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“ Lizzy, are you still in here? I didn’t see you in the canteen for tea. Whatever is the matter?”

Elizabeth quickly brushed away her tears and, replacing the ermine in its spot, rose to meet Jane. She tried to force a smile, but it was no use.

“ Where is Mr Darcy? What’s happened?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath. What would she say about Mr Darcy… about his proposal… about her reasons for her refusal? Nothing in the world would induce her to hurt her feelings. “It’s nothing. We’d better get on. Mr Goldsman….”

“ Mr Goldsman can wait a moment. Tell me what happened.”

“ Something extraordinary. He asked me to marry him.” Jane’s face was a picture. It nearly made Lizzy laugh. “Yes, it was a surprise to me too.”

Jane took Lizzy’s hand. “You refused him, didn’t you? Hence the tears.”

The last thing in the world Lizzy wanted now was sympathy. She was a whirl of emotions, and the kind and understanding look on Jane’s face was undoing her attempt at controlling the maelstrom. All Lizzy could do was nod.

The door to the display window opened and startled them both. It was Mr Goldsman. “Miss Bennets, we are finished here. Let us adjourn to our next endeavour, shall we?”

As Lizzy and Jane withdrew and followed their superior to the next window display, Jane leaned in and whispered to Lizzy, “You can tell me all at home. It will be all right. You’ll see.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure that everything would be all right. Mr Darcy stirred in her a great cauldron of emotions. Could one of them be love?

***

Elizabeth didn’t have time to dwell upon Mr Darcy or his proposal. She told Jane nearly everything, focusing on Mr Darcy’s arrogance and his treatment of Mr Wickham as her reasons for refusing him. She made no mention of Mr Darcy’s interference on “behalf” of Mr Bingley. That was best left unsaid.

In the ensuing days, her work at Selfridges, with the suffragettes, and minding Lydia gave her little time to think of Mr Darcy.

She and Jane divided the four days that Lydia was required for class after work between them.

Sometimes they would stay after hours and do more work in the store, sometimes they would go and have a fish and chips meal and walk in the park, but with the winter weather coming on, that became less and less common.

The one thing that neither of them did was let Lydia come home alone.

Tonight, it was Elizabeth’s turn to stay late and collect Lydia. Lizzy looked up at the clock and sucked in a breath.

“ Lord.” She was late and rushed down to the staff entrance.

Lizzy’s heart fell.

George Wickham stood leaning jauntily against a wall, still dressed in his waiter’s uniform. Huddled in a little too close and smiling, Lydia didn’t take her eyes off him for a second. The two of them didn’t even notice her approach until she laid a gentle hand on Lydia’s shoulder.

“ Oh, Lizzy. There you are.” Lydia jumped and glanced back.

George had one of those expressions that schoolboys have when caught putting salt in their schoolmaster’s tea. He got hold of himself quickly and assumed a casual air. “Oh, do you two know each other?”

Lydia giggled. “I should think so. This is my sister, Elizabeth, silly.”

“ So, your name is Lydia Bennet. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“ You didn’t ask.” Little Lydia practically purred. Elizabeth was seething, but she would hold her tongue. It would do no good to create a scene. It would only inflame Lydia’s will.

“ You heard me speak of Mr Wickham, Lydia, surely?”

“ Oh, I suppose so, but this gentleman just told me his name was George. You should have introduced us.” She batted her eyes at George.

Elizabeth could see why her mother was having difficulty keeping Lydia from dangerous situations.

She just jumped in with both feet if there was an attractive man about.

“ Since you two need no introduction, I will not make any. Come along, Lydia. Mrs Clarke won’t keep tea for you forever. Mr Wickham—”

“ Yes, I must be going too. So nice to see you, Elizabeth. We really should go dancing again. I miss it.”

Elizabeth said nothing. George touched the brim of his hat and was gone. Elizabeth kept her own counsel on the walk to the Tube, but once they had their tickets and were aboard, she began to quiz her sister. “How did you meet Mr Wickham?” She refused to use his Christian name.

“ Oh, I’ve seen him standing about when we get out of class. He is usually talking with one or another of the other girls, but I have given him a look from time to time.”

“ Lydia, you didn’t. What are you thinking? You are not playing about in Meryton where everyone knows you and there are those who will look after you. You are in London and must be careful.”

“ You know him. I heard you two. You went dancing with him.”

“ That’s true, but that was some time ago. And we didn’t meet behind the store. Really, Lydia…”

“ Oh, Lizzy. You sound like an old maid. I was just talking to him. I knew you were coming soon. Either you or Jane come right away. You both worry too much.”

No matter how much Elizabeth tried to explain the dangers of talking to strange men, Lydia didn’t seem to hear. Finally, she stopped wasting her breath, and for the rest of the Tube ride home, her thoughts returned to Mr Darcy.

***

Lizzy had little time to think of Mr Darcy at all as the suffragette movement began to intensify.

The Manhood Suffrage Bill introduced by Mr Asquith gave the right to vote to all men, regardless of their being landowners or not.

It looked again as though the government was asserting that voting was the exclusive prevue of men.

It enraged Lizzy and all of her sisters in the movement.

When she attended her next meeting, she was handed a toffee hammer.

The next step was clear. The Women’s Social and Political Union members were all to go on a window smashing campaign in Kensington.

Elizabeth could feel the weight of the instrument in her handbag as she took the bus home to their rooms in Cheapside.

Whether she had the nerve to do it or not remained to be seen.

Damage to property was a lot different to handing out leaflets.

But she believed in the cause. She knew that when they appealed to the consciences of those in power, they achieved nothing.

These men only seemed to listen after they were faced with wholesale destruction.

She wasn’t prepared to burn down buildings or assault anyone but admitted to herself that she might feel a great deal of satisfaction breaking a few windows.

They scheduled the protest for a Sunday.

Elizabeth didn’t want Jane or, God forbid, Lydia to know of her plans.

They were off to the Cambridge Circus Cinematograph Theatre, which ordinarily, Elizabeth would have enjoyed, but she had plans of a more momentous nature.

By the time she arrived at the meeting place in Kensington, many of the women were already gathered.

Elizabeth kept her sash of purple, white, and green carefully folded around her toffee hammer in her bag.

She had to admit, excitement electrified her.

“ Are you ready, fellow warriors?” a voice shouted out from the crowd. Mrs Pankhurst? Elizabeth couldn’t see from where she was standing. No matter.

“ I do hope I don’t get arrested,” one of her companions muttered to no one in particular.

“Thomas will be so annoyed.” Elizabeth suppressed a laugh, and then it suddenly occurred to her: neither of her sisters knew of her plans, and if she was arrested, what would happen?

The crowd began to move into the business district, away from the Underground station and towards the department stores.

With a sudden rush of movement, the crowd surged forward, and Elizabeth was bourn along with her companions.

Shattering glass assailed her ears. The energy of women shouting, “Votes for Women,” accompanied by explosions of shattering glass filled her with courage and determination.

She ran up the street and, wielding her hammer, took aim.

A plate of window glass shattered under her stroke.

It was divine—until the clanging of police bells hurtled towards them.

The women in her section of the crowd began to scatter, but the leaders up ahead continued with their destruction.

It was as if they wanted to be arrested, and perhaps they did.

She began to run towards the still-rampaging fulcrum of the suffragette destruction machine, when a middle-aged woman came running in her direction, opposite the charging crowd.

Elizabeth looked around and realised she was the only one in her group still running forward.

The woman caught her by the arm. “Live to fight another day, dearie.”

Lizzy looked into the woman’s eyes and took her advice.

After turning into a lane behind one of the stores, they hunkered down behind some scattered boxes and refuse barrels until they could no longer hear the screaming, breaking glass, and pattering footfalls.

The older woman winked at her and motioned for her to stand up.

They edged their way to the entrance of the lane, and Elizabeth’s companion peeked around the corner.

“ You there, stop.” A gruff voice split the air, and the woman disappeared around the corner.

As Lizzy inched her way towards the spot where her fellow suffragette disappeared, two bobbies grabbed her roughly by each arm.

She was dropped into a horse-drawn police van a moment later.

The door slammed and she took her place, then the door opened again, and her erstwhile companion was shoved inside and sat down next to Lizzy and her suffragette comrades.

After they pulled up outside the Holborn Police Station and the doors clanged open, officers herded them into a cell to await processing amongst the angered shouts of many other females who were already in custody.