Page 16 of Dear Friend

Elizabeth

Elizabeth sat with her sisters in the drawing room, half attending to Kitty’s opinion of the ribbon Mrs. Bennet had promised for her new bonnet and half listening to Lydia dispute every particular of it. Her own needle had been idle for several minutes, though her thoughts had wandered too far from the conversation for her to notice, when Mrs. Bennet entered with sufficient energy to put an immediate end to ribbons altogether.

“Lizzy!” she cried, coming directly towards her. “Hill tells me you have sent Polly with another letter to Julia. Every day these two months, I am told, without missing one! Upon my word, one would think you had nothing else to occupy you but paper and sealing wax.”

“Yes, Mama.” Elizabeth resumed her neglected stitch, though without much attention to its direction. “I have written to her every day since she became too ill to receive me. I know of nothing else I can do for her at present.”

“But every day, Lizzy! Surely Miss Harding cannot require so many letters.”

“Perhaps not. But she has been glad of them, and I am glad to write them.”

Mrs. Bennet shook her head. “I cannot imagine what you find to say when you have not seen the girl in two months.”

“Very little of consequence, I assure you. But Julia has been confined to her bed long enough that even the ordinary news of Meryton or Longbourn is welcome to her.”

Mrs. Bennet drew breath to continue, but the door opened before she could do so.

Polly appeared upon the threshold, still wearing her bonnet and cloak. The letter Elizabeth had sent scarcely half an hour before remained in her hand.

Elizabeth’s needle stilled.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth,” Polly said, looking uncomfortable beneath the sudden attention of the room, “but I could not deliver your letter.”

Elizabeth set her work aside. “Could not deliver it?”

“No, miss. Mrs. Tunley was not at the cottage, nor Miss Harding neither.”

For a moment Elizabeth only stared at her. “Not there?”

“No, miss.”

“I do not understand. Where have they gone?”

Polly shifted the letter between her fingers. “The woman next door said they left Meryton yesterday evening. In a great hurry, she said. Miss Harding was to be taken to her father.”

“To her father?”

“Yes, miss. That is all I could learn. I did not like to press her for more.”

The room seemed suddenly too still. Elizabeth was aware of Jane beside her, of Kitty’s work suspended in her hands, of Lydia no longer fidgeting in her chair, but all these things appeared strangely distant.

Left…Yesterday evening?

“Did she say where?”

Polly shook her head. “Only to her father, miss.”

“Did she say how Miss Harding was when they left?”

“No, miss. I am sorry.”

Elizabeth’s gaze fell upon the letter in Polly’s hand. She had sealed it only that morning, imagining without question that before noon it would be lying beside Julia’s bed. She had written of Kitty and Lydia, of a book she had begun, and of the walk they would take when Julia was strong enough to leave the house again.

“Thank you, Polly,” she said at last. “You did quite right.”

The maid crossed the room and placed the undelivered letter upon the table beside her before withdrawing.

Elizabeth did not touch it.