Elizabeth hesitated, but Mr. Ellis had said that she could trust the vicar. “Would you mind keeping this private, sir? Eventually it will be known, but I would not wish to attract any . . . unwanted attention.”
Mr. Milner’s forehead creased, but he nodded. “You have my word, of course.”
She glanced about to be certain they were alone. Only the footman stood in the vestibule. “Mr. Ellis has left Hollydale to me.”
The vicar froze for a moment, then sat heavily in one of the pews. “My goodness.”
“I came to inquire what you knew of it.”
“Not much, although if you are asking whether I know of the additional responsibilities that come with it, I can confirm that I do.”
Elizabeth took a seat next to Mr. Milner. “There is so much I need to know. First, I wish to do what is best for the estate and for those who live on it, and there is a good deal to accomplishthere. But I should also like to help the church assist others in the area, particularly as the festive season approaches.”
Mr. Milner smiled genially. “When you are ready, you only need call.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated, wanting to ask a dozen questions and unsure whether she ought to.
“Mr. Ellis was quite delighted by you, you know,” the pastor told her before she could untangle her thoughts. “You could rattle off Latin but loved to be outdoors—he laughed a good deal whenever he thought about you waiting to see a woodcock. He had you convinced they were some mighty creatures with an enormous wingspan, and when one actually appeared, you only laughed with him.”
Elizabeth recalled that with perfect clarity, for she had felt quite grown up at thirteen and certain he could not fool her with his wild tales, so wise had she become. She had been embarrassed at first, but what else could she do but laugh at herself? And at the woodcock, for its grunt was so comical. Mr. Ellis had adored them for just that reason.
“He and his wife were never able to have any children, and she died young. He had a distant cousin, but she died fifteen years ago now, she and her child. Her husband made a few trips here after, but I have not seen him in years.” Mr. Milner settled back in his chair. “Mr. Ellis made himself available to help in the community more often than most estate owners had time for. I always suspected he was lonely, out there at Hollydale by himself. He had been very much in love with his wife and could not be convinced to marry again.” He smiled at Elizabeth, and then his countenance brightened. “He saw you as a grandchild, I dare say.”
Elizabeth had certainly seen him as a grandfather figure, having lost both of her own. But because of the distance between their homes, they had not been in company a great deal. Shestood. “Thank you, Mr. Milner. I would like to visit Mr. Ellis, and then I must return to my mother.”
“It is wonderful to have you here in Lambton, Miss Bennet. You will come and see me again when you are ready, yes?”
“I shall, Mr. Milner.” She strode out and then to the side of the church, where the newer headstones were set in tidy lines. She knew precisely where Mr. Ellis was buried, for she had first met him as he stood at his wife’s grave, and she knew he would be buried there too. Even then, Mrs. Ellis had been dead many years, but Mr. Ellis had been crouching next to her stone with tears in his eyes. Elizabeth had asked him who was buried there, and then what his wife had been like. The stories had tumbled from him like water poured out of a pitcher.
“Good day, Mr. Ellis,” she said as she stood next to the mound of newly turned earth. “I am sorry I could not be here to wish you farewell, but no one thought to send for me until they read the will.” She laced the fingers of her hands together. “I wanted to pay my respects and to say that knowing my mother and sisters will always have a home is a gift I can never repay, and I intend to do all I am able to carry on your legacy.” She paused. “I am glad you are with Mrs. Ellis again.”
There was no answer, of course, but Elizabeth could feel her old friend in the silence of the cemetery and the cool breeze that made the hem of her skirt flutter. A rustling sound in the brush made her pause for a moment, and she turned her head to look.
A particularly fat woodcock was waddling into the trees that bordered the far side of the churchyard. They were usually asleep by this time of day.
She watched his progress as long as she dared, but Mamma was waiting.
Fitzwilliam Darcy rode his horse along the road to Lambton, the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves on the hard-packed earth the only sound breaking the morning’s stillness. One of the eastern fields of Pemberley had been troublingly wet two seasons in a row, and he was determined to find a solution to the drainage problem before spring planting. He was on his way to meet Mr. Hawkins, a gardener who had retired from Chatsworth and was an expert on such issues. Normally he would have had Mr. Hawkins travel to him, but the man was elderly and had no desire to go anywhere he could not reach on foot. Darcy had hoped his steward might accompany him, but the man had his hands full with the apple harvest.
As he approached the outskirts of Lambton, Darcy noted the increasing bustle, typical of this time of year. When the local tenants and other farmers received their pay for crops, that money was funnelled into paying bills in town and splashing out on a few luxuries where possible. The merchants were readying their wares to tempt those with a little additional blunt, particularly those who needed to order items that would arrive in time for the festive season.
He nodded politely to those who greeted him, but did not stop.
Darcy handed the reins of his horse to the boy waiting outside the Dog and Duck, where his meeting would take place. He straightened his coat, adjusted his hat, and was about to enter the inn when he caught sight of an unfamiliar carriage in front of a nearby shop. For a moment, his curiosity was piqued by the new arrival, but he quickly refocused on his task.
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” called the innkeeper when Darcy entered.
“Good morning, Vickery. I am here to meet with Mr. Hawkins. Has he arrived yet?”
“Not yet, sir, but he lives nearby, oughtn’t be long. Would you like anything while you wait?”
Darcy nodded and moved inside to take a seat by the fire. “Coffee,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “We are at last leaving summer behind.”
Elizabeth noticed her carriage was gone. There must be mews in the back of the pub. A good thing too, for she expected they would be inside the draper’s for some time yet. The footman held the door for her and then took up a position outside.
Mamma was deep in her contemplations. Without turning, she tapped a bolt of silk fabric. “Oh, Lizzy, look at this one! Would it not be perfect for the breakfast room?”
“It would, but were we purchasing for the breakfast room today, Mamma?” Elizabeth inquired. The little room was already quite lovely. “I believe the drawing room is in more immediate need of your efforts, particularly now that work has begun on the floor.”
