Chapter 35
Elizabeth woke in a great deal more comfort than she had anticipated a week ago. The room, while still showing the age of its decoration, was now aired, clean and comfortable. The bed linens were freshly laundered and had blankets aplenty.
Mrs Simmonds had accepted her help and seemed glad to have a renewed opportunity to become the maid of all work that she had been employed to be, rather than a reluctant nurse with no time to do what she ought.
But Elizabeth had not allowed herself to do more than permit herself to believe that this was more than temporary.
Soon she might have to be on her way again.
When Mr Price arrived — as a nephew, he was probably about her father’s age — he would not be best pleased to see how Elizabeth had made herself at home.
But she would make the best of it while she was here. When Mrs Simmonds had offered to wash her dresses, Elizabeth had accepted with gratitude, knowing they both desperately needed washing and then liberal use of the flat iron.
“I can do them myself, Mrs Simmonds. I would not like to give you the extra work.”
“It is very little extra, what with all that has to be done for her, and it’s very grateful I am that you are here.” She looked conspiratorially at the door. “When Mr Price comes, I will make sure he sees the advantages to his aunt of you staying, if you really have not to be elsewhere soon.”
Elizabeth had dressed quickly while she was thinking, and now she slipped into the next room. Mrs Price was sitting on the floor, looking rather bemused.
“Good morning, Mrs Price. Were you looking for the chair? Look, here it is.” Elizabeth helped her to her feet, and to the chair. “What shall you wear today? The pink dress? That looks so pretty and then I will put your hair up and we can go down to breakfast.”
There was a rather more petulant expression on the old lady’s face. “I am not Mrs Price to you, Lucy. Are you angry with me?”
“Not at all. What used I to call you?” Elizabeth was very glad the woman would not remember this conversation in the next five minutes.
“I’ve always been Nan to you. Always.”
“Then you are still Nan.” Elizabeth hoped that neither Mrs Simmonds nor this nephew would be offended, and she quickly assisted Mrs Price — Nan — into her clothes and supported her downstairs and into the kitchen where the wonderful aroma of breakfast made her mouth water. She was so fortunate to be here.
They had nearly finished and Elizabeth was just pouring her charge a second cup of tea, when Mrs Simmonds glanced out of the window. “Oh, there he is now.” She glanced warningly at the old lady, and then mouthed silently to Elizabeth. “Mr Price.”
Her voice resumed its normal tone. “You stay here with her and I’ll go through and explain how you come to be here and how helpful it’s been.” She looked rather anxious. “I believe he will ask you to stay as long as you are able. I really hope so. She is so much calmer and more contented.”
Elizabeth waited, helping Nan drink her tea, her heart beating painfully that she might need to collect her belongings and walk on down the Horncastle road, not knowing where she was going, where she would sleep, or when she would next eat.
Then she was in the sitting room with the man. Mrs Simmonds had introduced him and gone back to sit with Mrs Price. He looked fairly kindly, but astute. He would not accept her just because his aunt and her maid liked her.
They were both standing and Elizabeth looked down, wondering at the oddity of her situation.
“Mrs Simmonds has told me of how she arrived one morning and found you here.” He didn’t sound angry, but he was not welcoming, either. “I want you to tell me, honestly, why you are here, where you have come from, why you chose this house to come into, and where you are going ultimately.”
They were all reasonable questions, she knew. And most of them she could not answer honestly.
She dipped her head respectfully. “I am sorry to have aroused your suspicion, sir, but I lost my position following the death of the lady I was looking after, and I was searching out some possible other place I could stay.” She took a deep breath.
“The place I was at had become untenable, so I left rather more hastily than I would otherwise have done, and would not like to say where it was. I need very much to make a new start.”
His expression softened a little. “Let us sit down. You must know I have to be careful of whom I allow around my aunt, and it seems to me that you are not the sort of woman who would normally find herself destitute.”
Elizabeth could shade the truth here, perhaps. “My father did not sire a son, and his estate was entailed to the male line — a distant cousin who had no intention of supporting me.”
He nodded. “I thought you seemed like a gentlewoman.” He straightened up.
“Mrs Simmonds seems to like and trust you. She says my aunt is calmer and happier since you arrived.” His lips tightened.
“We both know that Aunt is not really safe to be left alone, but I cannot afford to pay you anything. I can allow your board, but nothing else. And if I ever require you to leave, you must do so without delay.”
Now he smiled. “It seems you have experience with dealing with confused older women, so I believe your presence will be helpful. But you are not to use the place to entertain gentlemen callers or as a springboard to respectability.”
“I understand, sir. You are very generous. I will …” but they were interrupted as the door opened and Mrs Price peered in. Mrs Simmonds was following her, and trying to entice her away. “Come, Mrs Price, you will be called when they have finished talking.”
Elizabeth rose to her feet. “I think we have more or less finished, have we not, sir? And your aunt will be unlikely to remember the details of what must still be spoken of.”
At his nod, she assisted the old woman into her favourite chair, and lifted her legs onto the footstool. With the blanket over her knees, she would not be inclined to wander. “I should leave you now to your visit, and arrange for refreshments.”
She was glad to leave the room, and leaned against the wall in the hall for a moment.
Longbourn. Talking of Longbourn had brought her family to mind. Had anything changed in the long months since she had heard news? Were they all well? Homesickness, long repressed, rose in her, and tears came to her eyes.
She hurried to the kitchen, to wipe her face and Mrs Simmonds looked alarmed.
Elizabeth shook her head. “It is well. I may stay as we are, although it is informal and unpaid. But I am just a little homesick. Having to speak of it brought it to mind again.” She stood up straighter. “I said we would take in refreshments. How long does Mr Price usually stay visiting his aunt?”
But Longbourn was still in her mind, and as she remembered the well-loved view from Oakham Mount, a memory of the old grey-stone folly at Pemberley intruded too.
She had loved sitting there and looking across the valley at the gracious home where she was the reluctant mistress.
She recalled the gracious park and the wilder paths she had walked.
It too, had begun to feel like her home, however faintly. And the people!
Was dear Mrs Reynolds well? Had Mrs Kerr and Mr Reed managed to persuade Mr Darcy not to cast her out? He had been better recently, and she was hopeful the old lady would be safe.
And Mrs Snell. How was she coping? Did Mrs Ross resent Elizabeth for not assisting as she had promised?
The day passed in rather a blur for Elizabeth, memories crowding her mind. But she was content with the decision made, and pleased that Mr Price was inclined to permit her to stay. Full board was more than she had ever imagined she might be fortunate enough to find.
Mrs Simmonds was delighted, and Mrs Price was as she had been since Elizabeth arrived, pleased that Lucy was home.
Elizabeth would need to find out who Lucy was and what the neighbours would think of her.
Elizabeth wondered how to earn a little money. She did not need much, but she did need a new dress, at the very least. Perhaps she could take in a little sewing and mending. That could be done while she was sitting with old Mrs Price.
It was not until she lay in bed that night that she could sort through her memories, trying to be at peace with those she had seemingly abandoned.
She had needed to leave. Had to. But a small amount of shame crept into her heart.
Her letter had, perhaps, been rather too blunt.
Mr Darcy had been injured, quite severely.
Had she allowed him any recognition for that?
Not that she ought to have stayed. No, that would have been impossible. But less unkindness. Perhaps.
She felt sleep stealing over her. Tomorrow, she might begin to make something of this new life now that it seemed she could stay a while.