Page 104 of A Debt Inherited

His expression did not alter. “Hold your wrists out.”

Elizabeth held out her hands. He crossed the room and set the knife beneath the cord. The blade touched her skin, cold enough to make her fingers tighten. One turn, and the hemp gave.

She drew her hands back slowly. Red marks circled both wrists.

“The door remains barred,” he said.

“I had not mistaken this for liberty.”

His gaze moved once over her face, then to the empty stool and the pail.

“You will have water again before noon.”

“How generous.” Elizabeth looked towards the pail. “And that?”

A muscle moved once in his jaw.

“Set it by the door.”

She did not move. “I am newly restored to the dignity of hands, sir. I would prefer not to carry it while you stand there observing.”

For a moment she thought he would refuse. Then he stepped back into the yard and pulled the door nearly closed.

Elizabeth took the pail by its handle, set it just inside the threshold, and returned to the pallet.

Kerr opened the door only far enough to take it.

“Water before noon,” he said.

The door closed. The bar dropped into place.

Elizabeth waited until his steps retreated. Then she rubbed life back into her fingers and began again with the room.

Chapter 39

Bennet understood Mrs Hill’s request before she finished making it.

She looked at the cooling hearth, the table crowded with journal, map, mugs, and spent candles, then at Cook’s grey face and Hill’s dust-streaked coat.

“Sir,” she said, “your study will give you better light for the papers.”

Bennet closed the journal and set his hand upon it for one breath. “My study, then.”

Mrs Hill’s fingers closed once upon the keys at her waist. “First, sir, if you think it proper, Miss Elizabeth’s room.”

Proper.

The word stood in the kitchen like a candle held up in a ruined church. Bennet took his cane from Hill and turned towards the stair.

Longbourn had entered morning without permission. Light lay pale along the hall boards; the clock ticked with its usual self-importance; somewhere above, a maid moved and then stopped altogether.

Bennet mounted the stairs slowly. His leg had stiffened in the night, and each step answered from hip to knee. Mrs Hill went before him, not hurrying, though the keys at her waist gave one small, anxious note with every tread. Hill came two paces behind.

Elizabeth’s door stood closed.

Mrs Hill opened it and stepped aside.

Bennet entered.