Chapter 9
Elizabeth watched with unease as the days passed without her finding a solution.
From time to time, she asked Mrs Gardiner whether anything had been found for her; but, as the weeks went by, she became increasingly sensible that it would be very difficult for her to enter a stranger’s house in a position which would place her rather among the helpers of the household, scarcely as its guest or friend.
Perhaps, had she succeeded in becoming the companion of a wealthy, influential, or noble lady, her situation might have been different, but within the circle in which her uncle moved, there were only people like themselves, comfortably wealthy, yet belonging merely to the class of small landholders or traders.
Meanwhile, they made some efforts, though slowly, to form their new life; yet it soon became evident that, while they remained at Longbourn, it was impossible. The pain was too great, and Mr Bennet’s presence too vivid.
They had examined the whole house, yet discovered, with some astonishment and, at last, with sadness, how few things were worth taking. Twenty-two years, during which five lively girls had grown up within those walls, had left their mark upon the furniture, the carpets, and the decorative objects.
“You may take, my girls, whatever you wish to adorn your future rooms,” Mrs Bennet said, making her daughters wonder again at how much she had changed, borrowing from her late husband a composure she had never before possessed, when she had been obliged to run all day to attend to every concern of the household.
“I should like to have some of Papa’s books,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Anything; I am sure Mr Bennet would have wished it so.”
“May I take that china vase from Papa’s desk?” Jane asked, and Mrs Bennet only nodded.
Sir William, with great kindness, placed at their disposal an unused barn upon his estate, where they might safely store their belongings.
Yet many of these would likely furnish the house Mrs Bennet intended to rent.
Unfortunately, the search had not yet produced any result.
One thing was certain: the house must be situated in one of the three principal streets of Meryton, where all their acquaintances resided; and, for the present, no such opportunity had presented itself.
After several animated discussions with her daughters, Mrs Bennet consented that the packing should not begin until the last two weeks, and that they should live as usual in their home for a few days longer.
But, unhappily, nearly two months had already passed.
It was now summer, and the days had grown so warm that no one ventured out at noon.
It was at that hour that Elizabeth chose to visit the churchyard; for though she spent all her time with her mother and sisters, this was the moment when she wished to be alone with her thoughts, with those memories in which she continually sought some answer to what had befallen them.
She noticed the letter upon the small table in the hall, and, as she approached, recognised her aunt’s elegant hand. Yet, unlike the first days after their departure for London, a letter from her no longer moved her so deeply, for she had grown accustomed to forming no great hopes.
As was her habit when reading or writing letters, she went into her father’s library, and she took pleasure merely in being there, conscious that soon even that place would become a memory.
They were still resolved to remove that room entirely into the new house, but in her heart, Elizabeth knew that once they left Longbourn, something of her father’s presence would be lost.
She opened the letter without haste. News from London always pleased her, but no more than that. The first animated lines of her aunt seized her at once and seemed to animate her.
My dear Lizzy,
I have news which I hope will bring a smile to your face. I believe you have already perceived that your uncle has not been at all pleased with the idea of finding you a family in which you might engage in those employments which a young lady may undertake without losing her standing.
But a solution has presented itself which pleases him—and which I myself admire exceedingly.
My sister Agnes, greatly concerned for your distress, has often asked me in the last weeks what she might do for you and whether you would wish to spend some part of the summer with her.
Elizabeth paused, her heart beating quickly.
A journey to Derby was indeed a prospect she could not ignore in the present situation.
She knew Mrs Cooper, Agnes, well enough, having seen her several times in London, and having visited her before with her uncle and aunt.
Mrs Cooper was a widow, living alone since her husband, Robert Cooper, died in Antigua, where he possessed sugar plantations.
Derby could not be compared with little Meryton; it was a town in full expansion, growing rapidly through its manufactories of silk and porcelain, in which Mr Cooper himself had invested.
This prosperity was evident in the comfort of Mrs Cooper’s establishment, in the large house upon a principal street, not far from the river Derwent.
With renewed spirits, she returned to the letter.
Together with her, and without troubling your uncle with too many particulars, we have wondered whether you might like to go there, perhaps accompanied by Jane, though the invitation is for you especially; for Agnes writes that she would be delighted if you would guide the education of her two children during your stay.
Elizabeth rose from her seat, scarcely restraining herself from moving about the room. For a moment, the sadness and despondency that had filled her since her father’s death gave way to hope. It was, indeed, a most interesting plan.
You would, of course, be received as a valued and beloved guest, and, if you should consent to instruct Violet, who is eight, and Robert, who is nine, your efforts would be properly valued.
Elizabeth pressed the letter to her breast, and, looking about her, whispered, “I am going, Papa; I am certain you rejoice in it!”
As soon as I receive your answer, I hope with your consent, I shall write to Mrs Bennet, though without entering into many particulars.
If you accept, I invite you to London, so that we may speak together and prepare you for your journey.
I think you might travel with one of your maids, who will soon be without a place.
Elizabeth coloured with pleasure. There was indeed Anne, whom she and Jane had taught many of the little arts by which a modest and seldom renewed wardrobe might be transformed into gowns, pelisses, and bonnets of some elegance.
She replied at once to Mrs Gardiner, accepting with gratitude and in a few words, and then hastened to Jane, certain she would accompany her.
But, unhappily, she found her sister in tears, and Elizabeth wondered, without any shade of malice, how much of her sister’s grief still belonged to Mr Bingley. One thing was certain: Jane had not forgotten Mr Bingley.
The news did not delight her, and, drying her tears, Jane refused.
A profound silence fell upon the room where they had once so often laughed in their younger days. Something had altered between them—not their affection, but a certain ease, which now seemed lost.
“I shall perhaps go to London in August,” she added, and with that, their conversation ended.