5
April 1816, four months later
Every week Elizabeth was granted a free day, which she usually spent at Gracechurch Street. Now that she and Jane had jobs it was hard to arrange trips to Hertfordshire: to travel there and back in a single day was impractical. But while the Selborns prepared for their European tour, they allowed Elizabeth an extra day to see her family. Mr Gardiner offered to come, and to bring Jane too. There was no room to sleep at the cottage, but the inn at Meryton would suffice for one night.
They left early, aiming to arrive at midday. It was cool—spring had come late—but for once the rain held off and the roads were passable. For the first leg of the journey Mr Gardiner sat beside the driver, leaving the sisters to talk in privacy, for Jane had news: a Mr Browne, son of a wine merchant, had made her an offer of marriage. Browne senior was acquainted with the Gardiners; the son was neither plain nor handsome, neither charming nor disagreeable—in a word, average. On the other hand, he would inherit the business.
It was a sad comedown after Bingley, and after hearing the details, Elizabeth urged Jane to wait for a better offer. She had accepted that one of them might have to make a marriage of convenience, but this particular alliance did not guarantee security, since the business had accrued debts during the war with France. It might recover, according to Mr Gardiner. Or it might not.
At 26, Jane had retained her looks, but the smiling star of Meryton balls had now an air of calm resignation. Her dreams had gone, replaced by duties and minor pleasures. Unlike Elizabeth, she felt no bitterness towards the architects of her misfortune. For Lydia she felt only pity; for Bingley, forgiveness, having learned from Elizabeth that he had been worked upon by his sisters—and his best friend.
The cottage lay a little way outside Meryton centre, on the opposite side to Longbourn. Mary and Kitty came out to greet them, but Mrs Bennet was indisposed. While Mr Gardiner went inside to greet his sister, Jane lent a sympathetic ear to Kitty’s troubles, leaving Elizabeth to exchange practicalities with Mary.
‘I can give you ￡40 that I have saved.’ Elizabeth drew a purse from her reticule.
‘Bless you.’ Mary took the money with a sigh. ‘Kitty will want to buy clothes, but we cannot really afford it.’
‘Let her spend some. Five pounds. I’ll have more when I return from Europe.’ Elizabeth regarded Mary, 21 years old, and much altered by responsibility. ‘You look strained, dear. How have you been?’
‘I read a lot. Not just the bible, but books from the circulating library. History, music, art, so that I will be able to work as a governess.’ Mary lowered her voice. ‘Mother is weakening day by day.’
‘She used to be so vigorous. Can you not persuade her to spend time out of doors?’
‘She fears meeting someone we used to know.’
‘And Kitty?’
‘She does her best. Sews. Helps in the kitchen. Most of the time she just reads.’ Mary sniffed. ‘I bring her romantic novels from the library.’
Elizabeth touched Mary’s arm. ‘You’ve had to bear the brunt of this.’
‘Will you come to church on Sunday morning?’ Mary brightened. ‘We go to Holy Cross since it’s nearby and we don’t want to bump into you-know-who.’
‘Certainly. We don’t need to leave until afternoon.’
‘It is my solace.’ Mary turned towards the front door. ‘I had better consult uncle about a meal.’
Since dining at the cottage would be cramped, Mr Gardiner proposed an outing to the inn at Meryton. Mary and Kitty agreed with alacrity, but Mrs Bennet declared herself too ill to move, so she stayed behind with the maid.
The George Inn did them proud, and after abundant helpings of steak and kidney pudding, washed down with small beer, the mood became quite cheerful. For Elizabeth it was heartwarming to see her younger sisters enjoy themselves, although she felt a twinge of guilt that she and Jane had a far more interesting life in London.
When they had finished, Elizabeth suggested a walk to Longbourn church, eager to revive at least some memories of her old life. Mr Gardiner felt he should return to Mrs Bennet, but agreed to go on foot so that his driver could take the sisters in the carriage.
Reaching the cemetery, they found the plot where Mr Bennet lay. As befitted the former master, it was a chest tomb that would one day accommodate his wife as well. Mary, who had brought flowers, tidied up the borders, as Elizabeth gazed at the stone with a feeling of unreality. THOMAS JOHN BENNET 17-1812. AT PEACE. She had chosen this simple inscription herself, intensely aware of the torment he had suffered in his final months. Where was he now, she wondered. Was his spirit watching over their struggles? In a way she hoped not. But perhaps he would be proud, especially of Mary, who had taken responsibility for her mother and younger sister.
They walked round the village green, sometimes meeting people they recognised and exchanging a few words. The locals were polite, but embarrassed, for the disgrace of the Bennets was common knowledge. By the time they got back to the carriage, Kitty was squirming.
‘Shall we go?’
Mary and Jane agreed, but Elizabeth longed to walk and tire herself out. ‘We could go up Oakham Mount.’
‘I want to return home,’ Kitty said.
‘Take the carriage.’ Elizabeth looked at Jane. ‘We could walk back through Meryton.’
Jane paused. ‘It’s a bit far for me, Lizzy.’
‘Then I’ll see you back at the cottage.’
They drove off, and Elizabeth hastened out of the village, impatient for the climb, and views of her old haunts.
An hour later, returning alone to the graveside, Elizabeth noticed Mr Collins entering the church. She turned so that he would not spot her, and hastened towards Longbourn estate. With luck Collins would be away for half an hour—enough time for a visit to her old home.
Along the drive, nothing had changed. Elizabeth could imagine herself transported to the past: her father reading in his study; Mary at the piano; Lydia and Kitty flirting with Denny, Wickham and the rest; Mrs Bennet crying out to the housekeeper— Hill! Come to Miss Bennet! But the footman who answered her ring was unfamiliar: the Collinses had engaged new servants.
‘Madam?’
‘Is Mrs Collins in?’
‘What name should I give?’
A small boy ran into the hall, followed by a plump busy-looking woman whom Elizabeth after a moment’s puzzlement recognised as Charlotte.
‘Lewis, come here!’ Charlotte grasped the toddler, while staring at the entrance. ‘Lizzy?’
‘Hallo Charlotte. May I come in?’
‘Of course …’ She looked half pleased, half frightened. ‘Mr Collins is out …’
‘I won’t stay long.’
A maid came for the boy, while Charlotte showed Elizabeth to the parlour.
‘You look well, Lizzy. And what an elegant dress!’
‘I heard you had a son. Congratulations.’
‘Named for Lady Catherine’s husband.’ She looked out of the window, along the drive. ‘I’m sorry. You know how my husband feels about—what happened.’
‘The entail?’
‘Oh no.’ Charlotte whispered. ‘Lydia.’
‘I see.’ Elizabeth felt a wave of disgust. ‘He has a most original notion of Christian forgiveness.’
‘Is that so unreasonable?’ Charlotte reddened. ‘We have been good friends, Lizzy, and it pains me to speak thus. But how can you possibly feel sympathy for a sister capable of such wanton selfishness?’
Elizabeth recoiled, sensing an unexpected hostility, before answering coldly, ‘I am aware as much as anyone of the consequences of what Lydia did. We lost our home—and what matters much more, our beloved father. But she was never evil, just young and foolish, and it pains me that we do not know where she is, or even whether she is alive.’
Charlotte stiffened. ‘You have heard nothing?’
Elizabeth wondered why Charlotte seemed so alarmed, and an idea occurred to her. ‘I assume no letter with news of Lydia was ever sent to Longbourn?’
‘We instructed the post office to redirect all Bennet post to your mother’s cottage …’
It was all too obvious that Charlotte was prevaricating, and Elizabeth said softly, ‘Please, if you place any value on our friendship, tell the truth. I will be discreet.’
A long silence, then Charlotte whispered, ‘There was a letter. Just after we moved in.’
‘You saw it?’
‘With the rest of the post. My husband …’ She sighed. ‘Believed it in your best interests not to pass it on.’
Elizabeth flinched. ‘Then where is it?’
‘Destroyed. He burned it.’
‘Did he open it first?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What did it look like?’
‘A folded sheet addressed to Mr Bennet of Longbourn, with some kind of foreign postmark, and the name of the sender.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Miss L. Bennet.’
‘And you said nothing?’ Elizabeth could not hide her outrage. ‘There might have been an address inside. At least we would have gained some idea of her location and circumstances.’
‘The deed was done.’ Charlotte paused, before saying in a rush, ‘And done for the best. For as he said, why take pity on a woman who has shamed and ruined her family? Better to expunge her from your lives and thoughts, as if she had never existed.’
Elizabeth stared at her, shocked. ‘Dear Charlotte, what has become of you?’
‘I am loyal to my family. Do you think I should have told your mother behind my husband’s back, so exposing him to her hysterical censure? I vowed to honour and obey him: that is what I did, and shall continue to do. And don’t look at me in that disapproving way.’ She sniffed. ‘You had your chance to secure your family’s future. You did not take it. You ridiculed my husband’s offer of marriage and even reproved me for accepting him. But now I am here and you are not, so you were not so clever after all and have no right to judge me.’
There was a long silence, then Elizabeth said, ‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’
Charlotte looked again out of the window, and jumped to her feet. ‘Mr Collins is returning. I beg you, Lizzy, leave now and say nothing of this …’
‘What if another letter arrives here?’
‘It will not.’
Elizabeth rose. ‘I’ll go out the back door.’
Charlotte sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzy.’
‘Be happy, Charlotte. I’m not sure we will meet again.’
The gardens were little changed. Elizabeth ran past the rose bushes and disappeared into the trees.
Emerging into a farm, she followed the paths that had led her cross country to Netherfield on her first visit. The same route would get her back to the cottage, if she turned towards Meryton on the Luton road. A man approached on horseback, and seeing her, slowed to a halt.
‘Why, Miss Elizabeth!’
She regarded his weather-beaten friendly face, and recognised one of her father’s tenants.
‘Good-day, Mr Salter.’
‘How wonderful to see you. Takes me back—it must be years.’
‘I live in London now.’
‘And very fine you look too.’ He sighed. ‘It was a shock to us when your father passed. The fairest and most amiable master one could wish for.’
She felt tears welling up. ‘Thank you.’
‘Between you and me, ma’am, the present owner is not so popular. Inflexible, you might say. Proud. Talks all the time of Christian charity, but rarely practises it.’
‘I hope you are managing all the same.’
‘Life goes on.’ A shrug. ‘I mustn’t be keeping you.’
‘Good luck, Mr Salter.’
‘And yourself, ma’am.’
He rode on, and once he was out of earshot Elizabeth could no longer hold in her grief—for her father, but also for all they had lost. The remembrance was in a way a solace, since it was born of love, for people and places once taken for granted and now lost. But she knew it would not be long before this emotion faded, and bitterness returned.