“Yes sir. I foolishly bought the incorrect ticket and brought insufficient funds for my journey. I left in something of a hurry. I am usually not such a flibbertigibbet.”
“Where are you travelling? We would be happy to assist.”
Despite her embarrassment, Elizabeth was not so foolish as to refuse help freely offered. “I travel to my uncle’s home on Gracechurch Street in Cheapside. If you would aid me, he will reimburse you.”
“Are you travelling alone?”
The question embarrassed her, for it was ill-advised and dangerous for a lady to travel alone, but there was nothing for it but to admit the truth. “I am.”
Mr Wythe seemed concerned for her safety, but not scandalised or inclined to pry into her private affairs.
“If you might accept our company, we will gladly see you safely delivered to your uncle’s home or lend you the fare.”
Elizabeth’s effusions of gratitude were numerous and long-lasting, to the point where she resembled either her mother or Mr Collins.
Fortunately, the Wythes were amiable and did their best to relieve her anxiety. Margaret, in an endearing and Lydia-like display, nearly jumped up and down on the balls of her feet and clapped her hands, quite happy to have a new friend for the few hours to London.
The relief of having her own stupidity corrected with so little effort made her forget for a few moments exactly who and what she was running from, and she was certainly not up to any questions of why.
“Would you care for some refreshment, Miss Bennet? Our horses are being baited, and we have a little time.”
“I would be honoured, sir.”
Elizabeth spent the next half hour getting to know the Wythes in general, and Margaret in particular. They proved to be fashionable, intelligent, well-read, good conversationists, and everything amiable.
Mr Wythe was a wool broker, and his home was only a mile or two from Gracechurch Street, so delivering her would be no trouble at all.
Elizabeth was enjoying the conversation when she belatedly remembered her grandmother’s advice.
Try not to run off and forget people who worry about you, my girl.Youmay know you are well, but they might not!
Charlotte would be very concerned when she found Elizabeth absent without a word, and given who her husband and patroness were, that would be the least of her problems.
Mr Wythe noted her sudden alarm, and she sheepishly owned the truth. She might have to reverse her decision and borrow money to return to the parsonage, but her host simply laughed at an issue so easily solved. He engaged an express rider who had just sat down to a pint to deliver a note.
Elizabeth had to think carefully about what she could and should say. Honesty was obviously not the coin of the realm, but she at least hoped Charlotte would keep her husband from panicking and someday forgive placing her in such an awkward position. Fortunately, long association convinced her that Charlotte could do anything she set her mind to, and she would enjoy the novelty.
With the note written and dispatched, and the Wythes finding the situation more humorous than troubling, they left for London a half hour later. Not an hour into the trip, Margaret began her campaign to get Lizzy to defer her visit to her uncle’s house and stay with them instead.
The young lady was well aware of how forward the suggestion was—yet she remained steady to her purpose, but scrupulously polite about it.
Elizabeth had to admire that; having been accused of forwardness, impertinence, and stubbornness on many occasions, she was not put out. The parents gave every sign of approving the scheme.
This surprised her at first, until she thought of turning the tables. She reckoned her parents would do the same—if they even noticed one extra girl among the rabble of her sisters.
She gave the idea due consideration. She imagined arriving at her uncle’s house a fortnight early, without luggage, and the required explanations. She had no concerns about explaining toher uncle and aunt, as they were the most perfect people she knew, and they would get along famously with the Wythes.
However, explaining herself to the rest of her family seemed nigh on impossible, and asking her uncle to keep her from her meddling mother for six weeks was well beyond what she could ask of her favourite relatives. The Gardiners had their own family to worry about. Beyond that, Mr Darcy would require but an hour or two to locate her, and he might come demanding an answer she was not ready to give.
Elizabeth came slowly to the realisation that returning to Gracechurch Street would put her aunt and uncle in an uncomfortable position. The most basic duty demanded they tell her parents of her concerns, with predictable results.
The flurry of letters that must go back and forth between Gracechurch Street and Longbourn was likely to cause screeching, and fluttering, and questions she had not the slightest wish to answer, nor even hear asked. With six weeks before her majority, there was still a chance she might be forced into marriage. Her father protected her from Mr Collins, but she was uncertain he had the fortitude to protect her from the combined onslaught of Mr Darcy and her mother if that gentleman pressed his suit with any vigour.
She was in no humour to have the rest of her life dictated when only a few weeks from relative freedom. Of course, she was not entirely stupid. She well knew thatrelative freedommeant the freedom to be poor as a rat and probably end up as a governess or shopgirl. She just could not marry a man who was going to look down on her for the rest of her life. She had seen quite enough of that for one lifetime, thank you very much! She had no illusions that she was either as resilient or as desperate as Charlotte; and the idea of reliving her own mother’s nightmare existence sent shivers down her spine.
With that in mind, she formulated a plan. It was devious, impertinent, ill-advised, unlikely to succeed, and otherwise had nothing to recommend it; but the same could be said for most of the army’s decisions for the war on the Continent. She resolved that, for once, she might try to take control over her fate. She had been passive far too long.
Seeing the familiar vision of her grandmother, who loved to stitch parables on samplers, filled Elizabeth with a bit of comfort for times past, and the advice seemed timely.
