Page 12 of Dishonorable Gentlemen (Bennet Gang #1)

Here to Enforce Justice

Several days after their call on Netherfield Park, Elizabeth looked up from her reading as Lydia careened into the parlor where she sat with her three other sisters and their mother. Lydia’s face was alight with glee, her eyes shining. Appearing equally excited, Thomas and Matthew trailed her.

“Redcoats,” Lydia exclaimed. “Meryton is awash in redcoats.”

“A militia has been stationed in Meryton,” Thomas added. “Real live soldiers.”

A shock of worry went through Elizabeth. She struggled not to look at Jane or Mary for their reactions and tamped down her fear. No one could connect them to the Boney Bandits.

Mrs. Oakwood sniffed. “I daresay none of them have served as your papa did.”

“Are they handsome?” Kitty asked, setting her needlepoint aside.

Even at an angle, Elizabeth could see that her sister was ruining another handkerchief. Kitty’s stitches were erratic and uneven, even less thought out and less competently applied than her brush strokes when she painted.

“They most certainly are not handsome,” Mrs. Oakwood snapped. “Not a one of them is worthy of you or your dowry.”

Kitty’s face fell.

Lydia bounced up on her toes. “Are they worthy of my dowry, Mama?”

Mrs. Oakwood shrugged. “How should I know? That is between my dear, sweet Arthur and Mr. Phillips. Neither consulted me on the matter. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have not a penny settled on you.”

Lydia sighed, but with no real distress. That was the same answer their mother always gave.

“Could you not ask Uncle Phillips, Mama?” Elizabeth asked. Normally, she gave little thought to her dowry, but it did irk her not to have any notion what, if anything, Papa Arthur had settled on her and her sisters. More importantly, Jane may care to know soon .

Not that Elizabeth had never attempted to learn about their dowries. She had asked, and been subsequently rebuffed by Uncle Phillips. That was years ago now, though. She slanted a look at Jane, who’d reached her majority and who no one could deny. If Jane asked…

“What does it matter?” Mrs. Oakwood narrowed her eyes at Elizabeth. “You, Miss Lizzy, are too contrary to marry. Mary is too plain to catch a gentleman’s notice. Lydia is not out.” This was accompanied by a quelling look for Lydia, who popped up onto her toes again. Their mother turned to Jane, a smug smile overtaking her features. “And Jane will marry Mr. Bingley, who is too wealthy to care about her dowry.”

“But I want to know,” Lydia said, undeterred.

“Then ask your uncle yourself.”

“But we never see him,” Lydia complained. “And you haven’t invited Aunt Phillips for tea in days.”

“Certainly, you never see your uncle,” Mrs. Oakwood snapped. “We do not associate with attorneys. Your father was a gentleman and my dear Arthur a general, and I cannot have Mr. Bingley or his relations, or that handsome Mr. Darcy, call here and find my sister who married an attorney in my drawing room.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help pulling a face. The Phillips had been their salvation when Mr. Bennet died and were usually welcomed.

“Nor will we be calling on my sister. Not while Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy are staying at Netherfield Park.” Their mother turned a hard look Elizabeth’s way. “They are not to be reminded of our lowly relations.”

“I meet with Uncle Phillips once a quarter,” Thomas said, slipping around Lydia to take a chair at the little table where he and Matthew liked to play cards. “We go over the estate books.”

Elizabeth turned to him. She knew of the meetings but it hadn’t occurred to her to seek information about their finances from her little brother. “Is the estate doing well?” Were there funds to set aside for dowries?

Matthew sat at the table as well, as Thomas said, “There is usually a profit but Uncle Phillips always says to put it back into the estate, so we do. It’s his decision. He’s only teaching me for when I’m older.”

Elizabeth nodded. Dovemark, being on a swath of land dominated by stony hills, had little in the way of farmland. Mostly, their few tenants kept sheep.

“My dear sweet Arthur put his funds into building us this lovely home.” Mrs. Oakwood looked around with a soft smile, for she truly did love their home and the man who’d caused it to be built. “That, he did to ensure our comfort and that we would never be without a home again, as happened with Longbourn.”

“When he turns one and twenty, Thomas could evict us,” Elizabeth said blandly.

Jane looked up from her mending to purse her lips at Elizabeth. Mary merely shook her head. Neither understood her need to antagonize their mother. Elizabeth hardly understood it herself, except that Mama said such aggravating, nonsensical things much of the time and it goaded her.

“I would never,” Thomas said staunchly.

“And besides, I am going to marry Mr. Collins and so we will have Longbourn back,” Kitty added.

Mrs. Oakwood smiled happily at that, but Jane, whose face was angled to her work, paled.

“I am going to go back to watching the redcoats,” Lydia declared. “We only came to see if any of you want to join us.”

“I came back because it’s nearly time for tea,” Thomas contradicted.

“I’m hungry,” Matthew added and reached for the deck of cards in the center of the table.

“Who can think of food with all those lovely redcoats marching into Meryton?” Lydia dropped her heels to the floor again, her eyes dreamy. “I don’t care if any of you are interested, I’m going back to see them.”

“Not alone, you are not,” Mrs. Oakwood said. She looked about, as if someone might have joined them unnoticed. “Where is Nanny Hill? Were you out alone?”

“Nanny Hill is taking her afternoon nap,” Lydia replied. “And you know I wasn’t alone. Thomas and Matthew were with me.”

At their table, Thomas and Matthew nodded along.

“Your brothers are too young to be proper chaperones,” their mother said firmly.

Ignoring that, Lydia turned to them. “Let’s go watch a bit longer.”

Thomas shook his head. “They all look the same, Lydie.”

“And Mama says we aren’t proper chaperones,” Matthew added.

Elizabeth stood, curious to see these redcoats that were invading the village…and to assess whether or not they constituted a threat. “I will accompany you, Lydia.”

That earned a frown from their mother.

“I will as well.” Mary came to her feet.

Jane looked up.

“You will remain here.” Mrs. Oakwood aimed her words at Jane. “I will not have you falling for some useless redcoat when you could have Mr. Bingley.”

Jane shrugged and returned to sewing.

Elizabeth followed Lydia out, then went up to collect her bonnet, gloves and cloak.

Soon enough, she, Mary, and Lydia walked streets dotted with men in red coats. In a way, they did all look the same, as Thomas had said. Mostly tall. Mostly well enough formed. Their faces clean shaven and their hair neat. They sauntered about, and more ladies than usual wandered the main street. Everywhere, the women of the community endeavored to act disinterested, while still watching the newcomers. For their part, the redcoats wore wide grins, as bright as their polished buttons and boots. They looked far too cocky to be any real trouble, but it would be best if Azile and Enaj were scarce while they remained.

“They seem pleased,” Mary said quietly where she and Elizabeth trailed Lydia.

“The local female population or the redcoats?” Elizabeth cast back.

Mary smiled slightly. “Both.”

“Enaj and Azile are going to lose half their admirers,” Lydia said, looking over her shoulder.

Elizabeth, who’d thought Lydia wasn’t paying them any mind, reminded herself again not to forget how observant her youngest sister was.

Halting, Lydia turned to Elizabeth and Mary again to ask, “How can we meet them?”

“Psst.”

Elizabeth whirled at the sound.

Robert Collins stood to their right, tucked out of sight in the alleyway that ran along one side of the magistrate’s office. He gestured, his expression eager.

“What does he want?” Elizabeth muttered.

“I will find out.” Mary was moving away before Elizabeth could protest.

She looked back to see if Lydia had noticed Mary’s defection, just in time to see her sister toss a handkerchief at the feet of two officers.

“Oh,” Lydia exclaimed. “How clumsy I am.”

One of the men, grinning, dipped down to scoop up the lace-trimmed cloth. “I believe you dropped this, Miss…?”

Elizabeth strode forward to snatch the handkerchief from his fingers before Lydia could. “I am sorry if my sister troubled you, sir. Her nanny takes afternoon naps, providing the freedom for sneaking out of the schoolroom.”

Both men cast surprised, assessing looks at Lydia.

Who tossed her curls where she stood beside Elizabeth, half a head taller. “It is a good thing she will retire soon, as I am too old to require a nanny or a schoolroom.” She smiled widely. “I’m Lydia Bennet and this is my sister Elizabeth.”

The men exchanged a look. The one who’d picked up the handkerchief shrugged. The other raised his eyebrows, appearing uncomfortable at the inopportune meeting.

“I’m Lieutenant Denny, and this is Pratt,” the shrugger said easily. “We’re to be stationed here for some time, I believe.”

“I hope until after my birthday,” Lydia said, her smile even wider.

“And when might that be?” Lieutenant Denny asked, looking her up and down.

“We will not trouble you gentlemen any longer,” Elizabeth said firmly. She caught Lydia by the elbow.

“In the spring,” Lydia called over her shoulder as Elizabeth turned her away.

Elizabeth all but dragged her sister over to a shop window, away from the two men.

Lydia yanked her elbow free. “You’re ruining everything.”

“I am saving you from being labeled the biggest flirt in Hertfordshire.”

“I only wanted to meet them.”

“And you did.”

Mary appeared on Lydia’s other side. “What are you two whispering about?”

“I met two redcoats, Mr. Denny and Mr. Pratt, but Elizabeth wouldn’t let us talk with them.”

“Rightly so,” Mary said firmly.

Lydia huffed a sigh.

“We had best get back.”

Elizabeth agreed with Mary’s assessment, but her sister’s grim tone surprised her. She met Mary’s gaze and received only a slight shake of her head.

“Or we could stop at Aunt Phillips,” Lydia said. “She always has the best tarts, and she’s certain to know all about the redcoats already.”

“Elizabeth and I have work to do in the garden,” Mary said in a voice about as soft as ice.

Wondering what Robert Collins could have done to upset Mary so, Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. We have garden work.”

“Can you not leave me with Aunt Phillips?” Lydia pleaded. “I’m certain she can spare a maid to walk me home.”

“Mama just forbade us—” Elizabeth began.

“If you promise not to tell,” Mary cut in.

Elizabeth blinked at her. It wasn’t like Mary to go against their mother’s rules. Even the ridiculous ones.

Lydia clapped her hands together. “I promise. Mama will never know.”

“Very well.” Mary set a brisk pace to their uncle’s office, above which he and their aunt lived.

Elizabeth stood beside her sister, silent as they watched Lydia knock. Nor did they move until their sister went in and the door closed behind her. Still without speaking, they turned and started home.

They walked through the village, ignoring the interested looks of redcoats, and took the road north. Coming upon the westward turn that led to their home, they turned. Elizabeth eyed Mary as they walked, her worry growing with every moment of silence.

Finally, alone on the open roadway, the line of hills that ran from Longbourn, through Dovemark, and all the way to Netherfield Park visible as low lumps in the distance, Mary said, “The militia is here to find and arrest the Boney Bandits. Some colonel, Fitzwilliam by name, requested a troop be sent to apprehend them.”

“What?” Elizabeth exclaimed, fresh worry shooting through her. “Why would he?”

“Apparently, it was at Mr. Darcy’s request.”

“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth repeated, the name suddenly bitter in her mouth. She should have known that he wouldn’t stand for being robbed. He wasn’t the sort to let an offence go unanswered.

She pursed her lips. What would being hunted mean to them and the work they did? They weren’t in need of funds to distribute at the moment, thanks to Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. Could they simply wait out this militia? She would not permit people to suffer because redcoats had come to Meryton. “You know for certain that Mr. Darcy is involved, and that hunting us is why they are here?”

Mary nodded. “Cousin Robert told me. He saw as much in a letter sent to Mr. Collins.”

“Why should we trust him? And why would he tell you that?” That was twice of late that Cousin Robert had given Mary such pertinent, important information…which was suspicious .

“I trust him because he has never lied to me. He told me as a matter of interest.” Mary’s face was very blank. Very closed.

A horrible fear filled Elizabeth. “You…tell me you have not told him about us.”

Mary shook her head. “Do not be absurd.”

“Then why would he tell you anything about the Boney Bandits?”

“Because he and I have conversed about them before. He believes I am in league with him in his attempts to discover who they are.”

Elizabeth stared at her sister, then turned her attention back to the roadway, lest she trip. She knew Mary had contacts. A network of sorts which she used to learn what took place in the village. She had not realized that network included Robert Collins so fully.

Mary slanted a look at her. “You took quite the sum off Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. We should not require anything more until after the Yuletide.”

Elizabeth nodded. They’d given out enough funds to ensure that everyone could have a good Christmas. Still, winters were lean and the new year would bring more of Mr. Collins’ taxes, and once the snow came, she and Jane worried too much about being tracked to take to the highways seeking unsuspecting travelers.

“That is, we have enough funds for so long as Jane’s resolve holds,” Mary added. “I worry that if she does marry Mr. Bingley, she will insist we repay what we took.”

Elizabeth pulled a face. That did sound like Jane. But rather than speculate on their sister’s goodness, she worried over the villainy of their cousins. “And you are certain Robert Collins knows nothing, and is telling you the truth?”

Mary nodded. “I am certain he has no thought that we are the Boney Bandits, and I have no reason to doubt his words about the militia and Mr. Darcy.”

“Except that he is a Collins,” Elizabeth muttered as they stepped through an ornate gate set into the low stone wall that delineated the Dovemark lands.

Mary shook her head. “He is not a real Collins.”

“His last name is Collins.” And Elizabeth had no use for any Collins. Even ‘not real’ ones.

“Yes, but everyone knows that his mother was with child when she agreed to marry Mr. Collins’ father, which is borne out by how entirely different Cousin Robert is from Mr. Collins.”

“Cousin Robert was raised by the same man who raised Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth countered. “He was brought up by the same man who cast us from Longbourn and who shot Papa Arthur, and if Mr. Collins dies without issue, it is Robert who will claim Longbourn, not any of us. That is as Collins as Collins can be.”

“But he is not a real Collins,” Mary reiterated.

Elizabeth shrugged, her mood spoiled. She didn’t want to give consideration to Robert Collins. Nor did she want to acknowledge the fear that had shot through her at Mary’s revelation. A whole militia, there to capture her, Mary, and Jane. A militia that suddenly rendered their game of highwaymen far less enjoyable.

What she did want was to go to their cavern and exact a toll on a practice dummy. One she would imagine had Mr. Darcy’s face.