Chapter 6 #2
And if the fields continued to flood…
She stopped herself. Worrying changes nothing, she scolded in a voice reminiscent of her Granny Bennet. Do not borrow trouble, Elizabeth.
Yet she had become so accustomed to carrying worries that she scarcely knew how to stop.
A gust of damp wind swept across the yard, stirring loose strands of hair around her face. Somewhere nearby, thunder rumbled faintly.
Elizabeth stared toward the south with unease prickling at the base of her spine. The weather felt wrong somehow.
She could only hope and pray that the rain would not bring the river over its banks again.
The last flooding had nearly swept away Miller Watson’s youngest son while the child attempted to cross the lower footbridge. Two sheep had drowned, and half the road to Meryton had become so deeply submerged that carts required twice the normal time to pass.
And London—
Her brow furrowed.
If Hertfordshire’s roads were this poor, conditions within the city must be far worse. Gracechurch Street lay close enough to the river that heavy flooding would certainly affect the surrounding districts.
Elizabeth made a mental note to write to her aunt that evening.
Another low roll of thunder sounded overhead.
Mrs. Gardiner hated storms. Elizabeth remembered that much from childhood visits to London. Her aunt always became restless and anxious during violent weather, particularly when confined indoors.
And near her confinement besides.
Elizabeth bit her lip thoughtfully.
Perhaps she ought to ask her father whether one of the stable boys might carry a letter to London before the roads worsened entirely.
Though whether Mr. Bennet would remember to give permission once she asked was another matter entirely.
The thought brought immediate irritation.
At seventeen, Elizabeth was old enough to understand that most gentlemen’s daughters did not spend their days chasing signatures for estate repairs or reminding their fathers which tenants needed relief before quarter day.
Jane scarcely understood half the matters Elizabeth handled regularly, and Lydia openly declared such concerns dull beyond endurance.
Sometimes Elizabeth wondered what her life might have been had she possessed the luxury of uselessness.
Would she have cared more for gowns?
For assemblies?
For flirtations and beaus?
Or would she still have found herself restless while things fell into disrepair around her?
The kitchen door burst open behind her before she could dwell further upon the thought.
“Miss Lizzy!”
Elizabeth turned to find Sarah, one of the younger maids, breathless from haste.
“What is it?”
“The groom from Lucas Lodge has come, miss. He says there’s terrible flooding near the southern road.”
Elizabeth’s stomach tightened at once.
“How terrible?”
“They say a carriage overturned in the water near the bridge crossing.”
Elizabeth straightened immediately. “Were there injuries?”
“I don’t know, miss. Only that the road’s near impassable.”
Another peal of thunder echoed overhead.
Elizabeth looked once more toward the darkening southern sky, unease settling heavily in her chest.
Something about the day felt ominous.
As though the storm carried more with it than rain alone.
∞∞∞
The rain continued for four more days.
By the second, the lower road to Meryton vanished beneath water entirely. By the third, part of Widow Harper’s cottage roof collapsed under the constant damp, forcing Elizabeth to organize temporary lodging for the woman and her grandchildren in one of Longbourn’s unused storage buildings.
By the fourth, even Mr. Bennet had finally abandoned pretending the estate could continue untended.
Not happily, of course.
Everything required his approval.
Repairs.
Timber purchases.
Emergency grain allotments.
Payments to laborers reinforcing washed-out lanes.
Every interruption darkened his temper further until the servants began moving about the house with visible caution whenever he emerged from the library.
Elizabeth scarcely sat down from dawn until long after candlelight.
Twice she rode out with Mr. Hill to inspect flooded tenant fields herself because her father declared the roads “too infernal for civilized travel.” Three times she reorganized household accounts after unexpected repair costs arose.
One entire morning vanished into calming Mrs. Bennet, who became convinced the rain would seep upward through the floors and drown them all in their beds.
By the fifth day, Elizabeth felt as though she had not properly slept in a fortnight.
So when the express finally arrived, mud-spattered and urgent near dusk, her heart dropped instantly.
Expresses rarely brought good news.
The servant entered the breakfast parlor where Elizabeth sat sorting repair invoices while Mr. Bennet glowered over a book nearby.
“A rider from London, miss.”
Elizabeth looked up sharply.
“For Papa?”
The footman hesitated. “No, miss. For you.”
That was odd.
Very odd.
Her father lowered his book just enough to look over the edge of it. “Well, if someone has finally decided to conduct Longbourn’s business sensibly, I entirely approve.”
Under ordinary circumstances, Elizabeth might have smiled faintly at the remark.
Instead, unease settled coldly into her stomach.
The folded packet was damp around the edges from travel, the seal partially cracked. Elizabeth recognized neither the handwriting nor the hand that had addressed it.
Certainly not her aunt’s.
Elizabeth broke the seal with unsteady fingers and unfolded several closely written sheets. The handwriting was cramped and uneven, as though written by candlelight from exhaustion.
Her eyes immediately flew to the signature at the bottom.
Mrs. Thompson? The name was not familiar.
A terrible chill swept through Elizabeth, and her hands trembled as she read.
Gracechurch Street
London
29 January 1809
Miss Elizabeth Bennet,
I pray you will forgive both the boldness and disorder of this letter. We are not yet acquainted, as I have been in the position of housekeeper for but two months.
Your aunt instructed me most particularly, should the worst occur, that I was to send immediately for you and for no one else.
I scarcely know how to put into words the horrors of the past five days.
The flooding in London has been beyond anything I have witnessed in all my years.
The rain fell without ceasing upon ground already frozen hard from the bitter cold earlier this month.
The waters rose so swiftly that entire streets disappeared within hours.
Cellars filled first, then shops, and finally even the lower floors of many homes.
The Thames overflowed its banks dreadfully. Warehouses near the river were inundated, and many persons were swept away in the waters.
On the morning of the 24th, Mr. Gardiner went himself to inspect the warehouses, fearing for the goods stored there. The current became so violent near the river roads that witnesses report several carts overturned entirely.
Your uncle never returned home.
We held hope for two days, believing perhaps he had found shelter elsewhere within the city, but his body was recovered yesterday morning downstream amongst debris near Wapping.
At the news, your poor aunt was taken immediately with pains far before her proper time.
Under ordinary circumstances, we should at once have summoned both physician and midwife, but the flooding rendered the streets nearly impassable.
No carriage could pass. Even foot travel proved dangerous in many places.
Several attempts were made to fetch assistance, but none could reach us in time.
Your aunt suffered greatly.
The infant—a little boy—was born alive but exceedingly small and weak. He survived less than an hour.
Mrs. Gardiner herself lingered through the night.
I remained with her throughout.
Toward the end, she became very calm and spoke repeatedly of you.
She said you were the only person who would know what must be done.
Her exact words were: “Send for Lizzy. She will come. She always manages everything.”
Miss Elizabeth, I hope you will forgive me for repeating such painful words, but I believe you ought to know how dearly your aunt trusted and loved you.
Before she passed, she gave instructions concerning the children.
Master Edward asks constantly for his papa.
Little Sophie scarcely understands what has occurred and cries herself to sleep for her mama each night.
Baby Thomas has become fearful whenever anyone leaves the room.
The household is in considerable distress. Several servants have fled already, fearing there will be no wages now that both master and mistress are gone. Others are frightened by rumors spreading through the city that more flooding and sickness will follow.
I have done all I can to preserve order, but I am only one woman and the children are frightened beyond measure.
There are also concerns regarding your uncle’s business affairs. Some of the warehouses suffered damage, though I do not yet know the extent. Papers and ledgers from the counting room were hastily removed before the waters rose farther.
Miss Elizabeth, I beg you most earnestly to come as soon as the roads permit.
Your aunt placed her confidence in you, and I confess I do also.
I remain, despite these melancholy circumstances,
Your obedient servant,
Mrs. Thompson
By the time Elizabeth reached the final line, the words had begun to blur through tears. She closed her eyes, allowing the salty water to pour down her cheeks, ignoring the clamor of voices around her, demanding to know the news.
“Aunt and Uncle Gardiner are… gone.”