Page 36 of Five Gentlemen at Netherfield (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

On the Road to Pemberley

Elizabeth swayed slightly with the movement of the carriage as they went around the corner.

This was easily the most comfortable carriage she had ever ridden in, and even now, three hours from her own doorstep, she still found herself running a wondering hand over velvet squabs and relaxing into the soothing motion of excellent springs.

Beside her, Mary sat calm and still, hands folded in her lap as she looked out the window.

It was a gratifying sight since Mary, like her elder sisters, had not gotten nearly enough rest in the last months.

Across from them, their Aunt Gardiner had one arm around her youngest child, two-year-old Matthew.

The little boy’s eyes were heavy, and he wore a faintly petulant expression, leaning into his mother, a toy soldier drooping from his hand.

The other three Gardiner children were in another carriage, with two nursemaids to look after them, but Matthew, having been pulled the most from his recent illness, had the pleasure of sitting near his mother

Elizabeth smiled compassionately at her young cousin before looking out the window, her mind drifting.

Had someone told her a year ago how much different her life would be, she would have been aghast and dreadfully apprehensive, and perhaps she would not have believed it at all.

How quickly things could change! She had gone to bed one night with her usual naive complacency, and the very next day, her life – all their lives – had been a shambles.

Her poor father! As bad as it was for all the Bennet ladies, he was the one suffering in pain and helplessness, entirely dependent on those around him for every small thing he used to do for himself.

Elizabeth was still not easy in her mind over leaving her father in particular, and the estate more broadly.

Mr. Bennet depended on her for comfort! It was to her even more than Jane, and far more than their histrionic mother, that the servants turned for instruction.

It was to Elizabeth that the tenants came with their concerns, and always, always, it was her that Mr. Bennet asked for when he was in pain, or bored, or sad, or in need of company, and wished for someone to sit with him or read to him.

Longbourn, and all her people, needed Elizabeth.

Her heart twisted with guilt as she thought of leaving that tremendous burden on Jane’s shoulders alone, and indeed she had protested the idea vigorously when Darcy had sent a letter inviting her to Pemberley.

But then Jane, with an unusual adamancy, had insisted that Elizabeth accept the invitation to come north, and when she had argued against it, Mary, too, had told Elizabeth plainly that she needed time away.

Perhaps Elizabeth could have dismissed both her sisters, but they enlisted the help of both their uncles, Phillips and Gardiner.

Faced with the four of them, aware of leaden weariness in every limb, she had capitulated.

It was not that her relations were wrong, exactly.

Indeed, they were correct in all respects, both her sisters’ gentle concern and her uncles’ stern certainty.

Elizabeth was so tired some days that she often moved through her day in a strange fog of disconnected uncertainty.

Even on her good days, any spare minute she got – and those were rare – was spent thinking longingly of her bed upstairs and a nice nap.

Such luxuries now seemed forever beyond her reach, for her father, ill as he was, called for her regularly, and when he did not need her, Mrs. Bennet or the servants did.

Her father, she knew, was not of sound enough mind to see and recognize the pallor of her complexion, the shadows beneath her eyes, the stoop of her shoulders as she entered his room yet again, the effort it took to smile brightly at him, yet all these signs were there, plain for everyone else to notice and to worry.

Elizabeth could not help feeling a bit guilty for grudging him her time.

It was not as though his care, such as it was, fell to her alone – Mr. Hill, and Caleb, and the raw-boned tenant lad Jeremiah, just grown to manhood, managed Mr. Bennet’s ablutions, and dressing, and movements, and dining.

In light of this, it seemed but a small thing to sit and read aloud or talk to her father about the day’s doings.

Yet somehow, this was almost as wearing as oversight of the estate.

The servants could be remonstrated with and sent to Mr. Wallace when they came to her, but Mrs. Bennet, with no trust in the new steward, added layers of confusion by sending the servants to Elizabeth when she found them going to the steward.

No amount of soft-voiced beseeching from Jane or stern reprimands from Gardiner and Phillips made any impression on Mrs. Bennet’s turmoil-torn mind.

She would rebuff offers of assistance from both her eldest and her third daughter, instead seeking out Elizabeth with every paltry demand.

Jane quietly oversaw the servants, while Mary took on record keeping tasks, and even Kitty would take her turn sitting with their mother or speaking with tenants’ wives about small contretemps.

Nonetheless, it was Elizabeth who stayed up until the wee hours every night and woke with the dawn every morning to care for Longbourn.

Her uncles had decided that the situation was intolerable, and thus Elizabeth found herself in a comfortable carriage, being borne inexorably northward into lands wild and reputedly beautiful.

Elizabeth had been reluctant to depart right up until stepping into the carriage, but Uncle Gardiner had handed her into the carriage without compunction.

“Go, my dear, and enjoy yourself,” he had told her firmly.

“We shall do quite well without you. Yes, even your parents. Your father will be well cared for by Hill and Caleb and Jeremiah, and Jane and Kitty or Miss Fairchild to read to him. Do not worry about your mother. I will see to her. Longbourn will be fine without you for a time, Lizzy.”

Jane’s comments had been much the same. “I am quite capable of taking on some of the duties you have been so graciously carrying, dear sister. And Mr. Bingley started calling, you know, which distracts Mother. I daresay we will soon have a whole parade of visitors, and Mamma will be entirely restored to her previous humor.”

She had smiled and shooed her sister into the carriage, and Elizabeth had reluctantly obeyed.

The farther they traveled from Longbourn, the more at ease Elizabeth felt in her mind.

It was a relief not unmixed with guilt, but after all, were not Jane and their uncles correct?

Everyone at home would find, perhaps to their own surprise, that they could get along quite well without Elizabeth.

The relief of having three whole hours with no one making claims upon her time was blissful, and even now she could feel the tension leaching from her shoulders and back as they rode.

Mr. Darcy had sent one of his very own carriages to collect his guests, and Elizabeth smiled to think of it.

He was generous indeed, her patient suitor, and she looked forward to seeing him again.

It would be wonderful to spend leisurely days getting to know one another.

They were nicer thoughts than those that had occupied Elizabeth’s mind for the past several months, and she relaxed as she dwelt on them.

Her eyelids grew heavy and, rocked by the swaying of the carriage, she leaned her head back against the velvet seat and let herself fall asleep.

***

The carriage seemed oddly quiet, Mary realized, and she looked around from the view out of the window that had so absorbed her for the past half hour.

Only her aunt Gardiner met her eye because Elizabeth was leaning against the plush cushions of the carriage, face and hands alike slack in sleep.

Mary smiled at the sight. Poor Elizabeth was desperately weary from the last several months and needed her rest.

Across from them, little Matthew was likewise quite unconscious to the world, his toy retrieved by his attentive mother and placed beside him on the squab.

He was curled into his mother’s side, little mouth drooped open and drooling slightly.

He looked absolutely adorable and angelic as he slept.

He was still a little pale from his recent bout with a draining illness, and according to Mrs. Gardiner, was sleeping more than was his wont.

Mary was quietly grateful. She was not accustomed to dealing with young children, but she knew from friends and neighbors and even the tenants that small boys, especially, had a tendency to be full of energy and mischief.

She had been admittedly apprehensive upon finding out that they would be sharing the carriage with her little two-year-old cousin much of the way to Pemberley.

Though the boy had been discontented and restless and inclined to whine a little at times, so far Matthew had displayed no propensity for screaming, such as Lydia might when recovering from an illness and was displeased with the world.

Mrs. Gardiner was accustomed to handling the discontent of her children when they were recovering from bouts of illness and did so adeptly until her son drifted away to dreamland.

Mary looked back out the window, content to ride in silence and observe the fleeting landscape.

A mere three hours, perhaps three and a half hours, from home, the fields and flowers and trees passing outside were not much changed from those that had surrounded Mary her entire life.

It made no difference to her; she might enjoy the changed scenery of Derbyshire, but she loved her home lands well, and never more than when they were flooded with sun.

Winter was easing its frosty grip on the land at last, and buds were appearing on tree-twigs and flower-stalks alike.

Soon, the world would be a riot of color, warmed by a benevolent sun, coaxing sleepy plants and beasts and insects alike awake and active.

Butterflies would flit from flower to flower, bees would buzz about their business, making honey for themselves and their keepers.

Spring was Mary’s favorite season. It brought a budding of hope as well as flowers and leaves, and a renewal of flagging spirits.

It was hard to be depressed when the sky was deepest azure, when leaves stood brilliant green against that blue field, when clouds were whiter and softer than mounded wool.

It was a good season to enjoy the out of doors, and it was a good season to be leaving behind Longbourn and the heavy cares there.

Mary was eager to visit Pemberley, with its extensive grounds and large, spacious rooms, as well as the people waiting there for them.

She was especially anticipating seeing one person, of course.

Of all the gentlemen of her acquaintance, Colonel Fitzwilliam was by far the most agreeable to her.

He did not flatter her with lying words, telling her what he thought she might wish to hear.

He did not insult her intelligence by trying to pretend that her money was not one of her attractive features.

He was honest, and forthright, and kind, and he was the first of her suitors whose offer she might possibly accept.

Not that she was certain they would make a match of it, since Mary had no intention of wedding in haste and repenting in leisure.

She would let Colonel Fitzwilliam take his time in courting her, in wooing her.

Such a courtship would be impossible in Hertfordshire, with Longbourn in a state of constant upheaval, with Mrs. Bennet’s chronic hysterics and turning the household on its ear, with the three eldest daughters of the house all overworked and overstressed and exhausted.

Much, much better for the would-be lovers to be far removed from the chaos and theatrics.

Before the women had left, Mary had spent a few hours with her uncle Phillips, interviewing cousins and sons and daughters and nephews and nieces of their servants and local tenants, and had selected three strong young servants to join the staff at Longbourn.

Her uncles had agreed that Mary’s interest might pay the wages of the new servants, for Longbourn arguably could not support further expenses at the moment.

Mary did not mind. She would far rather support her family financially and at a distance than in person.

Though she would never say such an undutiful thing, even if pressed, it was Mary’s private opinion that it would do both of their parents good to have Elizabeth, especially, out of their orbit.

Mr. Bennet would not expire – or, at least, Mary amended fairly, was extremely unlikely to expire – if he had someone other than Lizzy reading to him.

As for their mother, she was in no way as dependent on Lizzy as she chose to believe.

Mary felt her eyelids flutter closed in fatigue, and she leaned her head back and was asleep within the next few minutes.