Chapter 11 #2
Elizabeth watched them all with composed attention.
The pies were a kindness given without witness, without display. She did not yet know what it meant. But she knew she would remember it.
The Harding house stood a little apart from the village road, modest in size and well kept, its windows bright even beneath the lingering chill of the afternoon.
Elizabeth recognised it at once, though she had not truly looked at it before.
On the day of their arrival in Lambton, her attention had been fixed upon the simple relief of the journey’s end, gratitude overwhelming any inclination to observe more closely.
Now, approaching it on foot and at leisure, she noted its proportions. It was neither grand nor mean, but comfortably placed, with an air of quiet order that suggested habit.
They were shown inside without delay. Mrs Harding rose at once to receive them, her manner warm but unexaggerated.
“My dear Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, how very glad I am you could come. I hope the walk was not too cold.”
“It was bracing,” Elizabeth replied with a smile. “But we are grateful for the sunshine.”
There was no ceremony in their reception.
Cloaks were taken, chairs drawn forward, and tea was already laid upon the table, as though the visit had been anticipated without anxiety.
The room itself was comfortable rather than elegant.
Books lay upon a side table, a basket of mending rested near the fire, and a small vase of early spring flowers stood upon the mantel. Everything suggested daily use.
Elizabeth felt herself settle almost at once.
Mrs Harding poured the first cups with an easy hand, speaking as she did so of ordinary matters. The weather. The state of the roads. The village children, who had lately been confined indoors by the rain and were now quite unmanageable.
“There is nothing like a week of damp weather to convince them the world has ended,” she said, smiling. “One would think the sun had never shone before.”
Mrs Bennet laughed a little too readily, but the sound softened as she accepted her cup without remark, warming her hands about it as though the comfort mattered more than the strength. Elizabeth observed the effort with quiet approval.
Jane sat beside their mother, attentive and composed, her expression gently pleased.
A burst of laughter drifted from the passage beyond.
“That will be the girls,” Mrs Harding said fondly.
“It is a comfort to Cassandra to have young ladies near her own age. Since my dear Charlotte left the schoolroom, she has had very little in the way of regular companionship. There is Miss Darcy, of course, but she has been at school this past year and only returned a month ago.”
The door opened almost at once.
Miss Harding entered first, cheeks flushed, followed closely by Kitty and Lydia, their manner animated by shared amusement. Mary came next, composed as ever, with the governess, Miss Clark, just behind her.
Miss Harding paused when she saw the tea laid, then moved forward without hesitation.
“Mama, may I?” she asked quietly.
Mrs Harding smiled and relinquished the pot at once. “Of course, my dear.”
Miss Harding poured with care, her movements practised but unselfconscious, offering cups to Kitty and Lydia before setting one aside for Mary and another for Miss Clark. There was no self-consciousness in the act, only an ease born of familiarity.
Elizabeth noticed it at once. The confidence. The absence of strain.
“The weather has kept us all indoors more than we should like,” Mrs Harding continued. “Cassandra grows restless when she cannot walk.”
Kitty brightened. “We were quite the same. Lydia declares she cannot sit still another day.”
“There is always something to endure,” Lydia added briskly, “but it is worse when one must endure it quietly.”
Mary inclined her head. “Quiet endurance is a discipline worth cultivating.”
Lydia rolled her eyes, but Miss Harding laughed, clearly accustomed to both tones.
Elizabeth watched the exchange with interest. There was nothing forced here. No careful balancing of gratitude and pride. Hospitality was offered and received as a matter of course, and the ease of it struck her more deeply than any overt kindness might have done.
Mrs Harding accepted her cup from Cassandra and settled back into her chair with a small sigh of contentment.
“It is pleasant to hear young voices in the house again,” she said. “We grow too accustomed to our own routines if we are not careful.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “You have been most kind in welcoming us.”
Mrs Harding waved the words aside with gentle firmness. “Kindness costs little when it is freely given. Besides, Lambton thrives on neighbours knowing one another. It always has.”
As the younger girls clustered nearer the fire with Cassandra, their voices lowering into eager conversation about lessons and walks, Mrs Harding turned slightly toward Elizabeth and Jane.
“My nephew, Matthew Ashton, will be pleased to find the house so lively when he returns,” she said, as though mentioning a circumstance of no great importance. “He is away at present, but he is expected back within a fortnight.”
Jane smiled politely. “He must miss his home.”
“He does,” Mrs Harding replied. “Very much so. Lambton suits him better than anywhere else. And he is exceedingly fond of Cassandra.”
Elizabeth acknowledged this with a small inclination of her head, her manner attentive but unremarkable.
“I hope you shall meet him when he returns,” Mrs Harding added. “It will be a pleasure for us to have more company again.”
“I am sure it will,” Elizabeth said, with ready civility.
The subject passed as easily as it had been introduced.
Across the room, Cassandra laughed at something Kitty had said, Lydia speaking all at once, Mary listening with composed attention. The scene continued as before, untroubled by expectation or emphasis.
Elizabeth took a measured sip of tea.