A/N Thank you to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed x
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Friday 6th December 1793
"I have your present here, Jane, you must open it," Elizabeth declared when Jane made it downstairs for the morning meal. "Then we shall put it to use immediately." [1] Lizzie handed her sister a bundle wrapped in pretty red fabric, and watched in anticipation as Jane untied the ribbon securing it.
"Oh Lizzy, they are wonderful," Jane cried as she stroked her new kid riding gloves, feeling the silky, soft leather.
"I worried for your hands when we have been riding – they always appear so red and sore when we return, your old gloves were not good enough. You must eat quickly! We shall take the horses for a jolly ramble this morning."
Jane was not as enthusiastic about riding as Elizabeth was, but the younger sister had found her husband's absence particularly difficult in the lead up to the festive season, and Jane was eager to see her eyes light up the way they did when she was on her horse. The riding habit she had brought with her from Longbourn had been put to good use in the last few weeks.
When Jane finally ventured out to the courtyard, dressed in a feathered cap and donning her new gloves against the cold, a groom was waiting for her, horse in hand. Elizabeth had already mounted her beloved Arion, as was walking his in loose circles to warm him up.
The day was crisp and clear. Frost sparkled on the grass, which crunched under the horses' hooves. The sun hung low and heavy in the sky, hovering over the distant treeline. They rode side by side, Jane on a bay mare from the manor's stables whose steady pace and sturdy footing she much appreciated. She admired Elizabeth from out of the corner of her eye. After her sister's accident as a child, she never would have imagined the scared, dark-haired girl she had known would have grown into a young lady as confident on four feet as on two.
Elizabeth's dark green habit stood out against the frosted grass and the trees glistening with ice. Her horse was ghostly in the hazy, winter sun, as relaxed with Lizzy on his back as she was comfortable there. Together, they presented a striking image.
"I saw that you were passed a letter yesterday which you did not share. Was it your husband?" Jane asked quietly as they strolled on horseback though the parkland.
"Yes, it was Fitzwilliam. It was dated a se'enight ago – he was not able to tell me where he is, just that he had returned from a mission for the Duke, and that he is safe."
"The Duke? The Duke of York?" Jane asked. Elizabeth nodded.
"Why can he not tell you where he has been?"
Elizabeth explained, "He does not share any military matters. You see, Jane, that somewhere between where he is and the ship home, the letter may be intercepted by the French. It is unlikely to be of any use to them – if where he had been or where he is was of any importance, they would probably know already – but he said it was good practice to never even take the risk."
Elizabeth sighed. It should have been enough to know that he was safe, and reasonably well. Instead, she fretted that he would be sent to do some perilous work in a dangerous corner of France, and be unable to warn her. It was purely by chance that Jones was able to stumble on him in time, during the captivity which ended his last deployment to the Continent. The Colonel did not much talk about his work, but Elizabeth was intelligent enough to read between the lines – Fitzwilliam's rank was in no small part due to his father's title, but he had earned his epaulettes, and was highly prized by the War Office. His abilities were not limited to the sword and the musket, and Elizabeth knew his skills in covert work would be frequently put to use. She worried that in the wet and cold of winter, his leg might ache and pain him. She worried for his health, and for his happiness, so far from his family and his homeland. She worried.
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Tuesday 24th December 1793
Having assumed many of the responsibilities of Lady of the Manor, Elizabeth had spent many hours on household matters – setting menus, reviewing certain household accounts, discussing staff members with the housekeeper and butler. Given that many of these duties were serious, or at least tedious and uninteresting, she was taking great delight in the frivolous but important task she had been assigned.
"Now wrap the ribbon around… no, no, if you wrap it like this…"
Christmas decorations.
Elizabeth had ordered the collection of a multitude of evergreens from the estate, and was in the process of organising the decoration of the entrance hall. The banisters of the stairs were laden with greenery and adorned with apples and oranges. Some of the servants were in the process of winding a long red ribbon around the balusters, while others were hanging the kissing bough from the top of the staircase, so it hung at the centre of the room. It was more elaborate than the modest Christmas bough they had strung up at Longbourn, but the resources of Hensleigh Castle allowed for such extravagance. It was at least a foot and half across, made of evergreens wound through a wire frame and decorated with holly, ivy, rosemary and mistletoe.
The rest of the house had been decorated similarly. The vases were occupied with sprigs of holly; the scent of cloves and oranges perfumed the air.
"Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies," she sang to herself as she moved one of the oranges on the banister to another place. "Nature rise and worship him, who is born at Bethlehem." [2] She wandered into the next room, one of Hensleigh Castle's many parlours, stealing a mincemeat pie from a plate on the sideboard as she went.
"Christ by highest Heav'n adored, Christ the everlasting Lord…" She moved a vase of holly from the mantlepiece to a window sill, and hummed as she arranged the foliage, so the bright red berries were more visible.
Acting as Lady of the Manor had given Elizabeth more pleasure than she could have imagined. Her mother had always complained about the household business she tended to, which was not much – Mr Bennet had reduced his wife's control of the household accounts when Elizabeth was still a small child – but Mrs Bennet was not a learned woman and took no pleasure in exercise of the mind. Elizabeth, on the other hand, relished in it. Though it was challenging at times, and there had been instances when she had visited the Viscount in a panic over something she did not understand, the sense of achievement was almost as fulfilling as her time with the hospital.
She nodded to a maid who was arranging oranges decorated with cloves into a bowl. The girl dropped into a curtsy just as Jane stepped into the room.
"Oh Lizzy, is it not simply beautiful?" she exclaimed. "The fires are burning hot and bright, the air smells of pastries and spices – it is just magical!"
"It is," Elizabeth giggled at the joy on Jane's face, "quite magical." Outside the window, a layer of snow was blanketed over the grounds. It glistened and sparkled in the clear winter light, its cold beauty lending a festive feeling of peace to the Manor.
"Come, Jane," she said, linking her arm through her sister's. "If we follow the scent of those pastries, there might be a feast at the end."
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Elizabeth was lost in though. Curled up on the window seat in the morning room, her mind was on her husband. This should have been their first Christmas season together. They should be talking about their families' Christmas traditions, and arguing over which they would follow, until they settled on a combination of the two which would be uniquely theirs. Perhaps the Fizwilliams waited until the evening to exchange sweets and trinkets, rather than in the morning, like the Bennets. Perhaps Richard enjoyed gorging himself on Christmas oranges. Mrs Bennet had never liked oranges, so they were only ever decoration at Longbourn.
"Mrs Fitzwilliam?" Elizabeth was drawn from her reverie by the gentle voice of Viscount Duncannon. Flustered, she began to stand, but her visitor quickly stopped her.
"Please, do not rise on my account. I have something to pass on to you." He held in his hands a small box which was covered in a soft green fabric and tied with a red bow. "Richard was not able to order this himself, but he sent me a letter with detailed instructions before he crossed the channel, and it was made by one of the best jewellers in London." He passed her the gift, squeezing her hand gently in sympathy, then her left to open the present alone.
She unwrapped the ribbon carefully, carefully opening the box, aware the contents could be fragile. Nestled in a bed of dark green velvet was a locket. It made of polished gold, depicting a delicate leopards head at the centre, surrounded by a wreath of roses and lavender. She recognised the leopard as the same image which was repeated on the Fitzwilliam family crest. Roses and lavender had been special to them as husband and wife ever since the day they went gathering together.
She recognised Colonel Fitzwilliam's thoughtfulness in the design of the locket, though she was confused by the lack of a ribbon or chain. Then it occurred to her that the gold of the locket was the same shade as the necklace he gave her months before. Unfastening her the necklace around her neck, she gently slipped the amber cross of the chain and ran it though the top of the locket, so it was in the middle, with six diamonds on either side.
Gently pressing on the clasp, she opened the locket. The inside was less elaborate than the outside. In fact, there was no miniature, no drawing, not even a lock of hair. Engraved into the gold, right at the centre, was one word. The word that meant the world to Elizabeth. Always.
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Thursday 26th December
Every corner of the kitchen was filled with baskets. The surfaces on one side of the room were covered with stacks of folded blankets, the other side with jars of fruit preserve. Elizabeth was wearing a luxurious, dark blue gown, with her sleeves rolled up and her hair haphazardly piled on top of her head underneath a lace mobcap. She was packing the baskets with supplies – each package contained a blanket, a couple of jars of jam, a small purse of pennies and a several lumps of coal wrapped in newspaper. A box of handcrafted wooden toys sat by the door, to be added to the baskets for the households with children.
The Viscount Duncannon was slouched against the door frame with his arms crossed and an indolent smile on his face.
"The servants are quite capable of packing these baskets themselves," he drawled with a raised eyebrow.
"And I am quite capable of packing these baskets," she replied, "considering that they are from 'the family,' I believe that at least one of should be involved."
"No, no, Mrs Fitzwilliam," he pointed his finger at her with a grin, "I said 'perhaps we might give the tenants a little coin or a few jars of jam'. I am quite sure what I did not say was 'why, Mrs Fitzwilliam, please take over the kitchens to spend hours filling baskets with gifts for my tenants.'"
"Are you certain, my lord? I seem to recall those being the instructions exactly," she returned. He merely laughed as he pushed off from the doorframe, discarding his frock coat as he joined Elizabeth by a stack of blankets. Rolling up his sleeves he asked,
"What do you need me to do?"
Together, they were able to finish the baskets before midday. Over a meal of cold meats and fresh bread, Elizabeth elaborated upon her plans for their gifts to the tenants.
"My mother at Longbourn always gave the tenants a little something – a blanket, some salted meats or perhaps some toys for the children – but she did not have the means, or rather, she did not wish to direct the means, to give them more. Here, we, you, have the means." She gestured with her fork to the obvious wealth in the room: the chandelier filled with beeswax candles, the great number of windows, the spread of food on the table. [3] "And I can swear by it, you shall reap the benefits come harvest."
"It is something of which my uncle, the Earl Fitzwilliam, has talked. My father was never the most successful landlord, so my uncle saw fit to impart some of his wisdom to me when I purchased Hensleigh."
"My father, also, was not as attentive to estate matters as he could have been, but he knew the worth in his tenants. They are the foundation on which the success of this estate is built, you must never forget that. By showing them just a little appreciation for their work the past year, you guarantee their work for next year as well."
"It is remarkable," Duncannon observed.
"What is remarkable, my lord?"
"You speak with such confidence, such conviction. You have not been married even a year yet you hold yourself with the poise and self-assurance of a woman many times your age." He raised his glass to her in toast. "You are as my cousin said – an incredible woman."
Elizabeth let herself smile for a moment. "I cannot disagree with you, my lord."
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[1] St Nicholas Day was the first day of the Christmas season, and the day on which gifts were exchanged between friends and family.
[2] Hark! The Herald Angels Sing was written in 1739 by Charles Wesley – the lyrics Elizabeth is singing were adapted from the original in 1759 by George Whitefield. The tune we would recognise as this carol was not composed by Mendelssohn until 1840.
[3] Beeswax candles were prohibitively expensive, but were preferred by those who could afford them because the alternative was tallow candles – tallow was made from sheep or cow fat, and produced an unpleasant odour when burnt (due to the glycerine content). Because they were so expensive, beeswax candles became something of a demonstration of wealth.