Chapter Three #2
Dinners were a boisterous affair with Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Bennet sharing what the former’s tutelage entailed that day, the ladies outlining their adventures and Mr. Barlow offering encouragement and commentary.
Mr. Bennet was able to meet both Lizzy’s music instructor and Jane’s drawing master and, most importantly to Lizzy, he also met her favourite horse and her new foal—Gumdrop (whom Lizzy had been allowed to name).
A few days before Mr. Bennet’s planned departure, Mrs. Gardiner approached her nieces with an idea.
“Would you girls like to help me plan a little farewell dinner for your father?”
Their answer was an enthusiastic yes, and even though they brought very different gifts and focus areas to the project, Madeline was happy to see their eagerness and capacity for domestic matters.
She had long suspected that her husband’s sister was perhaps not preparing her daughters in the art of running a household, her focus being much more on preparing them to attract a rich gentleman.
Offering some experience and guidance to the girls was something she had hoped to be able to do, and planning a dinner together provided the perfect opportunity to begin.
The night proved an overwhelming success.
After eating his favourite meal followed by his favourite dessert, Mr. Bennet was escorted out to the formal gardens where a harp sat ready for Elizabeth to play him a song.
It was simple and imperfect but received with all the eager enthusiasm of a concertmaster by most of those present.
Finally, Jane presented their father with a watercolour she had done of Barlow Hall.
“So that you can show Mama and our sisters where you were and where Lizzy and I are.”
“My dear, it is lovely,” Mr. Bennet told his daughter, and he meant it.
Though she had only begun her lessons one summer ago, the practice she had engaged in throughout the year had improved her skill considerably.
She had rendered the estate in summer, as this was the only season she herself had observed.
The view was from the rear, where the formal gardens framed the house on either side and the large hill which was topped by an orchard could be seen to the west. The rest of the family effusively praised the work, and Mr. Barlow requested one for himself as well.
“I would love to place it in my study,” he told her. “Perhaps we must host you and Lizzy in every season so we can get a drawing for each.”
The following morning, the girls tearfully hugged their father goodbye. He was given letters to deliver to friends and family, some of Mrs. Gibb’s famous corn muffins and a hearty lunch to see him through to his first stop.
Though they were melancholy for several hours after their father left, Jane and Elizabeth recovered quickly when Mrs. Gardiner suggested they visit the stables where Persephone was thought to be ready to deliver her foal.
As it turned out, Lollipop, who was a cousin to Gumdrop, did not arrive for another week.
On the day before the birth, Elizabeth decided to search for cornflowers, a wildflower Persephone was quite fond of.
She was sure it would help hasten the arrival of the much-anticipated foal.
It was on this expedition that she wandered east of Barlow Hall on a path she had yet to tread where she encountered someone who would change her life.
Elizabeth rejoiced at discovering an array of cornflowers right where Micah had said she would.
Humming to herself and filling her satchel, she made her way along the stream.
When she had determined that she had as many flowers as she could carry, Elizabeth bent by the stream to splash some water on her face, having grown quite warm under the bright summer sun. Standing to go, she heard something.
At first, she was certain it had been the stream.
There were several small cascading falls which produced a delightful babbling sound.
The sound was something akin to this, but a moment later, Elizabeth realised it was not exactly this.
The babbling of the stream was merely a backdrop for what was clearly a crying girl.
Moving towards the noise, Elizabeth searched about her for its source.
The trees were not thick on either side of the water, but there were enough to prevent her from seeing too far.
Finally, after rounding a small bend in the path, she saw her.
On the opposite bank sat a young girl. Her back was against a small oak, her feet tucked beneath her, and though her clothes appeared of good quality, they had clearly been through something—from her vantage point nearly fifty feet away, Elizabeth could discern at least one tear and several dirt smudges.
Though she took in all these details, what struck Elizabeth most keenly was the sobs.
The girl was crying in a way Elizabeth almost admired.
Her whole body, she guessed her whole heart, was participating.
Her head was bowed almost to her lap, her shoulders shook and each lurch brought forth a sound of such sorrow—a cross between a cry and a cough.
Without thinking, Elizabeth placed her satchel by a tree and quickly waded through the stream, which was shallow and narrow at that point, sank down in front of the girl and threw her arms around her.
She did not say anything. Although in her twelve years Elizabeth had not known the kind of pain and loss others had, what she had known she remembered well and felt keenly.
Just the summer before, her beloved Grandmother Bennet, whom she was named after, had passed.
Elizabeth had not even been able to hold her hand or tell her how much she loved her one last time.
She was from home at Barlow Hall. By the time she returned, Grandmother Bennet had been gone a month.
It seemed like everyone had moved on. They certainly had no patience for her grief.
When she cried, mostly at night, only Jane would soothe her.
The others would either question her sadness—Grandmother Bennet had lived a good life, and the Lord called her home; how can you be sad about that?
—or she was told her grandmother would not want her to “carry on so.” All of this did nothing to alleviate Lizzy’s broken heart.
The only things that helped were Jane’s patient hugs and gentle words of comfort.
This is what Elizabeth offered the stranger now.
Perhaps if she had been a little older, she would have been too self-conscious to approach someone so clearly in distress, too unsure about what she might offer and how it might look.
Perhaps if she had been a little younger, she might have been too wrapped up in her own concerns and worries to consider the needs of a stranger.
As it happened, Lizzy was just the right age to offer comfort and consolation.
At first, the girl started, presumably at being discovered, held and spoken to by someone wholly unknown to her.
Perhaps if she were a little older, she would have known to question this type of attention from an unfamiliar person.
Perhaps if she had been a little younger, she would have been fearful.
But as it happened this young lady was just the right age to gratefully receive Elizabeth’s kind attention.
After a few minutes of simply holding the younger girl and whispering the kind of gentle words she had heard from Jane last fall, Elizabeth gave her one last squeeze and then moved so that they now sat side by side rather than in the pile of limbs and lace as they had begun.
“Oh, I am so terribly sorry,” the girl began as she furiously wiped at her eyes. This only served to smear dirt from her hands across her face.
“Please, you mustn’t,” Elizabeth admonished.
She stilled the girl’s hands with her own and then removed a handkerchief from her pocket.
Observing the damage, she decided more was required.
“Give me one moment.” Elizabeth hurried to the edge of the stream, dipped the cloth and then returned.
“Allow me.” After a minute of dabbing and wiping, which the young girl endured while watching Elizabeth with curiosity, her face was cleaned to Elizabeth’s satisfaction.
“Now that we have seen to that, I suppose we must have introductions,” Elizabeth said with careful solemnity.
Looking about, she added, “I do not see anyone here who can perform the office, so we will just have to muddle through.” With that, she rose and dropped into a very elegant curtsy, considering the circumstances.
“It is a pleasure to meet you; I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.”
“Oh,” the young girl sighed and scrambled to her feet. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennet. I am Georgiana Darcy of Pemberley.” She too dropped into a delicate curtsy. “I apologise . . . for this . . . I cannot imagine what you must think of me.”
“I think you must be very sad,” Elizabeth said honestly. “Beyond that I am afraid I must learn more of you and from you to form an adequate judgement,” she added with a friendly smile.