Chapter 6. Sherwood Forest
William Darcy rode alone from his house to the farm tended by the Hall family.
The man was indeed an excellent farmer, and Darcy was considering making him a foreman over all the farms growing oats and other grains.
To reach the farm, he could take the road around the wood or follow the pathway through the woods that was much quieter and faster.
About him, almost one thousand acres of oak and maple towered into the blue sky.
The extensive wood lot–appropriately name Netherfield Woods–provided much firewood for the estate and tenants but Darcy intended to provide his tenants with some coal for winter heat this year and to harvest timber to dry, saw and sell next year.
‘These woods have not been touched in a century except for firewood,’ he decided. ‘If I get a good crew with strong horses, there will be little damage from the work. Thinning the forest will even increase the number of deer.’
“Stand and deliver!” commanded a young voice. Pulling Jupiter to a halt, Fitzwilliam Darcy frowned–a fearful sight. He would not stand for outlaws attempting to rob anyone on his lands.
But then he noticed a young woman–a girl really–standing on a large log along the pathway with a homemade bow and arrow–the arrow a mere shaft of wood that might startle Jupiter if fired across his path but certainly nothing that could harm the horse or his rider.
“See here now!” William called in a gruff voice. “Is this Robin Hood?”
“Are you daft?” called the outlaw with the flimsy bow and arrow. “Can you not see that I am a girl? I am Maid Marion!”
“Forgive me Maid Marion. I am caught off guard,” he said as he doffed his hat and bowed his head from the back of his horse. “And who am I?”
The girl lowered the arrow slightly while she looked him over closely and replied, “You are either King Richard or the Sheriff of Nottingham.”
Darcy grinned. “I am neither a king nor sheriff. But Richard is my cousin.”
“King Richard’s cousin!” she declared. “I shall have your purse in any case sir. I must rob from the rich to give to the poor.”
“How do you know that I am rich?” he asked.
The girl frowned but answered, “Everyone thinks that girls are stupid, but I believe you are rich sir. I see your fine steed, nice clothes, good boots and hat–you are rich as a lord in town!”
“Nonetheless, if you insist on stealing my purse, I shall have to tell your father, and your governess will certainly thrash you!”
Lowering the homemade bow, the girl laughed, “Then it is good that you do not know who I am, sir!”
She turned, dodged into the undergrowth and disappeared. The tall man grinned and shook his head once before flicking the reins and continuing toward the tenant farm.
Watching from the woods, Elizabeth wondered, “King Richard’s cousin riding through Sherwood Forest–I have never heard that story. Shall I spin a tale for my sisters? He was very polite. Perhaps not all gentlemen are kind like Papa, but some must be nice...”
Making her way through the woods of Netherfield Park, Elizabeth left her homemade bow and arrows under a particular tree that she frequently climbed when she was younger.
About her, the sunlight was dappled as it filtered through the thick canopy leaving bright spots and dark shadows in the woods.
The brilliant green of the leaves was lovely and beckoned her to climb the familiar branches but this day she glanced out of the woods, across the pastures and fields to see the distant grove of trees that marked home.
She imagined she could see smoke rising from the chimney from the kitchen where Mrs Hill and the cook laboured to prepare supper.
In her mind’s eye she saw her mother sewing with her sisters and her father grinning as he read a favourite passage in one of his books.
Elizabeth found she did not wish to climb the tree or wander through the woods any longer this afternoon.
Scrambling over the stone fence, she stepped down onto Longbourn’s lands.
Her hands clasped together behind her, she purposely walked among the cows from her mother’s dairy as she made her way home, remembering the man on the horse and his smile.
Arriving at Longbourn, Elizabeth made her way through the kitchens where cook was finishing the tea tray and Mrs Hill caught Elizabeth’s eye. Taking the girl in hand, the housekeeper took a wet cloth and wiped the dirt from her face.
“Miss Elizabeth, clean your hands. Mrs Bennet will notice the tear in your gown for certain but if your face and hands are clean, she’ll not know you’ve been in the woods again.”
“Thank you, Hill,” Elizabeth said. Once her hands were clean, she returned the cloth to the housekeeper who inspected her appearance once again.
“Now, go into the parlour and be seated. We shall bring the tea shortly and Mrs Bennet will be pleased to find you there waiting.”
“Yes, Hill.” Elizabeth left the kitchens quietly as the housekeeper and cook shared glances.
“Miss Lizzy’ll grow up some day,” the cook said.
“Sooner than we can imagine,” Hill replied thinking of her own three children who were all in service or apprenticed now.
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During the tea, Mr Bennet noticed that his second daughter seemed preoccupied, so he took her with him to his library afterwards.
“Are you out-of-sorts today, Lizzy?”
The fourteen-year-old sighed, something that Mr Bennet found happened quite frequently with daughters caught between the nursery with the children and the parlour with the adults.
With Jane, he had only to provide her with some of his time to talk about horses and provide a hug or a new ribbon hidden in his pocket to chase away her sighs, but Elizabeth was a different child–a different young woman.
“I have just the thing to cheer you daughter–a new book,” he said handing her a new book of poetry. “Should you like to read it first and then tell me about it?”
Her face bright and decorated with a grin as well as sparkling eyes, Elizabeth Bennet replied, “Yes, Papa. Thank you!”
**++**