Page 3 of Ashes and Understanding
Jane paused in her stitching, her brow furrowing in thought. “He does, though I do not know if he would have knowledge of medicines. Still, it could not hurt to ask.”
Elizabeth nodded, determination hardening her features. “I will write to him tonight.”
∞∞∞
Two weeks later, Elizabeth sat at the breakfast table with a letter in her hand and a small sachet of dried herbs before her. She had read her uncle’s response twice already, her heart lifting with cautious optimism.
Dearest Lizzy,
Your letter touched me deeply, and I am so sorry to hear of poor Kitty’s struggles. I have spoken with my managers, who in turn have asked around at the docks. Some of the workers—immigrants from far-off lands—shared knowledge of remedies used in their countries for ailments like the one you described.
Enclosed are some dried herbs one of them recommended, along with instructions for preparing them. Many of their suggestions are for plants that do not grow in England, so I have sent inquiries for many to be brought with my regular imports.
I cannot promise they will work, but I will continue to inquire and send along anything else I discover. Give my love to Kitty and the family. My betrothed, Madeline, likewise sends her regards and begs me to tell you that Kitty is in her prayers.
I think you will like your new aunt, Lizzy.
Yours affectionately,
Edward Gardiner
Elizabeth turned the sachet over in her hands, the faint scent of the herbs unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. “Jane,” she said, looking up, “I think we should try this.”
Jane glanced at the letter, her expression cautious. “Do you think Mr. Jones will agree?”
Elizabeth’s jaw set in quiet resolve. “He must. If we do nothing, Kitty…” She could not bring herself to say the words.
Mr. Jones was sent for, and he warily looked at the small package. “Well, I suppose there is no harm in trying it,” he admitted when Elizabeth pressed it into his hands. “Lord knows she will die in any case.”
Leaving Jane with Kitty, Elizabeth led the apothecary to the still room, where Mr. Jones carefully prepare the mixture according to Mr. Gardiner’s instructions. Together, they steeped the herbs in hot water from the kitchen until the room was filled with their strange, earthy aroma.
∞∞∞
Hertfordshire, February 1809
The Bennet household was alive with the usual morning bustle. The sound of chairs scraping against the floor, the clink of teacups, and the murmur of conversation filled the breakfast room. Mr. Bennet unfolded his newspaper with a decisive snap, the scent of ink mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread.
Suddenly, a pair of hands covered Elizabeth’s eyes from behind. “Guess who?” said a gruff voice.
Elizabeth sniffed. “Lydia,” she declared with certainty.
Lydia pouted and slid into her chair. “It is not fair. Elizabeth always gets it right.”
“Because she cansmellus,” Kitty said with a smirk. “Like a dog can.”
Elizabeth nearly snorted, part amused and part offended. Mr. Bennet looked up from his newspaper. “Indeed, a most useful trait in a daughter—provided she does not start barking at visitors.”
Everyone burst into laughter and resumed their breakfast. Mr. Bennet was halfway through the front page when he abruptly exclaimed, “Well, now, that’s quite the disaster.”
Elizabeth, now sixteen years of age, looked up sharply. “What is it, Papa? Surely not news of the French?”
“Napoleon?” Mr. Bennet blinked at her with a confused expression. “No, no. He remains where he ought—for now. Though I do appreciate your flair for the dramatic, Lizzy. This, however, concerns matters much closer to home on our own shores.”
“What is it, then?” Jane asked softly, her hands resting neatly in her lap.
Mr. Bennet adjusted his spectacles and peered over the paper. “Drury Lane. Burned to the ground last night.”
Elizabeth gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Drury Lane? Surely not!” Memories of glittering chandeliers, the velvet-covered seats, and the actors’ powerful voices filled her mind. “Surely you are jesting?” she pleaded.
