After that first day, Elizabeth walked out whenever the weather permitted. Cecily sometimes joined her, cheerfully pointing out the best paths during this time of year, but she was not a great walker and, though she never said so, much preferred to remain in the gardens or even in the house itself. Elizabeth did not mind; she almost loved Cecily already, but her meanderings about the countryside had always been an opportunity to recover herself in quiet peace. Little of either could be found in Cecily's company.
It was on one of these occasions, as she returned to the house, that Elizabeth overheard her cousin Edward say:
"Dear God, what a tragedy!" After a moment, he added, "Was it necessary to interrupt a really enjoyable quarrel for that? Eleanor and I were just beginning to sink our teeth into it."
"Is it necessary for you to conceal the slightest trace of consideration for anybody beyond yourself?" cried Cecily.
Lord Milton, for once, fell silent - Elizabeth suspected out of sheer surprise.
"Of course Elizabeth has clothes," Lady Eleanor said. "She brought a trunk -"
"She has nothing new - just what she had from those people. You must see that Elizabeth cannot wear those! She would look more like Lady Ancaster's maid than her granddaughter!"
Elizabeth flushed, expecting her ladyship's usual sneering disdain, and quickened her pace.
Instead, Eleanor said sharply and disapprovingly, "My father did not order any clothes for her? Edward did not think of it? Did they find a proper maid?"
"I am sure they meant well, Ella," said Cecily, faltering a little, "it is only that they - they are -"
"Men!"
Edward's yawn, and his drawling reply, were blessedly faint: "I was the smallest bit preoccupied, Eleanor."
Eleanor said something, but Elizabeth could not easily make it out and did not try. She instead hurried away, her mind whirling. - In the last several days, it had become evident that Cecily lived in awe of the other Fitzwilliams; despite the evidence of her own ears, Elizabeth found it difficult to credit that Cecily had actually confronted Edward and Eleanor, of all the cousins, over such a trivial matter.
Cecily, she thought, was very easy to love; not like James, exuding worthiness from every pore, but constantly demonstrating the same sweet, affectionate nature Elizabeth had always so prized in Jane, yet unlike her in every other possible respect.
Much to Elizabeth's astonishment, the matter did not end there. Lord Ancaster - who thus far had scarcely spoken to her, or anybody but Edward - summoned her to his study the following afternoon. Elizabeth, a little apprehensive and very curious, entered the room to find herself facing another young woman - by her voice and apparel, a girl from the village.
"Ah, Elizabeth," said the earl, addressing her left arm in his usual, vaguely amiable, fashion. "This is Ellen Brown, from the village. I hope she is suitable to you?"
Elizabeth hesitated. "I, well - er - I beg your pardon?"
"We have found her references exemplary," Lord Ancaster continued, "and your cousin Cecilia is very satisfied with her sister's service."
"I see. No, I have no objections."
With a nod at the fender, Lord Ancaster dismissed Brown and coughed. "Er. I also understand that, er, there is some question about your, er, gowns and - er - such things."
Elizabeth flushed scarlet. "Oh! I do not - that is - Cecily has kindly offered me enough for the duration of my . . . residence here."
This, to her surprise, roused his lordship to something like animation. "Nonsense!" cried he indignantly. "My niece shall certainly not go about in others' cast-offs. No, there is a dressmaker in Allingham. It may not quite be London, but will do for the present. My mother is very fond of that sort of thing; I am sure she will be only too pleased to accompany you. Expense is not an object - you must be seen to be a Miss Fitzwilliam."
Elizabeth opened her mouth, then shut it again. Once she had regained her voice, she said, "You are very generous, sir," and made her escape.
Cecily, to whom she related the conversation in full, declaimed any praise for the latest changes in Elizabeth's circumstances. "I did hardly anything," she insisted. "I knew about your Brown, and since you needed someone pretty well immediately - well, I thought of her, and I told my uncle. Really, though, that is all, and I am sure somebody else would have thought of it." She paused, then added with a mischievous smile, "Does my uncle really expect Grandmama to take you to Mrs Martin's shop?"
"Yes, I think so." Elizabeth somehow felt that she could love Lady Ancaster more easily than anybody else, except perhaps Cecily, but that did not brighten the prospect of an outing with her. Impulsively, she turned to her cousin and said, "Oh, Cecily, you will come with us, will you not? I shan't be able to keep a straight face by myself."
"I am not sure how much help I can be with that," said Cecily, "but of course I shall come."
They called it the expedition and by the time their grandmother summoned Elizabeth downstairs, had laughed themselves into a degree of complaisance. Elizabeth was almost looking forward to the mixture of anxiety and hilarity which seemed sure to follow.
Lady Ancaster, standing beside Edward and looking disconcertingly sane, said with perfect serenity, "Good morning, Elizabeth. Why, you already seem taller. Have you grown?"
"A little, ma'am, in a manner of speaking," said Elizabeth, "though I think it is mainly the effect of my gown. Do you agree, cousin?"
"Oh, quite so," Lord Milton replied, running his fingers over the seal of a letter. "I do not imagine you have grown an inch since yesterday."
"Are you to accompany us, girl?" Lady Ancaster asked Cecily. "Your mother will be pleased."
"Her mother is dead," said Lord Milton.
The countess blinked, then shook her head, as if tossing aside a stray thought. "Of course she is. They died in Portugal, all of them together; James and Henry, and Laura and Cecilia. Laura was your mother, Elizabeth. Do you remember her?"
"Of course she does not," he said.
"I thought you mightn't, after all these years." Her brow furrowed. "It has been many years, has it not? Since Catherine took Laura's doll?"
"Yes," Elizabeth replied, almost gently; "that was a very long time ago, now."
"Ah. Well, that does explain a great deal. Cecily, child, you cannot stand there shilly-shallying the entire day. Are you to come with us, or not?"
"Yes, Elizabeth wants me," Cecily declared. Then a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. "At least . . ."
"I do," Elizabeth said firmly.
As they rode through the village, she looked about interestedly. It was not like Longbourn or even Meryton, but larger and more prosperous. There was none of the comfortable familiarity she recalled; the villagers' manner towards them was a mixture of respect, deference and avid curiosity.
Mrs Martin, a large, cheerful woman with a loud voice, took one glance at Lady Ancaster and fell silent, almost immovable from astonishment. Then she smiled even more broadly and bustled over to greet them.
"These are my granddaughters, who have been returned to us," Lady Ancaster said.
Mrs Martin's eyes widened, but she confined herself to a polite: "Oh, isn't that nice?"
Elizabeth was certain the news would be all over the village within an hour after their departure.
"Very," replied the countess, in a tone which could only be called dry. Then she detailed Elizabeth's requirements with only the occasional segue into the past, Mrs Martin hastening to agree with every word and her granddaughters trailing after her in some bemusement.
"My grandmother seems in - better health today," Elizabeth whispered.
"Some days are better than others, but . . ." Cecily shrugged, looking every bit as taken aback as Elizabeth felt. "I do not know. Perhaps it helps her to think about something that isn't tragic."
Lady Ancaster gave a cry of delight. "Girls, come and look at this. Is not it lovely?" She smiled at Mrs Martin. "My daughter Anne has a gown in something quite similar, and she is always very admired."
Mrs Martin swallowed. "Ah," she said. "Yes. I have heard that."
Elizabeth and Cecily gave her commiserating smiles and examined the fabric.
"I really would prefer yellow, ma'am," Elizabeth said.
Lady Ancaster's brows lifted. "Elizabeth, dear, white would suit your colouring much better. Catherine and Anne -"
"White is ever so much smarter than yellow," added Mrs Martin.
Elizabeth's fondness for the luxuries of life had never overwhelmed her good taste. She imagined the sumptuous fabric cut into a day gown, and set her teeth.
Cecily, after one glance at the obstinate expressions on her relations' faces, hastily intervened. "Oh, you cannot really think that you will need only the one dress, Elizabeth. White is always elegant, it would be perfect for a more formal gown, with the yellow more suitable for ordinary wear. You do remember that lovely yellow muslin you made for me last month, Mrs Martin? Elizabeth was just admiring it yesterday."
Elizabeth's mouth quirked.
Fortunately, the young ladies' tastes were in nearly perfect accord, which made Cecily an even more desirable companion, for this sort of expedition, than Jane had ever been. She took a childish pleasure in pretty things, while her whimsical, unaffected ways kept her from giving offence. As they made their choices, Elizabeth was astonished to find herself giggling like a girl just out, attracting the attention of Lady Ancaster and several other patrons. Their grandmother smiled serenely before continuing to outfit her in a manner befitting Miss Fitzwilliam of . . . Elizabeth did not even know where to finish the thought.
By the time they made their leave, Elizabeth's head was full of muslin and silk, but not so much that she failed to see her cousin lingering at Mrs Martin's table. They seemed to be talking lightly, Cecily's hand resting on a folded letter. The dressmaker snatched it up as soon as Cecily's back was turned, and Elizabeth caught a glimpse of the seal.
As they followed their grandmother to the carriage, Cecily's face looked pinched and unhappy for a moment. The expression was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"Cecily," Elizabeth whispered, "did you just give Mrs Martin Lord Milton's letter?"
"Lord Milton? Oh, Edward. Yes, he told me -" Her eyes widened. "Oh! I was not to mention it to anybody. I don't know why, but - oh, I am sorry." She looked plaintively at Elizabeth, clearly longing to divulge the secret as much as Elizabeth wanted to hear it; but both had too much natural delicacy to press the matter any further, and after a brief, awkward silence, Cecily began chattering about the beautiful set of pearls Elizabeth had, apparently, inherited from her mother.
"They say Lord Cardwell spent five hundred pounds on our mothers' trousseaux, even though the wedding was so dreadfully quick and he hardly saw them afterwards. Sometimes I wonder why Papa and Uncle James married well at all - it's not as if they cared sixpence about such things."
Elizabeth felt, for the first time, a a small thread connecting her to those long-dead Fitzwilliams who had given her life. She slowed her stride to match Cecily's shorter one, and said impulsively, "Tell me about my father, please, and yours, and our mothers. I am not like Jane, I cannot remember anything."
#
The Fitzwilliam name, or the Fitzwilliam money, ensured that Elizabeth had a new gown by Sunday, when they all sallied forth to hear James preach.
The church was filled almost to overflowing, and Miss Butler, Mr Talbot, and Miss Ponsonby - who had, for twenty years, excused themselves from rising or kneeling on account of feeble knees and general decrepitude - sprang up as soon as the psalm was given out. The rest of the congregation followed suit, turning as one to gawk at Elizabeth.
Lord Milton loudly observed that the entire parish had evidently been struck by a fit of piety. Colonel Fitzwilliam glared at him, and Cecily, who was seated on his other side, jabbed him in the ribs. Elizabeth, ignoring both the squabbling of her cousins and the stares of the impertinent, kept her eyes fixed on James. - It had been a good sermon, insofar as she could tell - she knew herself not to have been as attentive as she ought, but as she had been much more so than nearly everyone else, she felt somewhat vindicated.
She had only a moment's notice before the others swarmed about, offering congratulations and trying to get a good look at Elizabeth, while Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Milton did their best to frustrate the latter object. Elizabeth's mouth soon ached from smiling so long, answering queries, and struggling to keep track of names and faces. The only ones she could clearly recall were their closest neighbours, the Brookes, and Mr Lynch, a bold queer-looking Irish gentleman who gripped her hand and stared into her face until James and Edward gave him a sharp look.
"Never mind," whispered Cecily. "This will be old news as soon as another scandal comes along."
Eleanor, in a tone that was evidently meant to be reassuring, said, "Never mind him, Elizabeth - he is only the son of an Irish viscount. You can do much better."
She looked between them, Eleanor and Cecily and James on one side, Lord Milton and Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Ancaster on the other, and wondered if this was what her life would be now - pulled between the eccentricites of her relatives in an endless succession of busy nothings.