1
November 85, three years later, Mayfair
‘Miss Bennet.’ The liveried footman bowed. ‘Pray follow.’
Elizabeth looked back along Curzon Street, where Mr Gardiner’s driver was parked. She entered a grand hallway and was led to a drawing room on the first floor. Left alone, she surveyed French tables with upholstered chairs, a Persian carpet, a chandelier reflected in the grand mirror over the fireplace, two armchairs, a pianoforte, and walls covered in portraits and landscapes.
The door opened and a woman let herself in. She was in her late forties, Elizabeth judged, with a pleasant, longish face, intelligent eyes, and dark hair flecked with grey. Her navy gown was plain except for a thin trim of white lace at the wrists and neck; she wore a plain navy bandeau and a delicate silver necklace.
Elizabeth curtsied as the woman approached with easy grace and pointed to an armchair at the fireside.
‘Good morning, Miss Bennet. Lady Selborn. Marianne. I took the liberty of ordering coffee but we can offer alternatives.’
‘Coffee will do very well, thank you.’
Lady Selborn took a seat. ‘Have you come far?’
‘From Cheapside, your ladyship, where I am living with my uncle and aunt.’
‘I see.’ Lady Selborn studied Elizabeth, and apparently saw something to her liking, for she smiled. ‘As you know, we seek a lady to serve in the role of companion. Our insertion in The Times was not specific, but I can tell you now that the main beneficiary will not be myself but my daughter, Justina. May I know your age?’
‘Four and twenty.’
‘And unmarried.’ Lady Selborn paused. ‘I hope you are not offended if I find this surprising.’
‘I will interpret it as a compliment.’
‘A clever reply, but forgive me if I press the point. You are attractive, and obviously intelligent. I would guess you have received offers.’
Elizabeth wondered how much to confide. ‘Two, your ladyship. The latter was three years ago, from a gentleman whom unfortunately I disliked. Soon afterwards my father died, and since his estate passed to a cousin, we were left with no income except my mother’s marriage settlement of ￡200 a year. My sister Jane and I have earned a little extra by caring for my uncle’s children. But it is hardly enough.’ Elizabeth looked up with a spread of the hands. ‘I can offer no references from former employers. Only what you see, and my assurance that I will do my best.’
Lady Selborn studied her. ‘I think you feel keenly the loss of your father.’
Elizabeth reddened, moved by this unexpected kindness. ‘He was a good man, and very dear to me.’
‘I should tell you a little about our family.’ Lady Selborn paused as a maid brought a silver coffee service with ribbed china cups and wafer biscuits. ‘My husband is active in politics, and assisted the Foreign Secretary Lord Castlereagh at the Congress of Vienna at the start of the year. When not travelling abroad he is based in London, while our son Cedric manages our estates in Hampshire. Our daughter Justina loves music, as do I, and for this reason lives mostly in town where she has access to concerts and the best masters. Are you fond of music, Miss Bennet?’
‘Very much.’ Elizabeth looked at the pianoforte. ‘I was admiring your instrument.’
‘You play?’
‘To friends and family. I have no training.’
‘Justina is with her teacher now. Signor Forlani.’ Lady Selborn sipped coffee thoughtfully. ‘Miss Bennet, I find you an honest and sympathetic person, and would like to confide my reasons for employing a companion. Justina is 8 years old and has been out a year. As I have explained, our family has wide-ranging commitments. Lord Selborn is kept busy by politics. Cedric visits London rarely. I assist charities and the London Philharmonic Society. As a result, Justina is often left alone. Friends call, and she practises the piano several hours a day, but she needs someone who will support and steady her.’
Elizabeth hesitated before asking, ‘Has she asked for a companion herself?’
A sigh. ‘No. I have had to exercise, shall we say, a degree of persuasion. But she has relented, provided the person selected gains her approval as well as mine.’ Lady Selborn spread her hands. ‘And therein lies the difficulty. Between you and me, Miss Bennet, Justina’s passionate nature needs to be controlled. It is for this reason that I seek a companion a little older than she, able to calm her extremes of elation and despondency. But conventional good sense is exactly what she will not accept! I have interviewed five ladies before yourself. Three were clearly unsuitable. The other two I introduced to Justina …’ She broke off, exasperated.
Elizabeth smiled. ‘Would you like me to try my luck as well?’
Lady Selborn faced her, head tilted. ‘You said you had no former employers able to give a reference?’
‘Only my uncle, who is biassed in my favour.’
‘Not even a gentleman who knows you well?’
‘I could give names from Hertfordshire, where I grew up. Sir William Lucas. Mr Robinson, the magistrate.’
Lady Selborn shook her head. ‘I have not had the honour of meeting them …’ She reflected. ‘I will make you an offer. Convince Justina, and we will proceed for a trial period of one month. In addition to your board you will receive a salary of ￡20 a year. If it transpires that you do not suit us, or we do not suit you, you will receive ￡0 for your trouble and leave. How does that sound?’
Elizabeth felt a quiver of hope: the salary would make a considerable difference to her mother and sisters.
‘Eminently fair—albeit hypothetical, since your daughter may reject me along with the others.’
Lady Selborn considered. ‘Would you be willing to wait? Justina should be back from her lesson in an hour.’
Elizabeth strolled around the drawing room, studying the pictures. In the hallway, a clock struck the quarter-hour: Lady Justina should return soon. A message had been sent to Mr Gardiner’s driver telling him to wait. Lady Selborn had retired to a nearby room she called her office, intending presumably to continue her cultural and charity work.
The contrast between this opulent town house and the Bennets’ cottage outside Meryton was stark. In every detail the drawing room evoked wealth, class, culture, from the selection of books in the cabinet, to the exquisite Stein-Streicher pianoforte, to tastefully hung paintings by artists such as Wilson, Gainsborough, or Constable. Mrs Bennet, meanwhile, lived with Mary and Kitty and a single servant, and avoided Meryton High Street for fear of encountering Lucases, or Philipses, or even worse, the Collinses parading by in regal splendour.
As Elizabeth had related to Lady Selborn, her family’s fall had dated from late 82, when her exhausted and dispirited father had passed away. What she had not confided was the principal cause of Mr Bennet’s decline: Lydia’s so-called elopement with Mr Wickham during the summer of that disastrous year. Elizabeth had received the news during a tour of Derbyshire with the Gardiners, while staying at the Peacock Inn at Lambton—uncomfortably close to Pemberley. They had raced back to Longbourn to find Mr Bennet away searching in London, his wife confined to her chamber, Kitty and Mary quarrelling, and Jane weary after days of responsibility and stress.
Their return eased the burden on Jane, but the news remained bad. Mr Gardiner joined Mr Bennet in his search, but the trail ran dry: all that could be established was that the couple had reached London. No letters arrived from Lydia. Nobody believed they had gone to Gretna. Blaming himself, Mr Bennet searched for two months before falling ill with fever and returning to Longbourn, where his health had rapidly declined.
The sequel had been predictable. Collins moved into Longbourn and cut off all contact with his disgraced cousins. Neighbours feigned sympathy while secretly revelling in their shame. Jane’s hopes of marrying Bingley, already faint, were ended: he relinquished the lease on Netherfield and never returned. No option remained except to rent a cottage.
And thus life had dragged on for three years, relieved only by visits to the Gardiners.
With a sigh, Elizabeth went to the piano. Lady Selborn had encouraged her to try it out, if she wished. On the rack stood a booklet entitled Sonata in C major (dedicated to Count Ferdinand von Waldstein), by Ludwig van Beethoven. Most of it was of intimidating difficulty, but the opening had repeated chords which she could manage. She played a little, delighted by the instrument’s fullness of tone and the range it allowed from very soft to very loud—and in her absorption, did not hear the door open.