Chapter 8
The Fitzwilliams and the Darcys had met at Snowhaven and travelled south together. Two days later, the carriages arrived at Netherfield Park in Hertfordshire to collect Charles Bingley. Mr and Mrs Bingley welcomed their guests and asked if they wanted to break their trip and spend the night.
“I thank you for your gracious offer, but we have arranged to spend the night at Rosings Park in Kent, as I have to go over some estate business with the steward. We are expected this evening,” the Earl politely declined.
After some refreshments Charles’s trunk was added to the cart carrying all of the trunks that would head directly to Seaview Cottage from Netherfield.
Each family had what they needed in a trunk on the servants’ carriage for the overnight in Kent.
It was not long before the travellers were ready to continue their journey and after greetings to the host and hostess, who apologised that her oldest was away from the house with some friends, all those leaving started to enter the various vehicles.
Just as Elizabeth was climbing in, Louisa, accompanied by Charlotte and Jane, walked into the park from the direction of Netherfield’s stables.
Jane felt a shiver shoot up her spine as she watched the dark-haired girl climb into the carriage. Once the doors were closed there was a rap on the ceiling of the lead coach and with a flick of the reins, the driver urged his team of six forward.
“Who was the girl who climbed into the carriage as we walked toward the house?” Jane asked.
“Lady Elizabeth Fitzwilliam,” Louisa responded. “You remember the story about how she was attacked and made a long and slow recovery, do you not?” Both Charlotte and Jane nodded.
“That must be why they have so many outriders and footmen with them,” Charlotte surmised.
“You know, I believe I met Lady Elizabeth some years ago at Uncle Edward’s warehouses.
She reminded me of Lizzy,” Jane mentioned softly.
As she assumed that Lizzy was the blood daughter of the Earl and Countess, Jane did not ask any more questions about the girl, but she could not shake the feeling that there was something familiar about her.
As she had in the past, she chalked it up to strange coincidence and put it out of her mind.
After a night and part of the day at Rosings, the families departed on the last leg to the cottage.
The servants had departed in the morning after they had assisted with whatever was needed so they would be ready for the family when they arrived.
As usual Aggie, taking up a good amount of room on the floor was sleeping at Elizabeth’s, Anne’s, and Georgie’s feet.
The four young men were riding alongside on their horses while Saturn and Calisto were being led by grooms. Star and Jonty were not brought but there would be ponies for the two youngest Darcys to ride.
A little after three the carriages passed Seaview’s gate. The drive was less than a mile and when the structure came into view, those who had not seen it before could see that cottage was a misnomer. The house was just a little smaller than the one they had seen at Netherfield Park.
The housekeeper, Mrs Agatha Spencer, and the butler, Mr Riddell Burrows, were waiting to welcome the master, mistress, and their guests.
When Elizabeth found out that the housekeeper was the namesake of her dog, she could not help giggling.
Luckily Mrs Spencer saw the amusement in the situation.
It was made clear to her that whenever she heard someone speaking to or yelling at Aggie, it was not directed at her.
The house was a large Tudor-like structure that seemed most comfortable.
Elizabeth made sure that she procured an apple and a carrot she could provide to Saturn before she went to change from the road.
Aggie licked her friend as she ate from her mistress’s hand and then followed Elizabeth to her chambers.
She was situated perfectly with Gigi on one side and Anne on the other and across the hall from her brothers, William, and Charles Bingley.
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Mrs Fitzpatrick was rueing the day that she had ever heard of Packwood in Warwickshire.
She had been sure that she would have been able to exact her revenge by now, but it was not so; not even close.
That meant that she was stuck in this little town playing the part of the friendly unimportant widow.
The last thing that she had learnt by reading the papers was that the foundling had made a full recovery and was more highly thought of than she had been before the attack on her person.
She had been nervous for a while after her spy disappeared, but no one had come looking for her.
The man had obviously taken off to parts unknown and not talked out of turn about her.
There had been many times that she had considered dispatching Wickham, as he had put that miserable family of hers on a heightened sense of alert and even she realised that she could not send any of her men to spy for some time.
Rather than dispatch him, she had watched with pleasure as he was whipped.
Her new footman was highly effective with punishment.
When the young man who was approaching his sixteenth year had asked what he had done to deserve such treatment, the mistress had thrown the offending broadsheets into his room for him to read of his complete failure.
In his windowless room, with the pain of the beating he had taken burning his back, George Wickham read the article with mounting anger.
His anger was soon directed from the imperious woman that treated him like a slave and had him punished at will to the mongrel.
He was sure that he hit her, he saw her go down and the cob on top of her.
How could this be? His hatred of her was driven to new heights as the full force of his failure hit home.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
Caroline Bingley would have given anything to be back at the Dark Hollow school. The name of her new school, or rather prison as she considered it, Greenlake, made one think of something pleasant, but that was the last word that she would use to describe the school.
They had gruel to break their fasts with some crusts of bread and the worst tea she had ever tasted at six sharp in the morning.
After they had eaten, which they had twenty minutes to finish or they would have to leave what they had not, the girls had to clean the dishes and the dining hall and there was no talking allowed unless one was spoken to by a teacher or one of the servants.
There were lessons from eight until one. At one, there was more of the horrendous tea and some stale biscuits. The afternoons were spent learning a few accomplishments until four, then the girls cleaned their chambers and the school rooms.
Dinner was at half past six exactly and was something that was either meat or fish and some potatoes and green vegetables. They were allowed a whole half hour for that meal, after which they cleaned like they did in the morning.
By half past eight they were back in their chambers with a bowl of cold water to wash with. If they wanted a fire in the hearth in the chamber, they had to make it. By quarter after nine, they had to be in bed with the single candle snuffed out.
The routine was the same every day except for the Sabbath.
On Sunday, the breaking of their fasts was at nine in the morning.
After cleaning they were free until services at eleven.
At twelve they had sandwiches with cheese and cold meat with almost passable tea, and for dinner it would alternate between roast beef, mutton, or fish.
They were allowed to wander around the courtyard and as far as the ravine in the afternoon if they chose to, then on Monday, the routine would repeat.
Caroline, always believing that she knew best, was sure she would find a way out on her first Sunday, but the more she explored the more she saw how impossible it was.
For the first time in her life, even for a brief moment, she acknowledged that she had been wrong about something.
The emotion did not last long as her hatred of those she blamed for her predicament took hold of her again.
She was at a loss at how she would ever get out of this hellish place as she had already tried acting and that had been seen through.
She had never felt so lonely in her life.
At that moment she would have hugged even Miss Jacobson or Miss Thatcher, but they were not there; only she was.
When Miss Thatcher had amended her behaviour and been genuinely contrite, Caroline did not see how her life got better; all she could see was that Miss Lydia Thatcher was not strong like herself who had the courage of her convictions.
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The three weeks at Seaview Cottage passed all too fast. There had been trips into Brighton, a dinner at the Pavilion, as the royal family had been in residence; and when Queen Charlotte was informed that the Darcys and Fitzwilliams were in the area, an invitation had been forthcoming.
William and Elizabeth had both read Albion's England by William Warner, written over two hundred years previously, and had some spirited debates about the work.
William from time to time tried to quote a passage and if he erred, Elizabeth was quick to point it out as she was able to recall the passage word for word.