Page 15 of Gentlemen of Honor (Bennet Gang Duology #2)

The Most Important Lesson Is…

The first thing Elizabeth showed her younger siblings the following morning was the hidey-holes in the tack room. She, Jane, and Mary had removed all of their bandit accoutrements, from their black clothing and masks, to the chalk they used to add white blazes to Tuck’s and Robin’s noses, to the glue for Enaj’s mustache. The compartments Papa Arthur had caused to be built into the blocks of the wall were only that…compartments. To Elizabeth’s delight, Lydia and Thomas were still very impressed.

They came out of the tack room and Thomas, his eyes bright, looked about. “Are there more? That wall there is the same as in the tack room.” He pointed to the stone wall that ran along the hillside into which the stable was partially built. “Did my father have more compartments hidden along there?”

“Before I answer that, are you certain you want to train?” Elizabeth asked, suppressing her glee at what was to come next. Showing the cavern to Lydia and Thomas would be better than watching them open gifts on their birthdays. “Training to fight is much more rigorous than learning to ride. Your arms, legs, and backs will ache. You will get hurt, no matter how much care we take. We can only do our best to ensure it is not too badly. A great deal of dedication is required.”

Thomas turned back from studying the stacked stone wall and squared his shoulders. “A gentleman should know how to fight.”

“And I want to know how to defend myself,” Lydia added hurriedly. “Like Jane. After all, I’m just as pretty as she is, so some horrible man like our cousin might try to put his hands on me, too.”

“I wish I’d got to shoot him,” Thomas muttered.

“Once Elizabeth teaches us, I won’t need you to shoot anyone,” Lydia replied. “I will be able to do so.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. Perhaps she wouldn’t teach either of them to shoot just yet…or at all. “No one is shooting anyone, or anything. We will be gin with pugilism and fencing. Gentlemanly arts.”

“But you aren’t a gentleman, and neither is Lydie,” Thomas stated.

“Yes, but if you want to learn what Papa Arthur would have taught you, I am afraid I am your only choice,” Elizabeth said blandly.

“You’ll make her not teach us,” Lydia hissed, elbowing their little brother in the shoulder.

“I reiterate, do you want to learn to fight?” Elizabeth locked gazes with Thomas until he nodded, then looked to Lydia, who was already nodding.

“We will work ever so hard,” her younger sister said. “You’ll see.”

“Very well.” Elizabeth walked past them. “Then it is time for you to learn another secret. One you must never share except with Matthew.”

“And with whoever we marry,” Thomas said as they followed her to the stable wall. “You and Jane and Mary told, right?”

“In truth, I do not believe Jane or Mary have revealed this secret,” Elizabeth said, halting before the wall. “This secret has been ours for a great many years.” A flash of sorrow went through her. Tamping it down, she felt obliged to admit, “Although I did tell Mr. Darcy.”

To her right, Lydia huffed, clearly annoyed by that.

“The wall?” Thomas asked, looking from Elizabeth’s face to the rocks and back again.

At his frown, Elizabeth’s delight in being able to show her siblings the cavern returned. “Not the wall. Rather, what is behind the wall.” Unable not to grin, she triggered the secret door.

Gasps sounded from both sides. Quick glances showed her siblings’ mouths hung open.

“What is in there?” Lydia whispered.

“Can we go inside?” Thomas asked, his voice equally hushed.

“Once I light a lantern you may.” Elizabeth stepped forward, opening the same lantern she’d lit when showing Mr. Darcy their training room. She took up the dull dagger and flint and sparked the oil-soaked wick, her face heating as she recalled turning back to Mr. Darcy and daring him to follow her into the dark.

Worried her cheeks were red enough to show even in the muted light, she didn’t turn back but instead went forward, calling, “Close the door behind you.” From the spill jar on the shelf with the lanterns, she took up a taper to light the candles set about the cavern. Often, she, Jane, and Mary would practice by the light of a few lanterns. The added challenge of darkness helped sharpen their skills and prepare them for different circumstances, but much like when she’d brought Mr. Darcy into the cavern, Elizabeth felt that her younger siblings required as much light as possible.

She heard the door close, and by the time she’d come full circle in her lighting, Lydia and Thomas had moved farther into the cavern. Elizabeth circumspectly checked that the door was properly shut, then turned to study her siblings. Thomas stood before the rack that held her, Jane’s, and Mary’s swords and daggers. That was, all save the dagger in Elizabeth’s boot, and the two Mary always carried. Lydia was in the center of the cavern, turning in a slow circle, her mouth hinged open in awe.

“Where does that tunnel go?” she asked, coming around to look at Elizabeth.

“Through the hillside and out a hidden entrance beneath Oakham Mount.” It amused Elizabeth that her youngest sister had the same question as Mr. Darcy.

Lydia gave her a sharp, assessing look at that answer, her thoughts obviously on the Boney Bandits.

“Which one do I get to use?” Thomas asked, reaching for Elizabeth’s rapier.

“Not that,” she said crisply, even more protective of her sword than her mount. Tuck, after all, could take care of himself. “It is very ill mannered to take up someone else’s weapon without their permission. Moreover, it will be some time before either of you are skilled enough to practice with an edged blade.”

Thomas eyed the rapier longingly. “Do you?”

“No. We use dulled blades and padding.”

“Oh.” He turned from the rack he stood before to look at the practice blades.

“Is that the padding?” Lydia asked eagerly, crossing to the padded vests and jackets hanging from their pegs.

“It is.” Elizabeth set the lantern down and followed her sister, deciding she wouldn’t show them the gun cabinet secreted behind the rack from which the padding hung. “Let us see what fits you both, and then you can each select a sword and attempt to score a hit on me.”

Coming across the smooth stone floor to join them, Thomas frowned. “I can’t hit you with a sword. You’re my sister.”

“I daresay you, indeed, cannot hit me with a sword.” Elizabeth grinned at him. “But not because I am your sister.”

He shook his head, his expression stubborn. “I can’t hit a girl with a sword.”

“Well, I can hit you with one.” Lydia reached for a jacket. “And I will. Lots of times.”

Thomas looked back and forth between them. “Maybe I should wait for Matty to be better. I can fight him.”

“Suit up,” Elizabeth ordered. “If you can score a hit on me, I will consider your request.”

Elizabeth opened the chests beneath where the jackets hung to reveal additional padding for their legs, as well as gloves and masks. Normally, she, Jane, and Mary didn’t trouble with full padding, but she would wear it when working with her younger siblings, and insist they do so as well. In truth, Papa Arthur had ordered her, Jane, and Mary to always wear full padding when practicing, but over the years they had become lax.

She helped her siblings into their gear, then donned her own before leading them to the rack of dulled weapons. Patiently, she reiterated what Papa Arthur had said years ago, about pommels and guards. She showed them how to check if a sword had good balance, for the hilt should weigh an amount equal to the blade. She moved on to talking about grip. Once they each had a sword in hand, and were holding it properly, Elizabeth retreated to the center of the room.

“Now, who would like to attempt to score a hit on me? Only hits to the chest count. If you hit me, you may move directly to practicing against an opponent. If not, you will do drills for many weeks.” When she’d learned, Papa Arthur had begun this way. Elizabeth had been certain she could hit him.

She’d been wrong.

Tentatively, Thomas raised his hand. “You are certain it is acceptable if I hit you?”

“It is, but you will not manage to do so.”

His expression determined, he marched forward.

Elizabeth swatted away his first tentative attempt, and the next five. Resolute, he started swinging harder. With little effort, she turned aside each blow, while Thomas exerted greater and greater effort.

After what Elizabeth doubted was even five minutes, he lowered his blade. “How are you doing that?” he demanded.

“I will show you step by step, as we build your skill. For now, do you yield?”

He nodded. “You were right. I can’t hit you. Even though you’re right there.”

“You will learn quickly enough.” Elizabeth turned to Lydia as Thomas backed away. “Lydie? ”

“Do I really have to try?” she asked. “We all know I won’t hit you.”

“Yes, but I want you to feel what it is like to swing at an opponent, and to have your blade deflected.” Though Elizabeth was not parrying hard. She didn’t want to hurt her siblings. “Now come, do your best to hit me.”

Lydia came forward, gripped the hilt of her practice sword in both hands, and swung with all her might.

Rather than parry, Elizabeth took a step back. Lydia’s momentum whirled her around in a circle. With a yelp, Thomas jumped backward, though Elizabeth had already noted that her brother was far enough out of the way.

“A bit more control is called for,” Elizabeth said. “Now, try again.”

To her surprise, Lydia didn’t give up as quickly as Thomas had, but soon enough, she too yielded.

“You both did well,” Elizabeth told them, meaning it. “Now, off with that gear and we will do some drills. You must learn the proper form for each method of attack.”

She set them to lunges, always a favorite drill of hers because she could imagine she was skewering her enemy. Not that she would ever attack a person with the intent to kill. Papa Arthur had always emphasized that their training was to keep them safe, though he’d allowed that sometimes the only way to be safe was to attack. Elizabeth walked in slow circles around her siblings, correcting their form.

“Are we allowed to talk while we do these?” Lydia asked.

Imagining that her youngest sister was likely expending a great deal of effort to keep silent, Elizabeth nodded. “Certainly. Talking while doing drills helps increase your fitness.”

“I don’t understand why I cannot go to the ball,” Lydia stated, lunging forward. “Can you not speak with Mama, Elizabeth?”

“I’m not going to the ball,” Thomas countered before Elizabeth could reply.

Lydia lunged again, her form in fact quite good for a beginner. “Yes, but you are a child.”

“I am thirteen and learning to fight, and heir to an earl.”

“Mama will not change her mind.” Elizabeth moved to her brother’s side, adjusting his elbow. “Pull in your elbow, like this.” To Lydia, she continued, “Kitty is the only one she let come out early, and even then not until she was sixteen. The rest of us had to wait until eighteen.” That had been in part, of course, because of Papa Arthur’s death and their mother’s years of acute grief, but Elizabeth forwent mention of that.

“But everyone is going,” Lydia groused, her next lunge appearing particularly vicious.

Elizabeth wondered who Lydia imagined she was skewering. Hopefully not their mother or Kitty.

“I don’t want to go,” Thomas said, now holding his elbow in too tightly, at an awkward angle. “Those horrible Hargreaves will be there.”

Elizabeth adjusted her brother’s elbow again. “Speaking of the Hargreaves, five more lunges each and then we will switch to methods for defending yourself while unarmed. Those are far more likely to be useful, in truth, since you are unlikely to have a sword at hand if anyone approaches you with ill intent.”

“Good.” Lydia let out a huffing sigh. “This sword is heavy.”

“You will need to practice with it every day to build up your strength,” Elizabeth advised.

Lydia scrunched her features, but her eyes were flat with determination.

Elizabeth made them redon their padding and they moved on to some simple, easy tactics for fending off another person, from stomping on their instep to, as Lydia put it, what Jane did to Mr. Collins’ nose. Elizabeth mostly demonstrated, only allowing them to go through the moves together very slowly, despite the padding and masks they wore. The last thing she wanted was for one of them to break a finger or somehow come away with a black eye. Things like that were difficult to explain to their mother.

She also didn’t keep them at it for long, aware, even if they were not, that they had already done enough to make them sore tomorrow. Soon enough, she had them removing the padded gear again and helping her with the candles.

“Why didn’t Papa Arthur teach us?” Lydia asked as she walked about the room, extinguishing wicks. “I mean, I know he’s gone, but I was eight. He could have begun to teach me.”

“I believe he had begun,” Elizabeth said slowly, the darkness growing around them. “He used to come to your schoolroom and teach you French, did he not? That is how he began with us.”

“He did,” Thomas agreed, coming across from extinguishing the far candles. “Even Matthew. We all speak some.”

Even though she was not even fourteen when Papa Arthur died, Elizabeth should have done more to see that they kept up with their French. “It was long ago, but I do recall some trouble about him teaching Kitty. Mama did not want her to learn to ride, and would cling to her and tell her over and over not to let Papa Arthur put her on a horse. I think…” Elizabeth trailed off. She didn’t want to make Kitty out to be at fault. “I believe Papa Arthur wa s working to reassure Mama, so he could begin teaching Kitty, and had not yet managed to persuade her. I am certain that once he had, he would have turned next to you two.”

“It’s very sad that he died,” Lydia said quietly. They stood together now, in the ring of lantern light near the door. “He is the only papa I ever knew.”

“What was your father like?” Thomas asked softly.

Elizabeth wondered if their near whispers were in response to the encroaching darkness, or the topic. She felt the weight of it, too. “He was kind, with a ready smile. He enjoyed reading a great deal, and had collected many books.” Books Mr. Collins had kept as, in his words, part of the estate. Maybe, with Mary wedding Robert, Elizabeth would be able to read her father’s books. The thought made her smile. “He loved Mama very much. He always said that her beauty and cheer outshone sunshine on even the brightest day.”

“I think he would have liked me, then,” Lydia said. “Nanny Hill says that I look just like Mama used to, and I am very cheerful.”

“Then why do you sound as if you are going to cry?” Thomas asked.

Lydia sniffed. “I don’t.”

“I am certain he would adore you,” Elizabeth assured her sister. “He would like both of you.”

Thomas shook his head. “Not me, because if he hadn’t died, then my papa couldn’t have married Mama.”

“If a way existed for him to know you, he would like you,” Elizabeth said firmly. “And you are named after him. Now, let me show you how we leave here, and then we will go in and change for tea.” Striking on a way to assuage Lydia’s sorrow at being excluded from the ball, she added, “We will have to work very hard tomorrow and the following day. We have only a few days before the ball and you must be ready to remain here with Matthew, to keep him safe.”

Lydia huffed a sigh. “Thomas can keep him safe. I want to go. Even if I am too young to be out and too young to dance with gentlemen, I could still watch Kitty. She is going to try to get Colonel Fitzwilliam to fall in love with her. She’s going to be very silly.”

Elizabeth winced, hoping Kitty, with their mother’s encouragement, would not be too silly. “I prefer you to remain here,” she countered. “Matthew will be safer with both of you.” So saying, Elizabeth showed them how to check if anyone was in the stable before opening the door.