Chapter One
Summer 1803
Miss Elizabeth Bennet was very conscious of the moment her carriage took her as far from home as she had ever been. It was easy enough to track, even for a ten-year-old. They left the city by the north road and once they were beyond the limits of London; it was all unfamiliar. Even amidst the worry over the cause of her journey—typhus fever was ravaging her home—her natural curiosity demanded she take in the new sights and sounds, which she did for nearly the entire first hour of the journey.
Looking at the man seated across from her, Lizzy thought about whether and how to ask the questions currently plaguing her. In truth, she hardly knew her uncle, her mother’s younger brother, though what worn memories she had of him were pleasant. He looked kind enough, if looks were anything to go by, and his treatment of her thus far had been patient and somewhat tentative. It was almost as if he too was unsure about the proper protocol for travelling with a close relation one had not seen in nearly three years and who would be sharing a carriage for two days and a home for an indefinite period. Thinking of the courage Jane had shown as she faced the dreaded fever and the promise she extracted as Elizabeth wasnearly forced from her side, she decided to be brave and do as her elder sister had bidden her.
“Uncle,” she began with profound uncertainty. “Would you tell me something of your home?” And then before he could answer she added, “And what you expect of me while I am with you?”
“Lizzy.” She liked that he called her Lizzy; only her closest friends and family did that. It made him feel more familiar. “It is our hope, your Aunt Madeline’s and mine, that you will come to view Barlow Hall as a second home. Mr. Barlow, your aunt’s uncle, is an older gentleman, and somewhat unwell. I confess that I hope that your vivacity and cheer, which I remember from when we last met and has been testified to in your parents’ letters, would be a balm to him. Beyond that, I know this is not quite like a holiday. We will both be too worried about our family to be entirely carefree, however, we can do our best to console and comfort one another and pray that we will soon receive news of the recovery of our loved ones.”
This answer was more than satisfactory to young Elizabeth, who feared she was unwanted and unknown. It seemed she was neither, and though her worry about the health of her family and friends did not abate she found she looked forward to seeing her uncle’s home and meeting his family. So it was that Elizabeth Bennet and Edward Gardiner enjoyed a reasonably pleasant journey from London to Derbyshire, including one overnight stop at an inn along the way. The good roads, fine weather and well-sprung carriage certainly accounted for part of this. However, the lively conversation, occasional game and sweet treats (provided by the as yet unknown Aunt Madeline) deserved credit as well.
On the second and final day of their journey, they spoke of Barlow Hall, which the Gardiners had called home for less than two years. They also spoke of Mrs. Gardiner and her uncle, Mr. Barlow, the nearby town of Lambton and all manner of minutiae related to the day-to-day workings of the Barlow estate. Elizabeth was nothing if not inquisitive. Her uncle seemed to delight in her questions and curiosity, and in that, she reflected, he seemed much more like her father than her mother, his sister.
It was a rainy June afternoon when Mr. Gardiner and Miss Elizabeth arrived at Barlow Hall. Though the weather prevented her from having a proper look at the outside she could see enough to ascertain that it was far larger than Longbourn and had extensive gardens on either side of the main house. Beyond that she would have to wait, but this was no hardship, as almost as soon as she was inside, she was greeted by Mrs. Gardiner and Mr. Barlow. The greetings were warm and welcoming. Though there was, inevitably, some awkwardness due to the fact that the parties had never met, were family and would be living in some proximity, it went as well as any of them could have hoped. Better, in the case of Mr. Barlow who was immediately enchanted by the sweet young lady.
Though happy with her welcome, Elizabeth did not really “make herself at home” as she was admonished to do until a full month had passed. In the meantime, determined to be of use, she sat with her aunt nearly every day and helped with the mending of clothes and darning of socks Mrs. Gardiner took in from some of the poorer tenants and others in need in the area. She went with her aunt to make calls when that lady desired to introduce her to the children of some of her friends, though these were all young children, whereas Elizabeth, atalmost eleven years old, considered herself practically a young lady. She spent a good deal of time out of doors, alone, exploring the grounds close to and some distance from the house. In many ways, Elizabeth appeared content.
But of course, underneath the surface lay Elizabeth’sworry for her family and friends in Hertfordshire, many of whom had already caught or were in danger of catching the fever when Lizzy was spirited away. She felt guilty that she was hundreds of miles away, safe, healthy, even occasionally happy. By the time she and her father had hastily departed for London, where they met her uncle, Jane, their mother and three of their five servants had contracted the dreaded disease. Her youngest sisters had been sent away the previous day to stay with their aunt and uncle Phillips, who had let a small cottage outside of Meryton for the express purpose of avoiding the sickness that had begun to ravage their little village town.
One morning about a month after her arrival, Elizabeth sat in the summer parlour with her aunt when Sims, Barlow’s staid butler, entered with letters for Mrs. Gardiner’s perusal. Elizabeth had a hard time stamping down her impatience. It seemed an age before the elderly man quit the room and closed the door behind them. She knew from previous experience that her aunt would not examine the letters until they were alone. On the one occasion that the letters included one from Longbourn, her uncle had been present as well. He opened it, and after a quick perusal, handed it to his niece with a mild warning that “all is much the same.” The author that time was her aunt Phillips, who, though still ensconced in Meryton, received news from the apothecary regarding those at Longbourn and was able to report that the youngest Miss Bennet’s were still as well as they couldbe, while everyone worried about the rest of their family and friends.
That letter had come nearly two weeks ago.
“This is from your father,” Madeline declared with a soft sigh. Her aunt did not look pleased. Elizabeth wondered at this; she had been desperately craving news. Why was her aunt not excited? It was all she could do not to snatch it and tear it open. “I wonder if we should wait until your uncle is done meeting with Jackson?” she asked, referring to Barlow Hall’s steward.
It was then that Lizzy understood. Aunt Madeline was afraid of what the letter might say. Afraid it contained tidings of the worst kind. In her eagerness to know what was happening at home, Elizabeth had not truly considered that the answer could be something other than news of recovery and restoration of health. This was naïve—typhus had already claimed its first victim, dear Mrs. Long, the morning of her departure. Suddenly she could not breathe. Madeline looked up from the letter in her hand.
“Oh my darling,” she said before rising to sit beside Elizabeth and folding her into a soft embrace. As her aunt whispered words of comfort Elizabeth sunk further into her arms, relishing the unique feeling of being held.
“Please, Aunt, can we read the letter?” Elizabeth asked many minutes later. “Not knowing is worse.”
Madeline regarded her niece for a moment before nodding her head. “Would you like me to read it?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth answered in a soft whisper.
Thankfully, her aunt seemed to understand this moment called for swift action and she had the letter open in no time. After a mere moment of reading, or perhaps skimming she smiled broadly. “They are well.” She sighed with a grin and a squeeze of Elizabeth’s hands.
“Truly?” Elizabeth asked, watching her aunt closely.
“Truly,” Madeline beamed, her relief a palpable thing between them. “Here, read for yourself, I hardly know what else it might contain; indeed, it is quite long, but the first lines tell the tale.”
Doing as her aunt suggested, she took the missive and began to read. The opening lines did tell the tale. The author, who was revealed to be Jane as soon as Elizabeth saw the elegant, tiny lettering, began with “we have all recovered and are doing quite well.” The rest was so very Jane—reassurances, information on every inhabitant of their little village who had been ill, admonishments to Elizabeth to enjoy herself and a slight hint at how much she missed her little sister. There was a postscript from her father that was similarly characteristic; it was brief and unsentimental but communicated his desire for her to at once enjoy the rest of her summer and feel guilty as her wit and common sense were missed at home.
Lizzy did enjoy herself after that. The knowledge that her dearest loved ones were well and the danger had passed allowed her to fully embrace all that Barlow Hall, Lambton and Derbyshire had to offer. Her birthday fell just three days after they received Jane’s letter, and it was determined that it was the perfect occasion to inject some cheer into their home. They had a small celebration, inviting a few neighbours Elizabeth had already met. There were very few children present, andthose were quite a bit younger than the newly eleven-year-old Elizabeth. It seemed Derbyshire, though plentiful in peaks, valleys and picturesque walks, suffered a dearth of children near Elizabeth’s age. At least children not too far above or below the Barlow’s station. Regardless of the high median age of the little party, Elizabeth was truly touched by the kindness her family showed in hosting the celebration and by the small gifts they presented her. That evening, before crawling into bed, she began a habit of writing a letter each night. She chose a different recipient every time, beginning with Jane and going through her whole family—even little Lydia, who was but six years old. Elizabeth well remembered the joy she used to feel when her Great-Aunt Elizabeth would write to her, just her, not a note for her at the end of the family letter, several times a year until she passed. These letters allowed her to feel close to her family and resulted in a flurry of letters between Hertfordshire and Derbyshire over the following weeks.
The final month of her stay passed swiftly, and although Elizabeth loved her time at Barlow Hall when her uncle handed her into the carriage for her journey home, she was nothing but happy at the prospect of being reunited with her family and friends in Hertfordshire.
Chapter Two
Summer 1804
“Mary said you mustn’t open that until we reach the inn,” Jane admonished her sister who had removed a letter from her bag.
“I know, but I am curious and a little bored. Uncle is sleeping and you were, too, until just a moment ago,” Elizabeth responded, still holding the letter. “Mary will never know.”
“But you will,” Jane answered simply, settling her head back once again and closing her eyes.
