Friends - I haven't written in quite a while. While working full time and raising 2 teenagers I was also pursuing a masters degree. I am done now and so excited to dive back into the world of Pride and Prejudice. As always, I appreciate all feedback and encouragement! I also plan to post some of my older works that I had to take down when I initially published them via KU on Amazon. if you'd like to check them out in their fully edited and published form they are available on Amazon (only there for now - another post-school task = publish elsewhere too). Thanks for reading!
Miss Elizabeth Bennet was very conscious of the moment her carriage took her as far from home as she had ever been. It was easy enough to track, even for a ten-year-old. They left the city by the north road and once they were beyond the limits of London, she knew she was in uncharted territory. Looking at her uncle, seated across from her, Lizzy thought about whether and how to ask the questions currently plaguing her. No one at home had been too keen to explain anything and she hardly knew her uncle, her mother's younger brother. Though what worn memories she had of him were pleasant. He looked kind enough, if looks were anything to go by, and his treatment of her thus far had been patient and somewhat tentative. Almost as if he too was unsure about the proper protocol for traveling with a close relation one had not seen in nearly three years and who would be sharing a carriage for two days and a home for an indefinite period. Thinking of the courage Jane had shone as she faced the dreaded fever and the promise she extracted as Elizabeth was nearly forced from her side, she decided to be brave and do as her elder sister had bidden her.
"Uncle," she began in a roughened voice, the carriage ride from London to Longbourn was spent alternatively pleading – to be allowed home to tend Jane and Lydia – and crying – when her entreaties were rebuffed. It had left her throat quite dry. "Would you tell me something of your home?" And then before he could answer she added, "and what you expect of me while I am with you?"
"Lizzy," he began in a gentle tone. She liked that he called her Lizzy, only her closest friends and family did that. It felt familiar or made him feel more familiar. "It is our hope, your Aunt Madeline's and mine, that you will come to view Barlow Hall as a second home. We want to keep you safe and healthy until you are able to return to Longbourn. Mr. Barlow is an older gentleman, and somewhat unwell. I will confess that I hope that your vivacity and cheer, which I remember from when we last met and has been testified to in your parents' letters, would be a balm to him. Beyond that, I know this is not quite like a holiday. We will both be too worried about our family to be entirely carefree, however; we can do our best to console and comfort one another and pray that we will soon receive news of the recovery of our loved ones."
This answer was more than satisfactory to young Elizabeth, who feared she was unwanted and unknown. It seemed she was neither and though her fears about the health of those in her family, and friends, who were suffering from the fever that required she be spirted away, did not abate she found she looked forward to seeing her uncle's home and meeting his family. So it was that Elizabeth Bennet and Edward Gardiner Barlow enjoyed a pleasant journey from London to Derbyshire, including one overnight stop at an Inn along the way. The good roads, fine weather and well-sprung carriage certainly accounted for part of this. However, the lively conversation, occasional game and sweet treats (provided by the as yet unknown aunt Madeline) deserve most of the credit.
On the second and final day of their journey nearly all the talk was of Barlow Hall, Mr. Barlow, Elizabeth's aunt, the nearby town of Lambton, and all manner of minutia related to the day-to-day workings of the Barlow estate. Elizabeth was nothing if not inquisitive. Her uncle seemed to delight in her questions and curiosity and in that, she reflected, he seemed much more like her father than her mother, his sister.
It was a rainy June afternoon when Mr. Gardiner and Miss Elizabeth arrived at Barlow Hall. Though the weather prevented her from having a proper look at the outside she could see enough to ascertain that it was far larger than Longbourn and had extensive gardens on either side. Beyond that she would have to wait, but this was no hardship as almost as soon as she was inside, she was greeted by Mrs. Gardiner and Mr. Barlow. The greetings were all that was warm and welcoming and though there was, inevitably, some awkwardness due to the fact that the parties had never met, were family and would be living in some proximity, it went as well as any of them could have hoped. Better in the case of Mr. Barlow who was immediately enchanted by the sweet young miss.
Though happy with her welcome and content with her place in this new home, Elizabeth did not really "make herself at home" as she was admonished to do almost upon entry until a full month had passed. In the meantime, determined to be of use she sat with her aunt nearly every day and helped with the mending of clothes and darning of socks Mrs. Gardiner took in from some of the poorer tenants and others in need in the area. She went with her aunt to make calls when that lady desired to introduce her to the children of some of her friends, though these were all young children whereas Elizabeth considered herself nearly a young lady. She spent a good deal of time out of doors, alone, exploring the grounds close to and some distance from the house. In all of this, if one did know Elizabeth Bennet, she would have appeared like an ordinary, quiet and helpful young lady. Prior to the previous April only one of these words would have been, occasionally, used to describe young Lizzy.
The cause for this uncharacteristic, and almost imperceptible to her family at Barlow who had not known her previously, melancholy was Elizabeth's great worry for her family and friends in Hertfordshire who had already caught or were in danger of catching the fever - Typhus. Elizabeth felt guilty that she was hundreds of miles away, safe, healthy, even happy occasionally. When she and her father hastily departed for Bedford where they met her uncle, Jane, their mother and three of their five servants had contracted the dreaded disease. Her youngest sisters had been sent away the previous day to stay with their aunt and uncle Phillips who had let a small cottage outside of Meryton for the express purpose of avoiding the sickness that had begun to ravage their little village town. It was a sign of their great love for the Bennet family that they took the little girls in after Jane and Mrs. Bennet had begun to show symptoms.
One morning about a month after her arrival, Elizabeth sat in summer parlor with her aunt when Sims, Barlow's staid butler, entered with letters for Mrs. Gardiner's perusal. Elizabeth had a hard time stamping down her impatience. It seemed an age before the elderly man quit the room and closed the door behind them. She knew from previous experience that her aunt would not examine the letters until they were alone. On the one occasion that the letters included one from Longbourn her uncle had been present as well. He opened it and after a quick perusal handed it to his niece with a mild warning that, "all is much the same." The author that time had been her aunt Phillips who, though still ensconced in Meryton, received news from the apothecary regarding those at Longbourn and was able to report that the youngest Miss Bennet's were still as well as they could be while everyone worried about the rest of their family and friends.
That letter had come nearly two weeks ago.
"This is from your father," Madeline declared with a soft sigh. Her aunt did not look pleased. Elizabeth wondered at this; she had been desperately craving news. Why was her aunt not excited? It was all she could do not to snatch it and tear it open. "I wonder if we should wait until your uncle is done meeting with Jackson?" She said, referring to Barlow Hall's steward.
It was then that Lizzy understood. Aunt Madeline was afraid of what the letter might say. Afraid it contained news of the worst kind. In her eagerness to know what was happening at home Elizabeth had not truly considered that the answer could be something other than news of recovery and restoration of health – felt she simply needed to know they were well to really know they were well. A fact she never really doubted. This was naïve - Typhus had already claimed its first victim, dear Mrs. Goulding, the morning of her departure. Suddenly she could not breath. Madeline looked up from the letter in her hand and perceived her niece's distress.
"Oh my darling," she said before rising to sit beside Elizabeth and fold her into a soft embrace. As her aunt whispered words of comfort Elizabeth sunk further into her arms, relishing the unique feeling of being held.
"Please, Aunt, can we read the letter?" Elizabeth asked many minutes later. "Not knowing is worse."
Madeline regarded her niece for a moment before nodding her head. "Would you like me to read it?"
"Yes," Elizabeth answered in a soft whisper.
Thankfully her aunt seemed to understand this moment called for swift action and she had the letter opened in no time. After a mere moment of reading, or perhaps skimming she smiled broadly, "they are well," she sighed with a grin and a squeeze of Elizabeth's hands.
"Truly?" Elizabeth asked, watching her aunt closely.
"Truly," Madeline beamed, her relief a palpable thing between them. "Here read for yourself, I hardly know what else it might contain; indeed it is quite long, but the first lines tell the tale."
Lizzy did as her aunt suggested, took the missive and began to read. The opening lines did tell the tale. The author, who was revealed to be Jane as soon as Elizabeth saw the elegant, tiny lettering, began with "we have all recovered and are doing quite well." The rest was so very Jane - reassurances, information on every inhabitant of their little village who had been ill, admonishments to Lizzy to enjoy herself and a slight hint at how much she missed her little sister. There was a postscript from her father that was similarly characteristic, it was brief, unsentimental but communicated his desire for her to at once enjoy the rest of her summer and feel guilty as her wit and common sense were missed at home.
Lizzy did enjoy herself after that. The knowledge that her dearest loved ones were well and the danger had passed allowed her to fully embrace all that Barlow Hall, Lambton and Derbyshire had to offer. Her birthday fell just three days after they received Jane's letter and the Barlows determined that it was the perfect occasion to inject some cheer into their home. They had a small celebration, inviting a few neighbors Elizabeth had met. There were very few children present and those were quite a bit younger than the newly eleven-year-old Elizabeth. It seemed Derbyshire though plentiful in peaks, valleys and picturesque walks suffered a dearth of children near Elizabeth's age. At least children not too far above or below the Barlows station. Regardless of the high median age of the little party, Elizabeth was truly touched by the kindness her family showed in hosting the celebration and by the small gifts they presented her. That night she began a habit of writing a letter each night. She chose a different recipient each time, beginning with Jane and going through her whole family – even little Lydia who was but six years old. Elizabeth well remembered the joy she used to feel when her great-Aunt Elizabeth would write to her, just her, not a note for her at the end of the family letter, several times a year until she passed. It allowed her to feel close to her family and resulted in a flurry of letters between Hertfordshire and Derbyshire over the following weeks.
The final month of her stay passed swiftly and although Elizabeth loved her time at Barlow Hall when her uncle handed her into the carriage for her journey home, she was nothing but happy at the prospect of being reunited with her family and friends in Hertfordshire.