Chapter 5
The day of the Christmas Charity Fair dawned clear and bright, with weather as pleasant as the previous few days had gifted—just long enough for Longbourn’s lawns to dry out, rendering their dearth of tents less consequential.
One problem had been solved, at least, with probably a hundred to go, but the sight of the merry sunshine gave Elizabeth the energy to rise with it.
Today was the day she had worked so hard for, and all her family with her.
No one else had helped, but rather than breaking them, the derision of the Bingley sisters and the disloyalty of the community had served to unite the entire Bennet clan in a common cause.
Mama had visited all her friends, some of them twice, to press for donations of saleable goods, prizes, and decorations, and refused to take ‘no’ for an answer.
Not only had Papa offered no objections to all the fuss and bother and chaos preparing for the fair had created at Longbourn, but he had contributed monies for prizes, various trophies, and the lumber for new booths to make it all appear as polished and perfect as anyone could hope—and ensure it would be a much grander entertainment than stuffing charity baskets could ever be.
Each family member had a part to play today as well.
There would be some townsfolk who attended—the Smiths, the Harrises, and the Cowderys, who all had children they desperately hoped could begin receiving an education; they all had pledged their help. More might change their minds and come regardless, if they thought about what truly mattered.
Everyone’s parts were made more difficult by the desertion of most of their friends and neighbours, which pained Elizabeth; but a wave of love and affection for her family, who had refused to allow the perfidy of others to quell her hopes and ambitions, filled her to full and overflowing.
And their faithful tenants had, to a man, pledged to help wherever they could.
Jane, Mary, and Kitty would be selling roasted chestnuts, gingerbread, and cups of steaming hot saloop in the morning and lemonade later in the afternoon.
Elizabeth had conscripted Mr and Mrs Philips to oversee the suttling-booths selling costume jewels, handkerchiefs, scarves, mittens, knit caps, and even wooden toys carved and painted by the vicar’s boarding students.
The toys were a bit on the crude side, but so gaily decorated that the booth display was bound to be a popular one.
All the other donations Mama had collected would be sold on tables presided over by Mr and Mrs Gardiner.
Her sisters and her aunts would be wearing colourful aprons Elizabeth had sewn herself so that they would stand out from the crowds.
Mama was to be outfitted as a fortune teller, her booth gaudily decorated with what seemed a hundred scarves and shawls as well as coloured lamps; she was as eager to play her part as Elizabeth had ever seen her, and when she had tested the fit of her costume before the family, Papa had whispered something in her ear that made her blush.
Mr and Mrs Palmer might already be setting up the large brazier, heating the coals and readying to sell venison sausages—yet another donation from Longbourn’s bounty.
Elizabeth was in charge of the children’s events; with enough children participating, the games could raise significant cash.
Even Mr Collins had received permission from his revered patroness to remain at Longbourn over the Festive Season, that he might participate.
Elizabeth was not sure how much help he would be, but she appreciated that he seemed willing to stand with them.
They had devised a plan to overcome their abandonment by their near neighbours.
Papa—dear, wonderful Papa—seeing Elizabeth’s heartbreak had arranged for advertisements for the fair to be printed and distributed for miles around.
Perhaps their own community had deserted them, but the crowds they were expecting would surely, at least mostly, compensate.
By ten o’clock in the morning, the booths were manned with her cheerfully clad volunteers, and Longbourn’s tenants began appearing. At first, all seemed to be going well. The saloop was popular, and the sausages were eaten as fast as Papa and the Palmers could serve them up.
Soon enough, however, even allowing for a slower start due to travel distances from other villages, it began to be clear that turnout at the fair was seriously diminished over years past. Not only were none of the most prosperous in their neighbourhood in attendance, but the crowds they had expected from the surrounding towns and villages had not arrived either.
There were only a few submissions in the baking contest instead of the fifty or sixty entries in years past—and those, she noticed, were all from tenants of Longbourn.
There were a few scattered townsfolk in addition to their ardent supporters, but most had not come.
Some of their tenants had signed up for the darts contest, but they had not a single entry for archery.
For the children’s games, they had, again, the participation of their tenant children and the vicar’s boarders.
As the sun rose in the sky, Mr Palmer began to look bleak, Mr Bennet baleful. It was nearly two hours after what should have been the fair’s opening when Lydia approached.
“Methinks I smell a rat,” she said.
“How could all our friends forsake us in this way? How can we have precisely nobody from the surrounding towns?” Elizabeth asked, near tears.
“Why? Because of the pettiness of Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, whom they have known for approximately five minutes in comparison with how long they have known us? Could Sir William have purposely undermined our event? Would he be so cruel?”
“None of the Lucases are in attendance, I observe, so I do not know the answer to your question,” Lydia said.
“But I would lay money that we both know someone who does.” She turned to look at where Mr Collins sat, munching on chestnuts that he had not paid for and chattering away in the direction of Mr Bennet, who looked ready to brain him with his metal tongs.
“Right you are,” Elizabeth said and marched determinedly towards her cousin.