Page 165 of A Question of Character

“Wine, lodging, and cards,” Wickham said. “At an inn in Ramsgate.”

The room went very still.

Elizabeth looked down at the paper again. Ramsgate. The word seemed to darken upon the page.

Lydia moved closer to Wickham. “But you were not there.”

“No.”

“Then it is a lie.”

“I hope it is error.” He frowned. “Though it is a very particular error.”

Elizabeth examined the bill more closely. “It names you plainly.”

“Yes.”

“And the date?”

He nodded. “June.”

Lydia turned to Elizabeth, triumphant in her distress. “There. You see? Someone is doing this. Someone is making it appear he was where he was not.”

“Lydia,” Elizabeth said.

“No. Why should I be calm? Mr. Wickham was not there. He said he was not. Uncle can write to his lodgings. There are people who saw him elsewhere.”

“I do not dispute it.”

Wickham took the bill back from Elizabeth. “The oddest part is that I have never seen this innkeeper’s name. I know no establishment by it. I have not been in Ramsgate these many years.”

“Could another gentleman of the same name have incurred the debt?” Jane asked gently.

“Possibly, though George Wickham is not so common a name as John Smith. And this was sent to Mr. Philips’s office after inquiries were made in Meryton.”

Elizabeth’s eyes lifted. “Someone knew where to find you.”

“Yes.”

The thought sat unpleasantly in the room.

Mrs. Bennet sank into the nearest chair, fanning herself with a napkin because no proper fan was within reach. “This is very alarming. Very alarming indeed. Mr. Bennet must hear of it. Hill! Hill!”

“There is no need to summon the household,” Elizabeth said, though Hill had already appeared in the doorway. “Please ask Papa if he can join us.”

Hill departed.

Lydia stood close enough to Wickham that propriety almost required correction, but Elizabeth had not the heart to give it. He did not take Lydia’s hand. He did not lean toward her or seek comfort he had no right to claim. He merely stood with the bill folded between his fingers, his expression caught between anger and confusion.

“I cannot understand it,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “A false debt would be easy enough to invent, but why Ramsgate? Why now?”

Elizabeth knew precisely why Ramsgate mattered.

She could not say so.

That restraint chafed more cruelly than before.

Mr. Bennet entered, and the bill passed into his hands. He read it once, then again, with an expression Elizabeth knew well: indolence withdrawn, intelligence awake.