February 1807
Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed in what was now her room and let fall the tears she had held in since the morning before.
She had awoken on her fifteenth birthday with dread, knowing she would be forced to leave behind all she knew and loved.
Mary was the only one of the family who had risen to see them off, though they had not entered the carriage until eight o’clock, after a breakfast Elizabeth could not eat.
Uncle Bennet had spoken with her for much of their journey, promising her she would visit Longbourn at Christmas, telling her she would meet many new people, and reminding her to use only her Bennet name.
He had also examined her Latin and Greek and asked after her other lessons.
Uncle Bennet had then given her two cherished gifts for her birthday before retreating into a book.
Her gifts had kept her mind occupied for some time even after they were safely tucked away.
She had watched the scenery go by as she thought of them.
The familiarity of woods and fields had vanished, being replaced by tall buildings and paved streets.
London would be far larger than Meryton, she knew; she had seen drawings in books and newspapers.
Never had Elizabeth expected London to be so crowded, noisy, or grey, however.
She had heard from Jane that her aunt and uncle’s home was fashionable, so she had been surprised that afternoon when the carriage stopped so close to Leadenhall Market.
She was not familiar with it, but she read the sign as the carriage slowly moved past it down the congested street.
Although most of the market itself must be inside the large wooden structure, horses, carts, and carriages fought for space outside, and people walked and shouted all around the building and yard.
At the back edge of the market, slightly down the street, was a stone wall, followed by a stretch of five or six townhouses, in the middle of which was apparently her new home.
“Come, Lizzy,” Uncle Bennet had said, shifting her attention back to the door in front of her.
She and her uncle had gone up a few steps and into the house, where Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had greeted them warmly.
They had all had a pleasant-enough afternoon and evening.
Aunt Gardiner had even ordered her favorite curled lemon wafers to celebrate her birthday.
This morning, though, Uncle Bennet had returned to Longbourn, Uncle Gardiner had gone to his warehouse, and Aunt Gardiner had gone to her charity and on calls to friends.
Drying her useless tears, she rose from her bed and looked out the window, which faced Gracechurch Street.
Behind the townhouse and stretching all the way behind the Spread Eagle, she had discovered, Leadenhall Market extended in sections specializing in the sale of herbs, produce, and farther back, cattle and sheep to be slaughtered and sold fresh.
The main building they had passed apparently specialized in poultry.
Elizabeth was grateful her view was of the street.
More townhouses lined the opposite side of the street, and to her right, beyond the clatter of trade filling the road, she could see a tall church and an even larger one almost beside it.
The next day was Sunday, and she would welcome the opportunity to go to one of the churches.
She only wished they were farther away, so she could stretch her legs.
Why should she not stretch them now?
It had rained earlier that morning, but it was dry enough at present.
Elizabeth gathered a warm pelisse, gloves, and bonnet and went downstairs to let herself out the front door.
Immediately, she was assaulted by noise.
She had thought it had been loud inside the house, but the muted sounds were barely perceptible compared with this.
Standing on the stoop right outside the closed door, she took in the scene.
The churches were too close to Leadenhall Market to interest her today, and she expected to go there the next day.
Elizabeth descended the steps to the foot-pavement after allowing to pass a group of men dressed in shabby trousers and brown coats.
As she approached the Spread Eagle, she smelled horses.
Curious, she stopped to watch the busy inn, which stabled the animals and housed carriages.
Uncle Bennet’s carriage had been taken here the day before, and the Gardiners, who had no mews, kept their carriage and horses here, as well.
The inn was in the shape of a U, with a dirt yard facing the street.
She watched a man unload supplies from a wagon and another take parcels into an office on the ground floor.
A boy led a horse to a trough to drink, and women walked up the stairs to their rooms on the first and second floors of the inn.
“Help you, Miss?” a gruff voice said, startling Elizabeth out of her observation.
She looked up to see a portly man with a questioning look.
“N-No thank you, sir.” She curtsied and hurried past the inn, dodging travelers and pausing for a carriage to depart from the adjoining stables.
Once clear of the danger of horses, she stood out of the way on the foot-pavement, as far from the street as she could, but people walking by still jostled her.
More townhouses lined the street here, and she saw another tall church, this one larger, at the end of the street.
She continued down, pausing again before crossing Fenchurch Street.
Once safely across the busy street, she approached the church, but even here she saw no churchyard, no trees.
On the other side of Gracechurch Street were several large brick buildings, all blackened by coal smoke. She had passed a furniture maker that also advertised as an undertaker. A stationer, a barber, and other businesses she had not paid attention to were also along the way.
Elizabeth passed the church and kept walking until she came to another street to cross: Little Eastcheap, she noted.
She would need to learn her way around if she wanted to be comfortable in her new home.
When she crossed this street, she was surprised to find that Gracechurch Street had come to an end.
Now she was on Fish Street. She was not certain where the north end of Gracechurch Street was, but she had seen that not far from Leadenhall Market, they had been driving down Bishopsgate Street the day before.
It seemed Gracechurch Street was quite short and on a slight hill, with Leadenhall Market and the churches at the top.
Fish Street curved to the left slightly, and as she walked farther south, she gasped and halted, causing a woman to push into her from behind and call out an oath before passing her.
“My apologies,” Elizabeth said, but it was a whisper.
She hurriedly moved down almost to the next street and stood to the edge of the pavement again as she took in the view.
The crowds were far greater than she had seen outside Leadenhall Market the day before, or indeed anywhere at any time.
But what had startled her was the water.
Across this next street were docks and then—this must be the River Thames!
Elizabeth had seen rivers and lakes in Hertfordshire, but none were as wide as this river. She saw ships and small boats and more dock workers than she could count. Straight ahead, though, the traffic was excessive because Fish Street led directly onto the busy London Bridge.
“You lost, Missy? Happy to help.” A man with a strange look in his eyes stood before her. Unwashed hair escaped his brown cap, and his lips curved up more and more the longer she stared at him mutely.
She swallowed, feeling a frisson of fear for the first time since she had walked outside today. What had she been thinking walking the streets of London alone? This was not the countryside, but she had not understood until this moment where she now lived.
“No, thank you,” she said, turning back the way she had come.
“Oh, come now, Missy, don’ go,” the man, who looked to be near seven- or eight-and-twenty, grabbed her shoulder to turn her back to him.
“Unhand me, sir,” she said with as much authority as she could muster.
Instead, the man also gripped her other forearm.
“Stay, Missy. We can go—”
“Remove your hands.” The voice behind Elizabeth was firm and unfamiliar. This second man pried the unwelcome hands away, and the first man turned and slipped into the crowd.
“Miss Elizabeth, do you remember who I am?” His voice was gentle now, and Elizabeth sighed in relief when she recognized one of the Gardiners’ footmen.
“Matthew?”
“Yes, Miss. May I take you home?”
“Yes, please.”
They walked in silence until pausing at Fenchurch Street for some carriages to pass.
“Thank you for coming for me, Matthew, but how did you know where I was?” she asked.
He grimaced. “We didn’t know. Eli looked up toward Cornhill.
” At her confused look, he explained, “Cornhill’s the area across from the Market.
Cornhill to one side of Gracechurch Street and Leadenhall to the other.
Beyond that is Bishopsgate. Eli looked up that way, and Mrs. Gardiner sent me down this way.
Come, Miss. Careful here.” Matthew led her across the street.
“My aunt has returned home?”
“Yes, Miss. She was in a right terror when nobody could find you inside. It ain’t safe for you out here alone, Miss.”
“As I discovered. I am sorry to put you to so much trouble.”
“I’m only glad I found you when I did.” The man, who was about five-and-thirty shook his head as if to banish his thoughts. “If you want to go out again, ask me, and I’ll escort you.”
“Will my aunt allow it?”
Matthew smirked. “She may not allow you out of your room after today.”
Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped as they walked past the Spread Eagle.
“You couldn’t have known, so she mayn’t be so harsh,” Matthew hurried to assure her. “Only ask her if you want to go out, and ask if I may escort you. We’d all feel better knowing you’re safe.”
“Thank you, Matthew. Truly. All the people and sights would allow for hours of observation, but it is overwhelming. I was so scared.”
“I’m right glad to hear it. Not that I wish you to be afraid o’course. But no young miss should be in a situation such as that an’ not be scared. Fear keeps you safer, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I think I do now. I only then realized I should not have been there alone. I have never been to London before, or any city. It is so different from the countryside.”
“And I have spent my whole life in the city, so I might be afraid in the country.”
“Oh, no—you are teasing me, are you not?”
Matthew grinned, and Elizabeth did the same.
She felt better already, unless she thought of that man again.
She did and shuddered. Pushing the thought of him away, she walked up the steps to No.
90 Gracechurch Street with Matthew on her heels.
He opened the door and ushered her into the drawing room, where Aunt Gardiner nearly fainted in relief.
Dear Uncle Bennet,
I hope you have reached Longbourn safely.
Thank you for delivering me to London yourself.
The solitary time with you in the carriage was my best birthday gift.
I do thank you again, though, for the other gifts you gave me to mark fifteen years on this Earth.
My charm bracelet, with the newest addition of the L for both Longbourn and London, is quite full now.
I think this will be the last I can squeeze onto the chain.
I also thank you for the miniature of my mother.
I am so glad you found it recently. Do you really think I look like her?
Perhaps in four years, when I am the age she was in the portrait, I will be as beautiful.
For now, though, I cherish the image of her.
Looking at it helps me to feel her near me, just as remembering my true name draws me closer to my father.
See, I do not even write the name to you.
I have kept the secret you asked of me almost ten years ago.
Although I wish I could have stayed with you and my cousins at Longbourn, I have been trying to learn more about my surroundings.
Have you seen the River Thames? Have you crossed it?
It is much bigger than I had imagined, although I saw only a brief glimpse of it.
I await an opportunity to see it again and walk closer to it.
Perhaps I can walk across London Bridge and look into its depths.
The bridge is so crowded, though, that I do not know whether I could safely stand in one place without being trampled.
We went to our parish church a few days ago.
Did you know so many churches are in London?
Or is it only in this area of the old City?
Aunt and Uncle do not attend St. Peter-upon-Cornhill, which is the closest to us.
Nor do they attend St. Michael’s Cornhill.
They are both, as you may guess, in Cornhill Ward but not the Gardiners’ parish.
We are in Bishopsgate Ward, and our parish church is up north past the Market.
It is called St. Helen’s, and it used to be a nunnery, if you can believe it.
It is a little past the two Cornhill churches, up Bishopsgate Street.
Aunt and Uncle and I had a refreshing walk together, as the Market was quiet for the Sabbath.
I will close this missive now and go help Aunt Gardiner, as I promised I would. Please give my love to Mary and all the girls. Tell Mary I will write to her next.
All my love,
Elizabeth Bennet