Chapter 11
The following morning, Elizabeth was reading in the drawing room when Jane entered, dressed in a simple morning gown of sprigged muslin.
“You are abroad early, Lizzy,” her sister said.
“Mr MacKinnon mentioned he wished to speak with me this morning,” she replied. “I thought to ready myself before Mamma begins her inquiries about the breakfast menu.”
Jane settled into the chair nearest the window. “You seem troubled.”
“I am well enough. Merely contemplating the journey north.” Elizabeth sighed. “These weeks shall pass quickly.”
Jane touched her hand. “My apologies for continuously repeating myself, but you need not go through with this, you know.”
Elizabeth laughed without much humour. “And where precisely should we go if I refuse him? Perhaps we might impose upon the Gardiners indefinitely. I am certain six additional women would cause no inconvenience to their household.”
Jane said nothing, her grey eyes resting gently upon her sister's face.
“Forgive me.” Elizabeth sat beside her. “I am rather out of sorts.”
Mrs Hill appeared at the doorway. “Miss Elizabeth, Mr MacKinnon asks if you might join him in the breakfast room when convenient.”
“Thank you, Hill. Please tell him I shall be down directly.”
Elizabeth found Malcolm standing by the breakfast room window, watching Moira play with a wooden hoop in the garden below, her nurse keeping watch nearby. He turned as Elizabeth entered, his face brightening.
“Elizabeth. I hope I have not disturbed your morning.”
“Not at all,” she replied. “I was merely sitting with Jane.”
“I wondered if you might care to take a turn about the grounds. You’re welcome to join us too, Miss Bennet,” he added to Jane.
“The day is uncommonly fine, and I confess I have been too long indoors attending to correspondence.” He gestured toward the window where Moira's laughter could be heard faintly through the glass.
“Moira would join us, but her nurse insists she finish her arithmetic before any further play.”
Elizabeth smiled despite herself. “Arithmetic is dreadfully dull when the frost beckons. Yes, I should like to walk. Let us fetch my pelisse.”
When they returned, wrapped warmly against the cold, Malcolm offered his arm and they stepped out into the crisp morning.
The path crunched beneath their boots as they walked the familiar paths of Longbourn, Jane lingering behind.
The air stung her cheeks pleasantly, and their breath formed small clouds that dissipated quickly.
“You have been quiet of late,” Malcolm observed after they had walked some minutes in companionable silence. “I hope Mr Darcy's rather pointed questions yesterday did not distress you overmuch. He seemed uncommonly interested in matters that scarce concern him.”
“His questions were rather searching,” Elizabeth admitted. “Though I confess I understand them no better now than I did then.”
Malcolm's stride faltered almost imperceptibly before resuming its steady pace.
“Mr Darcy strikes me as a man who concerns himself greatly with the affairs of others. The Clearances were a difficult time for all in the Highlands, as I have mentioned. Many suffered losses they have not forgotten, nor should they. Perhaps he knows families who were affected and feels some obligation to enquire. I believe we ought to head back,” he said abruptly.
“The weather is dreadfully cold for the season.”
As they approached the house, the sound of horses on the gravel drive drew Elizabeth from her contemplation.
Two riders approached the house at a determined pace, one mounted on a decent bay mare, the other on a rough-looking Highland cob that seemed ill-suited to the journey south.
Even from this distance, something about the first rider struck her as oddly familiar, though she could not immediately place why.
“Are you expecting visitors this morning?” Elizabeth asked.
Malcolm glanced up, then abruptly quickened his steps. The moment his gaze fell upon the approaching riders, the colour drained from his face in a manner Elizabeth had never witnessed. His jaw tightened visibly, and his hands curled so forcefully that his knuckles went white.
“No. I am expecting no one.” His voice had gone flat, carefully controlled in a way that sent alarm coursing through Elizabeth's veins.
Spotting them in the distance, Mrs Hill hurried toward them. “Mr MacKinnon, sir, there are gentlemen here demanding to see you. A Mr Kinsman and...” Her lips curled with evident distaste. “Mr Wickham. They say it is urgent business that cannot wait.”
“Wickham.” The name escaped Elizabeth's lips before she could prevent it. Malcolm turned to her sharply, surprise cutting through his evident distress.
A muscle jumped in Malcolm’s jaw. His eyes went to the house, then back to Elizabeth, and she caught a flicker of something — not surprise, but dread — that told her this visit was not entirely unexpected.
Wickham was a man who traded in information, and a Scottish stranger with English property claims would have been precisely the sort of profitable connexion he would seek out. “You know this man?”
“We are acquainted, though not happily so. He was raised at Pemberley under the guardianship of the late Mr Darcy. The connection has since been severed due to circumstances I am not at liberty to discuss.” She did not elaborate on the nature of Wickham's disgrace, nor on the terrible injury he had attempted to inflict upon Georgiana Darcy.
Some confidences were not hers to break.
Malcolm's expression grew even grimmer if such were possible. He stood silent for a long moment, clearly weighing his options, before giving a curt nod. “Show them in the small drawing room, Mrs Hill. I shall join them shortly.”
“Mr MacKinnon, perhaps we should allow you to proceed ahead without us,” Elizabeth began with a worried look at Jane, but he shook his head sharply.
“No. If this man Wickham is known to you, your presence may prove useful. I confess I am uneasy about receiving strangers who arrive unannounced with talk of urgent business.” He looked at her with worried eyes. “Stay, if you would.”
After a slight hesitation, Elizabeth nodded and bade goodbye to Jane before following Malcolm inside the house.
As Hill opened the drawing room door, Wickham stood up and bowed with practised grace.
He looked just as charming as Elizabeth remembered, though his coat showed signs of hard travel and his boots were splattered with mud.
Behind him stood a man who was broad-shouldered and weathered, with the unmistakable look of the Highlands about him.
“Mr MacKinnon, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last,” Wickham said with that smooth courtesy Elizabeth remembered so well from their encounters in Meryton.
His gaze slid to Elizabeth, and his smile widened with evident satisfaction.
“And Miss Elizabeth! What an unexpected delight. I had not known you were acquainted with the laird of Strathaird. Indeed, I only recently found out he was sojourning at Longbourn. How the world grows smaller with each passing day.”
“Mr Wickham.” Elizabeth kept her tone carefully neutral, betraying none of the revulsion his presence inspired. “What brings you to Longbourn? I was not aware you had business in Hertfordshire.”
“Ah, but I find myself drawn here by circumstances beyond my control, I assure you. Tedious business, but necessary.” He gestured with false bonhomie toward his companion.
“May I present Mr Rob Kinsman, lately of the Isle of Skye. He has travelled a considerable distance to speak with Mr MacKinnon on a matter of some delicacy and importance.”
The Scotsman stepped forward without any pretence at courtesy, his gaze fixed upon Malcolm with uncomfortable intensity.
When he spoke, his voice was rough as gravel, heavily accented, each word weighted with meaning Elizabeth could not fully grasp.
“MacKinnon.” He made the name sound like an accusation. “Or so ye call yourself these days.”
Malcolm's hands, resting on the back of the chair he had risen from, clenched until the wood creaked beneath his grip. “I do not believe we are acquainted, sir. You have me at a disadvantage.”
“Do I now?” Kinsman's smile held no warmth whatsoever, only a kind of grim satisfaction. “How strange that is. I recall ye well enough from before the troubles began. Or perhaps ye've found it convenient to forget those days? Forgotten Edinburgh entirely, have ye?”
“I have never resided in Edinburgh save passing through on my way to and from London.” Malcolm's voice had gone deadly quiet, each word precisely enunciated. “You are mistaken in your identification, sir. I am not the man you seek.”
“Are ye not?” Kinsman took another step closer, his bulk seeming to fill the room.
“That's most peculiar. I survived the Clearances, MacKinnon. I remember who helped the tenants and who stood by watching while families were driven from their homes. I remember the old laird, God rest his troubled soul. And I remember ye.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
The door opened with sudden violence, startling them all.
Mrs Douglas, the nursemaid, rushed in with Moira clinging to her skirts, the child's face already pale and frightened — they had heard that voice from the passage, and neither of them had needed to see the man it belonged to.
The nurse stopped abruptly at the threshold, her eyes going wide as they fixed upon Kinsman.
All the blood drained from her round face, leaving her grey as ash.
Moira pressed closer to her side, her earlier morning gaiety vanished entirely.
“Da?” The child's voice was small and trembling in a manner that tore at Elizabeth's heart.