Chapter Six
Highbury had a vague sense of familiarity for Elizabeth; it possessed a certain charm that made her feel at once that she would be perfectly content in her new environs.
Lady Gresham’s own carriage had borne Elizabeth home, to the cottage at the end of the village.
She paused, lingering in the place where she had once stood, offering her mother candied pears.
She had purchased a packet of sweetmeats when her carriage changed horses in Basingstoke, and she reached into her pocket, feeling the small cloth pouch as if all her hopes for her mother’s affection hinged upon it.
“My aunt,” she murmured, reminding herself of the pretense Jane had believed all her life. She took another step closer to the door, and then it burst open in an explosion of lace and affection.
“Jane, Jane! My dear, how can you tarry in the garden when I have been waiting for you since daybreak! Oh, how well you look! You must come and embrace your auntie, my dearest darling girl!”
Elizabeth stood frozen in place, tears welling in her eyes at the familiar sight.
Miss Bates was exactly as Elizabeth remembered her; the ensuing years had been kind indeed, for the woman was still youthful and beautiful, though she was but a year from forty.
Elizabeth’s first glimpse of her mother had been at a moment that must have been deeply painful for her, parting with Jane as the Campbells took her away to a better life.
But now, Fanny Bennet was radiant with joy as she rushed to embrace Elizabeth. “Oh, how I have missed you, my dear!”
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her mother. “I have missed you more than I can say – it feels a lifetime that I have been away.”
“Aye, so it does! Come in, come in – Martin will collect your trunk. Mother is in the parlor, and we are so eager to hear of your travels. Weymouth, how delightful it must have been! I have always wished to go to the seaside, and perhaps one day we shall visit together – a little sea-bathing would set me up forever! But that must account for your glowing looks, for I am sure I have never seen you look so very well!”
Elizabeth was sure she did look uncommonly well, for she felt her heart might burst from so much happiness as her mother fussed over her.
She complimented Elizabeth’s gown – it was one of her own, her favorite, which she did not wish to part with when Jane carried off the rest of her things.
“It is a gift from Lady Gresham,” she said, which was the absolute truth; her aunt had commissioned it for her when last she visited Meryton on her journey north.
“Your aunt is so very good to us,” Miss Bates said.
“Do you know, I had a letter from her just a few days ago – you will never believe it, Jane! She has set up an account for us at Mrs. Bartlett’s shop – enough for several new gowns for you – I have already commissioned one for you – and she insists I have one or two made for myself, as if I have any use for them!
At, but perhaps I shall, what do you think?
I daresay she is still on about my poor brother’s friend Mr. Weston, but I might have had him twenty years ago, but never wished to.
Well, perhaps a new bonnet might suit me… .”
“No, Aunt; I am sure Lady Gresham would be very cross, and think me selfish if I had a new gown or two, and you did not.” Imitating one of Jane’s tranquil smiles, Elizabeth inwardly laughed riotously at her aunt’s meddlesome support of the scheme to unite Miss Bates with Mr. Bennet.
When her parents’ paths finally crossed again, Elizabeth was resolved that her beautiful mother would be very fashionably attired.
Miss Bates led Elizabeth into the parlor, where a woman of about sixty years sat knitting by the fire.
Jane had prepared her for a sardonic creature rather like her father, for at home Mrs. Bates was droll but affectionate, and in public she never spoke a word to anybody.
The good people of Highbury had long ago concluded Mrs. Bates to be afflicted with some impediment to her speech; not one of them had ever suspected Mrs. Bates simply had nothing to say to them.
Mrs. Bates set aside her knitting and rose to embrace her granddaughter. Elizabeth again felt every proper sentiment, and was beaming as her grandmother withdrew. Mrs. Bates narrowed her eyes, focusing on the pearl drops Elizabeth wore in her recently pierced ears. “Your ears are red, Jane.”
“Oh! The, ah, seawater must have… inflamed them?” Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders, hoping her grandmother would think nothing of it.
“Better put a little whiskey on it, child.” The dainty old woman retrieved her knitting basket and drew a small flask out from under several balls of yarn.
Elizabeth observed this with astonishment, and then her grandmother splashed a little of the liquid onto a handkerchief and dabbed at each of Elizabeth’s ears.
When she finished, she displayed a trace of blood on the handkerchief.
“Oh dear,” Elizabeth murmured, instinctively bringing her hand up to one lobe and fidgeting with the pearl that felt so unfamiliar. “Well, I suppose it is fortunate that I have come home, for I would never have thought of something so clever.”
“Surely you are the cleverest among us,” Mrs. Bates said. Her tone was innocuous, but her eyes narrowed just a little.
“Oh, she is, she is,” Miss Bates cried. “My dear Jane, how happy we are to have you back! I cannot wait to hear all about the house party – but then you will not wish to tell it all twice, and I know the Woodhouses will want to hear all about it. Mr. Woodhouse and his daughters are so very kind! They know we are expecting you today, and Mrs. Knightley sent a note this morning asking me to bring you to tea as soon as you are settled! Is that not terribly generous of them! Of course, they heard every detail of your letters, but now you are come back among us, which is ever so much better! We shall see the Woodhouses and I daresay all the Knightleys, and then tomorrow, of course, is Mr. Weston’s party. ”
“Mr. Weston’s party?” Elizabeth searched her memory for some little detail about him – she could recall only that Captain Weston formerly worked for her Uncle Gardiner, who had once hoped for a match between that man and Miss Bates.
“Yes, yes, I am sure I wrote all about it in my last letter to you, Jane! He has lately purchased Randalls, and he means to host all his intimate friends of the neighborhood there tomorrow evening. But we must go to Mrs. Bartlett’s shop on our way to Hartfield; I shall inquire if the first dress I ordered for you will be ready to wear tomorrow, for we have other new neighbors I have not told you of – they only came three days ago, and I thought I may as well tell you when you arrive, for the letter may not reach you before you departed to return to us. ”
“I am far from averse to meeting new people,” Elizabeth said with a private smile. “But might I refresh myself before we set out for Hartfield?”
Miss Bates finally gave her consent to this, after repeatedly offering her assistance, for the maid Sarah only came three days a week.
Elizabeth assured her mother she could manage, though she was not accustomed to dressing without assistance.
The inconvenience of it was necessary, however, for Elizabeth required a few minutes of privacy to look over the notes Jane had written for her.
Having finally triumphed in the struggle to don a simple pale blue muslin frock, Elizabeth sat down on the bed in her sister’s modest but elegant room and hastily read over the information Jane provided about the family from Hartfield.
The father was kind and generous, though given to health-related hysteria, the eldest daughter was married and a mother of five, and the youngest daughter was a spoilt and sheltered creature who had no friends but her governess, Miss Taylor, and had made little effort to forge any meaningful connection with Jane.
Once Elizabeth had committed the list of Knightleys and Woodhouses to memory, she rejoined her mother and grandmother.
The three ladies did indeed first visit Mrs. Bartlett’s shop in the center of the village.
The gregarious seamstress retrieved the gown Miss Bates had commissioned for Jane with the account Lady Gresham had paid in advance, and Miss Bates began to look very smug as it was brought out.
Elizabeth was horrified. The ballgown was a shade of jonquil she might never have selected for herself, though the color alone was objectionable, nor was the fine quality of the silk.
But there was so much lace and embroidery that Elizabeth hardly knew where to look.
Indeed, it rather seemed to grow worse, the longer she beheld the offensive garment.
She smiled tightly, suppressing every impulse to shout, “absolutely not!” Elizabeth instead managed to calmly but confidently suggest a few alterations to the garment in progress.
“This is very fine quality work, Mrs. Bartlett. I suppose you are aware that we intend to order several more pieces in the near future. This dress has so much beautiful detail, I think it enough embellishment for two frocks! Perhaps the bodice can be removed from this one and used in something with no additional lace – gold sarsenet draped over ivory silk should do nicely, and perhaps a cap sleeve instead of something this puffy. And on this gown, I think a simpler bodice in the same fabric will draw the eye toward the embellishment along the bottom half. You may remove the beading – perhaps complete the orange embellishment with cerulean and white. I think half as much lace along the hem should be quite enough. But I understand if you can no longer complete it by tomorrow – I have every faith it will be well worth the wait.”