A forgotten payment.
A tenant dispute.
A servant dismissed without replacement.
Then Mrs. Bennet’s spending increased while Mr. Bennet retreated further into indifference, and Elizabeth gradually realized that no one else was paying attention.
No one else even understood there was danger.
Jane hated unpleasantness and trusted everyone implicitly.
Mary preferred Fordyce and Scripture to practical matters.
Kitty avoided conflict.
Lydia scarcely noticed anything beyond ribbons, officers, and amusement.
So, Elizabeth stepped quietly into the gap.
She learned which merchants cheated.
Which tenants drank.
Which servants stole candles.
Which roofs leaked.
Which fields flooded.
Which accounts her father ignored unless cornered after dinner in an unusually good humor.
By sixteen, most of the village instinctively came to her before approaching Mr. Bennet.
By eighteen, Longbourn functioned largely because Elizabeth made certain it did.
And she was so very tired.
A knock sounded.
Mrs. Hill entered carrying a tray with cold tea and toast. “You missed luncheon again, miss.”
Elizabeth looked blankly toward the window.
Indeed she had.
“I forgot the hour,” she admitted.
Mrs. Hill set the tray down with a look of concern she wisely attempted to disguise. “You work too hard.”
“I work exactly as hard as necessity requires.”
The older woman hesitated. “Miss Elizabeth…” She lowered her voice. “You cannot carry the whole estate forever.”
Elizabeth gave a faint smile devoid of humor. “Can I not?”
Mrs. Hill’s face tightened with sympathy.
There it was again.
