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She stifled a yawn as she sat down to a late breakfast in the small breakfast parlor.

At least the stupid man was on his way to Hertfordshire.

She had made sure of that, though sitting through any service he read was becoming a genuine ordeal.

He had the most obnoxious, obsequious voice, and it carried over into his readings of Morning Prayer and the scriptures.

And his sermons were a disgrace. She wondered if she might find a way to be rid of him.

No, no, that would be premature. His very stupidity made him one of her strongest allies.

The footmen had served the breakfast, and she looked around to see that the door was closed.

A decanter of brandy sat on a small side table.

She got up, sniffed it, found it good, and added a generous portion to her coffee.

Then she proceeded to enjoy her well-earned and substantial breakfast.

Mr. Bennet was drinking coffee in his study early the following morning when the messenger arrived with the news of Elizabeth’s safe return.

Realizing that everyone had been awakened by the messenger’s arrival, he gathered the girls and Hill in Mrs. Bennet’s room.

They were sworn to secrecy, and he told them that Elizabeth was by now safe with her aunt and uncle.

Many happy tears were shed, but Mrs. Bennet had the most gratifying reaction of all.

After so many days of silence following her stroke, she said, very distinctly, “My dear Lizzy.”

The hand-carried message from Sergeant Parker had not only conveyed the good news about Elizabeth, but it also provided some salient details regarding the involvement of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

She was responsible for Elizabeth’s abduction and was also behind everything else that had happened, including Lydia’s near abduction, the attack on Miss Bingley and the murder of her footman, as well as other crimes too numerous to mention.

Sergeant Parker urged that the Bennet daughters remain at home and not be permitted to go out without a male escort to watch over them until he could send hand-picked guards.

He included the gardens and grounds in that restriction.

He closed by reiterating that Elizabeth was safe and urging Mr. Bennet not to be taken in by any assertions to the contrary.

In light of Mr. Collins’ appearance after Lydia had disappeared, Mr. Bennet was warned that a visit of condolence from Mr. Collins was probably imminent and could prove useful in their pursuit of Lady Catherine.

The sergeant strongly suggested that this visit take place in the presence of a witness, and that the witness not be a member of the family or a dependent or servant.

He cautioned—somewhat needlessly—against involving any of the Lucases.

Hill left and returned with a tray of coffee, announcing that, as everyone was up, an early breakfast was being prepared.

Mr. Bennet sat for a few moments lost in thought.

Bingley, who was singularly helpful, was certainly a good candidate.

But Bingley was a young man, always affable and pleasant.

Mr. Bennet felt he needed someone older, sharper.

He settled on Sir Henry Martin, whose estate was situated on the other side of Meryton.

Sir Henry was a baronet, and he and Mr. Bennet had been acquainted since their boyhoods.

He served as one of the two local magistrates, and his reputation and his familiarity with the law were above reproach.

Most importantly, he had been very forthcoming with assistance to the Bennets during the desperate search for Elizabeth.

Mr. Bennet wrote him a detailed note asking him to call at Longbourn that very day, and it was soon dispatched.

A glance at the clock told him that it was half past seven, and the aromas from the dining room signaled that their very early breakfast was ready.

He went to the dining room where he found Jane and Mary.

As he served himself, Jane regarded him with a tired smile.

“Kitty and Lydia are with Mama. Mama has signaled that she wishes to have her hair dressed and to sit in her chair for a time this morning.”

“Excellent. I shall go upstairs for the unveiling.”

“And she ate, Papa,” added Mary. “She distinctly said ‘scones,’ and Hill brought her tea and scones, and she ate one with butter and jam, and drank her tea. They are her favorites, though we never have them for breakfast.”

“That is good news indeed. I expect we shall soon find her as talkative as ever.” Mr. Bennet laid down his knife and fork.

“Jane, Mary, I have something very serious to discuss with you, and you must tell your sisters. For the time being, none of you is to go outside without a male escort. Not even to the garden, not even to cut flowers. I am sorry for the restriction, but it is for your own safety. I will have Hill ask Jem and Tim to be available to you whenever possible. You must be certain your sisters understand the importance of this.”

Jane looked troubled. “There is still danger, Papa?”

“There is still danger.” Mr. Bennet did not tell his daughters that the danger might be worse than ever. “I hope it will not be for too long.”

When he had finished his breakfast, he returned to his library and began a letter to Darcy.

He had just completed it when Sir Henry was announced and strode into the room.

“Very happy to hear your good news, Bennet,” said Sir Henry, clapping him on the shoulder as they shook hands.

“But what is all this about the gossiping clergyman? Help me to understand better so that I may be of service to you and your family.”

Mr. Bennet explained that in the case of Lydia, Collins had been a bit too premature with his condolences.

“He had ridden all the way from Hunsford to condole on Lydia’s downfall when, in actual fact, Lydia had already been restored to our family completely unharmed.

It was very odd; Collins knew about Lydia before the news of her disappearance could have possibly reached him in Kent.

If Collins does appear again to condole with us prematurely, we must persuade him to own up to the source of his information.

We might be able to confirm our suspicions about his patroness, Darcy’s own aunt. ”

Sir Henry smiled. “And you expect him to make a similar call of condolence for Elizabeth’s downfall this afternoon.”

“I do. As Mr. Darcy has pointed out, his aunt has deep pockets and many people in her employ. But she frequently fails to think things through. My own opinion is that she is unable to delay her own gratification when she believes her plans have succeeded. It is a grievous failing in one who is bent on doing evil. ”

Hill interrupted them with a large tray on which were set bread, butter, cold beef, cheese, and a pitcher of homebrewed ale, which she knew to be Sir Henry’s favorite.

The two men busied themselves with this satisfying luncheon while Mr. Bennet brought up their failure to locate the owner of the cart.

Sir Henry chewed meditatively. “Mmm.” He took a swallow of ale before continuing. “I am looking forward to meeting your Mr. Collins.”

“You may live to regret those words, Martin.”

As they finished their luncheon, the deep rumble of carriage wheels was heard from the sweep, and both men’s eyes turned to the window.

“A large equipage for a parson,” observed Sir Henry.

Indeed, a barouche drawn by four matched bays and complete with liveried coachman and footmen had stopped in front of the house.

“It must belong to Lady Catherine. Ah, yes, look who is getting out.”

A footman let down the steps and stood at attention as the Reverend William Collins, armed with his black thorn walking stick and his large prayer book, descended regally to the gravel sweep.

One of the maids rushed into the library to remove the luncheon tray, and within moments, Hill knocked to announce Mr. Collins.

“Sir Henry Martin, may I present my cousin, the Reverend William Collins,” intoned Mr. Bennet. After they had shaken hands and taken their seats, he went on. “What brings you to us in such a fine carriage, Mr. Collins?”

“I have been sent by my gracious patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself, to condole with you on the tragedy which has now befallen you.” The parson looked around uncomfortably. “I had hoped to condole with Mrs. Bennet also.”

“Mrs. Bennet is ill and does not leave her room at present. But Sir Henry and I are old friends. You may condole with us as much as you please.” An awkward pause ensued. “Pray, what news do you have that has prompted you to come all this way to condole with us?”

“Well, that your second-eldest daughter Elizabeth has become . . .” Here he paused, lowered his eyes, blushed, and covered his mouth before continuing.

“That she has left her friends and her family, that she has forsaken her betrothed, one of the finest men in all England, in favor of the, ah, protection of Viscount __, one of the most notorious rakehells in London.”

Mr. Bennet lowered his eyes and covered his mouth with his handkerchief, unable to look up. “Yes,” he murmured. “These are heavy misfortunes indeed.”

“I am directed by Lady Catherine to convey her deepest sympathy. Your second daughter’s immoral actions have ruined your family.

Of course, no respectable man will wish to marry your daughters.

If you will forgive me for saying so, I count myself indeed fortunate in my choice of wife last November.

And Lady Catherine believes that positions as governesses or teachers are unsuited to those with such a tendency to moral turpitude within the family.

But after a suitable interval to allow the scandal to die down, Lady Catherine will make every effort to find posts as housemaids for your other daughters. ”