Christmas was coming, but that meant winter was coming, too.
When the carriage disappeared, Mamma was off to speak to Cook, and Elizabeth, who was wearing her warmest cloak, went for a stroll around the grounds, Thatcher trailing discreetly behind her. He had become her shadow, but in the end, Elizabeth liked the man, and so it did not seem such a hardship.
Elizabeth considered what she had already done. She had made several dozen candles with Mrs. Milner and the other ladies of the church, carefully lowering long wicks into a pot of melted tallow. The sharp, earthy smell had filled the air. Itwas far from the delicate scent of beeswax, but even Hollydale House could not afford to provide everyone with such expensive candles.
She had hummed softly to herself as she worked, the repetitive motion of dipping the wicks soothing in its simplicity. She had laid the candles carefully on a nearby table to cool, and then tied them into bundles. They were not elegant, but they would be useful. And while she worked, she heard gossip about the Taylor boy, who was growing so fast his parents could not afford to keep him in shoes.
When the others had left, she had paid Mrs. Milner for several of the tokens to the cobbler which the church kept for charitable cases. The Taylor family was not so poor they would take charity—they simply could not keep up with the expense. Elizabeth had heated some of the leftover wax to attach the tokens to a piece of paper, penned a brief note, sealed it, and written the direction. Then she had smiled at Mrs. Milner and slipped it into the poor box.
“Now you can say it was left at the church for them by someone who does not wish to be thanked.”
Mrs. Milner had placed a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder when the maid was gone. “Your efforts may not be lauded by those most directly affected by your actions,” she had said, “but they have not gone unnoticed.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Milner,” she had said.
“Not only by me, Miss Bennet,” the older lady had said, looking upward. “By Him.”
Elizabeth knew herself to be as flawed as any human. More than some. But she took comfort in the notion that she could meet individual needs as well as the larger community ones.
The frosty air revived her as she breathed it in, and Elizabeth drew her woollen cloak tightly about her. The morning sunglistened on the dew-covered lawns, casting a serene sort of glow over the park.
It might not be winter yet, but it was certainly cold.
Mrs. Milner would be coming to Hollydale for tea in a few days, and Elizabeth would broach the topic of additional projects then. The vicar’s wife knew who was in need and what they required. Blankets, to be sure. Coats, scarves, thick socks, new shoes—but she did not wish to spend money on items that could not be used because they were too small or purchase a coat when there was already a serviceable one available. She wanted to spend the money where it would do the most good, and for that, she needed the Milners.
Elizabeth had also been considering a school where boys like the Sykes could learn to read, write, and calculate—all things that would help them find and keep work one day. She wondered what Mr. Darcy would think about such a project, but she dared not ask.
Mr. Darcy. She sighed, thinking of her handsome neighbour. After their meeting on market day in Lambton and the tea they had all taken together, he had come to call at Hollydale once or twice a week. He often played chess or backgammon with Papa, but he always stayed to visit with her and Mamma as well. She thought better of him each time he visited.
The crunch of her boots in the gravel and brittle leaves was the only sound in the stillness of the morning. As she approached the path that followed the river, she stopped to take in the view. The estate stretched out before her, level for a long way before ascending into a wooded rise. Even as the cold weather began to descend, there was a vibrancy to the landscape here, a rugged wildness that was markedly different than the gentle hills of Hertfordshire. The fields were interspersed with clusters of ancient oaks and chestnut trees, their massive trunks gnarledwith age, the branches reaching toward the sky, many already bereft of their leaves. And yes, there was an abundance of holly.
The walls that marked the boundaries of the estate nearest the road were worn smooth by years of wind and weather. Ivy and creeping vines clung to the stones, adding a touch of green to the grey. One section more than half a mile from the drive of the house had crumbled, and Elizabeth had made a note to arrange for its repair. She would have to ride to see the rest of it before the winter set in. She was an indifferent rider, but her duties required it, and Mr. Ellis had two horses in his stable that were mild enough for her.
As she strolled to a dilapidated bridge she paused, allowing herself to feel her connection to this land that grew stronger with each passing day.
She turned around to walk back, and Thatcher was there, waiting for her to pass him up.
“It is quite cold today, Thatcher,” she said with a smile. “I shall not keep us out here any longer.”
“I appreciate your concern, Miss Bennet.” He offered a slight bow. “But I would not have you curtail your exercise for my comfort. I have experienced colder.”
She tipped her head to one side and studied him. “I think I recall Mr. Riggs mentioning you were in the Army?”
Thatcher nodded. “The winters in Upper Canada were particularly harsh, but I was fortunate we did not see much fighting.”
“I have heard there is a great deal of snow.”
The footman nodded. “And temperatures that could freeze a man solid. Today is like spring in comparison. You need not concern yourself for me.”
Elizabeth shivered at the thought. “I admit, I am fond of a warm fire and a sturdy roof. You make me feel quite spoiled.”
Thatcher just smiled and motioned back towards the house. Elizabeth wrapped her cloak tighter around her. Despite the peacefulness of the morning, a strange sense of unease began to creep over her. She could not place the cause, but it lingered there, like a shadow at the edge of her mind.
As they turned away from the river, Elizabeth heard Thatcher’s steps slow. She glanced over her shoulder to see what was keeping him. He stood still, as though he was listening for something. She followed his gaze into the woods but saw nothing out of the ordinary—just branches swaying gently in the breeze.
“Is something amiss, Thatcher?” she inquired, attempting a lightness she did not feel.
Thatcher shook his head, though his eyes remained fixed on the trees for a moment longer. “No, Miss Bennet. Just ensuring all is well.”
