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“And you may rely on that,” Mr. Field said. “I believe the whole story will come out soon enough, as my wife has spent much of the evening with your sisters. I am sure their account will set things to rights.”

“You have my thanks, Mr. Field,” she said, inclining her head in quiet gratitude. She let the cards rest on the table, the game momentarily forgotten. “But tell me, sir—as a clergyman, you must often find yourself as the arbiter of local disputes.”

“Indeed, I do,” he answered, waiting for the reason for such a deviation from the topic. He set down his cards and turned to face her entirely.

“When you are presented with a conflict, and you find that your own inclinations might lead you to prefer the character of one, how does one distinguish the truth when the grievance of the other seems to be sincere?” As she spoke, she felt Mrs. Ellington’s gaze upon her, and glanced to see the older woman give a brief, approving nod.

“It is a professional hazard, I suppose, to be told one is too quick to see the good in people,” he said with a wry smile. “But in cases such as you describe—so long as we are not speaking of what we witnessed this evening—I hear both sides and weigh them carefully. Most people are not wicked, merely mistaken or wounded.”

“That is very wise,” concurred Mrs. Ellington, “provided both sources are credible.”

“Naturally,” replied Mr. Field. “As Scripture tells us, ‘A fool’s mouth is his destruction, and his lips are the snare of his soul,’ is it not?”

“Excuse me, if you would be so kind,” said Mr. Long suddenly, standing and giving a barely noticeable bow. “I have just remembered something that I must speak with my sister about.”

With those words, the gentleman crossed the room to where Mr. Wickham and Mr. Denny stood speaking with Kitty, Lydia, and Miss Long.

“What do you think of the officers, Miss Elizabeth?” asked Mr. Field. “You spoke with Mr. Wickham, did you not?”

“Yes, indeed, I had the pleasure of some conversation with him. He is remarkably agreeable; yet I confess, he speaks with a candour that I find rather uncommon amongst the gentlemen of my acquaintance.”

“Does he?” asked the vicar. “Candour can be a virtue or a fault, depending on how it is employed.”

“That is just my dilemma. I cannot decide which it is, in Mr. Wickham’s case.”

“Is this connected to your earlier question?” Mr. Field prompted, not unkindly.

Elizabeth sighed. Naturally, the vicar, who had known her since childhood, would sense as much. “It is. I am disturbed by something Mr. Wickham said tonight about a mutual acquaintance. I have always thought well of the gentleman, yet Mr. Wickham paints him as a villain.”

“I can understand why you would be at such a loss,” he replied. “It must be Mr. Darcy you speak of, for I heard of their meeting.”

“You have the right of it. Mr. Darcy had a look of such anger when he saw Mr. Wickham. And Mr. Wickham looked truly afraid of him. Then, just a while ago, Mr. Wickham informed me that he and Mr. Darcy were as brothers, and Mr. Darcy has done him some great injury.”

Mr. Field’s brow furrowed as he considered her words. “That does present a difficulty, Miss Elizabeth. When a person whose judgement and conduct you have always respected is accused of something so grave, it is easy to dismiss the accusation out of hand. Yet, you also must consider that you have not yet heard Mr. Darcy’s account of the matter.”

“I have not even heard Mr. Wickham’s full account,” admitted Elizabeth, “for he was interrupted in the telling by Mr. Lucas and Mr. Collins.”

“I am very sorry for it,” said Mr. Field, his manner gentle. “But I think you are right to reserve judgement, Miss Elizabeth, until you have the whole of the story before you. Partial information is often worse than none at all.”

Mrs. Ellington, who had slipped away while the other two talked, returned, followed by a sullen Lydia. “It is time for us to return to Longbourn,” said Mrs. Ellington. “I do beg your pardon, Mr. Field, but we must leave you on your own.”

“Do not fret, madam,” said Mr. Field. “Look, Mr. and Miss Long are coming this way now.”

Indeed, the Longs approached—and their expressions were nearly as discontent as those of Mrs. Ellington and Lydia. Elizabeth suspected trouble, but she was certain that, in Lydia’s case at least, the story would soon be told.

Chapter 14

The Bennet party had not been five minutes on their way home before Lydia’s impatience could no longer be checked. She burst forth, “Mr. Long is the most provoking man in the entire world! I did nothing wrong!”

“Mr. Long very well may have spared you a great deal of embarrassment,” replied Mrs. Ellington mildly.

“Embarrassment! How could I be embarrassed, when I did nothing to begin with?” cried Lydia, her voice rising as she sat forward on the worn leather seat. “It is always the same, Mrs. Ellington! A gentleman may say what he pleases, and it is thought nothing of, yet if a girl so much as laughs a little too loud, she is thought a hoyden. It is most unfair. I cannot see what right Mr. Long had to place himself between me and Mr. Denny — there was nothing the least bit improper in what we said to one another. Unless speaking of the next assembly is now forbidden.”

“You were incredibly forward, Miss Lydia,” said Mrs. Ellington with a finality that could not be questioned. “A young lady ought not to single out a gentleman for such particular notice, still less press him to solicit a dance.”

“Miss Long did the same. The officers do not mind!”

“That is precisely what concerns me, Miss Lydia,” said Mrs. Ellington, the words delivered with such measured certainty that her younger companions could not escape their force. “You will find that few men mind what flatters them; but the world does, and the world is neither kind nor fair to girls who invite remark.”