Page 71 of A Perfect Stranger

W ait for me,” Miss Bingley instructed the hackney driver.

“Cost ya, lady,” she was informed.

She fumed silently as she fished a coin from her reticule and gave it to the driver. “Wait!” she repeated.

He just nodded at her and spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the street.

Miss Bingley mounted the steps of what had once been her home and knocked on the door. The butler opened it and then blocked the opening with his body. “Yes, Miss Bingley?”

“I would like to speak with my brother.”

“He is not here.”

“I will come in and wait for him,” she said, stepping forward.

The butler did not move, but looked uncomfortable. “I am sorry, Miss Bingley; my instructions are to not admit you into the house.”

“What?!” she demanded, though she had expected as much.

“I am sorry, Miss Bingley,” he repeated.

“When do you expect him, then?” she demanded.

“I could not say; he is not in London.”

Without another word, she turned and marched back down the steps. The hackney was still there, she was happy to see. She had no time to waste; she needed to go home and pack a trunk immediately. Doubtless, her brother had returned to Netherfield.