Chapter 28 #2
“I am grateful—beyond words—for the Crown’s generosity,” she said carefully. “But I would ask that the funds be added to my mother’s jointure, to be held in trust and allowed to accrue interest for her benefit.”
Mr. Bennet stared at her.
Darcy’s expression softened with unmistakable pride.
Seeley regarded her for a long moment, then nodded. “A prudent request. And an unusual one. It shall be done.”
Relief washed through Elizabeth so swiftly that she had to grip the back of a chair to steady herself. Elizabeth drew a breath. “Oh,” she said quietly, “and if I may, I have one more request.”
News traveled through a neighborhood the way fire ran through dry brush—quickly, eagerly, and with a crackle of embellishment that grew louder the farther it spread. By the following afternoon, Meryton did not speak of anything else.
There had been an emissary of the Crown at Purvis Lodge.
There were guards. News of velvet cloths and gold coins laid out like the jewels of a legend circulated.
There had been a man with authority enough to make magistrates bow and innkeepers stammer.
And, most importantly, there had been Roman treasure.
Real treasure. Not a handful of dull bronze tossed onto a palm by an excited tenant lad, but a hoard fit to make even the most sensible amongst them pause and swallow.
Elizabeth heard it first from the servants.
Mrs. Hill appeared at the breakfast table with a tray of rolls and a face that telegraphed the entire village’s hunger for gossip.
“They are saying it in Meryton already,” she murmured when she leaned close to set down a dish beside Mrs. Bennet.
“They are saying there was a gentleman from London, and that soldiers are to be posted, and that there is a finder’s fee to be paid—more money than anyone in the neighborhood has ever seen. ”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes widened until Elizabeth feared they might not return to their usual size. “Soldiers?” she whispered, scandalized and delighted all at once. “In our house?”
“Not in the house, ma’am—at Purvis Lodge, I believe,” Hill corrected, though she looked very pleased to be the bearer of the tale. “They say the Crown means to take the treasure away.”
Mary lifted her head from her book as if she had been summoned by a sermon. “As is proper,” she pronounced.
Lydia, had she been present, would have burst into lamentations about the injustice of it all.
But Lydia and Kitty had already been shooed away into the garden, their mother suddenly seized with the urgent conviction that fresh air was necessary for young ladies who might otherwise “run their mouths in town and ruin everything.”
Elizabeth sat very still, her fingers curled around her teacup.
Yes, all the news Mrs. Hill brought was true.
The Crown had come. The hoard had been seen by the proper eyes and the decision made to offer reward.
The finder’s fee had been paid, and though her nerves still thrummed—though she still half expected her father to wake from this peace into renewed obstinacy—there was, at last, a direction to the chaos.
It was over. Or nearly. Because once Meryton knew, Meryton would also wish to see.
For Elizabeth had made one final request of Lord Seeley.
His Lordship, measured, practical, and in possession of an authority that seemed to sharpen the air around him, had listened to Elizabeth’s request with the same patience he had applied to the coins.
A viewing for the neighborhood, she insisted.
It only need be a short one. And they might only host for the principal families.
Surely, after such a discovery, it was right for the community to witness history with their own eyes.
Elizabeth had expected a firm refusal. Instead, Lord Seeley agreed—on conditions.
There would be an evening at Purvis Lodge, where the items could be displayed briefly under guard.
No one would be allowed to touch. No one would approach without permission.
There would be watchmen posted. The exhibits would be covered until the appointed moment.
And when the viewing ended, the hoard would be secured again at once, taken to London under guard.
Elizabeth was not certain whether it was generosity, or strategy.
Perhaps it was both. If the neighborhood saw the truth with their own eyes, perhaps the fever would die.
Perhaps people would stop digging up the common and trampling the edges of fields.
Mayhap they would accept that whatever treasure existed had been found—and that it was not theirs to claim.
Mrs. Bennet, however, did not seize upon that sober logic. She seized upon the words “an evening” and “principal families” and “viewing under guard” like they were lines from an invitation to court.
“We shall be the envy of Hertfordshire,” she declared, pacing the drawing room with the energy of a general preparing for battle.
“An emissary of the Crown in our neighborhood! Roman treasure displayed beneath our roof—or near enough as makes no matter, for Mr. Darcy is courting my daughter. And a supper! We must have a supper worthy of the occasion.”
Jane’s cheeks turned a soft pink at that, and she bent lower over her stitching to hide a smile.
Mrs. Bennet, pleased by her own statement, continued with increasing fervor. She spoke of menus and candles and tablecloths as if the proper arrangement of cutlery might keep the Crown’s eyes benevolent and the neighborhood’s tongues favorable.
“We shall have a hot supper,” she announced.
“Not merely cold ham and pickles like some stingy hostesses. Lizzy, you must tell Mr. Darcy he need not worry about a thing. I shall manage it all. A soup course, certainly. And fowl. And a good joint. And perhaps those little custards Cook makes so well. Mrs. Hill, we shall need more sugar, and lemons, and—oh!—do we have enough coffee?”
Mrs. Hill, who had lived through Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiasms for decades, replied with the peace of one weathered by storms. “We may acquire what is needed, ma’am.”
“And wine,” Mrs. Bennet continued, already counting bottles in her mind. “The gentlemen will expect wine. They always expect wine. Mr. Goulding drinks like a fish. And Mrs. Long will sniff if it is not claret.”
Mr. Bennet, who had begun the day unusually quiet, cleared his throat.
Mrs. Bennet paused mid-stride.
He did not look at her; he looked at his paper, the words upon it demanding his full concentration.
“My dear,” he said mildly, “pray remember that the purpose of the evening is not to prove the superiority of our refreshment table to that of our neighbors.”
“It is not merely refreshment,” Mrs. Bennet said, affronted. “It is society and consequence. It is—”
“It is an exhibition,” Mr. Bennet interrupted, still mild, though a warning lay beneath it. “Under guard. Arranged by those who have not asked your opinion. And need I remind you that Mr. Darcy has a hostess? He assured me that Mrs. Hurst could manage the evening quite well.”
Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth, then shut it again, visibly restraining herself through sheer will.
Elizabeth’s gaze flicked to her father.
His face held a strange mixture—relief, yes, and lingering shame, and a brittle sort of humor; he did not yet seem to know how to stand easily in this new light.
She felt, in that moment, a complicated affection for him.
Anger still lingered.
Betrayal still stung.
Even so, she saw how the secret had hollowed him. How it had made him sharper with her, more defensive, more stubborn.
It had not been merely greed; it had been fear—fear of leaving them all vulnerable.
Now the fear had been dragged into the open, judged, and by some miracle answered with a sum so large Elizabeth could scarcely comprehend it.
A weight had lifted from the house.
She felt it in the air, in the way even the servants moved more lightly, the walls no longer pressing inward.
She felt it in herself, too—like a tight ribbon cut loose from her ribs.
In a show of stubbornness, Mrs. Bennet had insisted the Roman treasure be shown at Longbourn.
After conferring with Mr. Darcy and Lord Seeley, Mr. Bennet had agreed.
His wife, thrilled by the distinction of hosting such an evening, threw herself into the preparations and set every arrangement in motion with a speed that left the rest of the household struggling to keep pace.
Lord Seeley’s men continued to guard the treasure in the days leading up to the event, with the intention of taking it to Town as soon as the evening was over.
That evening, when Mrs. Bennet was momentarily occupied with Mrs. Hill over the question of whether to serve syllabub or lemon posset, Jane slipped quietly into Elizabeth’s chamber.
Elizabeth sat at her dressing table with a ribbon in her hand that she had tied and untied three times without realizing it.
Jane closed the door behind her and leaned against it with a soft sigh.
“You look as though you have been holding your breath for weeks,” Jane said gently.
Elizabeth turned, startled by how nearly Jane’s words matched the truth.
“Perhaps I have.”
Jane crossed the room and took the ribbon from Elizabeth’s fingers, then placed it neatly upon the table, restoring order to the world.
“I did not realize,” she admitted, “how out of sorts you were until the cloud dispersed.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Was it so obvious?”
“To me,” Jane said, and smiled. “But I know you, Lizzy. Your jokes were sharper. Your silences were longer. And you would look at Papa in a way that frightened me. I thought—” She hesitated, her brow knitting. “I thought you had begun to despise him.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “I did not despise him. I…did not understand him. And I was angry. And I still am, a little. But—” She exhaled, feeling the words unclench within her. “Jane, I am very glad it is finally over.”
Jane’s eyes softened. “So am I.”
Elizabeth rose and went to the window. Outside, the late afternoon light slanted across the lawn, turning the edges of trees to gold. Somewhere beyond those trees lay the common, still scarred by footprints and spade marks—proof of a frenzy that had gripped the neighborhood like a fever.
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said quietly, “this will put paid to any more treasure hunting in the area. Mayhap everyone will assume all has been found, and they will cease trampling the fields as though the earth exists only to be torn apart.”
Jane came to stand beside her. “I hope so. Though you know people, Lizzy. If they believe there is one miracle, they will begin to search for another.”
Elizabeth gave a short laugh. “Then we must hope they will tire before they find it.”
Jane’s hand slipped into Elizabeth’s. She squeezed lightly. “You have done a brave thing.”
Elizabeth’s eyes stung unexpectedly. “It does not feel brave. It feels…inevitable. I could not continue with it inside me.”
“You carried it alone,” Jane said, her voice tender. “That is brave enough for me.”
Elizabeth turned away from the window before Jane could see too much of her emotion. “We must prepare,” she said briskly, seizing upon action like a lifeline. “If half the county is to be paraded through Longbourn, Mama will expect us to be perfection.”
Jane’s smile returned, amused and affectionate. “Then we must endeavor not to disappoint her.”