Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
After parting from the Bingleys and Hursts—and suffering Caroline’s jealous glares—Elizabeth had looked from a window to see Mr Balfour and Mr Utterson riding from the house.
They had gone to Lambton to join Darcy and do what they could to help the recovery efforts.
She wondered how much help those two might be, but she admired their willingness to aid their friend.
Elizabeth then wandered the house in a restless state since Mrs Lanyon was drawing and Miss Darcy was practising the instrument with Mrs Annesley.
I cannot remain here idle and feeling dissatisfied.
A disquieting thoughtfulness preoccupied her as she considered what might be happening in Lambton, and that she was doing nothing to aid those in need.
Elizabeth walked to a window again, looking over the stable yard, and saw Darcy’s steward directing a few men loading a wagon.
She was determined to give what help she could.
In a few hurried moments, she was dressed in walking clothes and in the yard.
“Mr Stevenson,” she called before he drove away. “Are you going to Lambton?”
“Yes, ma’am. Too many in the village are without the bare necessities of life, and we must give from the house what we have until we can organise committees to get help from any neighbours who might be able to supply the immediate deficit.”
He touched his hat, but Elizabeth said, “I should like to help.”
Mr Stevenson shook his head. “It is no place for a lady, ma’am.”
Elizabeth refrained from giving him the dark look he deserved. What did he think the women who lived in Lambton were doing? “I did not know you had so many hands to help that you do not need mine.”
A cloud passed over his eyes. “Lambton is a devastating sight. Even the men are affected by what they have seen.”
“I can, at the least, distribute the supplies you are bringing to free you for other duties.”
“Mr Darcy would not want you to—”
“It is about three miles to Lambton, correct? Certainly within five? Do I need to walk, or may I ride in your wagon?” she asked pointedly.
Mr Stevenson pressed his lips together, but gestured to the seat next to him.
“There is substantial wreckage in Lambton, and many tenants’ homes and other of Mr Darcy’s properties damaged too,” Mr Stevenson said after they left the stable yard.
“When we get to the village, do not go down Brookside or Church Lane. The water is still ankle-deep in some places, especially near the churchyard and the river. Stay near the smithy or the Pemberley Arms.”
When they entered the village, it took Elizabeth a long moment for her mind to comprehend what she was seeing. Wooden joists, fence posts, and tree limbs were strewn like spillikins. They neared the Pemberley Arms, and she saw the flood debris being piled high.
When she alighted, she saw people sorting through the wreckage.
Furniture, trunks, bedding, a pianoforte, a clock; whatever was collected was laid out on the street to be claimed.
Elizabeth passed by people picking through the muddy piles to find what precious items could be salvaged.
They had a haunted, empty look in their eyes.
I was wholly unprepared for this.
Mr Stevenson called a few men to unload the wagon before telling her he was going to the Pemberley Arms. She stood in confusion watching the activity around her.
Elizabeth saw Mr Utterson near to the smithy chopping debris with two other men doing the same.
She noticed Mr Balfour moving through where household articles had been amassed together, carrying a wooden chair.
Farmers were consulting their almanacs, and looking at the sky and feeling the air.
They were all concerned that it would rain again tomorrow morning.
Elizabeth turned in a circle, looking at chaos and confusion in every direction. So many people connected to Pemberley were without adequate food, sufficient clothing, or shelter. Her emotions were slipping out of control, and she took a steadying breath.
I help no one by standing in the street crying to myself.
As she walked towards the inn, she overheard flood stories in all the sickening detail.
This person was still missing. That family lost everything in their ground floor.
This man’s business was ruined. The Pemberley Arms had become a manner of committee centre.
The smithy had become a gathering place to commiserate. The school, a deadhouse.
The inn’s main room was filled with nearly fifty people, mostly men, and their attention was focused on Darcy.
He was in front of the bar, trying to listen to one man, whilst being interrupted by everyone pressed around him.
Mr Stevenson worked through the crowd and came to his side to talk into his ear.
She saw Darcy lean forward to try to better hear him, but all around was a growing din.
I had better ask Mr Stevenson what he wishes me to do. There was no way, and no reason, to talk with Darcy now.
“It was already a wet season,” a man said as she moved through the crowd. “What shall be done about the crops—”
“Who can think of that?” another cried. “My wife is still missing! I need men to stop chopping debris and help me to find her!”
“I have two dozen sheep drowned! How am I supposed to pay my rent if—”
The crowd jostled and swayed, and someone knocked into Elizabeth, who pushed him off of her as she reached the front, near a table at the other end of the bar from Darcy.
She tried to catch Mr Stevenson’s attention, but Darcy was in the way with his back to her.
The steward and Darcy were in earnest conversation, and then Mr Stevenson nodded, left a writing box on the table, and pushed back through the crowd to leave.
Now that everyone had pressed forward, there was no easy way for her to make it back through the crowd. Elizabeth noticed with alarm that someone had marked the height of the water from Monday’s storm on the bar. She ran her fingers across it with a distressed sigh.
“Where shall we go if we have no family to take us in until my roof is repaired?” a new voice called.
“Shall you deduct our rent? What am I to do if my pasture is flooded?”
“The great house is not damaged, is it?” This voice was spiteful. “What worry could he have?”
“Mr Darcy will not leave us to manage this ourselves.”
“His sister was not swept away in a river of water down the street!” someone else said. “He has not suffered a thing!”
“You think this is a competition for who has lost the most?”
“What about my home and my sheep? How shall I pay my rent?”
“How shall Mr Darcy pay for all of this? He will evict us first.”
“Evict us?” another man cried. “Will we be evicted if we cannot pay?”
“What does he care so long as the great house is standing and he can go up to town whenever he likes?”
This man was shoved by another, and calls of outrage followed.
There shall be a riot! Her stomach twisted with an awful fear.
They were all grieving and afraid, and Elizabeth felt how the energy of the crowd shifted and built.
It seemed to feed on itself, and the growing force needed an outlet or it was fit to burst. To her surprise, Darcy suddenly stood on a chair and climbed atop a table in front of the bar.
“Do you think I shall abandon you?” he cried.
For a moment Darcy held everyone’s attention, and Elizabeth was terrified what might happen—what they might do—if he lost it.
“I can scarcely speak of the awful calamity that has befallen us,” he said. “The ruins of your belongings are piled high in the street, the loss of your crops and livestock fills you with fear, and the deaths of your loved ones have broken your hearts.”
Some of the rumbling stopped, but there was still an angry energy in the room.
“Are we going to rebuild? Yes. Are we going to take care of one another? Yes. Shall I make allowances on rent day for what has happened? Yes.”
Elizabeth watched Darcy look over the crowd, shaking his head sadly.
“You cannot think that I am going to sit in the house, idle and work-shy, when you have lost so much. Do you truly expect me to go to town?” he asked incredulously, looking at the man who had made the claim.
“Is this your opinion of me?” he asked the group.
“Is this the manner of landowner, the manner of man you think I am?”
There were a few calls to the contrary, but not enough in Elizabeth’s opinion, and the crowd still pressed nearer.
“Have I not always been willing to sacrifice every private consideration and personal enjoyment for the sake of any one of you?” There were approving murmurs as people looked at one another. Elizabeth watched some nod, but many still had their arms folded and were frowning.
“Do you think your losses are not my losses?” Darcy cried, grabbing everyone’s attention once more. “I can assure each and every one of you that I am as shocked and affected by what has happened, what has happened to us.”
It struck her that Darcy was a very young man. Most in this room were ten years his senior, at least. All of his wealth and influence would be disregarded if he could not have the confidence of these frightened people. Had he ever faced such a disaster, such loss, or so madding a crowd in his life?
“We must get to work. Do not be discouraged! A year’s hard work will restore the value of your properties, and I promise that none—do you hear me?—none shall be evicted for being unable to pay.”
He took a moment to pause and let those words settle into everyone’s hearts.
“I cannot toss provisions into the crowd and have women and children trampled,” he said in a calmer voice.
“I cannot have a lawless mob roaming about, deciding for themselves what ought to be done.
We must organise into committees for every task, just as we have done to clear the streets today.