Page 12 of Till Death Us Do Part
Elizabeth had never experienced true poverty, but she had seen it and wanted no part of it. However, she had also seen couples who seemed devoted to each other and happy. She never observed any correlation between their happiness and their condition in life. She theorised that two people who had enoughto eat and feed their children, a roof over their heads, and the right character, could be content or better. More money or status brought more leisure, but not more happiness. She could easily name five tenant families who seemed far more content than either the Bennets or the Lucases. Her tradesman aunt and uncle were at least twice as happy, and three times as sensible as the Bennets, though that was damning by faint praise.
Three long and tiring days later, she was amused at the vagaries of mail schedules that had her stop in Lambton, about two thirds of the way to Manchester. She was under no illusion she was on the best route to that city, because she had gone to some effort tonotgo through London or any other obvious choke point. She had studied the mail schedules and worked out routes several years earlier for her own amusement, and this was a route she considered just because her Aunt Gardiner hailed from there. She had also worked out routes to Cornwall, Scotland, and even France, though the latter had obvious drawbacks,like war.
She stepped off the coach, wondering if she would recognise any of the landmarks her aunt spoke of. It was a quaint little village. She was stuck in the half-price seats outside the coach for the past ten miles and frozen to the bone, but she still took the time to look around and appreciate the place.
She marvelled that her escape passed right through the eye of the storm. She reckoned she could view her supposed future home if she were willing to walk a few miles. She even briefly considered going up for a look if she could find a cheap enough tourist conveyance but then scoffed at the idea. Her next coach was to leave in six hours, so she would have time to finish her chores and eat.
Elizabeth walked along the main boulevard in Lambton and saw some of the same shops her aunt mentioned from timeto time. Madeline Gardiner had not returned to the village in some years. Elizabeth had been invited on a northern tour with her relatives the next summer, with Derbyshire as a possible destination. That was obviously not about to happen, and she honestly had no idea whether her relatives would even recognise her again, if she ever decided to contact them. She could not contactanybodyuntil after her twenty-first birthday so that was a problem for later.
After twenty minutes, she found just what she was looking for. Bartlet’s was a warm and inviting bookshop with a far better collection than she could find in Meryton, both in quantity and quality. Mr Bartlet was a very polite, grandfatherly sort of man with a cheery countenance and real enthusiasm for his trade.
“Welcome, miss. Come in. Come in. If you have no objection, I must insist you sit a spell by the fire. You look half-frozen.”
“Thank you. I believe I shall.”
True to his word, Mr Bartlet secured a chair, sat her by the fire, and even poured a cup of tea.
Elizabeth smiled. “You are too kind, Mr Bartlet. I feel guilty, as I cannot afford any of your wares and I shall leave in a few hours.”
The old man chuckled. “If youdidhave money, would you be buying or browsing?”
“Buying, of course,” she laughed.
“Madam, if it is not untoward to say it, any day where a pretty book lover comes into the shop is a success, regardless of any purchases. Sit and enjoy your tea. You can tell me about the last book you read.”
After a wonderful hour discussing books, she asked, “Mr Bartlet, I need to write a letter. Could you sell me the paper and lend me a pen and ink?”
“Of course, young lady. It will be my pleasure.”
“And,” she asked pensively, “if I might ask a much larger favour than I have earned, could you hold it for three days, then mail it?”
The man had long ago worked out what was happening. Even without speaking to the young lady, her dress and hairstyle may as well have been a sign screaming, ‘runaway,’ but it was not his business to interfere. The woman seemed sensible enough, and not overly distressed, so he presumed she had a reason for what she did. It had been quite some years since he had any inclination to poke his nose in other peoples’ business.
“Of course, madam. It would be my privilege.”
Elizabeth smiled, and the elder gentleman went to fetch the supplies.
7.Fire and Rain
Two hours later, Elizabeth was extremely glad that she had an inside seat for the evening’s mail coach, because the rain began in earnest. Mr Bartlet offered to escort her to the coaching inn with his umbrella, for which she was eternally grateful.
With a great sigh, she stood up, stretched her aching back, and examined the fruits of her labour. The letter said all she had to say, and Mr Bartlet would mail it in a few days, after it was too late to stop her.
7 December 1811
Lambton, Derbyshire
Mr Thomas Bennet
Longbourn, near Meryton, Hertfordshire
Father,
It is with some sadness that I write, regardless of how disagreeable it is for me to write, or for you to read. I assure you, that you will find it exceedingly difficult, but I implore you to finish it. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on events which, for my own health and happiness, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion, should have been spared, had not my character required it to be written and read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.
As you no doubt noticed, I decided to make my own way in the world, rather than having the entire rest of my life decided between my father and a man I met six weeks ago. I freely admit that I am doing this for selfish reasons and makeno bones about it. Perhaps Mr Darcy may turn out to be a good husband, and maybe he would not. All evidence to date suggests not, and I prefer not to bet the rest of my life on my observations and analysis beingincorrect. While I doubt being Mrs Darcy would be unbearable, it would be a fate done against my own wishes, and I will not be forced, by you or anyone.
I will own my own share of culpability in this debacle, so long as you accept yours. In many ways, I am my father’s daughter, and I fear I inherited all your bad characteristics as well as some of my own invention. For years, you and I smirked and ridiculed our neighbours, freely giving ourselves permission to feel smug and superior, all the while ignoring the fact that we have no cause for pride at all. Nay, in fact, we have ample reason for shame.
