∞∞∞
The three weeks leading up to Mary’s wedding passed rather slowly for Elizabeth. She spent her mornings on walks, her afternoons with Jane and Louisa, and her evenings with a book while the other occupants of Netherfield played cards. She had often wished for a quieter household when she lived at Longbourn, but now that she was living in one, she found she missed the noise and bustle that came from having five unmarried women all living under one roof.
As the harvest was over and the tenants were accustomed to caring for themselves under the direction of the steward and Mrs. Nichols, there was little for her to do. The cold weather made the long treks to their cottages impossible, in any case, and she was not skilled enough on a horse to make the visit that way.
The day of Mary’s wedding coincided with the Gardiner’s yearly Christmas visit, and the family of six arrived just two days before the ceremony. Bingley and Louisa generously offered Netherfield for the Gardiner’s use during their stay, which was gratefully accepted. Jane was eager to spend the holiday with her family, and Bingley refused to allow her to travel back and forth to Longbourn in the cold weather.
While marriage had certainly done much for Jane’s emotional health, Elizabeth was forced to admit that it was also doing much for her physical well-being as well. The winter was proving to be quite frigid, and there were certainly benefits to being the wife of a wealthy man as opposed to the daughter of a country squire.
The Bennets were by no means impoverished, but Longbourn was an ancestral home and therefore prone to drafty rooms that never seemed warm enough in the winter, no matter how high the flames were stoked. Netherfield, however, was a more modern estate, and Bingley could afford to keep the fires in his wife’s chambers and the parlor burning at such temperatures so as to ease Mrs. Bingley’s coughs.
It was with Jane’s health in mind that Elizabeth volunteered to remain at Netherfield instead of attending Mary’s wedding to Mr. Collins. The ceremony was brief and plain, in accordance with the wishes of the engaged couple. Mrs. Bennet was dismayed at the lack of lace on her daughter’s dress, but Mary held firm in her belief that a clergyman’s wife ought to set an example of modesty and economy.
Thus Mr. Collins left Hertfordshire, his wife at his side, with Elizabeth hardly having seen him since his disastrous attempt at proposing to her. He did offer a very awkward attempt at an apology when he spied her once at church, but Mary quickly ushered him away.
With the couple, not entirely happy but content, having been united in holy matrimony, everyone was able to turn their attention to Christmas the following week. The children, who had taken over the nursery at Netherfield, could be frequently found attempting to pilfer treats from the kitchen or pull pranks on unsuspecting housemaids.
The Bennets came to Netherfield early each morning, only to leave late each night. In spite of this, Mrs. Gardiner wasstill able to find the time to speak with Elizabeth privately. She was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favorite with her Longbourn nieces, and with Elizabeth especially, there subsisted a very particular regard.
“My dear Lizzy, is everything all right? I must admit to having been concerned about you as of late. Your recent letters seem a bit forlorn.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I’m afraid, Aunt, that I have been quite deceived by myself. There is nothing so uncomfortable as discovering one’s own weaknesses and failings.”
Mrs. Gardiner gave her niece a sympathetic smile. “I fear we all feel that way from time to time. Becoming a mother was quite the eye-opening experience for me, and I rapidly began to notice all of my failures.”
A sigh was the only response. After a few moments, Mrs. Gardiner added, “Perhaps a change of scene is in order. It has been a while since you have been to London. Your uncle and I will be here with the children for another fortnight. Would you like to return with us and stay for the remainder of the season?”
“But what about Jane?”
“London is only a half day’s journey away. I am certain that if anything were to occur, Mr. Bingley could send an express, and you could return immediately.”
Elizabeth bit her lip and looked around the room. Jane was sitting near the fireplace, Bingley at her side. Louisa was on the settee with her husband. The Bennets were scattered throughout the room, mingled with the Gardiner children. She thought back over the endlessly long days at Netherfield, feeling on the outside as the only unmarried person in residence.
At last, she said, “Very well, Aunt. I shall go to London.”
Chapter 24
Elizabeth walked briskly down the London street, her pelisse wrapped tightly to ward against the bitter cold. Jamie and a maid trailed behind for propriety’s sake, but Elizabeth kept her quick pace.
The three were taking their usual route from the Gardiner’s home on Gracechurch Street to the home that sheltered the abandoned disabled children. Elizabeth visited the home three mornings per week, finding solace in being useful and wanted.
She had been in London for three weeks, and health, good-humor, and cheerfulness reappeared in her countenance. Everything wore a happier aspect; even the dingy streets of the city seemed more pleasing than Hertfordshire’s familiar paths because she was, at last, of some service.
The soft murmur of children’s voices filled the air as Elizabeth Bennet stepped into the sunlit drawing room of the well-kept home. Her presence, a familiar comfort, brought smiles and eager glances from the young faces that greeted her.
“Hello, girls,” she said brightly to the four teenage girls who were sitting on chairs near the fire. “What are you working on today?”
One of them—a blond girl who had the potential for beauty were it not for severe scarring on the right side of her face from ahouse fire—held up a half-sewn baby gown. “There’s a new child, Miss Lizzy. Got left outside on the door last night. We’re putting together some of the fabric from Mr. Gardiner’s warehouses for her.”
“Poor thing,” clucked Elizabeth. “Here, let me show you a few stitches that will make it more secure; then I’ll head upstairs to the nursery and see if Mrs. Pingree needs anything for the newest arrival.”
As she taught them the basic sewing and repair skills, Elizabeth reflected on the importance of these moments. Each stitch, each lesson was more than just a skill; it was a seed of hope, a promise of independence and a better future. It was slow progress, as each girl had a different handicap that required them to adapt the movements, but Elizabeth was patient and the girls were eager to learn.
The hour slipped by unnoticed, marked only by the advancement of their work and the occasional peal of laughter. Elizabeth’s visits, though a small part of her week, were a cherished oasis for both her and the children. In this humble home, she found a profound sense of purpose, a connection that transcended society’s expectations and brought genuine fulfillment.
It had always been this way, she realized as she climbed the stairs to the nursery. Her visits to London always served to raise her spirits, though she bore witness to some of humanity’s worst evils. While some ladies of the first circles came on occasion to boast of their patronage, their delicate natures were too overcome by the harsh realities of the disabled children of the lower classes who had no one to care for them.
Elizabeth heard the cries before she reached the door to the room where the youngest children dwelt. Unlike many foundling hospitals where babes were lined up in cradles and ignored for hours on end in dirty nappies—sometimes not even being fed—the infants at this home were well cared for by some of the older girls in the home, overseen by a few nannies and wet nurses.
