he began after a deep breath, “Brother Gardiner has no news to deliver. Any and all efforts to find even the smallest hint of Lydia’s whereabouts have come to naught. I believe that all possibilities have been exhausted, and any future searches will be futile. She has no desire to be found. She is living the life she wants, not surprisingly, seeing what a silly, useless girl she was, and now we may add stupidity to her accomplishments. Given her shameful and immoral nature, we will no longer be a part of her life.”

Lizzy gasped at the doorway, she felt as if a great wind had pushed all the air out of her, and was trying to pull her person to the ground.

Her father continued. “Henceforth, no mention of Lydia Bennet is to be made in my presence, in any part of this house or on my lands ever again. She is dead to us, as if she never existed. I will remove her from my will tomorrow; you had best remove her from your hearts and minds if you ever wish to have peace again. I never wish to hear her name again.”

Silence pervaded the room. Mrs. Bennet stood with her mouth agape, desperately trying to understand what had just happened. The girls and Aunt Gardiner were similarly, though less physically affected.

The gravity of his declaration was slowly taking hold in all their minds, when from the doorway Elizabeth fairly shouted, “NO!” Everyone turned, shocked at her outburst, effectively silenced again.

Finally Mr. Bennet found his voice. “I beg your pardon, Madam, but I do not believe you possess the authority to speak to me thus,” he responded slowly.

Elizabeth stood as a Fury; brilliant, perilous, daggers flying from her eyes, her fists clenched hard. Her long pent up rage was about to find a mark. “And pray tell me, Sir, where has your authority been languishing lately?” she cried with energy.

His teeth clenched, his breath rushing sibilant across them, he exhaled hard. “You go too far, Elizabeth; you will accompany me to my library, NOW!”

She turned in a maelstrom, reaching the library long before him, flinging the poor abused portal open. He stomped in noisily behind her, but before the door had closed, Elizabeth’s torrent began, “Where has your responsibility as presumed head of this household been hiding? Perhaps here in the library? Or maybe in your brandy decanter?”

He flinched.

“For as strongly as you suddenly announce what we may all feel and think, I have seen no sign of compassion or understanding as to the feelings of any of those over whom you hold authority throughout this fiasco you call a search. I have not had the pleasure of your presence in a room where anyone in your care could be called upon to share, confide or most especially receive guidance on their feelings, their apprehensions, or their suffering.

“What I have seen is a man who, after a few paltry days, returned from his search to the comfort of his retiring country house, his wine and his locked library, to hide away from his responsibilities to his family, and most especially to his lost daughter. Then, in an effort to disabuse himself of any guilt, pawned the job off onto his working brother, the father of four small children, while he waited, unencumbered, in his leather sitting chair.

“Now you expect us all to sit quietly, ignore any claim to outrage or grief, simply because you deem it no longer worth the effort to try to find your daughter? A daughter whom, despite her living circumstances, is barely sixteen and little more than a child, yet you allow her the position of responsible adult! Indeed if that is the stick by which you measure I can hardly be surprised at your lack of character! I am ashamed, Sir! “

“You are unfair, Elizabeth; you do not know what I have done, or what I feel!”

“Perhaps so, Sir, but lack of that knowledge is hardly my failing, is it?”

“You had no business knowing what your Uncle and I were doing! It is not a daughter’s place to understand her father’s heart! I have no reason to confide anything to you. I do not answer to you.”

“That may be, but a gentleman would not have continued behaving with such selfish disdain for the feelings of those professed to be his loved ones. I am not a simpleton! You have dismissed me as though a servant! I was mortified to be treated in such a callous and disregarded manner!

“Where is your honour, Sir? If not you, then tell me who should defend our name and our reputation? How long before some other cad tries to take advantage of any one of us, knowing that any consequences will be so easy to overcome? You leave us undefended, without champion, or honor.

“Where is your compassion? While you might sit happily home alone, your wife and daughters, who like society, sit and endure ostracism from every friend they have ever known. What future do they have? What reassurances have you given them? What plans have you, the authority in this house, made for any of them?” Silence was the answer.

Elizabeth turned to the window, trying to regain her composure. After a few minutes, an odd thought suddenly struck her: Mr. Darcy would often retreat to the window. Was it to escape an uncomfortable situation, recompose himself? Yes, she doubted it not, and felt maybe she understood a little more of him. Pushing her thoughts of him back out of her mind, and with a great sigh, she turned back to regard her father.

He seemed older, somehow smaller, and perhaps frail, however she did not want to dwell upon it. She now knew in her heart what she wished to do. Reaching slowly behind her head, her lithe fingers grasped the clasp of the golden chain of the heirloom necklace that had belonged to six generations of Bennet brides, daughters and sisters. Elizabeth was given this garnet cross, by her great Aunt Thelma, on her tenth birthday. She proudly wore it everyday, as if to reassure herself of her place in her family, in the world. Now her place in her family was in question, her place in the world in peril. She unclasped it, drew it delicately through her fingers, and, with a parting glance, she handed it to her father.

“I no longer wish to be a part of what this represents,” she said as she laid it across the polished wood of his desk. His brow arched in shock at her declaration.

“It should not surprise you, considering I have blatantly disregarded your authority, and wholly without contrition. I have insulted you, and treated you with contempt, but I cannot regret it, and I will not recant. By your leave I will return with the Gardiners to London. I will not be returning to Longbourn.”

Mr. Bennet was dumbfounded. He was also perchance the most angry he had ever been in his life. “And what do you think you will do in London? You have no money, and shall get none from me! Do you think after all the follies of Lydia I would allow you to go?” he shouted.

Elizabeth, with heightened colour, but in a voice of forced calmness answered, “You are mistaken, Sir. I am willing to work, and earn my living. However, truthfully, you no longer have authority over me; two days hence I came of age. I ask for your leave only out of mere civility. I refuse to sit idly. I refuse to accept this existence. I make my own future. Accept it or not, I will leave.”

With quick steps she crossed the room, but just as she was about to turn the door handle and exit, she hesitated, contemplating silently for a moment, then spoke in a low, menacing voice he had never heard from her before, “I do not give up, Father. I will find her, and more importantly I will find him and I will make him pay.”

Suddenly, Thomas Bennet was afraid.

Chapter Three

Lord Caldhart entered his home and summoned his butler to bring him his driver and head stable man; Tom Higgins. He was a trustworthy chap that his lordship knew to be a confidant of most of the stable hands of the finest families in town. Higgins’ true worth, however, lay in his easy mannered affability, which allowed him to worm information out of just about anyone.

Lord Robert had often used him to keep an eye on his mistresses’ activities. More importantly, Higgins was able to discover quite a bit about the young ladies his Lordship had an eye on for future personal interest. It had been some time since he had required his special services, but Higgins betrayed no surprise at being summoned once again into his employer’s presence. This time though, he did seem surprised as to the nature of his master’s request.

“Higgins, I would like you to find out as much as you can about a new shop I discovered today near Cheapside. It is called Johnson’s House of Cigars, and is run by a woman whom I assume is Mrs. Johnson. I want to know if she owns the shop, if her husband runs it with her, or if he is, perhaps, deceased. Also, anything you can tell me about whom Mrs. Johnson is, and was before she married. All information will be of interest; do not overlook any detail you can find, despite its seeming unimportance.”

The stableman silently bowed and slowly returned to his bunk in the stables.

Caldhart smirked while thinking, “Yes, I think I have managed to shock even you, Higgins. A shopkeeper’s wife for the great Lord Caldhart?” And he laughed out loud.

Several days later Higgins begged an audience with his master. Standing in front of the stately gentleman, while the butler discreetly closed the library door, he stated all the information he had been able to obtain. No, Mrs. Johnson did not own her business. However, city records could not be looked over easily or at least without certain cash considerations. Caldhart decided to investigate that fact himself, and told him so. Mr. Johnson had never been seen in the shop, or talked of, but neither had Mrs. Johnson ever been called a widow, so her marital status was still unconfirmed. The business was very new, though thriving due to Mrs. Johnson’s uncanny abilities to produce a superior cigar. The woman had left her establishment every evening at five-thirty, in a coach, accompanied by a gentleman who seemed very friendly with her, but could not be identified as Mr. Johnson- yet. He had been unable to follow where she went but, if he had his master’s permission, he could spend the next few days and nights following her after she closed her shop, to gain the address of where she lived.

Caldhart was pleased. He suspected the gentleman was not Mr. Johnson, but who could he be? Perhaps some man who had set up his mistress at a shop for her amusement? Unlikely, as it would not leave her available for his use, except at night, when usually wives and families would demand one’s attentions. No, he needed more information and the sooner the better, as he was starting to relish the idea of visiting the establishment once more to see what he could find out about her himself. He gave permission for the man to spend the next week following her discreetly.

“I want you to dog her from sun up to down, Higgins. Once you have found her lodgings, get help to watch through the night until she retires. I wish to know where she goes, anyone who visits her, for how long, and how often. I’ll pay for whomever you take under your care to help, but one word of caution,” he sipped his evening brandy slowly, inhaling the deep fragrance as it swirled in the glass, “no word of this to anyone, and the lady must not know you are watching her, or I will deny you, and you will be without reference or job; is that understood?”

He nodded his assent. Caldhart knew he often gave this speech, but he also knew Higgins felt no insult. His Lordship would pay for the extra help required and his servant would no doubt bill him generously, whether any help was hired or not.

The next weeks saw Lord Caldhart and Higgins busily traipsing around various parts of London in their efforts to uncover the truths about Mrs. Johnson. His Lordship was easily able to gain access to the city business records (once an unofficial “fee” was stealthily paid for under the pair of fine kid gloves he had placed upon the counter). Mrs. Johnson was not the business owner, nor was Mr. Johnson, although their name had been used. The actual owner did not work in the shop, but rather was a respectable and successful tradesman in enterprises all over the city. The clerk was able to uncover several business licenses under his name: Mr. Edward Gardiner of Gracechurch Street, Cheapside. Whether he set this shop up for nefarious reasons or not was yet to be ascertained.

Higgins, in the meantime, had discovered similar findings after following the coach one evening, first to Mrs. Johnson’s lodgings, and then to its final destination on Gracechurch Street several blocks away. It was indeed the master of that house that escorted Mrs. Johnson to her house and then home each evening, and then repeat the reverse act in the morning. So far she had never left her house, though inclement weather and a steady work week would have most likely precluded the possibility. No other persons came or went from her lodgings Whether Mrs. Gardiner was alive and in residence at Mr. Gardiner’s home was not yet discovered. All was reported, shared and mulled over in Caldhart’s fine library. Higgins was sent back to take up his observation post for the weekend, while his Lordship thought about his next move.

The following day the sun shone warm for a winter’s morning. A female occupant of the Johnson house, no doubt feeling the confinements of nearly a week of slushy snow and extreme cold, burst forth from the abode to take pleasure in a walk across the nearby park. Higgins saw four children, a maid and a lady venture to meet with her. This second lady looked old enough to be the children’s mother, but the first was obviously too young. Where Mrs. Johnson was, he did not know. He was torn between following the group, to try to overhear any tidbits, and staying at the house, to see if the lady of interest would also venture forth. Using his many years of experience to guide him, he easily came up with a suitable solution. He grabbed a nearby waif, offering a prize if the youth would simply stand watch over the house and fetch him in the park if anyone did leave it.

The two ladies strolled happily along. The children clearly were thrilled to breathe the fresh air and noisily ran off the abundance of energy they had undoubtedly stored during that stifling week. The adults laughed at the children’s gaiety, while discussing the theatre excursion that was planned for that evening. Higgins learned which play and theatre they were to attend, knowing his master would find it useful. By the time the group headed back, he knew that the lady was Aunt Gardiner, that the other lady was her niece Elizabeth, also known as cousin Lizzy, and that she was quite a lovely young lady at that. Perhaps his Lordship hadn’t lost his sensibilities after all. Maybe Miss Lizzy was Mrs. Johnson’s younger sister, or even daughter. He wasn’t sure of Mrs. Johnson’s age, so either was possible. His last expert feat of subterfuge occurred after the family and the young lady returned to the Gardiners home, not far from Mrs. Johnson‘s. Running down to the fresh markets, he bought a posy of lovely flowers and, returning to the Gardiner’s home, he rang at the servant’s door. The kitchen maid answered, smiling at the bouquet.

“For Miss Elizabeth Westview, if you please,” Higgins said, bowing.

The maid frowned, “I’m sorry sir, our Miss Elizabeth is not a Westview, she’s a Bennet,” she giggled.

“Gah!” spat Higgins. “Don’t tell me I’ve mixed up again, my employer will have my head.” The maid giggled again. “Well,” said he, with a smile to the girl, “ ‘tis not your fault my lovely, I’ll just have to run back and find where I should be. Good day.” He turned back down the steps and out into the lane.

That evening as Lord Robert prepared to leave for the theatre, he thought about all that Higgins had told him. He was wild to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet for himself. If his powers of deduction were still at all reasonable, he was in a fair way of knowing what her alias might be. His valet had chosen the dark blue coat, which complimented his hair very well. He wanted to look his best, but was aware that his finest apparel would not be appropriate for tonight‘s venue.

It was not the most luxurious, nor the largest theatre in London: comedies currently experiencing more disinterest than the opposite in these times. He chuckled over the play they had chosen: The Country Wife. A scandalous choice for a maiden, and most intriguing. The bawdiness aside, it was still wickedly funny; most young women would blush at the thought of even reading Wycherley yet this lady was brave enough to attend a performance.

“Perhaps she does not realize what she is in for,” he conjectured to himself. “Yet how much more interesting if she does.”

It was an intimate house, with only a single row of boxes on each side, the main floor and a balcony. Attendees were clearly visible, delighting themselves in the show that played out opposite the stage. One face was taking in a particular visage with great relish. His luck once again running high, Lord Caldhart’s box was positioned perfectly for watching the lady, without her seeing him. He hadn’t been sure at first. Higgins had given him a fair description of all of them, but it wasn’t until their faces had turned, and he was able to see her fully, that his breath had once again caught, and he knew, absolutely, that he was looking at Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mrs. Johnson; she was one and the same.

His memory had not done her justice; she was bewitching. He watched riveted as her eyes danced and glittered, and her lips twitched with just the hint of an impertinent smile while she took in her surroundings. Now and then she would peer more intently at someone in concern, as if to discern something. He wondered if she might be looking for the infamous George in the crowd. More often than not she would stare obtusely off into space, her shoulders rising while she took a deep breath, and her face lost it’s merriment. He could spend the entire evening discovering the array of those expressions and never tire.

How very different to see her tonight. She had lustrous dark hair that was arranged with ribbons of garnet through the curls that flowed down her supple neck. Her gown was a deeper shade of crimson, which complimented her creamy complexion perfectly. It was not richly adorned, and no doubt would have gathered little attention to the few fashion plates that would have come to this lesser known theatre, but it suited her perfectly. Despite the simplicity it was elegant, showing true good taste, and he admired her all the more for it. Her gown’s neckline revealed the answer to the last question that had plagued him as well.

The lights dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd as the performance began on stage, while in the audience, the evening began for Lord Robert. He thoroughly enjoyed studying Elizabeth. Her eyes sparkled and laughed, her lips sometimes mouthing familiar lines.

“Another mystery solved,” he mused. Staring at her unencumbered from the privacy behind the drape in his box was an erotic adventure of voyeurism for him. Experiencing the evening through her eyes, her reactions, her laughter was breathing new life into him, while arousing his passion as well. She laughed with her whole person, she reacted with her hands, her body revealed her feelings as often as her mesmerizing face. He freely allowed his eyes to linger over her bodice, her gown, anywhere he desired with his naked eye, as well as his oft used opera glasses.

During the first intermission, he ventured out to see if he could get a bit closer to her, perhaps hear her thoughts on the production. Along the way to the foyer, he saw a familiar face.

“Lloyd!” he cried, observing his friend coming over to him. “How are you old man?”

Mr. Lloyd, some 20 years Lord Caldhart’s junior, was used to such taunts from him. “Lord Robert, delighted to see you Sir, I am well, and you?”

“Never better, thank you for asking. And I must thank you, my friend, for letting me in on your secret cigar shop. I’ve never had better cigar; truly a jewel of smoke,” he calculatingly replied. Perhaps if Lloyd had Johnson’s in his head, he might prove helpful tonight. They had been walking towards the largest area of the foyer, where most of the patrons were congregating, when Caldhart caught sight of the Gardiner party not far off. He bent his head, hoping to catch some of their conversation, while deftly backing himself and Mr. Lloyd slowly towards them. Lloyd, useful as ever, espied the group and, without hesitating, offered to introduce his Lordship to the owner of Johnson’s himself, a Mr. Edward Gardiner. Smiling sincerely and he hoped not too eagerly, his Lordship condescended graciously.

“Mr. Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner, how wonderful to see you this evening,” Mr. Lloyd began. After the curtseys, bows, and inquiries into one another’s health had been satisfied, Mr. Lloyd began his introduction. Lord Robert had stood by silently, watching each party intently, reflecting calm and indifference while his heart beat madly. He could barely restrain his face. He struggled desperately to remember to look at Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and not only Miss Bennet. His eyes had great difficulty not betraying his interest in her, as propriety demanded. It was much too early to raise her suspicions.

“Mr. and Mrs. Edward Gardiner, may I present Lord Robert Caldhart? Lord Caldhart has recently been a patron at Johnson’s House of Cigars, Mr. Gardiner, and was just now thanking me for his great fortune in taking up my suggestion.”

“How very kind of you to recommend it Mr. Lloyd, I thank you. My Lord, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir,” he said, bowing. “May I present my wife, Mrs. Madeline Gardiner, and my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” The ladies and gentlemen exchanged their civilities, while Lord Robert revelled in being allowed to openly view Miss Bennet so closely.

Mr. Gardiner continued, “Am I to understand then Sir, you enjoyed your purchases from Johnson’s?”

“Indeed I did Sir; the cigars are superb, quite outstanding. Is it your talent and expertise to whom I am indebted for my delights?” he asked, knowing full well that Mrs. Johnson was the artist behind it all. He was curious to see what Mr. Gardiner would reveal.

“Hardly!” Gardiner answered jovially. “No, Johnson’s House of Cigars is appropriately named, Lord Robert, for without Mrs. Johnson, there would simply be mediocre cigars. She is the genius. She is the tobacco connoisseur. Quite unusual for a woman, of course, but there is no denying her abilities. It is to her you would give your thanks were she present.”

“Most extraordinary!” Lord Robert exclaimed, all the while keeping at least part of his line of vision on Miss Bennet. “I will be happy to give her all the thanks she is due when next I go to her shop. Please send her my regards in the mean time. But what a unique gift she possesses! I wonder how she, or you, for that matter, discovered it.” He knew he was being sly, but he was sincerely curious.

Mrs. Gardiner stepped in. “We have known Mrs. Johnson for many years, your Lordship, and she often would comment, when smelling a cigar, lit or not, on the flavours she could detect in them. She joined Mr. Gardiner and I one day when we visited a cigar shop, and her senses were nearly overwhelmed. She helped my husband pick out his cigars, and they were the best he has ever had. Well at least until Johnson’s opened, of course.” They all chuckled.

“She also has the same ability with the dishes at table. I have never been able to serve her a meal in which she could not discern every ingredient, in every dish. Most disconcerting for the cook, who began to worry, should she inadvertently leave something out.” Miss Bennet, by now, was intently and thoroughly studying her shoes. Although she did laugh with her aunt about their poor cook, clearly she was uncomfortable with so much praise being spoken about Mrs. Johnson.

Lord Robert was enchanted. He addressed her, “And you, Miss Bennet, are you also friend to Mrs. Johnson, and have you also been witness to her abilities?”

“Why yes, your Lordship, I think there can hardly have been a time when I was not acquainted with Mrs. Johnson, and therefore remember many of her,” she hesitated a moment, “ her performances shall we say? Although I do not know if she would agree with all of your praises, nor believe her skills are something to be envied, as I believe she often finds them to be both boon and bane.“ The group requested clarification of such a bold statement.

“I recall once when I was a very small girl, dining with my aunt and uncle at a Mr. and Mrs. Phillips’ house, Mrs. Johnson did not find her talents appreciated, or welcome. We were served a very fine looking trifle for dessert, which everyone enjoyed and after which the ladies started a conversation about the recipe. Mrs. Johnson opined that she preferred her trifle with both wine and brandy, not wine alone, as had just been served. Unfortunately, Mrs. Phillips herself had measured and given the brandy to her cook and was none too pleased to learn it had not made its way into the trifle, but rather into the cook. Poor Mrs. Johnson was mortified that her discerning palate had caused such a uproar. Later, when the cook was discovered in a somewhat inebriated stupor and had almost been dismissed, she confided to me that, sometimes, truth was better held in silence than shared.” She finished with a disarming raise of her brow. Her audience laughed appreciatively.

“What a delightful story Miss Bennet and a moral to go with it; how very charming indeed. I no longer shall envy Mrs. Johnson, but merely remain grateful she is willing to share her talents with the rest of us. Certainly we would have fewer delights in this world without her,” answered his Lordship. “And I am still most grateful to you Mr. Gardiner, for undertaking the task of opening Johnson’s. Congratulations Sir; I hope your trade prospers well and long. I must take my leave now. Thank you all, it was a pleasure to meet you.” With a bow and a flourish, Lord Robert and Mr. Lloyd departed.

He was relieved to be away from her. The rush of being so close to this newfound treasure was too much for him. It had been a long while since he had felt the first flutters of infatuation and lust, and now, with his advanced years, it seemed to almost overwhelm him. He had been turning on his well-practiced charm without even meaning to. He didn’t want to alarm the Gardiners, nor Miss Bennet; he wanted to plan all his moves carefully, like any good strategist. Being in her presence, hearing her clever witticisms, the lilt of her laughter, seeing those glorious eyes flashing, was undermining all his carefully cultivated reserve. This would not do at all. He would not be caught up like some schoolboy admiring his first fancy.

Lloyd was muttering to himself alongside Caldhart, while his Lordship attempted to regain his composure.

“Bennet, Bennet, why does that name seem to remind me of something important?” he was saying. “Something last summer, yes, that was it, gossip about a family named Bennet, from Hertfordshire, I believe. Oh, my,” he suddenly stammered, obviously having recalled the entirety of the story. Lord Robert turned with his head cocked to one side, both his brows raised in question.

“Oh, Lord Robert, I do beg your pardon,” he spoke contritely, his head bowed, slowly shaking back and forth.

“Good heavens, Lloyd, you act as though Miss Bennet were a convicted axe murderer! Do explain yourself.”

“Your Lordship, I would never have introduced you to the Gardiners had I known of the connection to the Bennets. At least, if she is one of the Bennets of which I am thinking. Although, we do not know that for certain, of course. But it does make sense, the family was made up of five beautiful daughters as I recall. Such a pity, such a shame,” he babbled.

“Lloyd, will you start speaking coherently and tell me what happened to the Bennets of Hertfordshire? You are trying my patience.” The halls were nearly empty now, and the men had relative privacy when they took a place upon a burgundy velvet upholstered bench near the wall.

Mr. Lloyd began in a lowered voice. “Last summer, it was said that the youngest daughter, of Mr. Bennet, a gentleman with little fortune though a nice piece of property in Hertfordshire, had eloped with an officer of the militia quartered in Brighton for the summer. She was then but sixteen. Her family traced the couple only to London, and in town, they disappeared. He never intended to marry her of course, no surprise to anyone really. But as none of her elder sisters (and I had heard that the two eldest were particular beauties) had married yet, the silly youngest had ruined them all. Four lovely women off the marriage market like that,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“What kind of father would let a sixteen year old girl go alone to Brighton?” Caldhart asked, incredulous.

“Oh I believe she was there with the colonel of the regiment’s wife, her very close friend, although obviously not much of a chaperone. Now what was that scoundrel’s name, Westing? No, something Wendall, dear me, I do wish I was better with names.” Lord Robert had no doubt the man’s name was Wickham, but let his friend continue.

“They never found her, as far as I know. And now I suppose the sisters will have to be governesses or ladies’ companions or some such thing. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth is helping her Aunt at home? Such a nimble mind. Such a waste. Why must the pretty girls always be poor, or ineligible?”

“I wouldn’t let your wife hear such statements, old man.” his Lordship advised.” You are hardly in the position to be looking for an eligible lady, are you?”

Lloyd coughed, brought back from his reverie. “No, no of course not. I do apologise. And my judgment has been terrible tonight. I should not have exposed you to such a connection. I must apologise for having introduced you to a disreputable woman. I fear I have insulted you, sir.”

Lord Robert only chuckled. “You have done nothing of the kind! Dear Lloyd, how can you be so droll and stupid at the same time? My reputation suffer? Not in the least. I have manners, breeding and fortune to spare; I can certainly entertain whomever I want. And I do fancy that I, not others, decide who is beneath my notice, or not. So do not be distressed- if I choose to continue the acquaintance, I am not worried about it sullying my position in society. If I were you, however, I would not mention it to anyone, lest you suffer a different fate.”

Mr. Lloyd’s face revealed that the idea had hit is mark accurately. Yes, Lloyd would be easily swayed to do his Lordship’s bidding, and keeping this little introduction a secret suited him perfectly. “We need never mention it again, my Lord.” He bowed, truly grateful to have such a concerned friend, as Lord Robert.

“Then we are agreed. But Lloyd, do not let the Gardiners’ connection to the Bennets interfere with your enjoyment of the cigars Johnson’s has to offer; that would truly be a shame.” The two men shared a chortle.

“I expect you will continue to give them your custom?” Lloyd nodded obediently. “Good, now get back to your seat, old man, and enjoy the play.”

Lord Robert lingered in the hall a while longer, reflecting on his evening so far. He was very satisfied with all the information he had obtained. He looked forward to turning his mind to it later, in the quiet solitude of his study. Returning discreetly to his box, he observed Elizabeth for a while longer. He wondered if she had taken any notice of him. Had she detected any of his interest? He did not think so; he had hardly paid her any particular attention. At least he was confident she was not aware of his spying upon her while she watched the play. He leaned forward, covertly gazing for another half hour before departing. His diamond in the rough was a stunning woman, that no one had discovered; he could not have been more pleased.

Chapter Four

Elizabeth turned the corner from the hall after leaving her father and drew a small gasp. There, in the main entryway, stood Jane. She was leaning against the wall, Kitty and Mary were sitting together on the lower steps of the stairway. All three looked up suddenly as she walked in. Jane was the first to move, she quickly clenched Lizzy to herself, Mary and Kitty immediately followed suit. The four stood huddled together, each gathering strength from the other; none willing to let go for several minutes. Tiny sniffles and smaller, nervous, laughing chokes issued from their tightly held mass.

“You truly mean to leave?” whispered Kitty, without raising her head. Lizzy nodded ,squeezing Kitty harder.

“Whatever will you do?’ added Mary softly.

“I am not certain, I shall have to discuss it with the Gardiners,” she confessed, while laying her head against Mary’s shoulder.

“And will you really look for Lydia?” Kitty asked.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I will. On that point I am determined.” A relief seemed to come over the sisters. Their grips lightened, the tension lessened. They embraced for several more moments.

Kitty smiled and planted a kiss on her sister’s cheek. “It will be a great adventure, Lizzy!” she suddenly gushed. All heads lifted in surprise.

Elizabeth’s face revealed a stern frown. “No, Kitty,” her voice began gravely. “It will be a hardship, and I fear heartache. I must rely on the Gardiner’s charity until I can find a way to make my own living. I have no reason to hope my future employment will amount to anything vaguely easy, exciting or adventurous. And do not forget; all the while I will be looking for Lydia, whose condition in this world may be dire.” She stopped, unable to deny the lump constricting her throat. “The more time passes until she is found, the more chance of an unhappy outcome. It is nothing to romanticize about, please do not fool yourself into thinking so.”

Kitty nodded solemnly. Elizabeth hoped she had instilled in Kitty some slight appreciation of both the seriousness of her intended endeavours, and the futures the rest of her sisters would some day have to face. She looked around at the three faces, taking in each slowly, committing this moment to that part of her mind where she kept her most cherished memories.

She felt a change deep inside her heart. She somehow knew that nothing was ever going to be as it was this day. This was the end of her girlhood, her life in Hertfordshire and, likely, soon all of her sister’s lives there.. The weight of this revelation was great, and she could not stop the silent trickle of tiny tears that finally flowed down her sweet face.

The stillness of the moment was interrupted by an announcement. “I think I should like to go with you,” Jane said quietly.

The carriage ride to London was uneventful, in that they were not waylaid by highwaymen, no horse was lamed and all the stops were timely and efficient despite Mrs. Bennet’s assurances to the contrary. There was much to be discussed now that Lizzy and Jane were away from Longbourn and the lack of privacy any conversation that location afforded. The girls were amazed that, in less than three days, their aunt and uncle had managed to have their belongings packed, their parents appeased, and their futures started.

Mr. Bennet, while not pleased, was at least resigned to let Elizabeth return with his brother-in-law to London. But he was truly shocked when Jane declared her intentions to join them. It was only through Jane’s gentle, yet forthright conversation with her father that he agreed to give her up as well. She had no need for artifice. The plain facts spoke for themselves; it was time for her to make her own way in the world, just as Lizzy was determined to do. As the two eldest, it only made sense for them to lead the way, hopefully making it easier for the younger to someday do.

The relief the girls felt in finally taking action after so many months of forced idleness was liberating. However, leaving their childhood home was not without its share of tearful goodbyes, sadness and regrets. As the coach pulled away from the house, Elizabeth watched her father waving somberly. Despite being at odds with him, she loved him, and knew that each would feel the absence of the other acutely.

Many miles after Longbourn had disappeared from view, the discussion in the carriage turned to employment. Mrs. Gardiner thought both girls would be well suited as a lady’s companion or a governess, if the children and situations were good enough. If any position could be obtained in London, their aunt and uncle could make sure that they were treated well by keeping a close eye on them. Jane agreed to either notion but Elizabeth could not, yet. She reasoned if she were to live in another person’s household, she would not have sufficient time to commit to the search for Lydia. She did not wish to be difficult, but her first priority had to be continuing the effort to find her sister. Her aunt and uncle were sympathetic to her, and offered no resistance, but they did ask her to agree not to make any final decisions so early.

“Well Lizzy, I have many shops that could always use a clever, hard working girl in the,” her uncle offered. “Have you any interest in any of them?”

“Perhaps not interest, Uncle, but I would gladly help you anywhere you might require it.”

“It is too bad that you do not own a shop selling foods, Edward. With Elizabeth’s excellent nose and detections of taste, you could be assured of selling the very finest of whatever goods you wished,” Mrs. Gardiner added lightly.

“Cheeses!” suggested Jane.

“Cheeses? Bah…. Chocolates!” said Elizabeth, with a giggle.

“”Port!” said Mrs. Gardiner, joining in the laughter

“Port and cigars!” said Mr. Gardiner, raising the laughter to howls. Slight tears crept out of the corners of their eyes until the merriment at last died down.

“I do not think a lady selling port would be very seemly, Uncle, not to mention it would be difficult to keep the staff from sampling the wares. Nor do I think Mr. Merriweather would appreciate your giving him competition for his cigar shop,” Lizzy admonished.

“While I agree with your assessment of the port shop, Niece, I’m afraid that Merriweather’s will soon be no longer. The poor old man is going to retire and, with no son to continue on, they will be closing up his shop and selling off the last of all his merchandise.”

“Oh that is sad news, he was a dear man, so patient with me and all my silly questions when I was a girl. You owe a great many years of satisfied smokes to him, do you not?”

“Indeed I do, and to you too Lizzy; it was your excellent suggestions that led to my discovering my favourite brand there, my dear. Mr. Merriweather always said you had a gift for it. A pity you don’t know how to make cigars; we could continue the place, with you running it. Probably put out a better product than Merriweather’s ever thought of, and make us a tidy fortune.” They all nodded appreciatively.

Elizabeth sat quietly, her mind apparently engrossed. Finally, she smiled widely, “I do know.”

“Pardon?” her aunt asked.

“I do know how to roll cigars- quite well in fact.”

Mr. Gardiner stared, amazed. “You know how to make cigars, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, she does. She’s been making them for father in the still room, for years,” answered her sister, “I wondered if you were going to say anything, Lizzy.”

After settling in town, Mrs. Gardiner began to make discreet inquiries among her acquaintances for a position for one or both of her nieces. The superior manners the girls had always displayed made them favourites among the Gardiner’s friends. No doubt an opportunity would present itself very soon when word got out that two such excellent ladies were available for employ.

Elizabeth, in the meanwhile, had accompanied her uncle to the man who had been helping them search for Lydia: Mr. Brooks. She had to agree with Mr. Gardiner; he had done an admirable job so far. However, she could not help but be disappointed at the lack of results.

It seemed that, shortly after arriving in London, the couple had simply disappeared. No tavern had spotted either, no innkeeper could recall housing them and no gambling hall had had Mr. Wickham as patron. Elizabeth was at least satisfied to finally understand the methods that Mr. Brooks employed in his search. However, hearing the details of the appalling neighbourhoods and buildings that the man had been subjected to walk through mortified her, as well as providing her with a healthy dose of sobriety. She knew that she could never go herself to these places, that such efforts were beyond her ability, as well as simply dangerous. Part of her was angered at the thought of limitations being put upon her, but another was somewhat relieved at not having to brave such dreadful locales. Now she could only try to think of what she could do to help. They agreed to meet again in two weeks, while Mr. Brooks continued his efforts.

On the return trip to Cheapside, Mr. Gardiner broached the subject his mind had been turning to since they had left Longbourn.

“Elizabeth, I wonder if you wouldn’t like to keep busy at one my shops while waiting for a position from your Aunt’s friends.”

“Keep busy, Sir? Was there some particular place or position you had in mind?”

“I thought you might find it constructive to work behind the counter in one of the shops, see what it is like to wait on the customers, how the stock is handled, how the entire business runs from the inside.”

Her suspicion already aroused, she chanced an inquiring look at him. “Is there perhaps a more significant motive to my learning this business?”

He laughed. “Nothing I wish to reveal at this time, Niece, but let us first see how you get on, before we aspire to grander schemes, shall we?” They both knew what the other was thinking, but Elizabeth chose to let her Uncle keep his plot to himself- for now. His suggestion had wisdom, and she was also curious to see how well she could get on spending her day in a shop. She cared not if she enjoyed the work, she merely wanted to be useful and provide herself with a living. The exercise would prove to be most enlightening.

The first days at her uncle’s clock shop were spent learning all she could about the different aspects of the business. She quickly took to the information, and was efficient in remembering all the details of the pieces, as well as processes of procurement, accounting and stocking. For three days she worked by his side, learning from him as he answered questions about his timepieces, as well as learning how to treat the patrons. Once he felt she had a good solid understanding, he decided to let her wait upon the customers.

Elizabeth quickly realized that one had to adopt a very different attitude when waiting upon people, especially gentry. The higher the rank, the more they liked to feel above everyone. She was secretly amused by such snobbery and considered it a bit of a game one had to play, like a role upon the stage. Her uncle never lost his gentlemanly ways but, she did notice his demeanour change to a more subservient role when conversing with his patrons. As the patrons seemed to enjoy such attentions, Elizabeth had to conclude this role playing was beneficial to the success of any shop and she would try to emulate Uncle Gardiner and his ways.

Her aunt had recommended a wardrobe that would be fitting for working, which could sometimes be a dirty job. Unpacking the newly arrived clocks and general housekeeping of the shop could get quite dusty. Elizabeth considered her gowns demure and serviceable but, after a week at the clock shop, both she and her uncle began noticing some marked and decidedly unwanted attentions being given to her. The gentlemen and common men who came into the shop seemed to notice her almost immediately. If she waited upon a man, the time they spent was considerably longer than any regular customer would ever spend and unfortunately did not always result in any sale. Often a man would return the next day, still taking up her time but, again, not making a purchase. Her uncle began to intervene and insisted on waiting upon the male customers with her. This seemed to discourage the unconstructive time spent by the men, but her uncle’s concern was no small matter.

He had two other workers in the shop, a young man, Mr. Whitaker, who was married with two small children, and an elderly widow, Mrs. Brown. He had never had any problems with unwanted attentions to Mrs. Brown, but admittedly her appearance could not compare with his attractive niece. Elizabeth had a natural, easy rapport with customers, and unknowingly had the ability to charm and interest the males that came into the store; therein lay the problem.

Mr. Gardiner consulted with his wife; they in turn consulted with Elizabeth. All agreed that keeping her working in the shop was important, but keeping her safe from flirting gentlemen was more important.

It was Elizabeth who came up with a most original idea and suggested it to her relatives. “I have often compared waiting upon patrons as something of a role one must play. If indeed I must act as a shopkeeper, then why can I not choose what sort of a worker I will be? It seems to me that if I were not a single young lady, and if I were perhaps not gently bred, I might not bring about so much notice and detract from the business. I think the more innocuous I can be, the better it would be for the shop to prosper”

“And who would you be Lizzy?” her aunt asked.

“I think I should try to be more like Mrs. Brown, Aunt. I think with the right clothing, a large cap, and some practice at trying to sound more like a Londoner, I could make myself a very convincing matron.”

Her aunt and uncle were dumbfounded. “Truly Elizabeth, you want to do this to yourself? I suspect disguises of this sort are not easy to maintain,” said her uncle, skeptically.

“I think I should at least try. I do not see how else I could manage a cigar shop, which would be visited almost exclusively by male patrons, and deal with the ridiculous posturing, flirting men without some sort of subterfuge? Do you?” she asked almost deviously.

Her uncle nearly spit out his tea.

“Elizabeth!” her aunt admonished, but she would not be gainsaid,

“Come now, surely the two of you knew that I would realise what you were training me for? Have you not managed to lease out Mr. Merriweather’s building yet, Uncle?”

In less than a month Elizabeth found herself running Johnson’s House of Cigars.

Initially there had been the transfer of the business and the setting up of the workroom in the back of the shop. She had spent many hours poring over tobacco leaves with her uncle, searching out the best products they could find in endless warehouses. Mr. Merriweather had almost everything she needed as far as equipment, and she had his worker, Toby, to help her roll the large supply of cigars that she was beginning to formulate. Mr. Merriweather had eagerly taken her under his wing to supply any missing information she might need to assure her success in her new career. He was the only other person besides her aunt, uncle, and Jane that knew her true identity. And though he did not know of her family’s troubles, he was happy to agree to the deception; especially once her uncle took him aside, pointing out her obvious assets, and detriments to successfully running a shop by herself. He saw it as a logical answer to keeping the hounds at bay, while being deeply satisfied with the knowledge that his cigar-making heritage was going to continue, and most likely improve, under her guidance.

It had been a bit of an adventure; learning to be a matron, someone who was significantly older than herself, as well as someone who had not been raised as a peer to most persons, but rather a person who was used to serving others. Her aunt had wisely suggested, after her “costume” had been chosen and perfected, that Elizabeth practice her new role in the park, at the markets, and other places where any mistakes would not be made in front of someone who would question her, nor realise what deception she was attempting. She took to it amazingly well.

She learned not to stand so straight, lest her fine figure be displayed too well. She learned to keep her head bowed; an acceptable sign of her new lowered status. And she finally agreed that her lace cap did not cover enough of her face, especially her fine eyes; they would simply need to be covered. So, the last part of her disguise was a pair of thick spectacles perched upon her nose. Elizabeth had to admonish Jane, who could not look upon her for the entire first day without bursting into hearty laughter at her. She was hardly recognizable, much less attractive. Everyone was very well pleased with her disguise. They spent the better part of that first weekend taking “Mrs. Johnson” all about town, perfecting her new persona.

Her new glasses were her largest problem. She was forced to look over, or below, them in order to see properly, and it was some time before she could move with the same speed she was used to without bumping into something, or someone. Luckily, because of her “role”, everyone forgave her as a doddering, aged lady who could not see well, even with thick glasses. She was often reduced to covering her mouth to stifle her laughter in front of helpful people trying to set her back on her feet.

She also discovered a new freedom in being a plain, elderly, matron; she barely drew notice of anyone around her. She could go anywhere, and seem to blend into the background. She was not a vain woman, but she could easily discern the difference in the attention she was being paid as Mrs. Johnson, compared to when she was Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She used this disinterest in Mrs. Johnson to her advantage; she spent her weekends out, all day, pretending to shop or walking in the parks. She hardly heeded the wares in the windows, or nature, but intensely studied the people instead; searching. With her excellent walking skills, and her stealth, she was able to cover large sections of neighbourhoods each time she went out. It wasn’t much, nor successful, but at least she felt that someone in her family was still keeping an active participation in the effort to find Lydia.

Her aunt and uncle were not comfortable with Lizzy spending so much time out unaccompanied, determined though she was. However, they soon witnessed for themselves how well she was faring in the throngs, and had to admit there was little danger for her. She only ventured out alone during the daylight, and was never away from crowds. This, combined with never keeping any money on her person left her as safe as anyone could be in London, and they allowed her the freedom to pursue her search for the couple. They did insist when she went anywhere as Elizabeth Bennet she must follow every rule of propriety and was never without a chaperone or maid.

Her Aunt had also decided that removal from Gracechurch Street was in order. Their staff, as well as their neighbours, knew Elizabeth and the Gardiners too well not to question a new elderly lady living with them. Luckily, there was a lodging house of good reputation not far from their home. Elizabeth could live there, have her light evening meals sent over from the Gardiner’s, and continue the ruse as Mrs. Johnson without question. If the cigar shop prospered as they hoped it would, it would more than pay for Lizzy’s lodging, her salary, and tidy profit for her uncle as well. Her future seemed now secured.

She was tired. A physical tiredness she had not previously been used to; it was overwhelming and yet felt good at the end of the day. Gently bred ladies had too much leisure time to sit and not exert physically. She was feeling the extra requirements she was demanding of her body as a result of the duties of running her shop, and the time she spent searching for any sign of Lydia or Wickham. She was happy for these body aches that were reminders of all her endeavours; she was finally doing something.

She and her Uncle had met once again with Mr. Brooks. Elizabeth had asked at that time to see all the notes and papers of the investigation he had conducted so far; he did excellent work. He kept fine accounts as well as detailed notations of all that he had done. She could find no fault save the lack of results. Her uncle was just as unhappy and felt it prudent at this time to make some changes. He believed there was an excellent chance that Lydia and Wickham were no longer in London. Mr. Brooks had scouted out every conceivable place they might be hiding, for over four months, with no success. It seemed only logical that he could not find what was not there, and both men agreed.

Elizabeth was at first shocked but, the more she spoke to Mr. Brooks, and consulted with her uncle, the more his logic prevailed. Mr. Brooks would not voluntarily turn down a well-paying customer. He felt he had done all that he could and any more work on his part would be futile and not seem honest. This sad revelation was the final straw for Elizabeth. She knew the man was being truthful. She did not like the idea of anyone giving up on Lydia, but she saw the justification in this step.

“I would only agree to this, gentleman, under one condition.”

“What do you ask, Elizabeth?”

“That you and I, and Aunt Gardiner, not give up, not stop looking. I can’t give her up yet; it is too soon. She might still be saved. We might find her.” Her lip trembled as she spoke and her uncle drew her to his shoulder tenderly.

“Of course not Lizzy. We will still look and so may you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered from his coat. They thanked Mr. Brooks for all his help, promising to return if any news became available, while he promised to do the same.

Not long after Johnson’s was opened, Aunt Gardiner stopped by the shop with wonderful news; she had found a position for Jane! The Parkers were a lovely family long known to them. They lived in town, had two small girls, Helen age eight and Lily age six, both well behaved and now in need of a governess. Mr. and Mrs. Parker were devoted to one another, especially after they had fought so hard to convince her family to allow the marriage. She had been a fairly wealthy lady, he only the fourth son of a landed gentleman and had to make his way in the world. He became a successful lawyer who worked for the rights of the poor. The Gardiners held him in highest esteem. Aunt Gardiner thought the situation ideal.

Elizabeth was delighted for her sister. She would be living in a good neighbourhood, more fashionable than Cheapside, but not too far from them either. Jane was apparently very excited; that evening at Gracechurch Street she could hardly keep seated. Everything about the Parkers had to be discussed. Tomorrow she would meet Mrs. Parker and the little girls at her Aunt‘s house, then meet Mr. Parker at their home the next day. Elizabeth knew that Jane wanted to make a good impression on them. There were no worries on her part for her sister. Jane’s goodness, her gentle ways, were so overpowering to any observer that Lizzy expected at the very least a full employment offer to her sister within the first five minutes, and told her so. The two hugged, laughing.

What followed the next day? Only Mrs. Parker and her daughters becoming thoroughly entranced with the lovely Jane Bennet. Jane’s modest gentility won over Mrs. Parker while her angelic looks and sweet placid smile won over the girls in a matter of minutes. By the end of the visit, the little ones were holding Jane’s hands, unabashedly adoring her, while they made their farewells.

Her interview with Mr. Parker was thorough without being overwhelming or rude. After questioning her on her own skills, he was satisfied with Jane’s capabilities to educate his daughters to the levels he wished. And he could not fault Miss Bennet’s manners in any way. When he finally allowed a small smile and extended his hand to Jane at the end of the interview, her relief was very evident. One week later, Jane Bennet would go to live with the Parkers and start her first employment.

Jane settled easily into her new role as governess with the Parkers. The sisters missed one another as Jane now had only one evening off each week. They made a point of meeting whenever they could. Often Lizzy (as Mrs. Johnson) would join Jane and the girls at a park on the weekends. It gave Elizabeth an excuse to walk to new places while on her searches, and she delighted in seeing Jane blossom with her charges. The women were easing into their lives independent of one another, as well as the Gardiners, and both were satisfied in their new positions.

Elizabeth however, could not be satisfied with the lack of progress of finding Lydia. Since becoming Mrs. Johnson, she had gone out every weekend, walking for most of the day. Her feet were tired, sore and often blistered, but she persevered. She would put on a cheerful face for her aunt and uncle when she dined later with them, consequently they had no idea how many hours she was devoting to her hunt.

She decided to organize her search in a more structured fashion. She obtained maps of the city and, in her room late at night, she would plan out an itinerary for the next day. She notated where she had been and any potential places that looked promising to investigate. She began to detail the thoughts of her plans, constantly working, and then reworking her ideas in her head and then on paper.

After about three weekends, she was convinced that she was not giving enough time to the search. She decided to get up earlier each day, including days she was to work at her shop. She would leave at break of dawn, searching the streets and staying out for several hours before returning to wait for her uncle to pick her up to begin the workday at Johnson’s.

Morning was an excellent time to talk to the trades-people, before customers took up their time. Most sincerely tried to help her, some could be rude, but none could provide any answers. She would pause to look at the gentlemen who were sheepishly leaving clubs, halls or even more decadent establishments. She hoped she might see Wickham leaving some gambling hall after a night of gaming. Sometimes the swagger of a particular man, or the sight of soldier in regimentals, would start her heart pounding as she hoped and dreaded it might actually be him. But it was not to be.

She dared not speak to any of them. She had spent enough time on the streets to know a woman who approached a strange gentleman, no matter her age, could be mistaken for a prostitute. She had seen hundreds of them, in the early morning as often as early evening. They did not accost her as she was neither competition nor did she try to convert or help any of them, as she had seen people doing. Some of the women were truly wretched; these were the ones that haunted Elizabeth the most. She feared that, one day, she would look into one of the faces and see Lydia. An unsettling thought had gnawed at her and would not be ignored: Wickham and Lydia had been gone for almost six months; how could they possibly be paying for room and board? He would not have been able to draw his salary after deserting the army and Lydia could not have had more than 5 pounds with her when she ran away. She shuddered to think what either might have done, might be doing, to earn money.

She saw what men had done to those women on the street, and was sickened to think that Wickham might have left Lydia to the same fate. She knew he had it in him to do it. She was desperate to find them both. These thoughts fuelled the anger and desire for vengeance in her more than any other.

The Gardiners and Mrs. Johnson also purposely attended plays together in the more run down areas of London. Elizabeth had speculated that Lydia would likely try to persuade Wickham to take her to an evening’s entertainment. They certainly would not be able to show their faces at the fashionable houses, much less afford the tickets. They endured the rough and malodorous patrons of these places in an effort to try to find the couple, but unfortunately had no luck.

Obsession was not a feeling Elizabeth was familiar with. Only recently had she become acquainted with hatred and vengeance, obsession was not a condition she was prepared to even recognise. Some might have seen the signs about her. Some would have noticed her increasing preoccupation or her altered appearance. She was not as tidy with her person as was her wont. Those who loved her would have been disturbed at how she rarely presented herself as anyone other than Mrs. Johnson. And if anyone had been to her room, especially at night, as she slept in her clothes, notes clutched in her fist, the evidence would have been overpowering.

However, such fixation, despites it’s owner’s fierce determination, was doomed to run into a stumbling block. Elizabeth’s undoing was not of other people’s makings; but of her own.

Almost two months after Elizabeth’s move from Gracechurch Street, Mrs. Gardiner called upon her niece’s landlady, Mrs. Pratt, to see if Elizabeth’s room was being kept in order, and find how she was fairing living there. Mrs. Pratt told an astonished Mrs. Gardiner that Mrs. Johnson had specifically asked not to have her room cleaned. She brought her own bedding and towelings down to be laundered and insisted on making her own bed and tending her fire herself. It had been some weeks, in fact, since Mrs. Pratt had even stepped inside Mrs. Johnson’s room.

Disturbing as this was to hear, Mrs. Pratt’s concern for Mrs. Johnson’s health alarmed Elizabeth’s aunt more. Mrs. Pratt described, in great detail, all the time Mrs. Johnson spent away from the house, and how most of the tenants worried for her well-being.

Mrs. Gardiner decided to accompany her husband when he returned home with Mrs. Johnson that evening. A short conversation in the coach before arriving at Johnson’s determined a course of action for them both. Elizabeth was surprised to find her aunt in the coach, but was not in the least suspicious. Both studied her very closely now. She did not know they could see the strain in her face. She was determined to be her usual self, but she could no longer hide from them the underlying shadow behind her eyes. As they arrived at her lodging house, Mr. Gardiner stepped down to hand her out and then, to Elizabeth’s surprise, Mrs. Gardiner stepped out as well. Mrs. Pratt was on the landing welcoming them all and ushered them inside.

Mrs. Gardiner spoke with obvious purpose. “Mrs. Pratt, thank you for receiving us. I know you understand our wanting to see Mrs. Johnson to her room and make sure she is well settled. We have all been concerned that she is not taking proper care of herself.” The last words were spoken directly to Elizabeth. A very resolute look on her aunt’s face told her she was not being asked permission to proceed to view her room. She knew she was trapped. They knew she knew, so, resigned, she led the way. She was not prepared for their reaction.

Upon first seeing the room, the party was completely still. Both Aunt Gardiner and Uncle Gardiner slowly walked in, staring intently at the sight in front of them. Elizabeth stood back, gazing around her room as if seeing it for the first time. She realised then her relatives must be in shock.

The walls were barely visible for the maps that she had tacked up on them. Scribblings and arrows indicating her thoughts were drawn on them. The small table she had to take her meals at was un-kept, crumbs covering the papers that were piled there. Indeed most every surface in the room, including her bed, had some kind of paper lying upon it in disarray. Uncle Gardiner picked up two sheaves, staring at her manic handwriting. He saw numbered lists, items scratched out, and questions written but not answered on them.

She could do little else but stare at the floor, embarrassed to be exposed.

“Oh Elizabeth,” her aunt whispered hoarsely.

It occurred to her that she might have been shedding tears by now. Part of her felt she should be crying, she should feel guilty, or at least irresponsible, but she did not. She was only annoyed at having been discovered, and the prospect of having her indulgences curtailed.

“I believe we should all retire to Gracechurch Street for the evening. Elizabeth, pack a bag - you will be staying with us tonight.” Her grave uncle was not making a request.

That evening, Aunt Gardiner herself acted as ladies’ maid to Elizabeth. She had a long hot bath, washed her hair and rested, wrapped in a warm robe, until a tray with her dinner could be brought up. She knew her aunt was worried over her appearance; she had lost weight, her skin was sallow, her eyes drooped with shadings under them. Worst of all were her feet. The miles she had walked on the hard city sidewalks had taken their toll. Her aunt had gasped at seeing the sores and bruises. They applied a salve to help them heal whist her aunt warned her that she and her uncle were going to set some stringent demands upon her excursions in the future.

After nourishing herself, and getting into her nightdress, her aunt addressed her again. “Elizabeth, we will speak to you in the morning. Your uncle and I have not had the chance to discuss what has happened, and we would never make important decisions without consulting each other thoroughly. Do you understand we wish to do nothing lightly?” Elizabeth nodded.

“And that we will have your health and best interest at heart?” She nodded again.

“Good! Tonight it is most important for you to get a good night’s sleep so you may be refreshed. And so we can all talk rationally on the morrow.” She sat on the edge of the bed with a concerned face, while Elizabeth looked a bit like child dreading parental punishment. Her aunt gathered her into a warm embrace.

“We love you very much Lizzy,” she cried.

Talking to her relations the next morning was not quite as dreadful as Elizabeth had feared. The Gardiners were reasonable, but had to insist she severely curtail the amount of time she would spend searching the streets. The next two weeks were to be devoted entirely to restoring her health. She would spend both weekends at her lodgings resting and not searching for Lydia in anyway. She still had to work at the cigar shop, taxing her already ailing soles, therefore they could not allow her to do any walking in the mornings of the weekdays either. Besides, it was well into January, and winter’s cruel breath was daily descending upon them, precluding most people from strolling about at leisure, much less walking for endless hours. The argument was too strong; Elizabeth was unable to put up any resistance.

They further insisted that, from now on, Elizabeth take her midday meals on Saturday and Sundays with them. They wanted to be sure she gave herself sufficient rest when she resumed her search in a fortnight. They would also inform Mrs. Pratt that Mrs. Johnson’s doctor had strictly forbidden her to walk out on weekday mornings. They would inform Toby of something similar as well. She was thus effectively cornered into acquiescing to their wishes. Too many people around her would be able to watch her, and restrict her.

Her face must have shown her disappointment and vexation, for her uncle addressed her kindly, “You take too much upon yourself Lizzy. I know the heartache you feel but you have to consider your health first, and we are afraid you have not taken proper care of yourself. Restore your vigour and well-being. Prove to us that you are able to manage the responsibility of an independent life, and then we will talk again and decide what is best to be done.”

A very dejected Mrs. Johnson returned home that Sunday. She felt as if her purpose had been taken away from her. She felt she no longer had sufficient opportunities to effectively conduct her search. She felt him slipping away from her; slipping through her fingers, a futile endeavour, like trying to drink water from a cupped hand. Her repressed emotions still unleashed, she lay down on her bed exhausted and tried to settle into sleep.

Less than a week later, George Wickham would walk into Johnson’s House of Cigars.

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