Chapter Two #2
“Good Lord, the sun shall scarcely be above the horizon, child! For pity’s sake, call it seven,” Lady Gresham cried, looking equally appalled and amused. “The Campbells do not show themselves at breakfast until half past nine, and Mrs. Churchill is not expected until ten.”
Jane blanched. “Mrs. Churchill?”
“Yes, Mr. Churchill had an express from his aunt after supper and asked me to make a room ready for her.”
“Oh dear – I understand she is most imposing – let us say half past six, Lizzy, so that we have time to make ourselves presentable.” Jane smiled weakly, and when Elizabeth consented, her new friend took her leave.
Lady Gresham lingered for another glass of brandy, and Elizabeth grew bolder with the second drink. “Were your niece and the Campbells in Bath this spring at the same time as Mr. Churchill and his terrifying aunt?”
Lady Gresham chuckled. “You are a clever girl, Elizabeth, my dear. I am heartily glad of it, for I am sure tomorrow you shall have all the answers you require.”
***
The sunrise soon gave way to a gloomy accumulation of clouds the next morning, but Elizabeth was nonetheless delighted to be walking out with Jane Fairfax.
The parklands of the estate were vast, and they meandered far beyond the sight of the manor, speaking first of themselves, in the usual style of a new acquaintance, as they had done at the ball.
When they reached the cliffs that overlooked the sea, they traversed a narrow footpath along the cliff’s edge, and after silently taking in the stunning view of the sea, Elizabeth finally broached the topic dearest to her.
“I know so little of my family. When I was a child, I called my guardian Uncle, and since the death of his wife – a horrid woman – I have called Father. In truth, he is no relation to me at all, merely an old friend of my real father, who died of a fever just weeks after my mother died in her childbed.”
Jane squeezed her hand. “That is so very tragic. My parents were both killed in a carriage accident when I was only a week old. My aunt had gone to stay with them – she is my mother’s only sister – and she was at their home, with me in my cradle, when the fatal accident occurred.”
“Your mother travelled so soon after giving birth to you?”
Jane’s mouth opened for a moment, but it was a minute more before she spoke. “I suppose that is very strange – I never thought of it.”
“And your mother’s sister, was she unmarried?”
“She is a spinster still,” Jane said, and then her eyes went wide. “You do not suppose….”
“It is very forward of me to imply anything,” Elizabeth said with a rueful chuckle. Turning the subject away from her indelicate suggestion, she asked, “And how are you connected to Lady Gresham?”
“Her first husband, Mr. Edward Gardiner, was the elder brother of my mother, and half-brother to my aunt, Miss Bates.”
“And Miss Bates gave you to the Campbells?”
“When I was ten, yes. Before that I resided with my aunt and her mother, my grandmother. Mrs. Bates is the widow of the former vicar of Highbury.”
Highbury . Elizabeth bristled at this nagging sense of knowing, but not understanding. Before she could speak, Jane asked a question.
“How are you connected to my aunt? Perhaps that is the key to our connection.”
“I am afraid that is not likely. I met her seven – no, eight years ago. I had just turned thirteen. Lady Gresham was travelling up from Weymouth to Derbyshire, to visit her relations in Lambton. Her carriage broke a wheel or an axle – I hardly recall – but she was on the turnpike near the boundary of Netherfield. My father and I were riding out together, for he deemed me of an age to learn about estate affairs, and we were surveying a fence in want of repairs. We found her and came to her aid, and she was vastly grateful to us. She stayed with us at Netherfield while the repairs were managed in Meryton, and the following year when she made her journey, she wrote to us and asked if she might visit. It has become an annual tradition; she has brought Miss Gardiner along the past few years, and I find your cousin very agreeable.”
“She makes her journey to Derbyshire every September, I believe,” Jane mused. “I have heard her speak of the annual Harvest Festival at Pemberley. Her father, like my grandfather, was a vicar, and her kin in Lambton are well regarded by the local gentry.”
“Yes, September – I always see her just after my birthday, and she brings me a gift every year.”
Jane let out a squeak of surprise. “My birthday is also in September – it is September the fourth.”
Elizabeth stumbled over a rock, cast a horrified glance at the nearby cliff, and as she lost her balance she swiftly hurled herself backward in the opposite direction.
She landed on her backside, on the soft, mossy ground, and let out a peal of laughter as she looked up at Jane.
“My birthday is also the fourth of September.”
Jane gaped at her, and then slowly sank down onto the ground beside Elizabeth, sitting with her legs crossed. “I shall reach my twenty-first year in six weeks.”
“And I, too, shall reach my majority this year.” Elizabeth smiled with wonderment at her friend, unable to fight her instinctive belief that this must surely mean something.
And then the skies above them opened up, and a torrent of rain began to fall.
A peal of thunder rolled over the cliffs, and Elizabeth felt as though the very ground beneath her would give way.
Jane stood and offered Elizabeth her hand.
“We ought to get back; we shall be wet through, and probably take longer in our return – I have completely lost all sense of the hour. Oh dear, and Mrs. Churchill is soon to arrive!”
Elizabeth took Jane’s hand and slowly scrambled to her feet.
The muscles in her legs burned, as if her very body were screaming from the effort.
“So much for Lady Gresham’s curative salve!
I fear we shall be slow in our return, Jane.
I might suggest we run, for I rather enjoy a good sprint, but I am not at all capable of any more than a painful walk. ”
“The first time I went sea-bathing, my legs felt strange for a week,” Jane said with a look of commiseration, raising a hand above her eyes to shield them from the rain that had begun to fall harder.
“I cannot imagine trying to kick up from the surface, as you were obliged to do in all your clothes! Oh, I shall never forgive Diana for such wickedness!”
“Yes, well, I am sure she will never forgive me if you catch your death from this rain,” Elizabeth said, shivering as the cold rain soaked into her pelisse. “I shall try to move quickly.”
“Take my hand, if it will steady you,” Jane said, and the two women did their best to scramble across the slick, wet grass, making their way back to the main path that led from the cliffs back to the manor.
They had walked perhaps three miles, for it felt as if an hour had passed before the house was within sight, and the remaining distance seemed great indeed.
They were both shivering and clinging to one another, making very slow progress as their drenched garments clung to their bodies, tangling about their legs.
And then as they passed the old dower house, a carriage came into view.
It stopped twenty paces from them, and the door to the barouche flung open.
Mr. Churchill leapt out, and ran to them, shouting words they could not make out over the thunder and the pattering of rain all around them.
When he was close enough, he scooped Jane into his arms and carried her back to the carriage.
Without her friend to steady her, Elizabeth’s sore legs finally reached their limit, and she collapsed into the mud.
Mr. Churchill deposited Jane into the carriage and then returned for Elizabeth.
He bent down and gathered her up, utterly indifferent to the mud and to decency itself as he carried her back to his barouche.
He closed the door behind them and shouted for his coachman to drive, and then attended to wrapping them in blankets and placing hot bricks at their feet.
Elizabeth thanked him at once as she relaxed against the plush seat, but her words of gratitude fell on deaf ears.
On the seat across from her, Mr. Churchill drew Jane into a passionate embrace.
And Jane, timid Jane Fairfax, actually let out a little sigh of pleasure as she returned his ardor.
Her arms went about his neck as she kissed him, and Elizabeth obligingly averted her gaze until she heard her rescuer speak.
“My darling! What were you thinking, walking out with a squall on the horizon? We were all mad with fright for you, up at the manor, and Lady Gresham organized a search party! I can only hope that if you catch your death of a cold, you will kindly haunt me all my days!”
Jane laughed, her hand resting against his cheek for a moment before she seemed to suddenly recollect Elizabeth’s presence. She resumed a more decorous posture and looked over at Elizabeth with chagrin. “Lizzy, do not be alarmed… I must confide a great secret….”
Elizabeth stammered, wishing to say something witty to dispel the awkwardness, but what passed from her lips was as utterly incomprehensible as their strange situation.
Mr. Churchill gave a gracious nod and extended his hand in friendship. “Miss Bennet, I felt instinctively from the earliest moments of our acquaintance that you could be trusted, even over some others known better to us. Miss Fairfax – my beautiful Jane – consented to be my wife some months ago.”
“In Bath?”
He chuckled. “Exactly so. I contrived to visit her here, for I am fortuitously acquainted with Mr. Gresham. Our engagement must remain a secret, for her dowry of ten thousand pounds is not half what my aunt believes I am worth, nor sufficient to sustain my dearest one if I am disinherited – if we are discovered.”