Chapter Seven
Two mornings later, her three younger sisters slumbering on the beds behind her, Elizabeth donned a gown donated by Maria Lucas, a lovely pale green with tiny yellow roses sewn about the neckline and hem.
Although the gown was flattering and suitable for winter, the elbows showed signs of wear.
She experimented using a donated shawl to hide that deficiency, with success, and the hidden elbows didn’t mar the fact that the color suited her very well. Far better than black would.
A flash of pity for her silly cousin assailed Elizabeth as she realized she had Mr. Collins to thank for being able to wear green, as he’d burned up all her dresses and no one had donated a black gown that could be altered to fit her.
Mrs. Bennet had borrowed proper mourning clothes from Mrs. Phillips, and a gray gown had been donated that they’d made over for Mary, it being closest to fitting her, but Elizabeth, Kitty and Lydia were to go without.
She wondered if Mr. Bingley would buy Jane a black gown.
Guilt melded with Elizabeth’s sorrow because it pleased her to be able to wear a pretty dress on a day she suspected they’d have many callers.
Everyone would know they’d settled in somewhat and that their nearest relations had already called, opening the afternoon to more myriad visitors.
In particular, Elizabeth hoped members of the local militia would visit, so she might renew her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham.
Elizabeth pinned up her hair without a mirror, annoyed with her guilt.
It was not her fault that she had little affection for her deceased cousin, and therefore no sorrow beyond what one must feel for a young man cut from life.
Nor should she feel any loyalty to him, despite his apparent affection for her.
She’d made him no pledge or promise. Indeed, she hadn’t even encouraged or wanted his esteem.
Hoping that Mr. Collins’ death brought Mr. Wickham to their door should not fill her with guilt.
If anything, she decided, jamming another pin into her dark locks, she should be angry with Mr. Collins.
Sad for him, certainly, but aggrieved as well.
He’d burned down their home. All her possessions, gone.
Everything her family had, charred into ash.
Her father had reported the thoroughness of the devastation at dinner the evening before, after taking a group of men over to retrieve what remained of her cousin.
Though she believed her father that little could be salvaged, Elizabeth thought she might walk over to see the remnants of her home soon.
She hadn’t wished to, while Mr. Collins remained within the rubble.
She realized her hands had stilled and dropped them from her hair to swipe across her cheeks, smearing the tracks of tears.
Much as she wished to be angry with Mr. Collins, rather than sad for him or to endure pointless pangs of guilt, some of her tears were for her cousin.
Aggravating and obtuse as he’d been, he hadn’t deserved to die.
“Are you well, Lizzy?” Kitty murmured.
Elizabeth turned to see Kitty push up onto one elbow, blinking owlishly in the dim light that filtered through their window, and whispered, “I am.”
Kitty’s jaw hinged open in a yawn. “Isn’t it too early to be up?”
“It is. You go back to sleep.”
Nodding, her eyes already falling closed, Kitty snuggled back against her pillow.
Elizabeth smiled at her three younger sisters, happy they hadn’t the cares she had, and had to blink away fresh tears for how much she missed Jane.
Hopefully, Jane, as well, had few cares, wrapped up in her love for Mr. Bingley as she must be.
Swiping her hands across her cheeks again, Elizabeth crept from the room, looking forward to joining her mother and Betty in the kitchen.
That afternoon found Elizabeth seated in their small parlor with her sisters, pursuing their seemingly endless task of mending and altering the clothing their neighbors had donated.
Working on a shirt for her father, she tried to stitch cheerfully, but her neck cramped and her fingers were tender, despite proper employment of a thimble.
It hadn’t yet been a week, but Elizabeth felt she’d been sewing forever.
She longed to simply walk, or read, or play the pianoforte.
Of course, they’d no books and no pianoforte, or even room for one, and outside, the final day of November raged with icy rain and whipping winds.
“Aunt Phillips said Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley brought Jane into Meryton for the start of a new wardrobe, to be added to in London after she and Mr. Bingley wed, and for now, Jane is wearing Miss Bingley’s gowns,” Lydia, who sat staring out the front window, mending untouched in her lap, said in a whiny voice.
“Which means more garments for you,” Mary said. “You and Jane would have had to share.”
“It means more work for me,” Lydia grumbled, but then let out a happy squeal. “There’s a carriage.” She bundled her mending into a ball and stuck it under her chair, then knelt on the seat to watch the drive.
No less eager, but with more decorum, Elizabeth stowed her work, as did Kitty and Mary.
“It’s Colonel Forster,” Lydia said eagerly. “And Captain Carter and Mr. Denny, and Mr. Wickham.”
They all rose as Sarah showed the gentlemen in. Greetings were exchanged by all, then Captain Carter proffered a wrapped bundle.
“I’ve fresh rolls from the bakery,” he said. His gaze flitted to Kitty and away. “I recall you have a fondness for them.”
Elizabeth came forward to take them. “Thank you. Please, sit, everyone. I’ll take these to the kitchen. We’d offer you tea, but we haven’t enough cups.”
“Or saucers,” Kitty added, eyes shining as she looked at Captain Carter. “You’re so thoughtful, bringing us rolls.”
Captain Carter looked down, the back of his neck going red, and muttered, “Doing my part.”
Elizabeth headed from the room to the sound of everyone sitting and Colonel Forster saying, “We’re very sorry for the loss of your cousin.”
“I’ll see if there’s another chair to be had,” Mr. Wickham said.
Elizabeth hurried to the kitchen with the rolls, entering to find the room full of afternoon sunlight and her mother carefully deboning a fish. Betty watched intently, nodding along as Mrs. Bennet offered instruction.
Elizabeth held up her wrapped bundle. “Captain Carter brought rolls from the bakery.”
Mrs. Bennet looked up, then around the kitchen. “How kind of him. Perhaps you could put them on top of that stack of plates?”
Elizabeth nodded and crossed the kitchen to comply.
“Captain Carter gave you the rolls?” her mother asked, emphasizing ‘you.’
Elizabeth turned back to find Mrs. Bennet frowning, knife and fish momentarily forgotten.
“I took the rolls from him.” Elizabeth hesitated. In the past, she wouldn’t have said more, not wanting to fuel her mother’s mad matchmaking, but this was a different Mrs. Bennet. “I rather thought he brought them with Kitty in mind.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded, frown easing. “Good. That is what I’ve seen, as well.”
Rather than flee the kitchen, worried her mother might intervene to everyone’s embarrassment, Elizabeth asked, “Will you be out, Mama?”
Mrs. Bennet shook her head. “I’m elbow deep in fish, but kindly do not tell them that. Say I am indisposed.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I’d best return. Mary isn’t enough of a chaperone for Lydia.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded again, hardly seeming to hear the comment as she went back to her fish and Betty’s cooking instructions. Shrugging, Elizabeth left the kitchen.
And nearly ran into Mr. Wickham, who waited in the dim corridor. “Mr. Wickham,” she said breathlessly. “You startled me.”
He bowed slightly. “I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth. I’m seeking another chair. Even my rudimentary mathematical skills tell me that with eight people trying to sit in four chairs and a sofa only fit for three beautiful young ladies, someone will be left standing.”
Elizabeth nodded at his logic and led the way into the dining room.
“As you see, there are no extra chairs here. We move the chairs back and forth between the parlor and the dining room.” The dining room had benches on the long sides of the table.
At dinner they moved chairs from the parlor to the ends.
Elizabeth suspected the tenants may have taken a few chairs with them.
Mr. Wickham gave her a smile full of charm and even white teeth. “Then I will be content to stand,” he said and took a step forward, closing the distance she’d put between them. “I also sought an opportunity to speak with you alone.”
Though until that moment, she might have thought a private word with Mr. Wickham welcome, unease bloomed in Elizabeth. She took a step back.
Mr. Wickham grew grave. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior.”
“For not attending the ball?”
He shook his head. “For being so open with you about my relationship with Mr. Darcy. My seeing him suddenly and unexpectedly jolted me. It caused me to behave in a way that I shouldn’t have.”
Relieved to be on the familiar ground of their mutual dislike of Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth’s worry eased. “Think nothing of it. I daresay he has that sort of effect on many people.”
Mr. Wickham took a half step closer, crowding her once more.
“No, you must permit my apology. I should not have confided in you that he withheld the living his father willed me. It was wrong to do so, and doubly unfortunate as the living has opened up again. He has another opportunity to do right by me, and I shouldn’t want to spoil it by unleashing a truth he’d prefer the world not hear. I must know, did you tell anyone?”