Chapter 5
“Very good, Miss Bennet. Here is the Livy, Travels in the Italian Hills and Lakes and Modern Drainage and Irrigation Techniques in English Agriculture, all wrapped up in brown paper for you,” said Mr Brown. “Will there be anything else today? A new novel, perhaps, or some poetry?”
The elderly bookseller pushed the hefty bundle of books across the counter and looked enquiringly towards Elizabeth.
“No, thank you, Mr Brown,” she answered with a smile as she picked up the three heavy volumes. “That will be all for now. This is quite enough to be carrying under my arm. I will come back again if I need a book for myself.”
“Well, give my regards to Mr Bennet. I do hope we will see him here again before too long, although I know how he feels about coming into town. I shall send my quarterly catalogue to Longbourn as usual.”
“You are likely to see me or my sister again before you see our father,” Elizabeth laughed, knowing that it would take a true crisis to drag Mr Bennet away from his library, even for a day. “Thank you on my father’s behalf. I know he always appreciates your diligence in acquiring his books.”
“Very kind of you to say so, Miss Bennet. Good day to you.”
“And to you, sir.”
With a polite nod to the bookseller and the tinkling of the bell over the door, Elizabeth left the shop and emerged into the pale winter sunlight on the narrow side street outside.
She had left the Gardiner’s carriage waiting on the corner of the wider main road, advising the driver that she might browse some other shops in the area and could be some time.
The weather was fine, if chilly, and there were no particular plans for the day at Gracechurch Street.
Indeed, Jane had been planning to spend the morning writing letters to their parents and to Aunt Philips.
There was no reason for Elizabeth to hurry back, and she retraced her steps slowly, taking in the other establishments nearby with interested eyes.
Next door to Mr Brown’s lay a stationery shop, its window display full of paper, ink, pencils, and other writing accessories.
Across the street, the unseasonal scent of flowers, fruits, and resins advertised the position of a perfumery far more effectively than the sign above its door.
A small but steady stream of busy and respectable-looking customers flowed in and out of the bookshop, stationer, and perfumery.
A rather dusty-looking antique shop further down the road was seeing less business than the others, and Elizabeth found herself pulling a face at some of the dark and ugly furniture she could make out through the none-too-clean glass.
Then she reached a different kind of establishment altogether and paused there on the pavement to let pass two smartly dressed middle-aged women, who were descending the front steps, deep in conversation.
“French is an expected accomplishment and Italian a distinction, I always think, Mrs Smythe,” said the taller of the two ladies, who was dressed in a tidy grey walking suit.
“I would always have my young ladies master French, but if they have the capacity to learn another language, Italian is such an advantage nowadays.”
“I do agree, Mrs Parker,” replied her shorter companion, who wore a lighter grey dress and a green pelisse.
“There is also the advantage of its being such a musical language, and therefore well-suited to those who can sing well. An Italian aria sung with full comprehension is so much more moving than one merely reproduced. Incidentally, how do you feel about German?”
“Ah, the language of Goethe! Yes, I do teach German to more intellectual young ladies and those who might have cause to travel in that region. Those who already have Latin grammar tend to learn fastest, I find.”
The two ladies continued in this vein as they proceeded down the street together.
They had an unusual and enviable air of quiet confidence and competence about them that held Elizabeth’s attention.
Overall, they looked and sounded like mistresses of their own destinies rather than pawns to their families and circumstances, as so many ladies appeared when Elizabeth contemplated society in one of her gloomier moods.
The brass plaque on the wall at the bottom of the stone steps told the world that the building housed “Mrs Bevan’s Employment Bureau for Ladies of Quality”.
This made Elizabeth think of Miss Caruthers and her unusual but rather intriguing worldview.
She wished briefly that she had been bold enough to exchange addresses with the governess in order to continue their acquaintance, regardless of Mrs Bennet’s likely disapproval.
Alicia Caruthers being the daughter of a baronet might have placed her well in the initial estimation of Elizabeth’s mother, if she had not also been a governess.
Miss Caruthers’ willing and seemingly happy abandonment of marriage, however, would stand her in even worse stead than her profession with Mrs Bennet.
Ah, well, Elizabeth would likely never meet Miss Caruthers again, anyway.
What would a ladies’ employment bureau look like and how busy would it be? Elizabeth could not help but wonder. Looking up towards the large oak door with its polished brass handle and knocker, she yielded to impulse, walking up the steps and pushing it open.
“Good morning, Miss,” an elderly doorman in a uniform coat greeted her in the sparsely furnished hallway, his friendly eye taking in her appearance, her hesitation, and the parcel in her arms. “The main office is along the passage that way. Miss Greene can tell you whether Mrs Bevan is available or make an appointment for you.”
“Oh, why, thank you,” Elizabeth returned uncertainly, realising with an odd mixture of pride and dismay that she had been taken for a prospective governess or companion, and feeling compelled to act the part.
Her heart beat a little faster as she followed the doorman’s directions, towards the faint sound of voices further down a short corridor. How on earth would she explain herself to either Mrs Bevan or Miss Greene? Would it sound very odd to say that she was simply curious about the bureau?
The main office turned out to be a large room, half given over to three desks where ladies of indeterminate age dressed in black worked busily with papers and boxes of cards.
The other side of the room contained comfortable chairs and sofas, where several women waited with papers or bags in hand.
Their expressions were simultaneously patient and attentive, and their conversations various but all professional.
“Yes, it was a good appointment, but Lord and Lady Everdene are moving to Ireland in the summer…”
“Miss Clarissa had a wonderful head for mathematics, far better than her older brother…”
“I was companion to Miss Chertsea in Bath for a decade, and then governess to her niece’s children, all now grown…”
All of these governesses and companions were presumably “accomplished” women, able to play music, speak foreign languages, and far more besides.
Middle-aged and sensibly dressed as many of them were, Elizabeth would wager their greater competence than any of the accomplished ladies of Miss Bingley’s acquaintance.
Elizabeth smiled to herself as she considered that they likely all engaged in the improvement of their minds by extensive reading too.
Would Mr Darcy therefore approve of them?
Well, perhaps, as governess to his sister.
Given their lack of rank and title, he would otherwise not notice them at all, she supposed.
But she ought not to spend her time reflecting on Mr Darcy’s infuriating pride and arrogance, Elizabeth reminded herself.
With a slight effort, she put him from her head.
Standing there and watching quietly, Elizabeth drew little attention either from the office workers or the waiting ladies.
For some minutes, she remained in the doorway, taking in the scene and considering whether she ought to leave now or introduce herself to someone.
Then a door behind the desks opened and a stout and capable-looking woman with silver spectacles emerged and addressed her directly.
“Ah, a new arrival. Can I help you, Miss…?”
The woman’s brown eyes took in Elizabeth’s appearance quickly, and her politely implied question demanded an answer. Her air of authority and the deference in the glances from the ladies in black indicated that she was likely the Mrs Bevan to whom this agency belonged.
“Bennet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Elizabeth replied quickly, making a small bow towards the woman. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Do come in, Miss Bennet. I am Mrs Bevan. You are here to register, I presume? I am sure you are not already on our books. I know the faces and histories of all our ladies.”
At a nod from the agency’s owner, one of the ladies in black took out a large red book from the drawer of her desk and opened it, before looking expectantly towards Elizabeth.
Register? At a ladies’ employment agency?
! The idea was both shocking and intriguing.
After a moment’s hesitation, Elizabeth nodded and approached the desk, taking the seat offered to her.
There could be no harm in merely registering her name, could there?
After all, she was not likely to be offered any jobs, given her lack of experience.
They might even send her straight back onto the street.
“First of all, why are you seeking work, may I ask, Miss Bennet?” inquired the agency’s owner.
“I am one of five girls in our family, and the estate is entailed on a distant cousin. Beyond the estate, my father has no money for dowries, and I consider it unlikely that I can marry well. I would prefer independence to marrying badly,” Elizabeth told her frankly.