Page 13 of Gentlemen of Honor (Bennet Gang Duology #2)

The Truth at Last…Mostly

Lydia could hardly contain her excitement as she and Thomas strode along the path to the stable. Today she would finally learn what her older sisters did all the time. That it was something very secret, she already knew, for she, Thomas, and Matthew had made numerous attempts to spy but, somehow, they were always caught. Usually by Mary. That it was also something important, she suspected, for while Elizabeth could be fun and silly at times, laughing until joyful tears spilled from her eyes, Jane had little frivolity in her, and Mary none.

Still, Lydia tried to rein in her excitement, for knowing her sisters, their pursuits could be something as boring as hiding in the hay loft to study forbidden Greek texts in their original Greek. Or to read those essays that came out about how women should have more rights. Or even to compose them. Between them, Elizabeth and Mary could likely write a scathing indictment of the mores of the London Season.

Except that Jane apparently had a sword, so maybe her sisters were secretly Jacobites, or that new group Lydia had seen in the paper…Luddites, was it? Or they were reading something naughty like Fanny Hill, though Lydia couldn’t truly picture Jane doing so, and imagining Mary reading naughty books made her giggle.

In truth, Lydia didn’t care what her sisters got up to, so long as she could finally take part, but if it turned out they truly were only brushing horses and trimming roses, she would scream.

“What are you giggling about?”

Lydia glanced at her brother. Thomas seemed very tense. Not at all joyful like she was. “I was imagining what we will learn today.”

He frowned, and Lydia wondered if he’d been taking lessons from Mr. Darcy. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell Lizzy that Matty seems better this morning.”

According to Mary, their little brother had woken up in the early hours. She and a maid had helped him to bathe and change his night clothes and sheets, and he’d consumed half a cup of tea, and all of the medicine Mary and Colonel Fitzwilliam had made for him. Mary, the circles under her eyes like coal, had been very happy when Lydia had checked on her before coming to the stables.

“Why wouldn’t we tell Lizzy that?” Lydia asked.

“Because if Matty is getting better, then soon he’ll be well enough to join us, and Lizzy will want to make us wait, like she made me wait until this morning so you could come along.”

For which Lydia was very grateful. It would have hurt, really hurt deep down inside, to be excluded. After all, she was the one who’d convinced Elizabeth to start teaching them to ride, and she’d asked that her brothers be included. If Elizabeth had taken Thomas into her confidence and not Lydia, she would have gone back to stamping her feet. Why be grown up, after all, if no one would treat you like you were?

“She likely already knows,” Lydia said. “All the maids are speaking of it. I’d be surprised if the whole of Meryton doesn’t know by luncheon.”

Thomas nodded, fixing a glum look on the stables as they drew near. “Well, Lizzy better tell us anyways. She said she would.”

“She will,” Lydia decreed, pushing open the smaller door used by people.

Elizabeth stood inside, calmly facing the door, and Lydia realized her sister had heard their approach. The night they’d sneaked down to Papa Arthur’s study came to mind, and how silent both Elizabeth and Mary had been. Lydia had felt like a big, gangly troll, plodding along, looking for billy goats to devour. Maybe how to sneak better was one of the things Elizabeth would tell them.

They came to stand before their older sister and sudden nervousness filled Lydia. Elizabeth looked very serious. Almost grim. None of the good cheer that usually danced in her eyes was in evidence. Was what she was about to tell them truly that terrible?

What if she and Jane and Mary were doing something illegal?

“You are late.”

Lydia stared at her, then slanted a look at Thomas out of the corner of her eye. He hadn’t said anything about a specific time.

“I didn’t know you meant us to be here right at eight,” Thomas said.

“Perhaps I was unclear.” Elizabeth studied them in silence for a moment. “You have my apologies. It is only that what I am about to tell you is very serious, and I need to know that you can be serious about it.”

“We can be,” Lydia said quickly. “You know we can. Has Mama heard about us learning to ride? Did anyone hear anything about the Hargreaves before they got here? No, because we’re very serious and we can keep secrets.”

Thomas’s head snapped up. “You knew about the Hargreaves before they got here?”

“We all knew they were coming to visit Netherfield Park,” Lydia countered, giving her best Elizabeth-style non-answer. “Miss Bingley told us so.”

Thomas’s narrowed eyes said he knew she was leaving something out.

“Yes, Lydia knew something more about the Hargreaves than you did, Thomas,” Elizabeth said.

Lydia cast her a grimace as Thomas continued to glare.

“In fact, it is she who discovered what Jane, Mary, and I know, so you have her to thank for what I am about to tell you concerning them. I will add to that what I know from Papa Arthur.” Elizabeth looked about.

Following her gaze, Lydia took in the thick glass in the windows, a rare luxury in a stable. She inhaled the scents of clean straw, oat mash, and horses. The stable was very removed from everything, and quiet, yet Elizabeth seemed tense and her gaze kept going to the door.

“Have you been practicing your riding?” Elizabeth asked abruptly.

“Yes,” Lydia replied.

“Until Matty got sick,” Thomas added.

“And which of you is the more accomplished rider? Be honest.”

“Lydie is,” Thomas said grudgingly.

Elizabeth turned to her. “Do you agree with that?”

Lydia didn’t want to hurt her brother’s feelings, but Elizabeth had advised honesty. “Yes. Even Matty is better than Thomas. He’s going to need a lot of practice.”

Thomas cast her another glare.

“Very well, then.” Elizabeth pivoted and started for the tack room. “I believe I would like some space around us for what I am going to tell you. There are too many ways someone could overhear us here.”

Lydia hurried after Elizabeth, Thomas a half step behind.

“Lydia, saddle Robin. Thomas, I’m afraid you will have to ride Mare Marian, but be assured that I am going to speak with our mother about getting you a proper mount.”

Lydia didn’t miss how Thomas’s shoulders relaxed at Elizabeth’s declaration of what horse he would take. Horses made Thomas nervous and he preferred to ride Mare Marian over Robin, but he would never admit that .

They tacked out the horses, Elizabeth inspecting their work, and set out in a line. Elizabeth led them not around the house and up the drive, but into the thick trees along the hillside. She took them down a narrow trail that Lydia had never taken note of, but which her sister rode with confidence. Robin, too, seemed to know the way, and didn’t falter even when the trail became steep. Quicker than Lydia would have thought possible, they came out atop the low line of hills.

Rather than turn right and seek Oakham Mount, the region’s highest vantage point, Elizabeth took them left along the hilltop, staying to the north of the smattering of treetops that stuck up higher than the hills. After a time, she brought them to a halt beside a narrow cleft that looked as if it would wind all the way down into the shallow valley below.

“Wait a moment, Lydia, and I’ll lead Robin over to a rock,” Elizabeth said as she swung free of Tuck’s saddle.

“I can get down.” Lydia swung her leg over before Elizabeth could protest, wanting to impress her sister. She slid down, all the way down, and clattered to the ground. Her descent lacked a certain grace, but she grinned, well enough pleased. She’d dismounted without help, and she hadn’t used a block or a rock, or fallen on her face.

“You did not keep hold of the reins,” Elizabeth said from where she stood before Robin, reins in hand. “A less well-trained horse might have run off.”

Chagrin crashed through Lydia.

“But you did well,” her sister added, cutting off Lydia’s disappointment.

His brow furrowed in determination, Thomas dismounted, keeping ahold of Mare Marian’s reins, although they all knew she wouldn’t bolt. Lydia’s little brother looked very proud when his boots hit the ground.

They secured their mounts to some of the scrubby bushes at the top of the hill and Elizabeth moved to stand on the north side, where the cleft Lydia had already sighted cut downward.

“Is that Netherfield Park’s land?” Thomas asked, peering over the edge.

“It is,” Elizabeth replied. “It is also the valley where Mr. Bingley dueled Mr. Collins, and where Papa Arthur dueled Mr. Collin’s father.”

Lydia cast her sister a surprised look before turning back to scrutinize the dell. “It looks so peaceful. So…not scary.”

Elizabeth nodded. “It is a lovely valley, even if it has been stained by Papa Arthur’s and Mr. Bingley’s blood.”

“And that of two Collinses,” Thomas added, anger in his voice. “Is this what you wanted to show us?”

“No. I simply want to speak somewhere that lends itself to a good line of sight in all directions.”

“Then what do you have to tell us?” Lydia asked eagerly.

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath. “First, do I need to emphasize that everything I tell you must be kept secret? For anyone else to be told requires a vote.”

“A vote?” Thomas repeated.

“Yes. For now, Jane, Mary, and I vote, but as others know our secrets now, who votes may change.” Elizabeth smiled slightly, the first mirth she’d shown them. “Jane, Mary, and I will need to vote on changing the vote.”

“Who else knows?” Lydia demanded, indignant.

“Mr. Bingley, Cousin Robert, and now Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

“Why do they get to know before us?” Thomas sounded as offended as Lydia felt.

“Because it is not fair to permit a gentleman to court you when you have a secret that might change his mind.”

“But Colonel Fitzwilliam isn’t courting anyone,” Lydia protested at the same time as Thomas said, “Then Mr. Darcy is courting you.”

“Do you wish for me to tell you about Papa Arthur and what has been transpiring, or to quibble?” Elizabeth asked, but with more amusement than exasperation.

“To tell us?” Thomas replied tentatively.

Lydia raised her gaze heavenward, seeking the strength to endure Thomas’s obtuseness. Elizabeth didn’t need an actual answer from them.

Elizabeth dipped her head, however, taking in Thomas’s reply gravely. “Very well. Let me begin by saying that, yes, Papa Arthur was the heir to the Earl of Pillory. He was the earl’s third son, and both of his older brothers died. Most likely, they were murdered by each other and their kin, specifically the Hargreaves.”

She went on to detail what Lydia already knew, from the letter she’d shown to her sisters, though Lydia noticed that Elizabeth didn’t mention the secret compartment in the desk or the other letters there. Simply conveyed the information.

“Does Mama know?” Thomas asked when Elizabeth paused.

She nodded. “She does.”

Thomas’s features crinkled as he wrestled with the idea of Mrs. Oakwood keeping such a great secret for so long.

“So do Uncle Phillips, and Aunt and Uncle Gardiner,” Elizabeth added.

“But not Aunt Phillips?” Indignation surged in Lydia on behalf of her favorite aunt.

Her sister merely shrugged. “I am uncertain, but I doubt Uncle Phillips told her. He did tell Uncle Gardiner, who told Aunt Gardiner.” Sighing, Elizabeth added, “As you can see, secrets can get away from you.”

Wind swirled about them, rattling the leafless branches, and Lydia pulled her cloak tighter. “But what does that have to do with you and Jane and Mary always sneaking off?” Elizabeth had brought them all the way up here and Lydia had hardly learned anything new at all.

“I am getting to that.” Elizabeth cast her a quelling look, then continued, “The next thing you must know is that Papa Arthur was not an ordinary general. He was a spy. He made his career spying on the French, mostly, in service of King and Country. He was very good, and he was well rewarded with both increases in rank and financially, which is what allowed him to purchase the land for Dovemark and to build us such a lovely home, even though he was in hiding from his relations.”

Lydia conjured her memories of their stepfather. He’d been of average height and build. Unassuming, with a quick smile and ready humor. He did not fit with her idea of a spy at all. “He used to come into the schoolroom and teach us French,” she said slowly, remembering.

“Yes, he always said that the earlier you start, the better you will do,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “And French was not all he wanted to teach you. He was teaching us three much more.”

“Such as?” Thomas asked eagerly.

“He taught us how to ride, as you know, but also how to defend ourselves. Papa Arthur believed that everyone should have that skill.”

Having already considered the idea, Lydia blurted, “So when Jane punched Mr. Collins in the nose all those years ago, that wasn’t by mistake, was it?”

“It was not,” Elizabeth agreed. “Though if she had not been quite so scared, she would have thought not to strike him in the face. But Papa Arthur had spent many hours drilling us on a person’s weakest points, and the nose and eyes are two of them.”

“I would have done more than punch him in the face,” Thomas seethed. “It is only because Mr. Bingley killed him that I don’t get to challenge the man.”

“No one knows for certain that Mr. Bingley killed him,” Elizabeth said blandly. “The official report Cousin Robert wrote up states that several shots were fired, and Mr. Bingley himself admits to having his eyes closed when he engaged the trigger of his pistol. ”

Some of those shots had been fired by that Mr. Wickham. For all he’d been handsome, he was apparently horrible. Everyone knew that Mr. Collins had paid him to try to kill Mr. Bingley, and the papers said he and Mr. Denny had been found guilty of all sorts of things and sent to a penal colony.

But even knowing all that, Lydia knew there was more. She studied her sister’s mild, unreadable expression and narrowed her eyes. “Except that you do know if Mr. Bingley shot Mr. Collins, don’t you?” She gestured to the valley below. “From up here, you would have seen everything. I know Jane was too sick to get out of bed, but you can’t tell me you didn’t come watch.”

“In truth, I did not see the shots fired, but I was present.”

Lydia grinned, pleased to be proven right.

“And while the view from here is adequate,” Elizabeth continued, “Jane and I were in a clearing a bit lower on the hill.”

Thomas shook his head. “Jane was sick in bed. Nerves got her, like happens to Mama.”

“Do you truly believe that of Jane?” Elizabeth asked, once more amused.

“But you and Jane can’t have been here,” Thomas said. “Ladies do not attend duels.”

“We were here, and for a very good reason.” Elizabeth was serious again. “To protect Mr. Bingley from suffering the same fate as Papa Arthur did, namely being murdered by a gunman hiding in the trees, paid by a Collins.”

Lydia gasped. Mr. Collins’ father had done the same terrible thing he’d tried to do?

Thomas gaped at Elizabeth. “You mean, Mr. Collins’ father never shot Papa Arthur?”

“He did not.”

His hands balled into fists, Thomas demanded, “Who did?”

Lydia had never seen her brother so livid, even when they’d learned why Jane hated Mr. Collins.

“A farmer who is no longer alive.”

“D-did you and Jane kill him?” Lydia whispered.

Elizabeth turned a startled look on her. “Certainly not. We do not kill people, and you will recall we were quite a deal younger when that duel took place. I believe the man drank himself to death.”

“Oh.” Relief made Lydia feel weak. It was one thing to learn to ride and how to punch Mr. Collins in the nose, but she did not want her sisters to be murderers.

Elizabeth shook her head. “We are getting too far afield, and there will be time to sort out all the details of what happened later. What is important is that Papa Arthur spent years training us to fight, and he would have trained you as well, so now I am offering to.”

So he had taught them, like the letter said. Lydia had suspected as much, especially after Jane thanked Mr. Darcy for returning her sword.

Elizabeth turned to Thomas. “You will likely have masters to help you soon, so I will understand if you do not want to learn from me, but it cannot hurt to go to them with some knowledge.”

Thomas screwed up his face, thinking. “I don’t want to fight like a girl.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. She was somewhere between amused and insulted, by Lydia’s guess, as she said, “Do you believe that Papa Arthur taught us to fight like girls, or taught us to fight to win?”

“I want to learn,” Lydia said eagerly. “I want to learn either way.” And to be a part of Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary’s special group, even if it did include all their beaux now.

“Me too,” Thomas said quickly.

“Very well. Let us return and stable the horses. We will meet again tomorrow to begin your training.”

They retrieved their mounts, Lydia not feeling as badly about using a rock to get into her saddle when Thomas had to do the same even though Mare Marian was shorter than Robin. As they rode back, Lydia’s mind whirled with all Elizabeth had told them, and all she obviously had not. Like why Jane was ill after the duel. And where would they do this training? But she held her tongue, worried to somehow lose the fragile offer to be a part of what her sisters did.

They returned to the stable and brushed down the horses. Thomas finished first as Mare Marian wasn’t as large as Robin and Tuck, and because, in Lydia’s opinion, he hadn’t done as good a job as he ought. Thomas then declared that he was starving and wouldn’t wait for them to go have breakfast. Lydia watched him leave, then returned to brushing. She wanted Robin’s coat to shine, so Jane and Elizabeth would see how hard she was working to do well.

She and Elizabeth brushed in silence, then stabled the two mounts, Lydia’s mind working right along with her arms. Turning from the closed stall door, fear of being excluded once more gnawing at her, Lydia finally blurted, “You and Jane are the Boney Bandits, aren’t you?”

To her surprise, Elizabeth grinned. “I thought you would work that out. It will take Thomas longer.”

Lydia stared at her sister, dazed. As sure as she was in her deduction, that was not the response she’d expected. “All this time, you’ve been the Bandits.”

“We have.”

“All this time?” Lydia repeated, unable to fathom that she was correct.

“All this time.”

“You…you robbed people?” The full extent of Elizabeth’s confirmation crashed down on her. “Jane robbed people? Jane? ”

Elizabeth chuckled. “She is very good at it.”

Lydia could only stare.

“Go have breakfast, and tomorrow, think about stealing a roll or two before coming out to the stable.”

Lydia nodded, words eluding her.

Elizabeth took the brush from Lydia’s unresisting hand, turned her to face the door, and gave her a gentle push. Lydia’s feet started moving, but not as quickly as her mind. Her thoughts swirled, memories lifting up and spinning about, trying to settle into fresh patterns.

Her sisters were the Boney Bandits!

She would have to take that poster of Enaj down from the inside of her wardrobe.