Chapter 1 #2
That was a circumstance no rational mind could dismiss. And yet, she was nearly the only one in the Bennet family who did not. Only Jane shared her concern — or, at least, only Jane was willing to discuss her worries.
When she reached the house, Elizabeth looked back wistfully at the autumn colours and the peacefulness of the garden — but only for a moment. It would not do to linger. If she allowed herself too much time for reflection, worry would overtake her entirely, and she would accomplish very little.
The house felt quieter than it once had, yet no less occupied.
The same voices filled the rooms, the same movements carried on from morning to evening, yet something essential was missing.
It was not merely her father’s presence, but the ease that had attended it.
Decisions had once been his, whether he chose to make them promptly or delay them for his own amusement.
Now they waited, unresolved, until someone else took them up.
And as that someone certainly would not be Mrs Bennet, it must be one or another of her daughters.
Elizabeth therefore went directly to the small room her father had used for his accounts.
It had not been her habit to spend much time there before, but that had changed in recent weeks.
The ledgers were laid out where she had left them the day before, their neat columns of figures offering little comfort and less clarity than she would have liked.
She took her seat and opened to the last page she had marked.
At first, the work had seemed straightforward. There were rents to be recorded, expenses to be noted, and balances to be maintained. She had assumed that she might understand it all well enough to keep matters in order until her father’s return, but that assumption had not held.
There were entries she could follow without difficulty, and others that appeared to refer to arrangements she did not fully comprehend.
Certain figures had been altered, not carelessly, but in a manner that suggested some private reasoning behind them.
There were notes written in a hand she knew well, yet without explanation, they offered little guidance.
Elizabeth traced one line again with her finger, considering it.
It was not disorder that troubled her. Rather, it was the sense that she had come upon a conversation already begun, one in which she did not yet know her part. She closed the ledger for a moment and sat back.
If her father had been there, she might have asked him directly and received an answer that was either perfectly clear or entirely evasive, depending on his inclination. In his absence, she must make do with what she could discover for herself.
There was no help for it. She would learn.
Jane had done what she could, but her attention was often drawn elsewhere, and Elizabeth would not have her burdened further.
Mary might gain the sense and perspective that would fit her for such a task one day, but for now, her middle sister remained so attached to what ought to be that she often lost sight of what was.
The responsibility, therefore, fell where it must.
Elizabeth opened the ledger once more and made a small notation in the margin, marking the entry for later consideration.
It was not a solution, but it was something.
After another half hour, she closed the book with a quiet sense of resolution.
She would return to it in the afternoon.
For now, there was another matter that could not be delayed.
The question of the fields could not be left unanswered any longer.
Rising from her seat, she went upstairs to change, exchanging her morning dress for one better suited to walking beyond the immediate grounds.
If she could, it would be best to slip out of the house before her mother could see her, for Mrs Bennet would not see any benefit to one of her daughters presenting so rough and inelegant an appearance.
But Elizabeth could. The hem of her gown was not so fine that she must fear it ruined by a little mud, and her boots, though not elegant, were sturdy enough for the task before her. When one had no choice but to be practical, these were benefits of considerable weight.
As she tied her bonnet, she paused briefly, her thoughts returning once more to the same point.
If her father had intended to be gone only a short time, then surely this would not have been necessary. He would have left clearer instructions, or returned before such decisions fell to others.
The absence of both troubled her more than she wished to admit, but Elizabeth set the thought aside. It would not do to dwell on uncertainties when there was work to be done.
The path to the fields took her beyond the garden and along a narrow lane bordered by hedgerows beginning to thin with the season.
The air had grown warmer since morning, though the crispness of autumn remained.
In the distance, she could see movement where the labourers were already at work, their figures small against the broad stretch of land.
Mr Hill, the farm manager, stood near the edge of the field, speaking with a man Elizabeth recognised as the tenant responsible for the land in question. Their conversation appeared serious, though not heated, and both turned as she approached.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Hill said, with a respectful inclination of his head.
“Good day, Mr Hill, Mr Johnson,” Elizabeth returned. “I hope I am not late.”
“Not at all, miss. You are right on time. We have been discussing the lower field. There is some question as to how best to prepare it for next year.”
Elizabeth glanced over the land in question, her gaze following the uneven lines where the last harvest had been taken.
She listened as Mr Hill explained the difficulty, the soil having grown less productive in recent seasons, requiring some alteration in its treatment if it were to yield as it once had.
It was not the sort of conversation she had imagined herself conducting a month ago, yet she found she could follow it well enough. If she lacked experience, she did not lack attention, and she asked questions where she must, listening carefully to the answers she received.
Mr Johnson offered his own opinion, and Mr Hill countered it with another. Elizabeth considered both before replying.
“If the field has not answered well as it stands,” she said, “then we must alter it, not abandon it and hope it will come about on its own. If the soil may be strengthened, we ought to try.”
Mr Hill nodded slowly. “That was my thought as well, miss. But you will need to send away for the materials, for Mr Johnson’s farm, and I believe for some of the others as well.”
“So be it,” Elizabeth said. “Once we have the quantities, I will send the order. We may review it again once there is some result to judge.”
The decision felt more certain than it had a moment before.
The men accepted it without hesitation, and the conversation moved on to smaller matters.
Elizabeth remained for some time, observing what she could, asking what she must, and committing what she learned to memory.
When Mr Johnson’s concerned had all been addressed, Mr Hill turned to her with a rueful smile.
“You wanted to be informed of any other decisions to be made, Miss Elizabeth?”
She nodded. “Yes, Mr Hill.”
“I must meet with the tenants of the farm nearest Netherfield tomorrow,” he said hesitantly. Mr Hill, who had known her since she was a child, was not in favour of young ladies taking up their father’s work, and had not yet entirely accepted the necessity.
“I shall go with you,” Elizabeth told him. “Will you have Mrs Hill tell me when it is time to leave.”
He bowed his head respectfully. “Of course, miss. Though I must say, I am dreadful sorry you should have to do such a thing. If only Mr Bennet were here —”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. Her throat felt tight. “If only my father were here. But he is not.”
When she turned back toward the house, the afternoon light had begun to soften, casting long shadows across the fields.
She found herself walking more slowly. There was a strange satisfaction in having acted where she might only have observed before. It did not lessen her concern, nor answer the questions that continued to trouble her, but it gave her something steadier to hold on to than uncertainty alone.
Still, as Longbourn came into view once more, her thoughts returned to the same uneasy conclusion. Her father’s absence was rapidly lengthening into what she could only call a disappearance.
And whatever explanation might one day be offered, it had not yet come.