Chapter 1
Meryton, September 1805
"God bless you, Miss Lizzy."
Elizabeth Bennet gave the tenant woman a wan smile and pulled her shawl closer around her. "Please let us know if you need anything," Elizabeth replied.
The woman nodded, then picked up her two year old child and headed in to the warmth of her cottage, the basket of food clutched tightly in her other hand.
Elizabeth shivered and looked at the graying September sky. "Why does it feel like February?" she grumbled, kicking her fur-lined boots in the mud.
When the people of England read in the newspaper the previous year about an eruption of a volcano in a distant country, they had little idea of how it would affect them the following year. It was as if spring, summer, and autumn had been entirely skipped. The freezing rains were more of a threat to livestock and crops than the unusually hot and dry summers they had experienced over the several years before.
Elizabeth headed towards Longbourn, her boots sinking almost six inches into the mud of the lane. She hadn't seen dried dirt The hem of her black mourning gown was filthy, but Elizabeth paid it no mind. Even if she were to wash it out, it would only become just as soiled the next day.
As she trudged her way through the muck, she looked sorrowfully at the tenants' farms. The fields were filled with stunted wheat that never quite matured. Amidst the shortened stocks, bare patches showed where some of the seeds had rotted away instead of beginning to grow.
"Miss Lizzy!"
Elizabeth turned around to see Johnny Carson, a local tenant lad of about ten years, come running up to her.
"Good afternoon, Johnny," she greeted him a smile.
He came to a halt, panting as he offered a bow. "My pa said to tell you that old Nell died during the night."
"Oh dear," Elizabeth said, furrowing her brow. "That's the third tenant-owned horse."
The boy shrugged, hopping on each leg as he strove to keep his bare feet off the icy ground. "She didn't have nothing to eat since the oats wouldn't grow."
The loss of oats was just a hardship as the loss of wheat. Without oats, many tenants were unable to feed their horses to plow the land and bring in what little harvest there was.
Elizabeth sighed. "Have your father to do as best he can with the meat and bones. At least it's one fewer animal to worry about this winter."
There would be no way to maintain all of the livestock over the summer, and the price of oats and wheat had risen too high for even the wealthiest in the kingdom to purchase sufficient for their needs. The loss of a horse was costly, but the meat and bone broth would be of use this year.
Johnny nodded. "I think the pig's next," he said softly.
"Tell your father that Mr. Bennet will be along over the next few days to determine which livestock we should slaughter and which we should keep for the winter.
Johnny nodded again and dashed off, trying to regain the warmth he had lost by standing and talking to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth watched him go with a worried frown. How would they be able to remain warm this winter? She pondered the dilemma as she walked briskly back to Longbourn.
Entering the house through the kitchens, Elizabeth shook the mud from her boots out of the door. Cook gave her a smile. "Hill will be thanking you for that, Miss."
"Poor Hill has enough work to do without having to clean up after me," Elizabeth said.
Cook nodded and said, "Lydia has called for her three times since lunch."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes then bit her lip, feeling guilty. "Today marks five months since Kitty's death. She must be feeling it keenly to have only one month of mourning left."
Cook nodded again, then turned her attention back to the stove. "Mr. Johnson found some carrots in 'is garden an' brought 'em up. I'll be adding them to the soup tonight. Perhaps that will cheer her up."
"That was very kind of him," Elizabeth replied. "Did he not want to keep them for his children?"
Cook shook her head. "He kept some back for them, but he was grateful for the dried apples you sent him last week. He wished to return the kindness."
Elizabeth's heart lifted at this evidence of neighborly kindness. It was clear that everyone would need to pull together, or the winter would be full of heavy losses. But how?
She continued thinking on this as she climbed the stairs from the kitchens towards her mother's rooms.
Faint sobs echoed down the hallway before the door came into view.
"Mama?" Elizabeth asked, knocking softly on the door.
"Come in," came Jane's gentle voice above the cries.
Elizabeth pushed the door open and gasped softly at the stench that wafted out of the room.
"What on earth?"
She blinked her eyes in the dim light and saw Jane sitting near their mother's bed, patting a frail hand. The curtains were pulled tightly closed against the window, and the only light came from the coals in the fireplace.
As her eyes adjusted, Elizabeth saw several trays of untouched food that represented almost a week's worth of meals. The chamber pot was near to overflowing, and there were soiled garments strewn across the room.
"I'm calling for Hill. How could she have let this happen?" Elizabeth's voice was tinged with anger.
"No!" shouted Mrs. Bennet. "I do not want anyone in my room!"
"But Mama, your room is filthy," Elizabeth said, looking at Jane for support.
Jane's lips pressed together, and she shook her head.
"Mama does not wish anyone but me to care for her, and I am not allowed to tidy things," Jane whispered.
"Of course not! You are a gentleman's daughter," Mrs. Bennet declared. "Leave me, Lizzy. Leave me to die."
Elizabeth looked around in dismay and fled the sight and smell, closing the door behind her. She took several gasps of fresh air in the hallway, then fairly ran down the stairs to her father's bookroom.
"Papa!" she cried, pounding on his door.
"Enter," came the swift reply.
Elizabeth opened the door and came into her father's private domain. He sat behind his cluttered desk, a ledger open in front of him and a book in his hands.
"Goodness, Lizzy," he said with a smile, "could the pigs have gotten into the garden again?"
"You must come immediately, Papa," she said. "Mama is quite unwell."
"Ah, she just wishes to be as much trouble with her nerves as she can be," he replied, waving a hand indolently. "Perhaps I should sit about in my cap and gown, calling for my salts as well."
He laughed at his jest, but the smile faded as Elizabeth gave him a severe look.
"Have you visited Mama recently?" she asked seriously.
He set the book he was reading down on top of the ledger and looked at her seriously. "Not in some days. I thought to leave her to Hill's ministrations, as that is typically what she prefers when she is beset by her nerves."
Elizabeth shook her vehemently. "This is different, Papa. She hasn't eaten in days, and she will only allow Jane to attend her."
"Please don't tell me that you have been taken in by her theatrics, Lizzy. I thought you more intelligent than that," Mr. Bennet said with a smirk.
"Papa, she will not even allow a maid to change the chamberpot. It is almost overflowing."
At this, the sardonic grin faded from Mr. Bennet's face. "You are serious?" he asked, looking at his daughter carefully.
"Yes, Papa," she said firmly. "And she refused to allow me to call for Hill. She said to just allow her to die."
Mr. Bennet stood quickly, almost knocking his chair over. He strode out of the room and up the stairs, Elizabeth on his heels.
Without knocking, he threw open the door to Mrs. Bennet's room. He recoiled at once when the smell hit his nose. "Good God," he muttered, covering his face with a handkerchief before entering.
He crossed the room and flung open the drapes. Light flooded the room, and Mrs. Bennet let out a wail. Elizabeth gasped when she saw her mother's pale face and thin frame.
"Leave me be," Mrs. Bennet sobbed. "I want to die in peace."
"You are not dying," said Mr. Bennet in a kind but firm voice. "I will not allow it. How am I to get all of our daughters married without you?"
Elizabeth pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a horrified laugh, and Jane gasped in shock.
"Girls, please leave us," Mr. Bennet said.
Jane immediately bowed her head and left the room, with Elizabeth following reluctantly behind. She sat down on the floor outside the room, attempting to make out the muffled voices.
"Lizzy, you should not eavesdrop," Jane chastised in a whisper.
Elizabeth ignored her sister, pressing her ear closer to the door for several minutes
"Nothing," she huffed, pushing away from the door.
"What is going on?" Lydia asked, coming down the hall with Mary.
Mary and Lydia had become much closer the months since Kitty's death. Without Kitty to spend time with, and unable to divert herself during mourning, Lydia pestered Mary into spending time together. At first, Mary resisted Lydia's efforts, but eventually Lydia wore her sister down. The two girls were now practically inseparable. Lydia's lively spirits had softened Mary's moralizing, while Mary's solemn character helped her younger sister to behave with more decorum.
"Papa is in Mama's room," Elizabeth informed her sisters.
"About time," said Lydia. "Someone needed to take her in hand."
"Lydia!" chided Jane. "Mama is truly grieving."
"Grieving she may be," retorted Lydia, "but she is not the only one who has lost a loved one these months."
"It behooves us all to remember that we are to work in harmony during difficult times," said Mary. "Did not our Lord say that if we are not one in unity, then we are not His?"
This comment struck Elizabeth forcefully. How can we be one?
Her musing was interrupted when the door flung open.
"Good heavens," said Mr. Bennet mildly. "People."
Jane flew into the room and sat at her weeping mother's side.
"Papa?" Elizabeth asked uncertainly.
Ignoring her, he turned towards the stairs. "Mrs. Hill!" he bellowed.
The housekeeper and lady's maid poked her head from another doorway where she was supervising the maid's cleaning. "Sir?" she asked.
"Please see that Mrs. Bennet's room is cleaned immediately. I will not allow her to wallow in such foulness any longer. She is to bathe and have her linens changed."
Mrs. Hill's haggard face softened. "Right away, sir," she said. "If the mistress is not in agreement, however?" she let her voice trail away.
"My orders supersede hers," Mr. Bennet informed her. "I do not care if you have to physically remove her from her bed and dump her into the bath. Both she and her room will get a good scrubbing by the end of the day."
Mrs. Hill straightened. "Yes, sir," she said firmly.
"Girls, come with me," Mr. Bennet ordered. "Jane, that includes you as well," he called into the room.
Jane began to protest. "But my mother - "
" - will be just fine in Mrs. Hill's capable hands," Mr. Bennet finished for her. "All of you will attend me in the drawing room immediately."
Mr. Bennet started off down the stairs, not bothering to look behind him to see if his daughters were following him. The girls exchanged looks, then one by one they scurried after him down the stairs and into the drawing room.
Elizabeth was grateful he chose to speak to them in the drawing room, instead of attempting to cram all four girls into the study with him. The draw room was a large, comfortable room. Mrs. Bennet, for all her nerves and hysteria, was a competent decorator with a keen eye for the fine and functional.
Mr. Bennet settled himself in his large chair by the fire, which was usually unoccupied. He preferred the comfort of his study and books.
Mary and Lydia took the chairs by the table, where the autopsy of a bonnet was being performed. It was one that Lydia had purchased on a whim in Meryton shortly before Kitty's death. The bonnet was very ugly, however, and Lydia was determined to tear it apart to improve its looks. When Kitty became severely ill in the spring with a severe cough that worsened due to the wet, cold weather, the bonnet was forgotten. It wasn't until after Kitty's funeral that Lydia found it again. In a fit of rage, she tore it apart and threw it on the table. Only at Mary's gentle encouragement had Lydia begun to find joy again in the pastimes she once shared with her next eldest sister.
Jane sat on the overstuffed sofa near her father, while Elizabeth retired to the window seat. She was dismayed to see a coating of frost over the glass, even though it was already the middle of the day. The noon sun shone dimly through fog and clouds, emphasizing the earlier winter that was upon them.
How are we going to survive the winter when summer never even came? she wondered.
"We are going to have to make some changes."
Mr. Bennet's voice broke through the fog of Elizabeth's contemplations, and she turned her body and her attention to her father.
"I have been looking over the ledgers from the last six months and comparing them with previous years," he continued.
"You have?" Elizabeth exclaimed.
Mr. Bennet shot his daughter a quelling look. "Yes, I have," he said tersely. "I am deeply concerned, not only for your mother's current status, but for our very lives and those of our tenants."
"What do you propose we do?" Elizabeth asked.
"It's not as if we can control the weather," snorted Lydia.
Mr. Bennet sighed. "I haven't the faintest idea," he admitted. "I would appreciate any suggestions you girls may have."
The four Bennet daughters looked at one another. Lydia pursed her lips in thought, while Mary absentmindedly flipped through her pocket Bible. Jane looked to be on the verge of tears, and Elizabeth racked her brain.
The minutes passed by slowly, each person engrossed in their thoughts.
"Unity," Elizabeth said aloud.
Everyone jumped slightly and stared at her. She lifted her chin and repeated, "Unity."
"What does unity have to do with anything?" Lydia asked.
"It's something Mary said earlier. We all need to be one if we are to be the Lord's. I was thinking about how Mr. Johnson brought some carrots to the house today."
"That was kind of him," Jane interjected.
Elizabeth nodded in response. "We need to find a way to be more organized, more diligent about sharing our resources. The Carsons lost a horse last night. There won't be enough to feed our livestock - or us - and keep us warm this winter. Not with how poor the harvest is."
"They barely grew at all this summer," Jane said.
"What summer?" asked Lydia, a hint of bitterness in her tone.
"So you think we should find a way to organize everyone together, to share resources?" Mr. Bennet confirmed.
"Exactly," replied Elizabeth.
"But how?" Jane asked.
"In the book of Acts, the believers were ordered to turn everything over to the apostles for even distribution," Mary said.
"I highly doubt the tenants will be willing to hand over everything they have and trust they will be given a fair share," Mr. Bennet said.
"Surely they wouldn't think us dishonest?" Jane asked, aghast.
"It's one thing to trust that your landlord will treat you fairly on tax day. It's another thing to give him your children's food from their mouths and hope there is enough to go around," Mr. Bennet replied grimly.
Elizabeth's shoulders slumped in discouragement. She looked around the room to see her sisters in similar states of despair.
"I do you think your idea has merit, though, Lizzy," Mr. Bennet continued.
Elizabeth looked at her father in surprise. "You do?"
"Yes, I do. I do not think that we will be able to convince everyone to hand over their resources to be distributed all winter, but I do think we need to find a way to have everyone come together if we are to survive."
Elizabeth's heart lifted. Until this discussion, it seemed as though the fate of Longbourn and its tenants were all resting on her shoulders.
"I would like you all to think, very hard, over the next few days about how we can bring everyone together. Today is Tuesday; let's discuss again on Friday and Saturday, then approach the reverend on Sunday after services with any plans we have. I imagine he will have some useful insight for us as well in the minds of our neighbors."
"What about Mama?" Jane asked quietly.
Mr. Bennet frowned. "I had not realized she was so distraught over Kitty's death still. I have allowed her to grieve too deeply for too long."
"We all miss Kitty," Elizabeth said gently. "We've all grieved in our own ways."
"Yes, but your mother's way of grieving has turned harmful, which I cannot allow," he said grimly. "We will all need our strength going into this winter."
"Do you think it will be very bad?" Lydia asked, her blue eyes wide against her white face.
"I'm afraid it will be, my dear daughters. I'm afraid it will be."