On the third day following her arrival in town, Elizabeth watched Mrs. Hartwick peruse the questionnaire she had just completed.
The proprietress of the Hartwick Registry for the Placement of Impoverished Gentlewomen wielded her pencil like a saber; she slashed underneath words; cut moulinets around at least three answers; and, parried then riposted, leaving a large X over some unfortunate answer. The feeling that she should be backing slowly towards the door grew over Elizabeth.
Mrs. Hartwick looked up, pinning Elizabeth. She pushed a book, a Bible, across the desk to her. "Read something from the middle to me" she said.
The Bible fell open to Psalm 102. In a clear, confident voice Elizabeth read the words, being careful not to contemplate their meaning.
Before Elizabeth finished the psalm, Mrs. Hartwick said "That's enough. Read something from the beginning of this." She pushed another book across to Elizabeth, Les Essais de Montaigne. Dread swept over Elizabeth, she could read French, but not out loud. She opened the book and started to read from chapter twelve, sounding out the words the best she could.
After a few sentences Mrs. Hartwick interrupted. "Read something from the end of this." Goethe's Die Leiden des jungen Werthers. Elizabeth's heart fell. Her German was worse than her French. She had learned French and German to read the books in her father's book room, she had never thought she might actually have to speak French or German to anyone. Resigned to her inevitable fate, she started to read phonetically from the second last page of the book. Not two dozen words on Mrs. Hartwick stopped her.
Mrs. Hartwick put her hand out for the book. Elizabeth gave it back. Mrs. Hardwick made some notations on the questionnaire and then looked up. Elizabeth tensed. Judgment was about to be rendered.
"Miss Bennet, you indicated that your first choice of a position would be as a governess. Your inability to adequately speak French or German disqualifies you for such position with a noble or a gentle family. I might be able to place you with the family of a tradesman who cares not whether his children speak any language other than English. Would such a position be acceptable to you?"
Elizabeth nodded and said "Yes, ma'am."
"As far as a position as a companion" here Mrs. Hartwick shook her head "your lack of a season would preclude you from acting as companion for a young lady even if you weren't so notorious."
Elizabeth gaped. "You know …"
"Of the country chit, Miss B, of Hertfordshire, who jilted the rich, handsome and much sought after, Mr. D, of Derbyshire, at the altar? Yes, and I dare say most of the Ton does. No parents with a daughter in the marriage mart would want you anywhere near her; fearful as they would be, that you might infect their daughter with the radical idea that she could refuse an eligible match. No, indeed. But an older lady, say holding the status of a grandmother, might enjoy the frisson that having a notorious companion would bring. Would such a position be acceptable to you?"
"I would have to think about it. It's one thing to be gossiped about when you aren't present, it's quite another to be exhibited as an object of gossip."
"Fair enough". Mrs. Hartwick stood, ending the interview. "I have your address; I will send a note round if a position comes open which you might find acceptable." She escorted Elizabeth to the door. As she was about to open it, there was a knock and her clerk stuck his head in the gap. He startled to see them so close to the door.
"Sorry to intrude ma'am but Mr. Greaves is here unexpectedly, and I wonder how long you might be?"
"Mr. Greaves? For the usual?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Mrs. Hartwick put out her arm to bar Elizabeth from leaving the office. "What a fortunate stroke of serendipity, Miss Bennet. I do believe the perfect position for you just walked in." To her clerk she said "Do show Mr. Greaves in and bring us some tea as well."
