“I would love to place it in my study,” he told her. “Perhaps we must host you and Lizzy in every season so we can get a drawing for each.”
The following morning, the girls tearfully hugged their father goodbye. He was given letters to deliver to friends andfamily, some of Mrs. Gibb’s famous corn muffins and a hearty lunch to see him through to his first stop.
Though they were melancholy for several hours after their father left, Jane and Elizabeth recovered quickly when Mrs. Gardiner suggested they visit the stables where Persephone was thought to be ready to deliver her foal. As it turned out, Lollipop, who was a cousin to Gumdrop, did not arrive for another week. On the day before the birth, Elizabeth decided to search for cornflowers, a wildflower Persephone was quite fond of. She was sure it would help hasten the arrival of the much-anticipated foal. It was on this expedition that she wandered east of Barlow Hall on a path she had yet to tread where she encountered someone who would change her life.
Elizabeth rejoiced at discovering an array of cornflowers right where Micah had said she would. Humming to herself and filling her satchel, she made her way along the stream. When she had determined that she had as many flowers as she could carry, Elizabeth bent by the stream to splash some water on her face, having grown quite warm under the bright summer sun. Standing to go, she heard something.
At first, she was certain it had been the stream. There were several small cascading falls which produced a delightful babbling sound. The sound was something akin to this, but a moment later, Elizabeth realised it was not exactly this. The babbling of the stream was merely a backdrop for what was clearly a crying girl. Moving towards the noise, Elizabeth searched about her for its source. The trees were not thick on either side of the water, but there were enough to prevent her from seeing too far. Finally, after rounding a small bend in the path, she saw her.
On the opposite bank sat a young girl. Her back was against a small oak, her feet tucked beneath her, and though her clothes appeared of good quality, they had clearly been through something—from her vantage point nearly fifty feet away, Elizabeth could discern at least one tear and several dirt smudges. Though she took in all these details, what struck Elizabeth most keenly was the sobs. The girl was crying in a way Elizabeth almost admired. Her whole body, she guessed her whole heart, was participating. Her head was bowed almost to her lap, her shoulders shook and each lurch brought forth a sound of such sorrow—a cross between a cry and a cough. Without thinking, Elizabeth placed her satchel by a tree and quickly waded through the stream, which was shallow and narrow at that point, sank down in front of the girl and threw her arms around her.
She did not say anything. Although in her twelve years Elizabeth had not known the kind of pain and loss others had, what she had known she remembered well and felt keenly. Just the summer before, her beloved Grandmother Bennet, whom she was named after, had passed. Elizabeth had not even been able to hold her hand or tell her how much she loved her one last time. She was from home at Barlow Hall. By the time she returned, Grandmother Bennet had been gone a month. It seemed like everyone had moved on. They certainly had no patience for her grief. When she cried, mostly at night, only Jane would soothe her. The others would either question her sadness—Grandmother Bennet had lived a good life, and the Lord called her home; how can you be sad about that?—or she was told her grandmother would not want her to “carry on so.” All of this did nothing to alleviate Lizzy’s broken heart. The only things that helped were Jane’s patient hugs and gentle words of comfort. This is what Elizabeth offered the stranger now. Perhaps if shehad been a little older, she would have been too self-conscious to approach someone so clearly in distress, too unsure about what she might offer and how it might look. Perhaps if she had been a little younger, she might have been too wrapped up in her own concerns and worries to consider the needs of a stranger. As it happened, Lizzy was just the right age to offer comfort and consolation.
At first, the girl started, presumably at being discovered, held and spoken to by someone wholly unknown to her. Perhaps if she were a little older, she would have known to question this type of attention from an unfamiliar person. Perhaps if she had been a little younger, she would have been fearful. But as it happened this young lady was just the right age to gratefully receive Elizabeth’s kind attention.
After a few minutes of simply holding the younger girl and whispering the kind of gentle words she had heard from Jane last fall, Elizabeth gave her one last squeeze and then moved so that they now sat side by side rather than in the pile of limbs and lace as they had begun.
“Oh, I am so terribly sorry,” the girl began as she furiously wiped at her eyes. This only served to smear dirt from her hands across her face.
“Please, you mustn’t,” Elizabeth admonished. She stilled the girl’s hands with her own and then removed a handkerchief from her pocket. Observing the damage, she decided more was required. “Give me one moment.” Elizabeth hurried to the edge of the stream, dipped the cloth and then returned. “Allow me.” After a minute of dabbing and wiping, which the young girl endured while watching Elizabeth with curiosity, her face was cleaned to Elizabeth’s satisfaction.
“Now that we have seen to that, I suppose we must have introductions,” Elizabeth said with careful solemnity. Looking about, she added, “I do not see anyone here who can perform the office, so we will just have to muddle through.” With that, she rose and dropped into a very elegant curtsy, considering the circumstances. “It is a pleasure to meet you; I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.”
“Oh,” the young girl sighed and scrambled to her feet. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennet. I am Georgiana Darcy of Pemberley.” She too dropped into a delicate curtsy. “I apologise . . . for this . . . I cannot imagine what you must think of me.”
“I think you must be very sad,” Elizabeth said honestly. “Beyond that I am afraid I must learn more of you and from you to form an adequate judgement,” she added with a friendly smile.
In truth, Elizabeth had formed some opinions and ideas of Georgiana based on her observations, but she reasoned that a little prevarication that erred on the side of kindness was allowed. It was clear the girl was several years younger than Elizabeth—possibly Lydia’s age. She appeared unpretentious and earnest. Elizabeth was almost certain she was the same young girl she had seen under the chestnut tree last summer. This meant she had a brother or some other male relation who could make her laugh and that her grief was not new. Her clothes, though quite the worse for wear, were clearly very fine, and if that did not reveal her family’s wealth, her name and the name of her home would have. As Elizabeth understood it, the Darcy’s of Pemberley were one of the wealthiest families in Derbyshire and Pemberley its grandest home. Mr. Barlow had mentioned the Darcys as acquaintances once or twice, but theydid not socialise now. Elizabeth had inferred this to be due to Mr. Darcy’s reluctance to entertain or be entertained since the death of his wife several years earlier. This was the final thing Elizabeth knew about Georgiana—she had lost her mother when she was very young.
“Oh, right,” Georgiana responded, looking down.
Elizabeth imagined she was becoming self-conscious, so she ventured to say, “I hope I might have the opportunity to learn more. I stay at Barlow Hall every summer with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner and am always in great need of new friends.”
That this was precisely the right thing to say was evident in the lifted chin and bright smile Georgiana gave her. Though what she intended to say in response was lost, as at that very moment, a voice could be heard, far off and through the trees.
“Georgiana Catherine Darcy, you come back this instant,” the angry feminine voice demanded from somewhere to their left.
“Oh, no!” Georgiana exclaimed, then, surprising Elizabeth, she grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the sound. “She mustn’t find me.”
“Who is she?”
“My governess.” The word dripped with obvious disdain. “She does not care about me at all. She only wants to get my brother’s attention, and when no one is watching, she is perfectly horrible to me. She has made my life so very rotten.”
Elizabeth followed Miss Darcy’s lead. She had little choice given the younger girl maintained possession of her arm,but she would have gone anyway. They ventured deeper into the wood along what appeared to be a well-trod path. She was fascinated by Miss Darcy’s story. Governesses were a somewhat foreign concept to her. She and her sisters had never had one, nor had any of her intimate family or friends. Her only knowledge of the peculiar creatures came from books and one brief summer where a wealthy family let Netherfield Park and their horrid children seemed to delight in vexing their governess whenever they were seen in the village, at church or at any neighbourhood gathering.
Refusing to believe Miss Darcy was anything like the Welton boys, Elizabeth listened for more of the tale. And there was more. They walked for nearly five minutes in the same direction and throughout, Miss Darcy kept up a steady stream of complaints. Some specific: “She threatened to chop off my hair if I didn’t eat my porridge this morning.” Some general: “The way she prances about, hoping to get William to notice her.” All of it painted a picture that made Miss Darcy’s predicament feel very woeful indeed. Finally, the younger girl stopped. They had reached the road near the fork that led to the village and away from Derbyshire towards three different destinations. Elizabeth knew not which was which beyond the road to the village which she recognised.
Georgiana turned to Elizabeth and said with shy solemnity, “I must be off. I am sorry we did not meet sooner and for any inconvenience I have caused you. If I do return, I would very much like to call you friend.” Before her new friend could step onto the road, as was clearly her intent, Elizabeth gently took her arm.
“Miss Darcy, what are you about? Where are you going?”
“To my aunt.”
“And where does your aunt live?”
“She lives in Matlock,” Georgiana replied, seeming to grow impatient with Elizabeth’s questioning. However, Elizabeth was concerned, only now realising that she had not found a young girl having a cry out in the woods, but a young girl running away from home.
“And how far away is Matlock?”
