Chapter Five
The next morning dawned grey and cool, though dry. Mrs Bennet stood on the front steps of Longbourn wrapped in a shawl and issuing instructions so rapidly that Elizabeth could only nod vaguely and make reassuring noises.
"You must write the moment you arrive, for I shall not rest easy until I know you are safe.
Make sure your uncle sends it express. And do not let Mrs Gardiner work you to death with the children, I do not want you losing your bloom.
I suppose your aunt is a sensible woman most of the time. And if you happen to pass a milliner—"
"Mama," said Jane gently.
Elizabeth embraced her mother, who immediately became tearful and declared herself abandoned.
This declaration lost some of its force when she followed it by reminding Elizabeth to look out for a particular shade of blue ribbon which could only be obtained in the capital.
She also tucked into her reticule a list of items for her sisters—a book of philosophy for Mary, lace for Lydia, and paintbrushes for Kitty.
Dear Jane had asked for nothing but Elizabeth would pick up some of her favourite sweets from the confectioner in Covent Garden.
Her oldest sister hugged her last. "Please take care of yourself, Lizzy," she whispered into her hair, adding, "and do not worry, I will write if I hear any gossip in the town."
Elizabeth gave Jane a final squeeze before stepping back and offering her a watery smile. With a deep breath she turned away and took Mr Bennet’s hand to step up in the carriage.
"Give my regards to your aunt and uncle, Lizzy"
"I will, Papa"
"And Lizzy?"
"Yes?"
"If London proves as exhausting as Hertfordshire, I recommend continuing on to Scotland. There are fewer people."
"Goodbye, Papa."
"Goodbye, my dear."
The carriage rolled away and Longbourn slowly disappeared behind them.
Elizabeth watched it until the house was lost amongst the trees and then settled back into her seat with a long breath.
For the first time in days she felt something like relief.
The familiar knot between her shoulders seemed to loosen with every mile that passed beneath the wheels.
Hertfordshire, Netherfield and all the anxieties that had consumed her for the past fortnight were safely behind her.
Ahead lay London, her aunt and uncle and a few weeks in a household where nobody would mention Mr Darcy or scream about ribbons.
Mrs Frost proved pleasant company. She was a sensible woman in her late thirties with kind eyes and an easy manner and Elizabeth found herself liking her immediately.
They spoke of Mrs Gardiner, of children and of the baby Mrs Frost was expecting.
The older woman confessed that she was nervous about beginning again after so many years.
"My eldest is nearly nineteen," she said with a laugh. "I had thought that stage of my life was finished."
Elizabeth laughed.
"I imagine that you will soon be reminded of the joys of babyhood."
"Oh yes, my dear. Frost says we shall be starting all that nonsense over again. As if I require reminding."
"At least you have practice."
"That is what everyone keeps telling me, but it was honestly all so long ago that I am certain I shall be putting this mite’s napkins on backwards." She tapped her stomach with a wry smile.
Their conversation wandered comfortably from one topic to another and Elizabeth found herself content with the easy company. She laughed and chatted, then read her book for a while while Mrs Frost took up her knitting.
By late morning, however, the weather began to change. The clouds thickened until the sky pressed low over the countryside and the light took on a strange purple haze. Frost, who had spent most of the journey cheerfully humming to himself, became noticeably quieter.
Mrs Frost followed Elizabeth’s gaze to the window. "I do not like the look of that, my dear, not one tiny bit."
The first drops of rain arrived shortly afterwards, tapping lightly against the roof of the carriage.
But the rain continued to strengthen until the road outside blurred behind the glass.
The carriage swayed noticeably as the road softened beneath them and pools of muddy water gathered in every rut and hollow.
A couple of times the carriage swayed violently and Mr Frost shouted back through the wind that he would find somewhere to stop and take refuge. Mrs Frost grasped Elizabeth’s hand, the other flexed protectively over her stomach. Elizabeth closed her eyes and sent up a small prayer.
Suddenly the carriage gave a terrifying lurch, throwing Elizabeth back against the squabs.
Mrs Frost cried out and the carriage tilted alarmingly and for one dreadful second Elizabeth was convinced the entire thing was about to overturn.
Instead it came to a shuddering halt at an odd angle.
It took a few seconds for Elizabeth to regain her equilibrium and to clear the buzzing in her ears.
Before she could take stock of the situation, Mr Frost threw open the carriage door.
"Hetty!" he cried.
Elizabeth realised that Mrs Frost was crumpled on the floor of the carriage, her face paper white and blood pouring from a gash on her head. She let out a small moan, her eyelids fluttering.
"Mrs Frost," she said gently. Mr Frost clambered in, leaving a puddle of icy water in his wake. He looked pleadingly at Elizabeth, "What should I do, miss? I ain’t no apothecary."
She gave him a reassuring nod and began tearing strips from her petticoat. "Do not fear, Mr Frost. Do you have a little brandy? We will clean and bind the wound and make your wife as comfortable as possible."
"And the babe?"
"All will be well, Mr Frost," said Elizabeth with more confidence than she felt.
???
Within ten minutes, Mrs Frost was seated comfortably with a clean and bandaged wound, but she was still a worrying shade of white.
The rain outside had slowed to a steady drizzle and Elizabeth climbed out to survey the damage.
The problem was clear: a patch of treacherous mud that had sent them into a small ditch to the side of the highway and caused a broken wheel. They would be stuck here for some time.
"Mr Frost," she said firmly, "it has not been two miles since we passed through Barley Cross.
While we have this break in the weather, you will take a horse and your wife and get her somewhere warm and dry before sending back help.
Here is some money for a room at the inn and the apothecary or midwife. " She pressed some coins into his hand.
"Miss, I cannot leave you, your father would have my head." Frost removed his hat and ran a hand through his wet hair. He looked deeply unhappy.
"I shall be perfectly well," said Elizabeth. "The weather has calmed and I have blankets and books. I can lock the door and have quite a cosy time of it. It is only a few miles, I know you will send someone as soon as you can."
"I will not leave that young lady," came a weak voice from inside the carriage.
"Mrs Frost, Hetty," Elizabeth said gently, leaning into the carriage. Please think of the babe. I will not rest easy until you are well."
"Come, Hetty,"said Mr Frost from somewhere behind Elizabeth’s shoulder.
After more pleading and assurances from Elizabeth, Mr Frost unhitched the horses, helping his wife up onto one gently and mounting behind her. The others were tethered behind them and Elizabeth watched the strange caravan make slow progress down the road.
She climbed back into the carriage, sliding the bolt on the door and wrapping herself in all the blankets she could find as she settled in to await her rescue.
At first Elizabeth remained remarkably cheerful about the situation.
It was only a few miles and Mr Frost knew the roads well.
Within a few hours she would be sitting beside a fire somewhere telling the story as an amusing anecdote.
Indeed, by the time she reached London she might even find it entertaining.
After some time, she tried to read but the light outside was too dim and the weather was getting steadily worse.
Damp had already seeped into the carriage and moving around outside had seen it penetrate her clothes.
Water streamed down the windows in thick sheets and the wind battered the carriage often enough to make her jump.
As the rain hammered on the outside of the carriage in violent bursts she began to shiver.
She must have fallen into a fitful sleep, for when she opened her eyes again the afternoon appeared to be slipping towards evening.
It was difficult to judge the hour. The storm clouds had turned the world outside an unpleasant shade of grey and the countryside beyond the carriage windows had vanished entirely behind sheets of rain.
For the first time that day she felt genuinely uneasy.
Mr Frost should have returned by now and she was shivering so hard that her teeth were chattering.
She tried to dismiss the thought. Perhaps the village was farther away than they believed or the roads had become more difficult in the worsening weather.
The longer she sat there, the harder it became to ignore the creeping anxiety settling in her stomach. A violent gust of wind rocked the carriage. Elizabeth pulled the blankets tighter around herself and looked out into the storm.