Recruitment
The morning mist had not yet lifted when the Longbourn carriage turned onto the lane that led toward Lucas Lodge.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of starch, wool, and pine soap.
Elizabeth sat hunched forward, bonnet low over her brow.
Jane sat across from her, watching silently, gloved hands folded in her lap.
Their bundles were tucked under the seat, and the hidden satchel that held Thomas Bennet’s life rested beneath Elizabeth’s feet.
As the lodge came into view, Jane shifted. “Are you ready?”
Elizabeth drew in a slow breath and nodded. “As I shall ever be.”
The carriage came to a halt with a jolt. A servant opened the door, and Sir William himself stepped forward to offer his hand.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing slightly. His usual genial manner was noticeably absent. He looked tired, and older somehow, as if the weight of the moment had pressed the cheer from him.
He handed Jane down first, then Elizabeth. “We are honoured to see you both this morning,” he said formally, his voice low.
Elizabeth looked up in surprise. She had never known Sir William to sound solemn.
“Thank you, Sir William,” Jane said gently. “It means much to us.”
He inclined his head, then stepped back as the rest of the family appeared in the doorway.
Lady Lucas looked pale and flustered, dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “I do not like this,” she said, voice trembling. “I do not like this at all.”
William came out then, boots dusty and hair windblown, carrying a small valise.
“I am told there is room for one more?” he said lightly, though his smile did not quite reach his eyes.
Jane returned the smile with warmth. “Always.”
“We shall ride together a short way, then,” he said, and turned to his family.
Lady Lucas caught his arm. “You are my eldest son,” she said. “And now Charlotte is speaking of going off with the Bennet girls, and Henry has been sulking all morning…”
“I am not sulking,” came a voice from the hallway. Henry stood with arms crossed, his face red. “I should be going, not William. He is the heir. I am nineteen, strong, and willing. I am the one who is meant to be in the army, not him.”
“You most certainly shall not,” Lady Lucas said sharply. “You are not yet of age, and there is still much for you to learn before you may even consider such a thing. William is of age; and that is hard enough.”
Sir William stepped forward again, placing a firm hand on William’s shoulder. “Come back to us, lad. That is all we ask.”
William nodded once, jaw tight. “I will.”
The servants were placing William’s trunk with the ladies.
Charlotte stepped forward last. She wore a simple cloak and held a small bundle wrapped in linen. Her eyes were clear but red-rimmed. She said nothing at first, only hugged William tightly.
“Take care of them,” she murmured.
He pulled back enough to look at her. “Of course.”
Charlotte turned to the Bennet sisters. Jane stepped into her arms first, and they held each other tightly.
“Be careful,” Charlotte whispered. “Both of you.”
“We will,” Jane promised. “And we will write.”
Then Charlotte turned to Elizabeth. Her eyes searched her face, noting every detail.
She said nothing, only wrapped her arms around her friend. The embrace was short but fierce.
Lady Lucas called again, voice sharp and shaken. “Charlotte, you are not going. There is enough to be done here without you gallivanting off to war.”
Charlotte let go of Elizabeth and stepped back. “I know, Mama. I am only seeing them off.”
Sir William cleared his throat again. “It is a brave thing you are all doing. I do not pretend to understand it, but I respect your courage. Jane and Lizzy, I trust you will be a help to the men, and William, you know your duty.”
Elizabeth lowered her head in acknowledgement, bonnet still shading her expression.
William gave his father a last quick embrace and took up his valise.
Charlotte handed a small parcel to Jane. “For the road. Oatcakes, mostly. And some bomboons, that’s what my grandmother always called them,” she said, blinking fast. Then she pulled Elizabeth into a tight hug. “Stay alive,” she whispered.
Jane smiled and thanked her.
Then, with a few more quiet farewells and a final wave from the younger children, the trio returned to the carriage.
Sir William handed Jane in, then offered his hand to Elizabeth.
She accepted it with a nod, stepping up without speaking.
William was last to enter, pausing for one final look at his family before climbing in and pulling the door shut behind him.
The door closed with a muffled thud.
The wheels turned. The carriage pulled away from Lucas Lodge.
Inside, Jane reached for Elizabeth’s hand.
Outside, the trees thickened as the lane wound on, and the road dipped toward the misty hollow where the bridge waited.
Elizabeth leaned back in her seat, silent.
William was the first one to speak. “Lizzy, you need to get changed before we get there,” he said, nodding at the bundle by her feet. “It will be awkward if you are still in skirts when they ask for your name.”
Jane let out a sudden breath, half laugh, half gasp. “force of a scowl—oh! it means must her clothes. For a moment I thought, never mind.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Yes, Jane, I am not revealing any other secrets today. Turn your back and close your eyes, William!”
Jane turned toward the window with practised ease, already reaching for the bundle. “Give me that sleeve,” she said calmly, her voice low and steady.
Elizabeth shifted forward. “You know, this was easier when we were ten and were not in a moving carriage.”
“And fewer layers,” Jane agreed, already working at the back laces. “Hold still.”
Across from them, William coughed and fixed his eyes firmly on the view outside. “Shall I… hum a tune?” he offered weakly.
“No need,” Elizabeth called. “We have dressed each other a hundred times. This is just one more, though admittedly with breeches.”
She stepped carefully out of her skirt, passing it to Jane to fold away. The carriage jolted, and she caught herself with one hand on the bench.
“Careful,” Jane said, steadying her.
“I am trying,” Elizabeth muttered, already tugging on the altered breeches. “I am not sure these were made with dignity in mind.”
Jane crouched to adjust the hem and check the fall. “They were made to survive inspection, not to impress.”
Elizabeth pulled on the waistcoat and began tying the cravat as best she could. She grimaced at the mirror pinned to the side wall. “My hair is going to ruin this entirely.”
Jane paused. “We could trim it.”
Elizabeth turned sharply. “Cut it?”
“Only a little,” Jane said quickly. “Just to the longest length of a fashionable man’s hair. Enough to tie back like a gentleman, but not long enough to raise questions. You will still be able to pin it up if you ever need to be yourself again.”
Elizabeth hesitated. “You think it is necessary?”
Jane nodded. “I think you can pass with help at this length. But if you are caught out in the open, or someone sees you without your cap…” She glanced at William, still dutifully looking away. “Well, he will not be much help fixing your hair.”
Elizabeth snorted, but her hand rose to her nape. “All right,” she said at last. “But keep the piece we cut. Just in case.”
Jane pulled a small pair of sewing scissors from her kit. “Lean forward.”
It took less than a minute. The soft snip of blades filled the space. A long lock of dark hair fell into Jane’s hand, which she wrapped in a clean kerchief and tucked into her bag.
Elizabeth rubbed the back of her neck. “That feels… odd.”
“It looks better already,” Jane said, adjusting the muslin binding and helping her tie the cap securely over the shortened curls. “You have got one of those faces, change the hair, change the person.”
Elizabeth pulled a face. “Do I look like Thomas?”
Jane smiled. “Close enough to fool anyone who is not looking too closely, knows you.”
From the corner, William cleared his throat. “Are you decent?”
“You may look,” Elizabeth said. “But only if you are prepared to be stunned by my masculine charm.”
William turned and blinked. “Well. It is unsettling, but I think it will work.”
Elizabeth raised her brow. “Unsettling?”
“You look like yourself, only… not,” he said. “It is like watching a painting shift when you are not looking.”
Elizabeth shrugged into her coat. “Then let us hope no one looks too hard.”
The carriage slowed as it crested a rise and turned down toward the low camp on Baldham Heath. White canvas tents stretched in rows across the open land, fluttering in the rising breeze. The smoke of morning cookfires drifted lazily into the mist.
Jane gave Elizabeth’s hand one last squeeze. “Remember, you are Thomas Bennet. My cousin and friend. You are meant to be here.”
“I know,” Elizabeth whispered.
The carriage turned onto the encampment road.
William was first to step down, drawing the driver and footman aside to see to the trunks.
Jane, watching their backs turned, motioned for Elizabeth to alight.
She did so, and, remembering that she was a gentleman and not a lady, turned back to offer her sister a hand down.
The air struck her at once, thick with the reek of powder and boiled beef. Elizabeth adjusted her coat and lowered her cap, every motion deliberate.
“Ready?” Jane murmured.
Elizabeth nodded.
“Then come, cousin. Let us see what awaits.”
Together they crossed the rutted ground toward the centre of the camp.
The noise was a low, constant hum: the ring of hammers, the call of orders, the scrape of boots on packed earth.
Men moved between rows of tents like ants in a disturbed nest. The three of them drew more than one curious glance, though no one spoke.