Page 31 of The Servants’ Matchmaking

Sarah's hands rested on the folded shawl a moment longer than necessary. "I hope you will come again, miss."

"Mr. Bingley means to give a ball. My mother will permit no illness, flood, or French invasion to keep us away from it."

"That is not what I meant."

Elizabeth looked at her properly then. The maid had risked a scolding for marking books and suggesting a walk. She had also cooled Jane's fever through two bad nights, mended clothing until her fingers must have ached, and stood close by whenever Caroline started talking of appearances. Matchmaking, Elizabeth thought, was very much the least of what this girl had done for them.

"I hope so too."

Sarah smiled, relieved. "Mr. McKeever says the south path will be repaired before then."

"Mr. McKeever may keep his paths to himself."

"Yes, miss."

"He may also keep selecting poetry, however."

Sarah's smile widened into something close to a grin. "I will tell him."

Downstairs, Bingley waited in the hall with Darcy. Caroline had chosen not to witness the departure at all. Mrs. Hurst sent her compliments from upstairs. Hurst sent a bottle of cordial whose medicinal purpose was, at best, doubtful. Bingley helped Jane into the carriage himself. He arranged the rug twice, asked whether the cushion was sufficient, and gave the coachman instructions Mrs. Nicholls had already given twice over.

Darcy approached Elizabeth while Sarah and McKeever supervised the luggage between them. He stood closer than habit required, though not closer than manners allowed. Elizabeth noticed both the distance and the evident care with which he had chosen it.

"May I call at Longbourn with Bingley tomorrow, if your sister remains well?"

The question was proper, and plain enough to need no interpretation at all.

"My mother will be delighted."

"I did not ask about Mrs. Bennet."

Elizabeth folded her gloved hands together to keep them still. "You may call."

"Thank you."

McKeever carried the last portmanteau to the carriage. Sarah followed with the medicine basket. They passed each other at the step with matching, suspicious solemnity.

"All secure," McKeever said.

"Everything accounted for," Sarah said.

Their gravity made Elizabeth suspicious. She checked the carriage herself: Jane, luggage, basket, shawl. Nothing had been added, so far as she could tell. Nothing but a volume of Cowper, tucked beside her seat.

She lifted it out.

Darcy looked at McKeever. "I did not order that."

"No, sir. Miss Elizabeth had not finished it."

"How did you know that?"

"Sarah told me, sir."

Sarah found the carriage wheel suddenly fascinating.

Elizabeth opened the cover. A list had been tucked inside, written in two hands. One was neat and compressed. The other leaned unevenly to the right, as though written in a hurry, or standing up.

Cowper. Burney. Edgeworth. No messages. Only titles.