Chapter Twenty-One

As the carriage pulled away from the Church in Meryton, returning the two sisters once again to their home, Elizabeth pondered the last day’s interactions with the tall gentleman that she finally realized had captured her heart. Had he really almost kissed me? She mused, her gloved fingers brushing against her lips. Did I want him to? If so, why did I run and hide from him? Then she recalled his reticent behavior in the parlor after dinner. Save for the one quip about poetry, almost an admission of a shared joke, he had hardly spoken to her for three full hours. The withdrawal of even the barest civilities confused her.

Then for him to so disregard her sensibilities and capabilities by patrolling her estate without her knowledge, much less her presence or permission, was demeaning to say the least. And all he did was stand there so stupidly silent when she confronted him. She could not make out his purpose at all. And she was no longer certain she cared to try. All she wanted was the familiar comforts of her home and her family’s embrace. She leaned her head onto her sister’s shoulder. Jane took hold of her arm and squeezed her silent support.

They were welcomed home not very cordially by their mother. Mrs. Bennet wondered at their leaving Netherfield so quickly. She was certain they could have stayed another week complete before decorum would have driven them home.

“You should have stayed. How can Mr. Bingley fall in love with Jane, if he is never to see her? And now there is no way to send her back. You must think more, Lizzy, before you take such decisions upon yourself.

“I must say I am not displeased by your return,” said their father. “Your absence has illustrated your importance in the family circle. The evening conversation had lost much of its animation, and almost all its sense, in your absence.”

“Mr. Bennet!”

“How can you joke at a time like this, Father?” Elizabeth was shocked to find the reprimand was delivered by her youngest sister. Lydia was dressed in the black and grey of half mourning. “Captain Carter. Mr. Pratt. Colonel Forster. Harriet! Have you forgotten so quickly? She was my particular friend, barely older than me. And now she’s gone. And … it … it was almost … Jane …” Lydia collapsed in tears.

The sisters all gathered around the youngest to offer what comfort that they could. Soon all were weeping. Elizabeth realized she had not shed any tears since the horrible events had begun. She had needed to be so strong for so many people. She desperately required the catharsis only sharing such grief and pain with loved ones could bring.

Later Mary came to Elizabeth with an anxious expression. “May I speak with you, Lizzy?”

“Certainly. Would you like to take a walk?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes moving to where their mother was sitting with Kitty, enraptured with the fashion illustrations in the latest Lady's Magazine.

“I think that would be very pleasant.” Mary agreed with a nod. They both donned their heavy spencers and bonnets, as the day had grown cooler, though there was still no threat of snow. They walked arm in arm for several minutes, circling the Longbourn gardens. Elizabeth reached out with her gift to strengthen the plants in the gardens, helping them prepare for the winter.

“You’re using your gift, aren’t you?” Mary asked, breaking her sister’s concentration.

“I’m sorry? I was thinking of something.”

“You were using your gift, probably to improve the garden.”

“I was.”

“You do the same when you are walking the estate, don’t you?”

“On most days. I think it helps.”

“It does. Mr. Quint told me that between you and Jane, Longbourn’s income has increased almost fifteen percent over all since you two started using your gifts to help the estate. This includes crop yields, the sheering, and beef sales. He said that expenses are down as well, between Jane helping with irrigation and drainage and you seeing to the health of the people and animals. He even said that he was able to raise rents for new tenants, not that there is much turnover, because of the benefits you bring the tenants and their farms.”

“I … I had not realized the difference was that great.”

“He claims it is an average of 300-400 pounds per annum. Something of an extra dowry that you and Jane can bring to a marriage, if you should marry an agriculturalist.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I wanted you to understand that I comprehend the value that a well-used gift can bring. That’s not the reason I support the Ordinary cause. Nor is my own unfortunate affliction as a hollow. Though, to be honest, being your sister, and Jane’s, is no easy thing for someone with no gift.”

“I’m …”

“No. The reason I support the cause is that I feel that unlike you and Jane, so many gifted people ignore their responsibilities in favor of the privileges that their protected positions offer that the system no longer meets the needs of an evolving society.”

“I have certainly seen that. Just as I have seen people’s whose gifts do not lend themselves to the prosecution of magisterial duties.”

“Exactly. What should a man like Mr. Harrington, whose gift is to know the exact weight of anything he touches, do to protect his tenants from banditry or the depredations of a ravening monster like the Coventry Wolf?”

“Just what he does. He cannot do it alone. So, he hires a good sheriff. He might also make arrangements with the militia or other landholders.”

“And if the law allowed, and Mr. Harrington had no gift, could he not do the same? And would he not still have his knowledge and character that make him a successful landowner now, without the paltry gift he has?”

“I concede your point,” Elizabeth agreed. “I am also cognizant of the plight of our Uncle Gardener and his associates. Men of character, wit, and fortune; in many cases greater fortunes than all but the wealthiest gentry; who are denied a voice in the government of the nation that their wealth supports and helps grow. But you know I share many of your thoughts and concerns on this. Why revisit it now?”

“I needed you to know that though I am vehemently in support of the Ordinary philosophy and the movement to increase the rights of the ungifted; I in no way countenance the abhorrent actions of the terrorists who claim to share my cause. What they did here in the last few days is anathema to me. You must believe that.”

“It never occurred to me to doubt that, Mary.”

“I would never hurt Jane, or you, or anyone.”

“I know.” Elizabeth drew her younger sister into an embrace. “Never fear that Jane or I might blame you for the actions of others. You are too good, and we know and trust in that goodness.”

“I … I … just wanted you to know.”

That evening Elizabeth went on another extended patrol. She searched the entire estate diligently for any sign of the escaped radicals. She saw a double line of uniformed men marching in formation east on the road to Meryton. She stood hidden in the woods by the crossroads where the St. Alban Road passed the lane to Longbourn Village. Their uniforms marked them as from the same Derbyshire Militia as was currently headquartered in Meryton. Elizabeth assumed the replacement Colonel and Major were to be found among the officers riding in front of the column. She estimated there were enough men in the unit to almost double the number that had been billeted in the neighborhood, after their losses were taken into account.

She paralleled their progress until they left the boundaries of Longbourn. She was concerned about that number of armed men moving around the countryside. The officers were all gentlemen, but the rank and file of a militia unit were often made up of the flotsam of a county’s populous. Most troopers were farmer’s sons and laborers, honest men for the most part, serving their country or just trying to make a living. But there were also a fair number of runaway apprentices, petty criminals, and riffraff from the towns and cities. Without strict leadership, they could be as much a danger to the neighborhood as the radicals and insurrectionists they were protecting against. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

After the last man had disappeared, she finished her inspection of the estate. Finding nothing else out of the ordinary, she turned towards her home. As she passed the candlelit houses in the village, she realized she had not made her usual round of visits to the tenants since Jane’s attack. She determined that in the morning she would make several strategic stops at the homes of the most voluble of the gossips to listen to the latest on dits, thus learning of the general state of the population and what their greatest concerns might be. She would also contact Mr. Quint, her father’s steward, to find out where he thought she might do the most good.

Despite the ongoing threat and uncertainty, life must continue.