Chapter 8 #2
“Oh, Lizzy, you are just in time! Netherfield Park has been let!! Mrs. Long has just left—it has been taken by a young gentleman from the north! A single man of large fortune, they are saying in the vilage! He is to arrive on Saturday with his household!”
Elizabeth raised one brow. “And what household does a single gentleman require?”
Mrs. Bennet waved the question away with her lace handkerchief as she ushered the second Bennet girl into drawing room and onto a chair. “Oh, housekeeper, cook, valet—I do not know! But that is not the point, Lizzy. The point is that he will be in want of a wife!”
From behind her, Jane entered quietly with an armful of socks that needed mending, and Kitty and Lydia came crashing in from the garden, covered in grass and shrieking with laughter.
Mary followed more sedately, clutching Fordyce’s Sermons like a shield.
“I have already sent a note to Aunt Phillips,” Fanny declared, beaming. “And I shall call on Mrs. Long directly. We must be first. First to welcome him, first to introduce the girls—oh, my nerves will never survive it!”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said mildly, “they would recover more easily if they were not so regularly employed.”
Fanny ignored her. “New gowns! Yes, new gowns are in order. Jane must have something in rose—softens the complexion beautifully. And perhaps sky-blue for Kitty. Lydia will want something bolder, I suppose—though I do wish she had not outgrown her yellow muslin—and Lizzy, you shall have something sensible in sage. Or no, olive green—though really, it’s so difficult with your coloring. ”
Elizabeth stiffened slightly, but her voice remained even. “There is no need for new gowns.”
“No need!” Fanny cried. “With a gentleman of fortune newly come to the neighborhood and four unmarried daughters to present? Lizzy, how could you say such a thing?”
“We cannot afford it,” Elizabeth said simply. “Not all of us. Not now.”
Mrs. Bennet clutched at the back of the chair as though Elizabeth had struck her. “You are determined to ruin me. My poor nerves have never been so abused.”
“You have said that every week since Candlemas,” Elizabeth murmured.
Mrs. Bennet turned imploring eyes on her husband, who had been quietly reading in the corner but now looked up with a sigh.
“Thomas,” she gasped, “say something!”
Mr. Bennet lifted one eyebrow and regarded Elizabeth. “Surely a few new gowns will not render us homeless, my dear.”
Elizabeth blinked. “It may not seem so, Papa, but the accounts are not—”
“I shall leave the numbers to you,” he said, with a dismissive wave of the hand. “But allow your mother her pleasure. She has had so few lately.”
Elizabeth said nothing. She merely pressed her lips together and handed the tenant folio to the nearby table with slightly more force than was required.
“I shall pass on a new gown,” she said, very calmly.
Jane looked up, alarmed. “Oh—but Lizzy, you must not.”
“It is no matter.”
Jane hesitated, then said quietly, “Then perhaps I do not need one either—”
“Nonsense!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Jane, you must have something new. What if this Mr. Bingley takes one look at the Goulding girls in silk and thinks you are only the vicar’s daughter’s niece? No, no—you shall be the picture of modest elegance, or my nerves shall shatter into dust!”
Elizabeth turned and gave Jane a small, reassuring smile. “It is quite all right.”
“I will not have a new gown either,” Mary announced from behind her book. “Vanity is unbecoming in a young lady. ‘Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.’”
“Very admirable,” Mr. Bennet murmured, returning to his book. “Though I daresay Solomon was not commenting on spencers trimmed in Mechlin lace.”
Lydia groaned and flopped across the settee. “Oh, I shall have a new gown, even if no one else does. And I want something with yellow trim, and little pearl buttons—”
“And three flounces, and lace cuffs, and silk stockings,” Kitty added dreamily.
Mrs. Bennet nodded sagely. “Yes, yes, we shall see what can be done. I shall send a note to the modiste at once to schedule your fittings.”
Elizabeth turned away, her hands folded tightly in front of her.
Her mind was already doing the figures—four gowns, even at modest cost, would add another six or seven pounds to the dressmaker’s bill.
If she delayed the new roof repairs at Dunbury Cottage and asked Hill to halve the butter order, and perhaps withheld payment to the poulterer until after harvest…
She rubbed her temple.
Jane caught her eye and gave a small, apologetic smile.
Elizabeth smiled in return, faintly.
She was glad for Jane. If anyone in the household deserved a little frivolity, it was her. But as Kitty and Lydia began to bicker over which of them could claim first rights for choosing the style, Elizabeth could not help but feel a faint tightening in her chest.
Longbourn could ill afford a single mistake.
And they were all depending on her not to make one.
∞∞∞
The candle burned low on the dressing table, casting a golden shimmer across the modest room that Elizabeth and Jane had shared since childhood. Outside the window, the wind stirred the branches of the chestnut tree, and the rustle of leaves offered a gentle counterpoint to the hum of crickets.
Elizabeth sat on the edge of her bed, her slippers kicked off, her hair half-tumbled from its braid.
Her stays hung from a hook by the door, and her shift was wrinkled from the day’s exertions.
She rubbed absently at a sore spot on her shoulder, left over from carrying her folio over two miles’ worth of cottage visits.
Across the room, Jane folded a fresh linen nightdress and placed it atop the chest of drawers. The lamplight softened the angles of her face and made her hair shine pale gold. She looked, as she always did, like something out of a miniature—an ivory figure come to life.
“Thank you, Lizzy,” Jane said quietly, not turning around.
“For what?” Elizabeth asked, though she already knew.
“For what you said this morning. About the gown.”
Elizabeth leaned back on her elbows with a sigh. “If one of us must look pretty enough to tempt a wealthy new tenant, it ought to be you.”
Jane gave a soft laugh but turned slowly. “You know that is not what I meant.”
“No?” Elizabeth’s mouth quirked. “Then I am glad to be wrong.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the hush between them easy and familiar. Then Jane crossed the room and sat beside her sister.
“Do you truly believe we cannot afford new dresses?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “We can. But only because I will find a way to make it so. Something else will go unpaid, or a task delayed. Nothing fatal, but…” She shrugged. “It all adds up, Jane. I do the books. I see how close the edge really is.”
“I wish Papa would listen more to you,” Jane said softly.
Elizabeth laughed without mirth. “Papa listens to what amuses him. And the rest, he leaves to me.”
Jane studied her sister, concern in her wide blue eyes. “It is a great deal for one person to manage.”
“Someone must.”
“You are not alone.”
Elizabeth looked at her then, and her expression softened.
“No. Not entirely. But Mama lives in a world of lace and lemon syllabub. Lydia and Kitty care only for flirtation and fashion. Mary—” she paused, “—has her own battles to fight. You are the only one who sees it, Jane. But even you are too gentle to say so.”
Jane lowered her eyes. “Sometimes I fear if I speak too plainly, I will lose the peace I manage to keep.”
Elizabeth reached out and took her hand. “You would never lose me.”
Jane smiled gratefully and squeezed her fingers.
They sat for a long time like that, the weight of the day dimming behind them. Then Jane released her sister’s hand and stood to untie the ribbon in her hair. She moved with slow grace, thoughtful in her silence.
After a moment, Elizabeth rose as well and went to the small mirror over the washstand. Her own reflection stared back—dark hair, green eyes, and features too sharp to blend in among her sisters. She studied it with quiet detachment, as if assessing a stranger.
“Jane?” she asked suddenly.
“Yes?”
“Do you ever wonder—why I look so different from the rest of you?”
Jane glanced up from brushing her hair. “You mean your hair and eyes?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“I used to think perhaps you favored Uncle Frederick,” Jane said with a small shrug. “Or that perhaps you simply came from some long-forgotten branch of the family tree.”
Blinking, Elizabeth asked, “Who is Uncle Frederick?”
“Papa’s brother. He visited once or twice, but I was very small. I only vaguely remember dark hair.”
“I had no idea Papa had a brother. He has never spoken of him to me.”
“I believe he died while traveling,” Jane said. “Mama mentioned it once, but Papa told her very sternly to not speak of it again. I think it made him sad.”
Elizabeth felt a strange pull towards this unknown relative. “I wonder if my coloring comes from him, then.”
“But does it really matter?” Jane asked gently. “You are our sister, no matter your appearance. Or does it make you feel left out?”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “Of course not.”
She turned away from the mirror, ignoring the way her heart had begun to beat faster.
Jane gave her a searching look, but said nothing more. Elizabeth climbed into bed, pulling the coverlet up over her legs.
As Jane blew out the candle, the room slipped into darkness. Outside, an owl called once and then fell silent.
In the quiet, Elizabeth lay with her eyes open, counting the days until harvest. Counting how many pounds she would need to cover the next dressmaker’s bill. Counting how many steps it would take before this whole household fell into ruin.
And wondering—only briefly, and always in silence—if her mother would listen to her if her eyes had been blue.