Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
As they rode up the gravel drive to Longbourn, they saw Mr Bennet’s carriage being taken back to the stables.
“Papa has returned from London!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
Mr Philips raised an eyebrow. “Does he not write and tell your mother when he is arriving?”
Elizabeth chuckled. “No, he never does. He says he prefers to surprise us.”
Mr Philips’s lips thinned in disapproval. “I see.”
They entered the house together; Elizabeth set the box on a table in the entrance hall. She knocked on the door to her father’s library, where he was already ensconced in his favourite chair with a book. He waved Elizabeth and Mr Philips to seat themselves.
“Papa, I do hope your visit to London was successful. Is Lydia with Mrs Worley now?” asked Elizabeth.
“Yes, Mrs Worley was ready for her. Your aunt and uncle Gardiner had already given her a history of Lydia’s behaviour as well as an account of the incident with Wickham.
She has worked with several strong-willed young ladies previously and is certain she can teach Lydia.
All I had to do was pay her fee; well worth it, in my estimation.
” He sipped his drink, clearly pleased with the facile solution to his youngest daughter’s behaviour.
“I am glad Mrs Worley feels confident she can teach Lydia. I pray she is successful.” Elizabeth sighed.
“I have good news for you, Papa. I have completed my work for Mr Goulding’s charity,” she continued.
“In future, the trustees will be responsible for every aspect of its mission. I know you have received an invitation to act as one of the trustees. You and Mr Goulding were friends for so many years. Do you not think that you are best suited to guide the charity in ways he would have approved?”
“No, I do not think,” Mr Bennet snapped. “By giving you the dower house at Haye-Park, Goulding announced to the world his low opinion of me. He pronounced me an irresponsible husband, father, and master who cannot provide for his own wife and children. He has shamed me.”
Mr Philips stood up suddenly, his visage flushed and thunderous. Without taking his eyes off his brother-in-law, he said tightly, “Lizzy, leave us please.”
Elizabeth was only too glad to make her escape.
Her father’s conceit rendered him incapable of understanding the self-contradiction in his words, the great divide between his pride and their reality.
If she had not been asked to leave, she might have shouted at him herself.
She left the library and closed the door behind her, then picked up the box and took it to her room.
Mr Philips paced the library. “So, Bennet, you believe William Goulding, your closest friend since childhood, wished to use his last will and testament, his last words on this earth, to shame you. Is there no other reason he might have left Lizzy, and by extension your wife and other daughters, a place to live?”
Mr Bennet, sitting stiffly and silently, turned his face away.
“Tell me, what are your plans for your family should you die before any of the girls are married?
Pray, what would happen if Lydia ran off with a morally reprehensible villain, deep in debt and a lecher besides?
What would have happened had she succeeded in getting away that morning?
Your other daughters would have been unmarriageable.
Do you imagine that Collins would have taken them in upon your death?
“Where is the house that you will provide for them when they are forced to leave Longbourn?
Where is the money they will need to live on?
Or are you depending upon your relations to solve your problems?
Dorothy and I love the girls, but our home is small, too small for any comfort.
Edward and Madeline would take them in, but they have four children of their own to look after.
“Your daughters do not have dowries. They did not have a governess. They have only their charms to recommend them. How are they to compete in a world of accomplished young ladies with dowries who have been educated by governesses or attended a select academy?”
“Any of the girls who wished to learn—”
“Yes, yes, I have heard it said many times before. But what is a father’s role if not to guide his daughters? A daughter is not meant to direct herself—that was your responsibility to make them learn all they needed to know.
“You feel you have been insulted; your pride has been injured.
I ask you, what have you done to be proud of?
You have had years to plan for your family, yet you did not.
You might have purchased land or a house for them, but you did not.
You have a child who desperately needed discipline, who was more than Fanny could handle, but did you step in?
No, you did not, and it was almost disastrous.
Edward and Madeline had to intercede and do the work for you!
“Goulding’s gift is not a reflection on you!
It is a reflection of his care and concern for your family.
How could he not provide for them when he knew you would not?
He did it out of kindness and love. He was ever mindful of his own family, lost to a fire, and how he could not save them.
Instead, he loved your children as if they were his own.
“Think on that, Bennet! Think on the trusteeship and see if you can find your way to honouring his memory.”
With that, Philips left the room and closed the door behind him.
Elizabeth stared out her bedroom window, her fists clenched.
She thought of pride, how it could work for good or for ill.
Her own foolish pride had made her refuse Mr Darcy, refuse his offer of marriage, refuse to even know him or try to understand him.
Her father’s pride stemmed from embarrassment and guilt over his own indolence.
Pride could be a strength, leading a person to work and strive to uphold certain standards.
It could also be the worst of weaknesses, leading one to self-delusion.
Mr Darcy had turned his pride into strength, the strength to honour his family heritage by working hard to maintain their legacy. He could have chosen to live a life of leisure but did not do so.
She wondered if she could ever tell him how his words had affected her.
So much in the last few months had changed her.
Mr Darcy’s letter and the painful soul-searching it had brought; her heartfelt and insightful conversations with her godfather; watching him waste away; her work on the charity; being the object of greed and malicious gossip from people she had trusted.
Elizabeth turned away from the window and noticed again the box Mrs Neeson had so carefully prepared, sitting on her bed.
She sat down next to it, untied the string, and removed the paper.
Inside the box were several small items, some in little boxes or in bags, each marked with a name.
There was a collection of children’s drawings and writings in large shaky letters, sorted by name.
There was a larger parcel labelled for her.
She opened it before taking the rest to be distributed to her family.
Inside there were some books: one of poetry and another a volume of fairy tales she had delighted in when she was small.
She opened a small velvet bag and gasped.
There was a delicate necklace of amethysts set in gold with tiny pearls.
It had to have belonged to Mr Goulding’s mother.
One last item remained. A little box, about the size of the palm of her hand.
In it was a miniature painting of a very young man with a sweet expression, dressed in the garb of a clergyman.
It took her a few moments of study to understand that it was her godfather.
She recognised his kindly eyes. She traced the lines of the tiny portrait with her finger.
How hopeful he must have been then, anticipating his future.
Setting it aside to further examine later, Elizabeth carried the box downstairs to the small parlour they usually sat in.
Kitty and Mary were already there. Jane was in the stillroom, and their mother was speaking to Hill in the pantry.
She ushered them into the parlour, and they all gathered around the box.
Each of her sisters received items similar to hers: childish drawings and letters they had made and given to Mr Goulding in the past, and an item from the jewellery collection.
Jane’s was an aquamarine brooch that set off her eyes, Mary’s was a necklace of garnets set in pale gold, and Kitty’s was a bracelet of pink topaz in silver.
There was a small piece of white quartz in the box that held the bracelet. Kitty held it up. “What is this?”
Mary had the answer. “Do you remember the day we went to visit Mr Goulding and we looked at the baby rabbits?”
“Oh, I remember!” She stared at it and said softly, “He kept it all these years.”
Mrs Bennet opened her gift. It was a necklace of pearls with small diamonds on the clasp and earrings to match. She gasped. “Oh, my! They are so very fine!” She showed them to her daughters. “I remember his mother wearing these. She was very beautiful.”
Just then, Mr Bennet appeared at the threshold of the parlour. His aspect was grave and unhappy. He did not seem to notice the jewellery they held in their hands.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Tell your uncle that I will accept the trusteeship.” He turned to go. Elizabeth understood that it was as much of an apology as they were likely to receive.
“Papa, wait.” She rose and, without a word, handed him a box.
Surprised, he opened it and lifted out a well-used gold watch and chain. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice uneven. “Goulding’s watch. Well, well.” He stood there a moment, blinking rapidly, cleared his throat again, and returned to his library.
“Your father misses him terribly,” Mrs Bennet said, and wiped her eyes.
“What are those, Lizzy? Is it something for Lydia?” asked Kitty, peering into the almost empty box.
There were two small items for their youngest sister.
Elizabeth picked up the smaller of the two and unwrapped it.
It was a pretty hair comb with peridots set in silver.
Mr Goulding had not forgotten her. The larger item was a lovely piece of glass, faceted on the sides, with an etched rose in the centre.
She turned it around in her hands, curiously.
“Oh!” Mrs Bennet cried. “That is the ornament that Lydia tried to throw at Mr Goulding!”
They all burst into laughter. “I think we could say he had a droll sense of humour,” Jane said with a smile.
As her days passed with excruciating sameness, Elizabeth went back to reading, sewing, working in the stillroom, tending to the garden.
She had no place she had to be, no responsibilities.
Mr Pym and Sir William would announce the formation of the charity after services on the next Sabbath.
It was to be called the Goulding Community Assistance Society.
She was restless and lonely. Her godfather was gone, Charlotte was gone, Jane was busy with Mr Bingley, her task was over.
Mary and Kitty humoured her by walking with her, but they did not enjoy it as she did.
Her time was her own once more, though the methods she had previously used to fill her time were singularly unfulfilling.
She felt she had regressed to her girlhood.
After the announcement had been made and the truth about Mr Goulding’s will was universally known, it took some arguing, but Elizabeth convinced her parents that she no longer needed an escort everywhere she went.
It was freeing, yet without the distraction of another person at her side, her thoughts returned to the regret and self-castigation that had plagued her since her return to Longbourn in April.
Questions circled, twisted endlessly through her mind.
How could Mr Darcy have known of the will and the problems that had resulted?
It was too ridiculous to even consider that he might have aided her.
If he did, why? No matter what Mr Goulding had said, he had no reason to think well of her or even think of her at all, except as a mistake he had almost made.
She certainly could not ask Mr Galbraith if he was in correspondence with Mr Darcy.
She wandered the tangled network of bridle paths through the woods, without knowing in what direction.
At length, voices crept into her awareness, and she realised that she had trespassed onto the land of one of Netherfield’s tenants.
Proceeding carefully and quietly, keeping to the trees, she neared the voices, the voices of men, near a locally popular trout stream.
And there he was. Mr Darcy, speaking with Mr Bingley, tall and dignified, even while standing on a rock in the middle of a brook holding a fishing rod.
Her heart beat faster. He was here. He paused in the middle of his conversation, seemingly alerted, and looked about him.
Elizabeth crouched lower. She was sure she had been silent.
Mr Bingley called his attention back to his fishing, and he turned away.
Keeping low, she crept back the way she had come, conscious of how foolish she would appear if noticed. She was not ready to encounter Mr Darcy, though she did want to see him.
Elizabeth hurried home, considering her next move. Apologising was hard, but for her own self-respect, she needed to apologise to him, no matter the result. She would need to find a way to speak with him privately, but how?
No one had seen him arrive in the neighbourhood, she knew. Meryton’s gossips would have spread the word immediately. How did he arrive unnoticed?
Elizabeth only half attended to the conversation at Longbourn for the rest of the day.
She picked at her food. Jane watched her with a question in her eyes, but thankfully the rest of her family were preoccupied in discussing a letter that had arrived from Lydia.
Mrs Worley required her pupils to attend to their correspondence, and surprisingly Lydia had done as she was bid.
There were no complaints in the letter, only an account of how Mrs Worley had taken her for a walk in Kew Gardens, to show her how proper ladies of the upper ranks behaved in public.
Elizabeth retired early, still pondering her course of action. After falling into a fitful sleep, she opened her eyes to the morning. Ruminating was doing her no good; she resolved to act. She dressed and set out for Netherfield.