Page 130 of A Debt Inherited

“Godspeed, sir.”

Darcy nodded once.

Bennet watched Wickham turn his head from the paddock gate.

“You wager much upon your cousin,” Bennet said.

Darcy’s mouth curved faintly. “If you knew Colonel Fitzwilliam, you would not use the word wager.”

* * *

Redbourn Heath, the same day

Elizabeth had measured the morning by indignities.

First came the grey strip of light beneath the shutter. Then the soreness where the cords had bitten her wrists. Then the flies, bold with heat, moving about the pail in the corner as if they had acquired tenancy.

She had borne fear. She had borne hunger. She would not bear filth in silence.

She crossed to the door and knocked.

No answer came.

She knocked again. “Mr Kerr.”

A chair scraped beyond the wall. His step sounded in the passage, measured at first, then checked. The bolt lifted. Kerr opened the door no wider than his shoulder.

“Miss Bennet.”

“I require the pail removed.”

His gaze moved past her to the corner. A faint tightening touched his mouth. “Set it by the door.”

“As I did before?”

“Yes.”

“Then I must ask you to open the door wider. I should dislike spilling it over your boots.”

His mouth tightened. “That would be unwise.”

“So would leaving it here.”

His eyes returned to her face. “You have recovered your spirits.”

“No, sir. Only my standards.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he opened the door wider and gestured.

Elizabeth crossed to the corner, lifted the pail, and set it carefully at his feet.

“Where is Mr Wickham?” she asked.

“Elsewhere.”

“How precise. I begin to understand why gentlemen employ scriveners.”

His hand closed about the handle. “I am not employed by Mr Wickham.”