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“Wickham, Mr Caverly would like a word.”

Wickham frowned at the ma?tre d’ as he passed him by. He wasn’t late. He was never late. As he made his way through the kitchen to the manager’s office, he wracked his brain, wondering why he’d been called in. Perhaps they were promoting him or raising his wages. Wickham grinned. That had to be it.

After a knock at the door, the manager called him in.

“Don’t bother sitting down. This won’t take long.

I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go.

” Mr Caverly didn’t raise his eyes from the papers on his desk.

“Go and get your things from the employees’ locker and collect your wages.

Mr Selfridge is giving you a week’s severance. ”

For the first time in his life, Wickham was speechless. “I’m sacked? Why? I thought I always gave good service. I don’t understand…”

Mr Caverly sighed and raised his doughy face to Wickham. “I don’t understand either. This comes from up top. They gave me no reason, just the order. I’m sorry.”

“Can you, at least, provide me with a reference? That at least.”

“Yes, about that… we were told to give you this… much good may it do you.” He handed Wickham an envelope.

He stood at the desk for a moment, opened the envelope, and perused its contents.

It was a letter of reference, and a good one.

Folding it carefully, and not knowing what else to say or do, he went to collect his things and his pay.

He would go this very day and find a new position.

The Palm Court Restaurant wasn’t the only one in London.

Wickham spent the next three days scouring every posh restaurant in town inquiring after a position.

Some made the excuse that they weren’t looking for staff at this time.

Some refused to see him altogether. He couldn’t make head nor tail of it.

The recommendation was glowing. Why didn’t one of them want to even speak to him?

With hope fading, he made his way to the Boulestin in St. James’s. As the manager scrutinised his letter, a wry smile crossed his lips. The smile blossomed into outright mirth. Wickham could endure many things but being laughed at wasn’t one of them.

“Have they been leading you in a merry chase, Mr Wickham?” The manager spoke impeccable English through a charming French accent. His pencil-thin moustache twitched.

Wickham was perplexed. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Ah, I see you do not know yet. You have been, how do you say, blacklisted in all the better places in London.”

“Blacklisted?” Wickham felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.

“Yes, it seems that a rather wealthy patron of this, and many other places of entertainment for the, how shall we say, discerning and well-heeled, has made it his mission to see that you will not find any employment in the better places in town. A word from him here, a word from him there, and we all know your name. We all cannot offer you employment. That is blacklisted , no?”

“Yes, yes indeed.” Wickham stretched out his hand, wanting the letter back. “I don’t suppose you know who has done this to me. It couldn’t be Harry Selfridge.”

“No, no, his name is not Selfridge. I believe it is Maxwell.”

***

Mr Collins met Lizzy at the train, and with every utterance that burbled out of his mouth, Lizzy grew more and more grateful that he was Charlotte’s husband and not hers.

A horse-drawn cart delivered them to the vicarage, a rather imposing two-story brick building with five large multi-paned windows at the front.

As they pulled up in front, Charlotte ran out and met Lizzy with an embrace. “It is so good to see you. How are you feeling?”

“Right as rain. If they would have me, I would return to Selfridges tomorrow.”

Mr Collins joined them and said nothing, but his face betrayed his disapproval. Charlotte didn’t seem to share his opinion. “You are such an adventuress. I wish I had such spirit.”

“I would not like to see it,” Mr Collins commented curtly. “You have the perfect spirit for a parson’s wife.” With that, he strode ahead of them into the house. Lizzy looked over at Charlotte to gauge her reaction.

Charlotte laughed. “I suppose he’s right. Oh, it is good to see you. Let us go in and have tea.”

The visit was the change of scene Lizzy needed to shake herself out of her melancholy and set her brain to thinking again.

Charlotte seemed contented enough with Mr Collins, although she couldn’t see what had prompted her to chain herself to him for life.

Of course, she couldn’t ask such a question, but knew her face must be betraying her feelings.

Charlotte, however, had become masterful at seeing only what she wanted to see and hearing only what she wanted to hear.

Lizzy supposed it was a vital skill when married to Mr Collins.

After a few days, a dinner invitation at Rosings from Lady Catherine de Bourgh arrived.

The village was small and still kept to the old ways of deference to the lord, or in this case, lady of the manor.

They were at breakfast in the dining room of the parsonage.

The large windows streamed with morning light.

Mr Collins began his morning sermon . “You are very privileged, Miss Elizabeth, to have Lady Catherine invite you to dinner. She does not always show such deference to those who do not share her pedigree and class.” Lizzy bit her bottom lip.

She was about to answer when Mr Collins continued.

“Being her clergyman, my dear wife and I have frequently been honoured with her presence.” Mr Collins looked at her pointedly for a comment.

Lizzy hesitated. She was in this man’s house as a guest. Charlotte was her dearest friend. She swallowed down the words of indignation at the insult that he wrapped so sweetly in what he must have considered a compliment. That man was a dolt.

“How nice.” She really wanted to scream but smiled instead. Her eyes must have betrayed her true feelings because Charlotte immediately changed the subject.

“Shall we go for a drive in the pony cart tomorrow, Lizzy? Would you like to see more of the grounds? We are adjacent to Rosings after all.”

“You two go, by all means,” Mr Collins interrupted, as he frequently did, before Lizzy could answer. “I have work to do tomorrow.”

“An outing sounds lovely.” But a day without Mr Collins sounded even lovelier.

***

The year 1912 had arrived, yet Elizabeth’s most formal gown was last year’s fashion: an electric blue with cap sleeves and a rather low-cut bodice, yet it was discreet enough not to excite disapproval in Mr Collins, and hopefully, not in Lady Catherine.

The great lady sent her motor over to collect them, and soon they stood in the great house at Rosings.

The stately home had an aura of bygone opulence that didn’t bear much scrutiny. Great wealth had once been here, but that era was fading before their eyes.

They met in an ornate drawing room, decorated in the heavy Victorian style: pale green walls with decorative woodwork painted gold.

Dark red velvet drapery matched the red and gold carpet.

The furniture was also red and gold brocade and the room dominated by a large gold-gilt mirror.

On the opposite wall, a portrait of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.

It was a monument to the past. The tour of the room by Mr Collins was interrupted by Lady Catherine’s entrance.

She appeared to be somewhere near her sixtieth year, but her gown was of a modern cut.

She swept the room with a steely gaze, and Mr Collins rushed up to her and began chattering in an extremely obsequious manner.

Lizzy glanced over at Charlotte, but Charlotte’s attention was on her husband.

“You already know my wife,” said Mr Collins, “and this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“So very glad to meet you, Lady Catherine.” Lizzy nodded a little. Despite being slightly shorter than Elizabeth, her ladyship appeared to be looking down on her. It was most disconcerting.

“I have heard much about you, Miss Bennet. So glad you could join us this evening. Come, sit here next to me… Mrs Collins over there, and Mr Collins, go sit beside your wife.”

Here was a woman used to being obeyed. They all took their places, Lady Catherine and Elizabeth on the sofa, and Charlotte and Mrs Collins in the chairs opposite.

“You have heard much about me, Lady Catherine?” Puzzled, Lizzy shot a quick look at Charlotte to garner a clue.

“You needn’t look over at your friend. My information comes from my nephew, Mr Darcy.”

Why did the mere mention of his name send shivers through her, even at this late date? They hadn’t seen each other since Christmas, and yet, here he was again, in spirit, if not in body.

“Really? I can’t imagine why your nephew would be discussing me.”

Lady Catherine scrutinised her with the air of a farmer evaluating a prize pig when a pale young woman, her hair neatly done in the bouffant style, entered the drawing room. “So sorry to be late, Mama. I felt a bit dizzy earlier.”

“Ah, Anne. Are you feeling better, my dear?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Come and greet our guests. Mr and Mrs Collins you know… and this is Elizabeth Bennet.”

Maybe it was Lizzy’s imagination, but the young woman scowled at her for a moment. Before she could fathom it out, the butler arrived.

“Dinner is served.”

The evening passed much as Elizabeth expected: small talk peppered with proclamations by Lady Catherine and Mr Collins.

Lizzy said little, as she disagreed with almost all their opinions, but didn’t want to sour the gracious mood of the evening nor create any awkward situations for Charlotte.

After a tour of the public rooms after dinner led by Mr Collins, in which he described in detail the art and furnishings accumulated across the generations by Lady Catherine’s husband’s family, it was time to take their leave, thankfully.

“I’ll send the motor round to take you and Mr Collins home.” Lady Catherine smiled in Charlotte’s direction as they waited in the marble entrance hall.

“That is very kind of you, Lady Catherine.” Charlotte smiled sweetly.

“You, Miss Bennet. You shall remain here for a time. I wish to speak to you.”

Lizzy exchanged a glance with Charlotte, but neither said anything. As Charlotte took her leave with Mr Collins, Lady Catherine led Elizabeth back to the drawing room. Anne was nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll come right to the point, my girl…” Lady Catherine’s tone was less than cordial as she took a seat. In fact, it was a bit menacing.

“Yes, Lady Catherine?” Lizzy didn’t sit down. She had a feeling she wasn’t meant to.

“Are you or are you not engaged to my nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy?”

Lizzy failed to utter a word, although she tried to. Twice.

“Don’t look so surprised, Miss Bennet. I have heard rumours that I am sure must be an exaggeration or untrue altogether.”

“If you don’t believe them to be true, then why ask me?”

“Don’t be impertinent. Has my nephew asked you to marry him?”

Lizzy hesitated a moment. “Yes… yes, he has.”

“Then you are engaged to him…” She shook her head with disgust. “… a shopgirl.”

“My father is a gentleman with an estate in Hertfordshire, but that is neither here nor there. Yes, I have endeavoured to make my own way in the world. I don’t see how that—”

“Are you or are you not engaged to him?”

“I am not.”

Lady Catherine gave an audible sigh of relief. She then narrowed her eyes at Lizzy. “And will you promise never to enter into such an engagement?”

This poor deluded woman. She obviously didn’t know anything firsthand from Mr Darcy, or she would never have asked such an absurd question.

Lady Catherine’s adversarial attitude did nothing but inflame Lizzy’s will.

How dare this woman question her on her personal matters?

Who did she think she was? “I will not.”

“You will not what ?”

“Lady Catherine, with all due respect, this matter is none of your business… but to answer your question, I will promise you nothing. The matter of my association with your nephew is private and only of concern to Mr Darcy and myself.” Lizzy wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of explaining anything, least of all that she refused him already.

Before Lady Catherine could recover from the shock of being addressed in such a manner, Lizzy turned to leave. “Don’t bother sending the motorcar around for me, I’ll walk.” With that, she slid open the pocket doors of the drawing room.

“Before you go, Miss Bennet, you should be aware of something.” The older woman was not going to let Elizabeth have the last word.

She turned to face her. Lady Catherine’s gaze glinted with anticipation.

“Whether you have designs on my nephew or not, they must surely come to naught. He leaves for America soon.”

Lizzy tried to remain impassive, but her head reeled. As she left the drawing room, Lady Catherine called after her. “You didn’t know that, did you? Did you?”

The cold night air felt good against the heat rising in Lizzy’s body.

America? Surely he wouldn’t abandon his beloved Pemberley when it seemed the centre of his existence.

And what of his sister? Would he leave her in school and emigrate without her?

Of course not. He was merely taking a holiday of some sort.

That had to be it. Then why did she feel so utter a sense of loss?

When she opened the front door of the vicarage, Charlotte and Mr Collins were standing in the vestibule waiting for her. “What did Lady Catherine want with you, Miss Bennet?” Mr Collins didn’t mince his words.

“William.” Charlotte flicked Lizzy and apologetic glance. “That information is private, surely. Elizabeth needn’t answer unless… unless she wants to.” Lizzy could tell from Charlotte’s expression that she hoped Elizabeth wanted to.

“Have no fear, Mr Collins. The matter doesn’t concern you. It had to do with Mr Darcy and myself…” She walked between them to the staircase. “I would be much obliged if you would arrange for a train ticket for tomorrow morning. I think I’d like to go home.”