Chapter Two #2
“Exactly so, Lord Whiskerton,” Elizabeth said with a nod.
“When they return for me, I shall still be in my nightdress, having shed not a tear of distress at their absence. I am sure I shall require so much time to prepare for the journey that we shall not possibly make Bedford before tomorrow, and Papa will owe my uncle ten shillings that Mamma might have spent on something lacy and hideous.”
As the cat continued lapping at the cream, Elizabeth’s stomach began to rumble with hunger.
There had been little in the larder, for Mrs. Hill had been instructed to allow their stores to deplete in advance of the family’s journey.
Whatever was left from their dinner the night before must have already been taken to the tenant families, for their housekeeper could not abide waste.
Wishing she had been more peckish the previous evening at supper, Elizabeth slowly opened one of the drawers of her father’s desk. She knew he kept a tin of biscuits hidden away, and once she had helped herself, she began to eye his brandy.
It was no great leap, after she had imbibed her second glass of the amber liquid, to make herself quite comfortable in her father’s sanctuary.
Her family would surely return at any moment—why should she not enjoy the blissful peace and quiet until then?
And if she should appear entirely unrepentant when they discovered her thus, so much the better!
Elizabeth added another log to the fire, selected a book to occupy her mind, and was soon reclining in her father’s leather chair, her feet propped up on his desk.
Lord Whiskerton warmed her lap as a third glass of brandy warmed her chest; the cat purred at her gentle petting and Elizabeth did her best not to vex the creature with her coughing as she lit one of her father’s fine cigars.
“They are certainly taking their time returning for me, and so much the better! I am quite at my leisure.”
Something felt odd to Thomas Bennet, who looked up from his book with an inescapable sensation of disturbance.
He surveyed his companions, but Jane, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Gardiner all appeared indifferent to the indefinable shift in the air.
They had made more tranquil companions than any other that day, and it had been a relief to quit his wife’s company when they stopped to refresh themselves in Clophill.
His new son-in-law kept a very fine carriage indeed; perhaps it was the luxury of it that felt so queer, for his own had not been new or remotely remarkable since his children were all very young.
Glancing down at his book, Mr. Bennet spared a thought for his favorite child, whose company he had not enjoyed all day.
It occurred to him that perhaps that was what felt amiss, for he seldom passed a day in his life without enjoying a jest or two with his darling Lizzy.
He supposed she was sulking after her mother’s intemperate scolding the previous evening—she was likely venting her spleen to one of her aunts even now.
Well, that was his dear girl, ever defiant.
He laughed indulgently to himself, resolving that he would speak to her when they reached the inn.
They would have a hearty laugh about the whole dreadful business, and perhaps he would buy her a little present to make it right, some pretty trinket, or a tasty sweet she might make a show of refusing to share with her sisters, for there would be some justice in that, to be sure.
A light snow began to fall as the sun sank on the horizon, and Mr. Bennet smiled brightly at his brother by marriage. In the distance was the village of Bedford; he would have an extra ten shillings to spend on his favorite daughter, and all the satisfaction of winning this little wager.
Elizabeth had grown so lost in the novel that had occupied her for hours that she had forgotten about the fire until it went out.
She had intended to sustain it, to feed it wood whenever the flames grew weak—but she had no notion of how to light the fire now that it had gone out entirely.
Where was Mrs. Hill? Was not Johnny Hill meant to look after Longbourn?
She giggled to herself, for Elizabeth could hardly begrudge the housekeeper and her children in this dereliction of their duties. After Longbourn had been brimming with relations, she rather wished all the servants might rest and recover from the ordeal.
And yet, it had grown cold as the sun began to set.
Elizabeth gently lifted the cat from her lap and set him down on the desk, resolved to go in search of warmer attire.
It occurred to her as she went up the stairs that Lydia had stolen her favorite pelisse for Jane’s wedding, and Elizabeth crept into her younger sisters’ room to retrieve it.
Happily, Lydia had not been so brazen as to pack the pilfered pelisse, and Elizabeth put it on as soon as she retrieved it from the armoire.
This was not the only possession she reclaimed, for there was a veritable treasure trove of her own belongings to be found strewn about the room that Kitty and Lydia shared, from ribbon and hair pins to slippers, spencers, scarves, and gloves.
Elizabeth was clad in a wild array of fine garments as she left her youngest sisters’ room, still heady from the brandy.
She hummed a tune, swaying and spinning down the corridor.
She had added a feather to her loosely braided hair, and carried herself with droll dignity downstairs to the music room to assault the pianoforte with half-remembered notes of a very bawdy song.
The racket seemed to summon Lord Whiskerton, who sauntered into the room with a meow of absolute ennui.
Elizabeth scooped the cat into her arms and began to dance about the room with him, laughing merrily at the creature’s haughty disdain. She spun about, until there was a shout from the doorway, and Elizabeth stopped suddenly; her gaze landed on the startled face of Mrs. Hill.
The housekeeper staggered backward with her hand over her heart as if Elizabeth had given her the fright of her life. “Great God in Heaven, Miss Lizzy! Whatever has happened to you, child?”
The absurdity of her situation suddenly lost all semblance of hilarity as Elizabeth surveyed herself, dressed like a madwoman and certainly behaving like one.
All at once she recalled that she was tired, hungry, cold, and a little half-sprung.
The sun was setting, and still her family had not returned for her.
“They left me behind,” Elizabeth sighed, hurling herself into the kindly woman’s embrace as she burst into tears. “I do not think they are coming back.”