Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The next afternoon and the next and the next, when Elizabeth cried for her absent parents, Thomas took her on a tour of his estate.
As the cold January days passed, he introduced her to each tree and animal and tenant.
He told her of the flowers and crops that would come in the spring, after she had left Longbourn.
He found himself wanting to show her all the seasons at Longbourn.
At the same time, he wanted Susannah and Rowe to be with him to see their daughter’s excitement at each new discovery.
On the fourth day she cried for her mama and papa, she stopped when he approached.
“Unca! Twees!” she said.
“Yes, Lizzy, Uncle will take you to see the trees. Let us bundle you up, so you will not catch cold.”
Because of Elizabeth, Thomas began dismissing the nursery maid for a time each night, so he could read to all three girls before they slept. He found he quite liked sharing his favorite stories with them and did not at all mind reading the childish ones Elizabeth’s parents had left behind for her.
As the days went by, though, it was clear Fanny’s patience was thinning.
Mary cried far more than Jane ever had, and it was taxing on both her mother and the nursery maid.
Although Elizabeth was a relatively calm child who played quietly with Jane most of the time, Fanny began to blame her for any additional fatigue she felt due to Mary’s poor sleep.
Thomas brought in a girl from the village half days as a temporary nursery maid, giving Fanny the rest she needed.
When his wife was refreshed, he tried to get her to spend time with their niece rather than resent her presence, but she always found an excuse to ignore the girl.
No matter, he thought. Elizabeth’s parents would take her away soon enough.
Perhaps, he thought, Fanny rejected the girl because she was afraid of growing attached to her and then seeing her depart.
He would not force his wife to change her mind, especially if she had so sensible a reason.
When January drew to a close, however, with no sign of Rowe and Susannah’s return, Fanny grew angry and Thomas grew concerned.
He had been reading the newspapers, but the reports from the continent took more than a week to reach him in Hertfordshire.
The news of Louis XVI’s execution in Paris arrived more quickly and caused him no little anxiety for his sister’s safety, though she was far to the north and not due to return to England for several more days.
It was not until eight days after the fact that he learned France had declared war on Great Britain and the Netherlands on February 1st. If his sister and her husband were still in Antwerp, they would have no safe means of escape now.
Susannah had not given him a way to learn news of their success or failure on this mission, whatever it was. All he could do was continue to hope and pray for their safe return and to strive to love little Elizabeth as her parents did.
Only two days after reading in the newspaper of France’s declaration of war, Thomas was at his desk when he read even worse news.
Lord Oliver Rowe, only child of the Duke and Duchess of Malmesbury; his wife, Lady Susannah Rowe; and their daughter, Lady Elizabeth Rowe; were killed in Antwerp the morning of January 25th.
Thomas sat stunned, reading the words over and over.
The news report was false. Elizabeth was here, safe at Longbourn, not killed in Antwerp. Her parents would return any day now.
Even as he held out hope, however, he felt in his heart that his sister was gone.
Although some speculated the noble family was murdered as part of France’s upheaval, other sources confirmed the couple had been in Antwerp to purchase diamonds.
Several wealthy British families had apparently commissioned Lord Rowe to buy up as many diamonds as possible from Antwerp’s dwindling supply before the French obtained them.
Had his sister died for diamonds? No, he was certain she had not.
If diamonds had anything to do with their mission, they would have been a small part of it.
Rowe would not have risked his family for material gain.
He supposed he would never be certain, but he felt strongly when he read the news of a March 18th battle that expelled the French from the Austrian Netherlands that his sister and brother-in-law’s work had been instrumental in liberating the entire area.
After reading the announcement of his sister’s murder until his eyes blurred, he carefully put the article aside.
He would retain any information he could find and give it to Elizabeth someday.
For now, though, she would need to be called Elizabeth Bennet and know nothing of her heritage.
Rowe had worried for her safety, and now Thomas did, too.
He could not yet tell his wife that Elizabeth’s parents would not return for her, but when he did, he was afraid she would not forgive him.
Two days later, Thomas received the confirmation he had awaited before breaking the news to Fanny.
A packet arrived from London from Rowe’s solicitor.
It contained a letter from the solicitor, a letter from Rowe, and a letter from Susannah.
Thomas would need to go to London to finalize the details, but he now had full guardianship of Elizabeth and her inheritance.
He was shocked at the amount provided for her, given Rowe had not yet inherited his father’s estate or primary title.
The earl’s letter explained that the estate at which he and Susannah had lived in western Lancashire had come from his maternal aunt and was now Elizabeth’s but would be managed and leased out by his law office until she had need of it.
He had employed a reliable young steward, and the income from the estate would be added to her dowry.
Rowe also clarified that his father had known of no male relatives to inherit his earldom. Therefore, upon Rowe’s death, the title was extinct. The earldom had come with no lands or estate, only a title and a seat in the House of Lords.
Additionally, Rowe’s father, the duke, had been unhappy with his son’s choice of bride and had been estranged for some years, but his mother remained close to her son and his family.
She had only a few months earlier signed over her dowry of fifty-thousand pounds to her new granddaughter, Elizabeth.
Rowe and the solicitor both indicated the interest would be available to maintain the child.
Susannah’s letter was more straightforward on this point:
The annual interest from Elizabeth’s dowry, to which my own six thousand pounds will now be added, is more than the income of Longbourn.
Obviously, you should not spend so much on Elizabeth each year.
Use only what you must to ensure she fits into the neighborhood and has the kind of loving, carefree childhood I did.
I have seen how the wealthy are raised, and I do not wish this for my daughter.
I fear what her grandfather the duke would make of her if given the opportunity.
I do not know him to be an unscrupulous man, but he has not been a friend to me.
For this reason, I beg you to raise her as a Bennet, as we were raised.
She should have a governess and lessons, as we did.
Your daughters are welcome to share in her education.
I leave you with a paradox, which I am sure you are astute enough to navigate.
Lizzy must be raised with the joy, curiosity, and simplicity of a Bennet while also being prepared to take her place as a well-educated, refined Lady Elizabeth Rowe when she is of age and is introduced to her ducal grandfather.
I leave it to you to determine how best to make this happen, but for her protection from fortune hunters and from whoever may have caused you to become her guardian, I advise you not to tell her before she is of age and not to tell Fanny before it is necessary.
I know you respect your brother Gardiner.
If you feel he can be trusted in this, you are authorized to inform him—now or when desirable in the future—of Elizabeth’s birth and seek his assistance.
Finally, the tears came.
When Thomas had regained his composure enough to speak of it, he stowed away the documents he had been reading and called his wife to his study.
He did not hold back his tears completely as he told Fanny that Elizabeth’s parents had died in a carriage accident some weeks ago, and he had only that day learned of it.
Fanny had cared for his sister and was compassionate for his own pain, but she did not long disguise her distaste at the prospect of raising his niece.
“She is beneath our girls, Thomas,” Fanny began. “Her father was not a gentleman.”
“Nor was your father, Fanny, yet here you are,” he replied.
“Yes, here I am! I have worked hard to raise my status, so our children will be respected wherever they go. They will grow to be gentlewomen, and I will not have this farmer’s daughter casting a shadow on them.
I understand it is your responsibility as her nearest, and perhaps only, relation to raise her, but do not expect me to embrace her as my own. ”
“I wish you would give her a chance, Fanny,” Thomas pleaded. “Love her for Susannah’s sake if not her own. She is a lovely girl and will do us proud. I believe our daughters will be blessed by her presence.”
“I will tolerate her living in my home, but expect nothing more.”
Thomas was too overwrought to argue more that day.
In days to come, he wondered whether he should attempt to contact Rowe’s mother, but when he had almost decided to tell her the child lived, he read another item of interest in the newspaper.
The duchess, Lady Eva Rowe, had died February 12th, two days after he had received confirmation from the solicitor of Rowe’s and Susannah’s deaths.
The newspaper reported that her only living relative was her husband, Alfred Rowe, the Duke of Malmesbury.
He saved this article with the others in the box he had prepared for Elizabeth.
He would go to London soon to meet with the solicitor and unburden his heavy heart to his young brother-in-law, Edward Gardiner. It may be too soon to tell him the whole truth, but Thomas needed someone to share his load if not his secret.
Perhaps while he was there, he could find a special gift for Elizabeth’s first birthday, which was fast approaching.
Was she too young for a charm bracelet, he wondered?
He wanted to add to it each year, and he would start with a very small diamond, or perhaps glass cut to look like one.
He would tell her it was because she was of great value to him.
When she was much older and he could reveal her parentage, he could tell her of its other significance.