Page 107 of A Debt Inherited

Hill crossed to the window and stood just aside of the curtain. The hoofs slowed near the front of the house, then stopped. A moment later, the knocker struck.

Once.

Then again.

Hill turned from the window. “Mr Wickham, sir.”

Bennet did not rise at once. He folded the map along its old crease, set Cowper aside, and laid the journal square before him.

“Show him in.”

Chapter 40

Hill showed Mr Wickham in.

He entered with his hat beneath his arm and civility arranged upon every feature. The morning had touched him handsomely: a little dust upon his boots, a little colour from the ride, a little concern in his eyes, worn as another man might wear mourning.

Bennet remained seated.

“Mr Bennet,” Wickham said, bowing. “I beg your pardon for calling at such an hour.”

“Do you?”

The smile flickered, then returned. “Most sincerely. I would not intrude, were the matter less urgent.”

Hill stood near the door. Bennet did not dismiss him. Wickham observed the omission and made no comment.

“Then make it urgent, Mr Wickham.”

Wickham drew a folded paper from within his coat. “I was asked to deliver this.”

Bennet looked at the paper, then at him. “By whom?”

“I am afraid I cannot say.”

“Cannot, or will not?”

“Sir, I am only the bearer.”

“Of what?”

Wickham’s fingers tightened once upon the fold. “A message.”

“Concerning whom?”

The silence was answer enough.

Bennet’s hand closed over the horse’s head of his cane. “Say her name, Mr Wickham.”

Wickham lowered his eyes, as if delicacy had suddenly found him. “Miss Elizabeth.”

“No,” Bennet said. “You are not only the bearer. You are the man who crossed my threshold with a letter concerning my daughter. Bearer is too soft a word for it.”

Wickham’s fingers tightened once upon the paper. “I assure you, I know very little of the matter.”

“You know enough to come, and too little to answer. How fortunate.”

For the first time, Wickham looked not at Bennet, but at the door. It was a small glance, quickly corrected, yet Bennet saw it and understood that Wickham had expected grief, not resistance.