Her exact words were: “Send for Lizzy. She will come. She always manages everything.”
Miss Elizabeth, I hope you will forgive me for repeating such painful words, but I believe you ought to know how dearly your aunt trusted and loved you.
Before she passed, she gave instructions concerning the children.
Master Edward asks constantly for his papa.
Little Sophie scarcely understands what has occurred and cries herself to sleep for her mama each night.
Baby Thomas has become fearful whenever anyone leaves the room.
The household is in considerable distress. Several servants have fled already, fearing there will be no wages now that both master and mistress are gone. Others are frightened by rumors spreading through the city that more flooding and sickness will follow.
I have done all I can to preserve order, but I am only one woman and the children are frightened beyond measure.
There are also concerns regarding your uncle’s business affairs. Some of the warehouses suffered damage, though I do not yet know the extent. Papers and ledgers from the counting room were hastily removed before the waters rose farther.
Miss Elizabeth, I beg you most earnestly to come as soon as the roads permit.
Your aunt placed her confidence in you, and I confess I do also.
I remain, despite these melancholy circumstances,
Your obedient servant,
Mrs. Thompson
By the time Elizabeth reached the final line, the words had begun to blur through tears. She closed her eyes, allowing the salty water to pour down her cheeks, ignoring the clamor of voices around her, demanding to know the news.
“Aunt and Uncle Gardiner are… gone.”
Chapter 7
February 1809—Gracechurch Street, London
By the time the carriage reached Gracechurch Street, Elizabeth had been staring at the same water-stained gloves in her lap for nearly half an hour without truly seeing them.
Across from her, Mr. Philips sat with his hat braced upon one knee, his expression grave and uncommonly subdued. He had spoken very little since they entered London, but Elizabeth was grateful for the silence. Had he attempted comfort, she feared she might lose what little command she had managed to retain since leaving Longbourn.
It had been three days since the express arrived.
Three days since Elizabeth had broken the seal and found her aunt’s household in ruins.
Her first instinct had been to go to her father. Surely even Papa would see that this could not wait. Surely the death of his wife's brother, the orphaning of three young children, and a London household left without master or mistress would rouse him to something more than weary amusement. She had found him, as always, in his library.
Mr. Bennet had listened while she stood before his desk, the letter clutched so tightly in her hand that the paper wrinkledbeneath her fingers. At first, he appeared shocked. His book lowered. His face grew still. For one fleeting moment, Elizabeth believed grief or duty might overcome indolence.
Then he leaned back in his chair.
“My dear Lizzy,” he said, rubbing a hand over his brow, “I should be of no earthly use in London. You had much better find an attorney to assist with the matter. There will be accounts, wills, business papers, and all manner of things I neither understand nor wish to understand.”
Elizabeth stared at him.
“They are orphaned children, Papa.”
“Yes, yes, very sad indeed. Your aunt was a sensible woman, and Gardiner a good man. Very unfortunate.” He sighed and glanced toward the letter. “But I cannot imagine what I would accomplish by going, aside from standing about uselessly in a flooded city. Speak to Philips. He is an attorney. This is far more in his line than mine.”
The dismissal hurt.
