Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
It was rather fortunate for the scheme to conceal him that his “twin,” Edward Thomas Gardiner, was not only born within a fortnight of young Henry but was also fair-haired and slight. Based on the looks of them, the notion of the two boys being twins was believable.
They were much alike in temperament as well; both babies were genial, content, and inclined to enjoy a good sleep, even in their earliest days.
Edward was Mrs Gardiner’s third child, and she assured Elizabeth that such complacent babies were far above the common way, indeed exceptional.
Many a happy day was spent doing no more than cooing over the precious boys, tickling their bellies, grasping their little hands, and kissing their soft cheeks.
In the middle of April, Elizabeth returned to Hertfordshire under the re-assumed identity of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
With her went three men, ostensibly footmen, but in truth, former soldiers adept with gun, blade, and fist who would protect her night and day.
A similar group would be in service at the Gardiner residence to protect the earl.
Elizabeth fought violently against the idea of a separation; however, she soon came to realise it was in little Henry’s best interests.
Parting from him was the most difficult thing she had ever done although she knew the Gardiners would care for him as their own child.
She reminded herself hourly that she left her son in London for his own safety—that their disguise was made more persuasive by their separation.
She spent a great deal of time weeping: longing for both of her Henrys, and wishing she might understand how she could go on with her life.
The only thing that could console her was the notion that she suffered for her son’s future felicity.
In May, her father invited her into his study for a brief conference. She appeared with her usual reddened eyes and listless countenance. For a moment, father and daughter sat together in silence. Mr Bennet was first to speak, clearing his throat and choosing his words carefully.
“It is astonishing to think this began only a little more than a year ago, is it not?”
Elizabeth nodded, looking not at Mr Bennet but at her hands gripping the handkerchief in her lap.
“I would say the course of the year is well beyond anything any of us might have imagined.”
Elizabeth gave a weary laugh. “Very much so.”
Mr Bennet took her hand. “Your mother and I sympathise with your predicament, my dear. We can never truly know what you suffer, but we do wish we might do anything in our power to ease your distress.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
“I am speaking to you today because I am concerned. You have always been my courageous, brave girl, and I would say you need that courage more now than ever. You are grieved and rightly so; however, for your son—and for your husband’s memory and family name—you must pull out of this.
No more weeping, no more sadness. You must be the Elizabeth Bennet you were, not her grief-stricken shell. ”
Elizabeth sighed. “I know, but it is so difficult.”
“Difficult or not, I must remind you of your duty to be seen as a happy young lady. You cannot appear to be grieving, else you risk putting yourself and your son in danger. Furthermore, you have not been made for poor spirits. You are a joyous creature, and you rob yourself of your own felicity by carrying on in this way.” Mr Bennet’s tone implied he would brook no opposition.
“You are right. Tomorrow, you will see a new me or, rather, the old me become new.” She gave her father a wan smile.
He smiled encouragingly in return. “You are a wonderful, brave girl, and I am exceedingly proud of you, as I know your husband would be too. Go along now, and I shall look forward to a smiling face at breakfast tomorrow.”
It was not so easy to pull herself from the depression of losing her husband, but Elizabeth did it.
By the time it was autumn again—one year past the hated event—she could nearly always appear similar to her old self.
She was perhaps not quite so vivacious or inclined towards giving her opinion.
She spoke less and listened more than in the past, but in general, she thought she gave a good show.
Her mother, having long proclaimed Elizabeth to be her least favourite child, now gave her a marked deference that was almost comical.
Still, Elizabeth took advantage of this deference to institute some changes for the betterment of her sisters.
She insisted on having masters brought in to tutor the ladies into an acceptable level of accomplishment in music, dancing, drawing, and languages.
Kitty and Lydia were put into the hands of a governess who would remain until Elizabeth and Jane were both married.
Whenever her mother protested, Elizabeth reminded her of the ways of higher society, and Mrs Bennet said no more.
The neighbours found, with the absence of the generally unruly Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia, that the society of the Bennets was far more agreeable.
Elizabeth’s days settled into a pattern of long walks, reading, visiting neighbours, and the like.
She was fortunate that her husband’s estates employed excellent stewards to manage the holdings; however, there were still matters for her consideration, and these were brought to her attention through a complicated arrangement of clandestine letter writing and communication through Lord Matlock, who had been appointed as an intermediary of sorts.
She grew to have a great deal of esteem for Lord and Lady Matlock.
Even though she realised they would never have condescended to know her had she not married Henry, they were kind and helpful to her now.
She visited her son at the Gardiners’ home on rare visits to town, being careful not to show preference for him over her cousins in the event she was observed. The short time with him was treasured, and she mourned when she was forced to return to Hertfordshire.
In the spring of 1811, some happy news came from the disaster: Mr Gardiner would receive a ceremonial knighthood.
The precise reasons behind it were not published abroad; it was simply said that he had served the Crown in an official and confidential capacity.
It was an honour Mr Gardiner felt he scarcely deserved, though he received it with great gratitude.
Elizabeth could not risk being present for the occasion but sent her sincere well wishes to her uncle and aunt.
By that summer, Elizabeth despaired that the matter would ever reach its resolution.
Mr Francis Warren remained at large, as did the man who had done the actual shooting.
Lord Matlock indicated on his last visit that they believed they were close to apprehending her errant brother-in-law.
But such had been said to her many times previously; thus, she could scarcely believe it.
However, she knew that, once Francis was captured, her time of respite would end, and so, in some odd way, she did not mind his continued status as a fugitive.