Page 138 of A Debt Inherited

Only Miss Bennet.

The phrase should have comforted her. Instead, it chilled her. If he must distinguish her price from his own, then Mr Kerr meant to keep him too.

“And why should I permit that?” Mr Kerr demanded.

“Because confusion delays payment. My name will cause alarm.”

His name. She had not yet caught it. A man whose name would cause alarm must possess more than courage.

Mr Wickham said, “You bluff poorly, Darcy.”

Darcy.

The name meant nothing to her. It had no place in Longbourn’s ordinary talk, no history in Meryton, no face attached to it. Yet Mr Wickham spoke it with old resentment, and that gave it weight.

Mr Darcy answered, “You should not have brought me here.”

Elizabeth went still.

Not I should not have come.

You should not have brought me here.

He did not sound trapped. He sounded informed.

Mr Kerr’s voice cut across the room. “You changed the plan.”

“For the richer,” Mr Wickham said.

There it lay. Not rumour. Not suspicion. Greed, spoken aloud and pleased with itself.

Mr Wickham had not merely carried a message. He had enlarged the snare.

A chair scraped.

“Write to your man,” Mr Kerr said.

“See that Miss Bennet has water and food,” Mr Darcy said. “Then I will write.”

A small thing. A jug. Bread. Water. Yet he had spent his next command upon her needs.

Mr Kerr said, “You set another term?”

“I state what preserves your bargain.”

A silence followed. Then Mr Kerr’s voice, clipped with displeasure: “Fetch the jug.”

Mr Wickham laughed. “Am I servant now?”

“You are the cause of my needing another lock on this affair. Fetch the jug.”

In the outer room, Mr Wickham muttered something she could not catch. A chair scraped the floor.

She put her ear to the door. She discerned no more, then jerked back at Mr Kerr’s voice.

“This will go.” Mr Kerr said.

Paper rasped. A step crossed the boards.