Page 18 of The Long Road Back to Yesterday

Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Well, if it has brought a smile to your face, Lizzy, it was worth it. The older folk used to say that people had gone missing there over the years. They warned their children strictly to stay away, lest they, too, be taken.”

“Taken? What did they mean?”

“Only that the people were gone. Missing, people who were never afterward found. I have no notion what they intended by it, and it was nothing more than village hearsay, my girl. Do not give it any credence. Your aunt, her father, and her grandfather never saw the slightest evidence of any such thing in their lifetimes.”

“Uncle, I wish I could travel through England, spending several weeks in one village after another, speaking with the people and learning their folklore and traditions, just as you have shared this one with me.”

“Yes, Lizzy. That is very nearly what I did while courting your aunt in the wilds of Derbyshire.”

When they returned to Longbourn, it was nearly time to dress for dinner. Elizabeth wondered if it was the last time she would truly feel at home at Longbourn.

Chapter 9: Borrowed Time

The four sisters sat with Edward Gardiner in the rose garden when Uncle Phillips drove into the yard in his gig. They rose as the stable boy ran out to take the reins.

“Uncle, Phillips.”

The spare man embraced each of his nieces. “Girls, let us remain in the garden for it is a fine day.”

Jane asked Hill to bring a tea tray before joining the others around the garden table. The fragrance of the roses filled the air, but Elizabeth took no pleasure in it. Uncle Phillips had come on unexpected business, and dread rose from the pit of her stomach. His expression was unusually grave.

“Uncle Phillips, what news?” Jane asked. Then, at the sight of his troubled countenance, she added, “Is it bad news, sir?”

“I scarcely know, my dear.”

He held up a letter before laying it in the center of the table. The sisters looked at it.

Elizabeth said, “Uncle, that is your handwriting.”

“You are right, Lizzy.”

He pointed to a single word written beside the Hunsford address.

“Undeliverable.”

“This is the letter I posted but two days ago, and instead of receiving your cousin, we have received my letter, returned and marked Undeliverable.”

Gardiner asked, “What is the proper course now?”

Phillips replied, “Since Bennet wished to delay the heir's arrival as long as possible, I propose we wait another week before I send a second letter. So long as I continue writing once each week, I can demonstrate that an effort has been made to contact him. I shall also write to the diocesan registry of Rochester to inquire whether Mr. Collins has been assigned to another parish or relieved of his living.”

Gardiner said, “So my nieces must continue to wait. Cecil, I cannot remain in Hertfordshire indefinitely. What do you advise?”

“Edward, I suggest you leave tomorrow as you intended. The girls can send the stable boy for me should Mr. Collins arrive unexpectedly. If he writes advising me of his intended arrival, I shall notify you immediately. Perhaps you may then return to help us through what promises to be a difficult time.”

Gardiner agreed. He addressed Jane. “Perhaps you or Lizzy will write to me once each week and let me know whether you have learned anything.”

The sisters agreed.

That evening, Elizabeth resumed her studies, reading about the folklore surrounding Arbor Low and the stone circle upon Stanton Moor. Though the physical differences between the two monuments interested her, the local traditions fascinated her far more. Those stories had passed from generation to generation by word of mouth for centuries before antiquarians such as Aubrey, Stukeley, and others finally committed many to writing.

Her father had often said he believed folklore and tradition preserved memories of events once witnessed by ordinary people and then handed down through the generations. The details might blur with repeated telling, but somewhere within every tale lay a grain of truth waiting to be discovered.

Elizabeth opened the journal her father had given her. She carefully entered the date and recorded the facts and observations she found most interesting. She included the local lore her Uncle Edward had shared with her. Elizabeth felt close to her father while seated in the leather chair that had come to be known as hers, writing at the little table in the notebook he had provided. Each year, he had presented her with a new journal, and now twelve notebooks lay stored in a trunk in Aunt Phillips's attic. She now valued them beyond price since her father's death. Within their pages, she had preserved his thoughts, beliefs, philosophy, and witticisms gathered over the years.

As she reflected upon them, she understood how profoundly he had shaped her character and intellect through their years of study and discussion. The Greek writers would always hold first place in her affections, but for the present, folklore and tradition absorbed her completely, and through them she found comfort and felt somehow nearer to her father.