Through the Ranks
Elizabeth did not let herself breathe until Major Darcy and General Fitzwilliam turned and walked away.
William, now officially Lieutenant Lucas, nodded to Talbot and Bell before looking back.
Captain Bingley motioned forward. “Come with me. I will show you to your tents.”
Elizabeth fell in beside the others, her posture steady, her stride even.
The real test, she knew, was only just beginning.
She followed Captain Bingley along the central path of the camp, flanked by rows of white canvas tents. The scent of damp earth mixed with smoke from cook fires. Morning mist still clung to the ground, blurring the edges of the encampment.
“You will be two to a tent,” Bingley explained, gesturing ahead. “Talbot and Bell in that one. Lucas and Bennet here.”
He pointed to a canvas tent near the end of the row. It looked like all the others, sturdy, narrow, and already weathered at the seams.
Bingley gave a nod. “There should be room for your belongings inside. The quartermaster will bring the rest of your kit shortly.”
William stepped forward and held back the tent flap. “After you, Bennet.”
Elizabeth ducked inside. The tent was dim, the light filtered through canvas walls. Two narrow cots stood opposite each other, each with a folded blanket and a tin washbasin at the foot. A single lantern hung from the centre pole.
She exhaled slowly. Her new life had begun.
William entered behind her and set down his satchel on one of the cots. He looked around briefly, then turned to her.
Elizabeth whispered to him in a voice low, keenly aware of how thin the fabric of the tent was. “How do you think that went?”
William considered a moment, then smiled faintly. “You passed. Barely. But you passed.”
Elizabeth lowered her voice further, uneasy. “He asked my age.”
William blinked. “You handled it. You did not stammer or blink. That is what mattered.”
“He looked at me too long.”
“He looks at everyone too long,” William said dryly. “You are fine. Just keep your cap low and your voice steady.”
Elizabeth managed a breath of something close to relief. “Then let us hope tomorrow is no worse.”
A rustle at the tent flap made them both freeze.
Geoffrey Talbot peered in, followed closely by Edward Bell. “We just thought we would say hullo,” Talbot said with a grin. “Make sure you two were not hiding a contraband tea service or a piano.”
Bell gave a nod of greeting. “Tents seem decent enough. Damp, but not leaking.”
William straightened. “We were just settling in.”
“Right, well, dinner is whenever the bell sounds. They say it is stew. Or something that aspires to stew,” Talbot added with mock solemnity.
“Come on,” Bell said, turning to go, “we had better find the quartermaster before dinner.”
Elizabeth nodded, adjusting the collar of her coat. “They will not feed us if we are not in uniform.”
“Or worse,” William said wryly, “they will, and then hand us a broom and a list of latrines.”
The others laughed as they stepped out into the misty afternoon. Slightly ahead of William and her, she turned back to him and raised a brow. “What were you saying about scrutiny?”
They emerged from the row of tents, following Talbot and Bell across the open square. A wooden hut stood beyond the mess tents, its front half open like a market stall.
The quartermaster stood behind a tall bench, surrounded by stacked crates and hanging coats. He looked up as they approached, squinting at a parchment in his hand.
“Names?”
They each gave them.
“Right,” the man muttered, rifling through a crate. “One set apiece. Do not lose anything. If it tears, patch it. If it rots, complain to someone else.”
He handed over uniforms in rough canvas bundles: coats, shirts, breeches, belts, and caps, along with boots and a standard-issue greatcoat.
Elizabeth accepted her bundle last. It smelled of damp wool and tobacco. She clutched it tight.
“You’ll want to change before dinner,” the man added. “And bring your boots back if they do not fit. No complaints if you blister.”
“Understood,” William said.
The four officers turned back toward their tents, arms full of military brown.
Elizabeth kept her eyes ahead.
Mary had altered her current clothing; could she do the same with these? No, there was not time before dinner. Maybe if she used some of her spare stockings, tucked into the shoulders or stuffed into the breeches, it would keep the coat from hanging like it belonged to a scarecrow.
Back at their tent, with their backs firmly turned away from each other, William and Elizabeth both changed quickly.
The sleeves swallowed her wrists. The breeches bunched at the thigh and sagged at the knee.
She looked like a younger brother wearing her elder’s hand-me-downs, or worse, like a girl who had stolen her father’s coat and hoped no one would notice.
William cleared his throat behind her, both of them still carefully turned away to maintain a semblance of privacy.
Maybe if she wore one of the shirts with the bulked-out shoulders beneath the coat, it would lend her frame more breadth. Enough to pass, perhaps.
William cleared his throat again, softer, but closer this time.
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, unsure. “Yes?”
“If you are nearly done,” he said, voice low but insistent, “I ought to take a look, just to be certain you will pass.”
She hesitated, adjusting the set of her cap. “I think so.”
“May I turn?”
“One moment,” she said, tightening the strap of her belt. “Now.”
He turned, eyes scanning her from boots to brow. He did not speak immediately, only stepped closer and gave a small nod.
“Better,” he murmured. “Still too much sleeve, but the coat helps.”
She squared her shoulders. “Will it do?”
He gave a half-smile. “It will have to. Come, if we linger much longer, they will come back to fetch us.”
Elizabeth drew in a steadying breath. “Lead on, Lieutenant.”
They stepped out into the cooling air, the canvas flap falling closed behind them.
A short while later, the bell rang across camp, three short peals, then silence.
“Dinner,” William said.
“Let us go before they judge us late,” Elizabeth murmured.
The mess tents were larger than the sleeping quarters, broad and high enough for a man to stand upright at the centre. Long benches flanked low wooden tables, already crowded with soldiers in various shades of brown and grey.
Talbot and Bell were already seated at one of the tables near the back. They waved them over.
They accepted their food and sat down on the wooden bench.
Talbot was halfway through a story about a recruitment sergeant in Hertford who, according to him, could measure a man’s height with his eyes alone.
Bell was sceptical, pointing out that the man had also mistaken a tailor’s apprentice for a farrier.
William laughed, tossing in his own remark about the endless ruts in the road on the march in.
Elizabeth listened in silence, keeping her attention on the bowl before her.
The canvas flap lifted, and Captain Bingley stepped in, trailed by Major Darcy.
“Room for two more?” Captain Bingley asked cheerfully, already pulling out a bench and sitting beside Talbot.
Major Darcy followed at a more deliberate pace, taking the space beside William with a short nod. His gaze moved along the table, pausing on Elizabeth for a heartbeat before shifting away.
Captain Bingley launched into conversation at once, asking where each man hailed from and making genial remarks about Hertfordshire. Bell warmed to him almost immediately, while Talbot responded with his usual grin.
“You will like our part of the country, sir,” Talbot said. “Good fields, better ale.”
“Indeed?” Captain Bingley’s eyes lit with interest. “I shall have to see for myself.”
He turned to Major Darcy. “I told you Hertfordshire was worth the trip, did I not?”
Major Darcy inclined his head. “You did.”
“Then you should visit when you can, plenty of company to be had,” Captain Bingley went on, smiling at the others.
Major Darcy only murmured, “Perhaps,” and returned to his stew.
“And you, Bennet?” Bingley asked suddenly, turning toward her.
Elizabeth froze for the smallest moment, her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Hertfordshire, sir,” she said quickly, the words catching just slightly on her tongue.
Major Darcy’s eyes flicked to her again, unreadable. “Near Meryton?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” Her mind raced, recalling the details William had insisted she memorise. “My family were from there once. My parents removed to Ashcombe some years ago, but I was born near Meryton. After… after they died, I lived with an uncle in Norfolk until I came here.”
The table was quiet for a heartbeat.
Bingley, untroubled, smiled warmly. “A pity your parents are not here to see you serve. You have friends in Hertfordshire still?”
Elizabeth nodded. “A few, sir. My father’s brother’s family live there.” She dared a glance at William, who gave the smallest of nods.
“The Lucases live near them.”
“Then we shall have to speak more of your county,” Bingley said cheerfully. He turned back to Talbot, asking about the ale again, and the moment passed.
Still, Elizabeth could feel Darcy’s gaze on her, as though he were testing each word she had spoken for weight.
The conversation flowed easily around them, Captain Bingley keeping the talk lively while Major Darcy remained a quieter presence, listening, weighing, and saying little. Elizabeth, conscious of the Major’s nearness, kept her eyes fixed on her bowl until the meal was done.
When the meal ended, the benches scraped back and the mess tent emptied into the chill night. Lanterns flickered along the camp’s central path, their light pooling over mud and trampled grass.
Elizabeth walked beside William, keeping her pace measured. They waited until Talbot and Bell had gone ahead toward their own tent before either of them spoke.
“Well?” she asked quietly.