Beneath the Morrow’s Light (What If… A Pride & Prejudice Variation Series”)

Chapter One

There are few things more readily expected than the continued exertions of a useful daughter.

Where such exertions have long been given without complaint, they come at last to be regarded as part of the ordinary course of life; as natural and unremarkable as the changing of the seasons.

The possibility that they might one day cease is seldom considered until circumstances make their absence unavoidable.

Elizabeth Bennet's approaching departure from Longbourn had therefore occasioned far more discussion regarding the inconvenience it would produce than the loss of her company.

"The harvest accounts. You have left the margin notes legible, I take it."

"Clearly written, sir. The upper field wants watching in the third week. I have noted the dates. Mr. Hayes has agreed to keep an eye upon it."

"And the south lease?"

"Renewed. The terms are in the second column."

"And the drainage?"

"Settled before breakfast. The men have their instructions."

Mr. Bennet turned another page.

"I cannot think why this journey must be undertaken in summer. It is a great inconvenience."

"My uncle's affairs require the timing, sir."

"So I am told." He did not look up. "I suppose there is nothing to be done about it."

Elizabeth made no reply. Closing the ledger, she placed it beside his elbow before rising from her chair.

She had scarcely crossed the hall and taken up her bonnet from the side table when Mrs. Bennet appeared upon the stairs.

Descending with evident purpose, she paused at the bottom and took in at a glance the travelling dress, the bonnet still in Elizabeth's hands, and the gloves mended at one finger.

"Well," she said, "I suppose you are nearly ready."

“Yes, ma'am.”

"It is not what I would have chosen," said Mrs. Bennet, taking the bonnet from her hands, "to lose you in the middle of summer when there is so much still to manage.

But your uncle has his affairs, and Madeline always did like to have you about.

You are useful in a household. I will give you that much. "

Before Elizabeth could answer, Mrs. Bennet settled the bonnet upon her head and began retying the ribbon.

"Mind you do not go tramping about at all hours in that way of yours.

London is not Longbourn, and people do notice such things.

And do try to listen to your aunt on the subject of your appearance.

If you would only attend a little more and go about a little less, you might do better than you suppose.

You have perfectly good features when you take the trouble.

Jane had only to stand still and she was admired. But then Jane listens."

"I shall try to do better, ma'am."

"I am sure you will. I only say it for your own good. I always have."

Mrs. Bennet gave the ribbon a final tug and appeared satisfied with the result. "There. That is much better."

She headed back toward the parlour, but before she reached the doorway, Lydia called down from the stairs.

"If Lizzy is going to the sea, I want something from it.

A shell or a curiosity or one of those little boxes made of fish scales.

Everyone is getting things from the sea this year. And not a tiny shell either."

"You shall have something," Mrs. Bennet said from the parlour doorway.

"She always forgets."

"I shall not forget," Elizabeth said, working at her glove buttons without looking up.

"You said that about the new La Belle Assemblée."

"It was sold out by the time I thought of it."

"That is the same thing."

Mary emerged from the breakfast room with a volume in her hand.

"It is difficult to imagine," said she, "how possession of a shell can improve either the understanding or the character."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "No one asked for a sermon, Mary."

"Sea bathing," Mary continued, undisturbed, "is only beneficial when undertaken with proper moral discipline. Anything pursued merely for fashion is vanity, and Scripture is very clear upon the subject."

"Then do not pursue it," Lydia returned, following Mrs. Bennet into the parlour. "The rest of us shall survive somehow."

Elizabeth, alone at last, finished drawing on her gloves and took up her travelling bag. She had scarcely done so when Kitty came hastily down the stairs.

"Wait."

Kitty glanced toward the parlour door, still open, then thrust something into Elizabeth's hand with both of hers.

"I made it," she whispered. "Don't show Mama."

Elizabeth smiled and closed her fingers around the gift.

"Thank you, Kitty."

Once settled in the chaise, Elizabeth unfolded the paper.

It was a small sketch of the lane before Longbourn; the trees bending toward the road and the house half hidden behind them.

The proportions were not entirely accurate, but the feeling of the place was.

Elizabeth folded it carefully and tucked it into her reticule before the carriage reached the turnpike.

She had been sent to Gracechurch Street before, and more than once.

Whenever Mrs. Bennet's patience with Elizabeth wore thin, an invitation from London was seldom long in appearing.

Mrs. Bennet invariably protested that Jane, Lydia, Mary, or Kitty might benefit equally from such an excursion, declared Gracechurch Street no proper place for a young lady's introduction to society, and then consented with remarkable ease.

Mr. Bennet's objections generally arose much later.

Elizabeth's first stay had lasted nearly a year.

What began as a temporary escape from domestic disagreements ended only when her father observed the ease with which she sorted accounts and remembered figures, and conceived the idea that such talents might be put to use at Longbourn.

Thereafter her visits followed a more regular pattern; welcomed in London whenever she could be spared and summoned home whenever she could not.

The arrangement suited everyone tolerably well.

Mrs. Bennet was relieved of a daughter she found perpetually trying, Mr. Bennet retained a capable hand to oversee the household accounts and keep a watchful eye upon the steward whenever she was at Longbourn, and Elizabeth gained the society of the only married couple she knew whose happiness appeared entirely genuine.

Mrs. Gardiner had long since become as much friend as aunt, while her husband possessed the rare ability of treating Elizabeth's opinions as worthy of consideration.

Their children, who had scarcely known a time when Cousin Elizabeth was not appearing and disappearing from their lives, regarded her as a permanent part of the family.

This was evident the moment the chaise drew up before the newly enlarged house. Before the servant could lower the step, seven-year-old Bethany came flying out of the front door. One shoe ribbon trailed behind her, half untied.

"Lizzy!"

She threw herself against Elizabeth with such force that both nearly lost their balance.

"You grow more untamed with every visit," said Elizabeth, laughing as she steadied them both. "Take care, or your parents will accuse me of encouraging it."

"They already do," Bethany informed her cheerfully.

"Bethany!"

The child darted back toward the house before her mother could catch her.

"My dear girl," Mrs. Gardiner said, reaching Elizabeth then and taking her hands with unaffected pleasure, "you are arrived at last. We feared the roads might delay you."

"They were kinder than expected," Elizabeth replied. "And I am very glad to be here."

"So we are," her aunt said.

Elizabeth entered the hall just as Grace, the Gardiners' eldest child, appeared.

"Welcome to London, Cousin Elizabeth."

The curtsy that accompanied the greeting would not have disgraced a young lady twice her age.

"I greeted her first."

"You shouted at her from the street," said Grace. "That is not the same thing."

"It still counts."

Bethany opened her mouth to continue the argument, but Eddie chose that moment to seize hold of Elizabeth's travelling bag.

"I can carry this."

"Eddie, it is nearly as large as you are," said Mrs. Gardiner.

"I carried Father's sample case."

"You dragged Father's sample case," said Grace.

At that moment Freddie came toddling across the hall with both arms raised toward Elizabeth.

Elizabeth laughed, surrendered her bag to the servant, and lifted him at once.

Freddie rewarded her with a sticky hand against her cheek.

"There is my welcome," said Elizabeth.

"You should feel honoured," said Mr. Gardiner from the doorway. "He reserves that distinction for a select few."

That evening, Elizabeth joined her aunt and uncle in the drawing room.

“I confess myself surprised that my brother-in-law should have permitted this journey. We have proposed summer travel before, and never with success.”

Elizabeth smiled faintly. “I long ago ceased to expect consistency from my father.”

Mrs. Gardiner nodded. “The children were much disappointed that you could not join us this winter. I regretted it myself, though the house was in too great a state of confusion to insist. Your father was quite resolute on the matter.”

“I hardly recognised it upon my arrival,” said Elizabeth. “The alteration is remarkable. Had I not known otherwise, I should have believed the house always of this size.”

Mr. Gardiner smiled. “That was very much the intention. The neighbouring property suffered a serious fire last year. Its owner preferred selling to rebuilding, and I found the opportunity too advantageous to ignore.”

“And your uncle has spent the better part of a year making plans ever since,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

“I should have been a poor merchant had I not,” he replied. “The two houses shared a wall already. Once the purchase was made, the rest was chiefly a matter of patience.”

“You have nearly doubled the size of the place.”

“Not quite,” said Mr. Gardiner. “Though the children seem determined to persuade visitors otherwise.”

“With four growing children and a steady procession of guests,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “we had long outgrown the old arrangement.”

“I wondered that you did not simply remove elsewhere.”

“So did many of my acquaintances,” said Mr. Gardiner. “But my warehouses remain where they have always been, and I have no desire to spend half my life travelling from one end of London to the other merely to possess a more fashionable address.”

“I am glad you did not,” said Elizabeth. “It still feels entirely itself.”

“Then the expense was worthwhile,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

“And the expense of a seaside tour?” said Elizabeth. “A larger house, additional servants, and now several weeks by the sea. I begin to suspect my uncle is determined to spoil his wife.”

Mrs. Gardiner laughed.

“I assure you, I have made no such request.”

“Then I must defend myself,” said Mr. Gardiner. “The house was a practical necessity, and the seaside is scarcely the extravagance you imagine.”

“No?” said Elizabeth.

“No. Though I freely admit your aunt has found rather more pleasure in the arrangement than I first anticipated.”

“I knew it,” said Elizabeth.

Mr. Gardiner smiled.

“Our stay in Brinmouth will not be undertaken solely for pleasure. There will be business to attend to, and company besides. In such circumstances, it is only right that my household should be properly represented.”

Elizabeth inclined her head. “Then I shall take particular care not to be in the way. I am very well accustomed to making do, and shall require nothing beyond what I already possess.”

“That is precisely what we must correct,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “You will be with us for several weeks, Lizzy, and among people who will expect a certain attention to appearance, whether it pleases us or not.”

“I should be sorry to occasion unnecessary expense,” Elizabeth replied. “My gowns are serviceable, and I cannot think—”

“No one has accused them of being otherwise,” said Mr. Gardiner.

“But serviceable is not always sufficient. Tomorrow, a shipment of my wares is to be inspected at the warehouse. It would be very convenient if you were to accompany us. Your aunt and I shall then determine what must be done, and you shall protest only so far as civility allows.”

“You leave me very little ground on which to stand.”

“You may object once,” he replied. “After that, you must allow yourself to be pleased.”

“I begin to suspect this journey was planned with alarming thoroughness.”

“Only in the most essential particulars,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

“Which, in your aunt's opinion, include a considerable number of ribbons,” added Mr. Gardiner.

“A very sensible opinion.”

“I see I am already defeated.”

“Entirely,” said her aunt.