Page 45 of The Longbourn Bloodline

“How is little Tom?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, miss, you must see him! Come in, come in. He is plump as a pudding now, and laughing, and the physician says he is entirely out of danger.”

They followed Mrs. Miller into the cottage, which was warm and clean, with the scent of bread baking. The other Miller children—three of them, ranging from a boy of perhaps eight to a girl of four—clustered around the hearth, their faces scrubbed and their clothes mended. They rose and curtsied or bowed as their mother had taught them, and gave their polite thanks when Jane distributed peppermint sticks.

The baby lay in a cradle near the fire, pink-cheeked and gurgling, a far cry from the fevered, listless infant Elizabeth had feared would not survive the week.

“He is beautiful,” Jane said softly, bending to look. “What a strong little fellow.”

“The physician came four times, miss. Four times! Mr. Darcy insisted upon it—sent his own man to fetch Mr. Jones when the fever spiked again. And would not take a penny from us, said Mr. Darcy had settled the account. He gave us a tonic for Tom’s chest and told us the chimney smoke was half the trouble.” Mrs. Miller’s voice trembled with gratitude. “And then Mr. Darcy had the chimney repaired and the roof. Have you seen the roof? He had the thatcher here within the week. Now, the cottage is not damp and cold, and the children are sleeping better without coughing.”

Elizabeth brushed her fingers over the baby’s cheek—cool now, healthy and full of life—and felt a pang at the thought of how Darcy would have liked to see him thus.

“We are glad the repairs were made,” she said. “And that Tom is recovered.”

“It is all thanks to the gentleman, miss. All of it.” Mrs. Miller pressed her hands together. “Will he be returning soon? We should like to thank him properly.”

Elizabeth felt Jane’s eyes on her, gentle and knowing.

“I do not know,” she said. “He has been called away. Family matters.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Miller’s face fell slightly. “The children have been asking after him. Ned, especially. Mr. Darcy showed him how to whittle a horse from a bit of kindling, and he would like to show it to him. When he returns, will you tell him? How grateful we are?”

“We will indeed,” both Elizabeth and Jane promised as they distributed the basket: flour, candles, sugar, a tin of tea, ham, and a knitted cap Elizabeth had made for the baby.

They departed amid Mrs. Miller’s effusive blessings, and Elizabeth wondered whether she would ever have the chance to deliver the tenants’ gratitude to Mr. Darcy—or if he would ever return to hear it.

Widow Pratt’s cottage sat at the far edge of the Longbourn holdings, near the orchard wall where the old Bennet apple trees still bore fruit in good years and served primarily as climbing structures for village children in bad ones.

The door opened before the donkey cart had even stopped, and Mrs. Pratt emerged, waving eagerly and smiling.

“Miss Lizzy! Miss Bennet! Oh, do come in! I have the kettle on. I saw you coming down the lane and put it on straightaway.”

“We’ve brought provisions for St. Thomas’s Day,” Elizabeth said, handing over the basket. “Flour, preserves, and a ham from our smokehouse.”

“A ham!” Mrs. Pratt clutched the basket as though it contained gold. “Oh, you are too good—too good entirely—but come in, come in, the tea is nearly ready.”

The cottage was small and immaculately clean, just as Elizabeth remembered. The fire burned steadily in the grate, the kettle sang on its hook, and three mismatched cups had been set out on the tiny table.

“Mrs. Pratt, may I present my sister, Miss Jane Bennet?”

“I know who she is. She has your mother’s eyes and your father’s good sense, if the village is to be believed. Sit down, Miss Bennet. The chair by the fire is the comfortable one. The other wobbles, but I keep it for visitors I do not wish to stay long.”

Jane smiled, greeted Mrs. Pratt, and sat in the comfortable chair while Elizabeth took the wobbling one, as she was not a young woman who needed coddling.

“We heard about the entail,” Mrs. Pratt said as she poured the tea. “The whole neighborhood is buzzing with it. Miss Bennet is to be the heir now, and Mr. Darcy has given it all away.” She set a cup before Elizabeth with a knowing look. “For love, they say. Though I’m sure I don’t know the particulars.

“There are no particulars,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Mr. Darcy wished to see the estate pass to female heirs. It was a matter of principle, not sentiment.”

“Hmm.” Mrs. Pratt did not look convinced. “Well. He was here yesterday morning, you know.”

Elizabeth’s cup stopped halfway to her lips. “He called upon you?”

“Brought a goose himself, he did. Walked all the way from the cottage with it under his arm, looking quite out of sorts but determined.” Mrs. Pratt settled into her chair with the satisfaction of a woman who had gossip to share. “Asked after my health and garden, whether the chimney was drawing properly. Very thorough, the gentleman. Uncommonly particular.”

“That was most kind of him,” Elizabeth said, taking a tiny sip of the too-hot tea.

“It was more than kind.” Mrs. Pratt cut another piece of seedcake for Elizabeth. “He told me he is from Derbyshire, and I suppose the customs up north are different, but it is unheard of for an heir to add females to the entail, not that we are not grateful for you two girls and happy that even though your father had no sons, the estate will now be kept within the family.”