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In this chapter, Elizabeth begins to confront the realities of her privileged life, her growing understanding of the world around her, and the challenges of her family's responsibilities. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, please feel free to share your thoughts—I truly value each and every one of your insights!
Chapter 3: A Hard Lesson
The morning sun cast a pale light across Longbourn as Elizabeth slipped out of the house, eager for the coolness of the autumn air. She loved these early walks, especially on fog-laden mornings like this, when the world softened around the edges, and the estate felt vast and wild.
Elizabeth pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders as she made her way toward the edge of Longbourn's estate, where the cottages of the tenants lay, distant and obscured by morning fog. She has never walked this far befor.
As she came closer to a small cottage, her shoes crunching on the frost-tipped grass, Elizabeth's steps slowed. This home were nothing like Longbourn. The cottage was a small, dark place with a thatched roof that hung heavy over the walls. There was a small garden outside, now bare from the cold, but even in summer, she imagined they could only grow enough for a modest family. What food could possibly come from such narrow plots of earth?
She spotted a group of children sitting on a stone step outside the cottage, huddled close together for warmth. They were watching a woman, perhaps their mother, who was busy tending a pot over an outdoor fire. Elizabeth stared in surprise. She couldn't imagine having to cook outside like that, with only the chill wind and thin fire to ward off the cold. She walked closer, the movement catching the mother's eye. The woman turned, glancing at Elizabeth with a look that quickly turned wary.
The children looked at her, too, their eyes wide as they took in her warm woolen dress and polished boots, items that seemed out of place in this quiet world of patched shawls and bare feet. Elizabeth felt herself falter, uncertain of what to say. She wanted to ask questions, to know more, but the words didn't come. The children stared, puzzled by the young lady who had wandered into their lives, and she realized suddenly that she didn't even know their names.
The woman nodded politely but guardedly. "Good day to you, miss," she said, dipping her head.
Elizabeth hesitated, her cheeks flushing. She felt a strange shame at the woman's greeting, as if there were some unspoken divide between them. "Good morning", Elisabeth replied. But, ever curious and too young to hold back, she asked, "Is… is that your breakfast?" She motioned to the pot, where a thin, watery broth bubbled over the small fire.
The woman nodded, her face unreadable. "Aye, miss. Just a bit of broth." Her words were simple, said without bitterness, but Elizabeth felt them like a blow.
Elizabeth looked down, her heart pounding. Broth for breakfast? She tried to imagine how it must feel to have nothing more to eat than this thin soup, day after day. At Longbourn, she was used to eggs, buttered bread, honey, warm porridge—enough food that her family hardly ever thought twice about it. Yet here were children her own age, huddling around a pot, savoring this meager meal as if it were a feast.
"Is it… is it always like this?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The woman regarded her with a steady, weary gaze. "Aye, miss. It's hard, but we get by, as we must."
A sudden, fierce wave of anger and confusion swept over Elizabeth. She felt something burn hot inside her chest, a feeling she couldn't quite name. "But… but why? My father owns Longbourn. He has… we have food and warm rooms, and…" She stopped, her voice breaking slightly, the enormity of the disparity before her striking like a cold slap.
One of the children looked up at her with wide eyes. He was a small boy with tangled hair, his cheeks pink from the cold. "Are you one of the Bennet daughters, miss?" he asked shyly.
Elizabeth nodded, unable to find her voice. She was a Bennet daughter, yes, but what did that mean if her family's tenants lived in such poor conditions? She had never known, had never thought to ask, how they lived. The thought that these families, who tended her family's land, were left to survive like this filled her with a raw sense of unfairness.
"How… how can it be like this?" she murmured, her voice trembling.
The woman, hearing the confusion in Elizabeth's voice, gave her a gentle, sad smile. "It's just the way of things, miss. Some have more, some have less. It's been this way long before you or I were here."
Elizabeth shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. "It's not right. It shouldn't be this way. You work for us—you grow our food. My family could help." She looked around, feeling desperate. Her heart pounded with a helpless fury, a young girl's anger at the world's unfairness. She wanted to do something, to change it, to ensure that no one on Longbourn would ever go hungry or shiver in the cold.
She glanced back at the house, then at the well-worn clothing the children wore, noting each frayed seam and patched knee. She felt herself tremble as she looked down at her own hands, gloved and warm. Her whole life she had been taught to be polite, to treat others with kindness, but kindness felt hollow here. What good were soft words or pretty manners if people she should care for were left to live like this?
"I didn't know," she said, her voice shaking. "I didn't know it was like this."
Mrs Carter placed a comforting hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, as if understanding the turmoil in the young girl's heart. "It's alright, miss. You're still young."
The words struck something deep in Elizabeth, and she nodded. But as she turned to leave, tears pricked at her eyes. She wanted to understand—she wanted to know why her family, with so much, hadn't helped those with so little.
Elizabeth returned to Longbourn with her heart heavy and her thoughts racing, her young mind troubled by the scene she had witnessed that morning. She felt as if the scales had fallen from her eyes; everything she had known seemed incomplete, as though a veil had been lifted to reveal the hardships of those who lived just beyond her family's gates.
As soon as she entered, she hurried to find Mrs. Havers, her governess. Mrs. Havers sat by the fire in the library, her usual gentle expression replaced with surprise as Elizabeth rushed in, her face pale, her cheeks flushed, her lips trembling with words she could hardly form.
"Mrs. Havers," Elizabeth gasped, her voice tight, "I was walking near the tenants' cottages, and… they have so little. They barely have food, and the children have no shoes. Why… why are they left like this? Why doesn't anyone help them?"
Mrs. Havers looked at Elizabeth with a mixture of pride and sorrow. She motioned for Elizabeth to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "It is a hard truth, Elizabeth," she said gently. "The lives of tenants are often filled with struggle, and much of it goes unnoticed by those above them in station. It is why the mistress of an estate holds a great responsibility. Part of her duty is to care for the wellbeing of all who live upon the land."
Elizabeth felt a jolt of shock. "But Mama… she never speaks of them, not even their names," she said, her voice shaking. "She only talks about parties, dresses, and…and matches for us. Doesn't she… care?"
Mrs. Havers hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Your mother's concerns lie elsewhere, child. But the duty of an estate's mistress is to ensure that no one on the land goes without, especially in times of need. It falls to her to keep an eye on the tenants, to offer them help when they falter, and to understand the burdens they carry." She paused, her voice turning serious. "Your mother could do more, yes. But perhaps… perhaps you might be the one to do it, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth felt a deep, sudden resolve swell within her. "Then I want to learn, Mrs. Havers. Teach me what a mistress should do."
Mrs. Havers smiled softly, her gaze full of affection. "I will teach you, dear. The first task of a mistress is to know her people. Visit them, speak with them, and see what they need. Then, you must consider how best to help without fostering dependence. Blankets, shoes, and food can be given in times of hardship, but encouragement and support also give them the strength to face difficult seasons."
Elizabeth listened with wide eyes, her heart swelling with the desire to help. She didn't know how her mother could be so indifferent to their tenants' plight, to their hunger and cold. Resolving to act, she thanked Mrs. Havers and hurried to her mother's rooms.
"Mother?" Elizabeth entered cautiously, finding Mrs. Bennet seated at her vanity, sorting through a box of ribbons with an absorbed expression.
Mrs. Bennet looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What is it, Lizzy? I'm busy with preparations for the Meryton ball."
Elizabeth took a deep breath. "Mama, I've been to see the tenants today, and… and they need help. The children don't have shoes, and the families hardly have enough to eat."
Mrs. Bennet let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, what nonsense! Why are you troubling yourself with such dreary matters? The tenants are farm people; they live as they must. There is little need for you to be meddling in such affairs. It is none of your concern."
Elizabeth felt a flash of anger, but she steadied her voice. "But, Mama, it is our concern. They work for our family, and they depend on us to care for them."
Mrs. Bennet's gaze hardened. "What foolish notions you've picked up, Elizabeth! You are far too young to understand these things. Leave such matters to your father."
Elizabeth's heart pounded, a flush of indignation rising in her cheeks. "But you are the mistress of Longbourn, aren't you? Shouldn't you care about how the people who live on our land fare through the winter?"
Mrs. Bennet rose abruptly, her face tight with annoyance. "Enough, Elizabeth. I won't have you lecturing me about things you know nothing about. You are just a child."
"But, Mama—" Elizabeth began, her voice shaking with frustration.
"No more," Mrs. Bennet snapped, her voice sharp. "I don't want to hear another word about it." She turned away, pointedly picking up her ribbons and dismissing her daughter with a wave of her hand.
Elizabeth's throat burned with unshed tears as she turned and left the room, her heart throbbing with hurt. She had hoped her mother would understand, that she would show even the smallest hint of compassion. But Mrs. Bennet's indifference felt like a cold slap, and Elizabeth felt a painful disillusionment settle upon her young heart.
Determined not to give up, Elizabeth made her way to her father's study. She hesitated at the door, gathering her courage before knocking softly.
"Come in," Mr. Bennet called, his voice mildly amused as she stepped inside. He looked up from his book with a curious smile. "Well, Lizzy, what brings you here with such a grave face?"
Elizabeth swallowed, her voice steady. "Papa, I've been to see the tenants, and… they need help. They're cold, and hungry, and…" She faltered, her young voice breaking as she fought to stay composed. "I wanted to ask if I could have some money to buy blankets, and food. Just enough to help them through winter."
Mr. Bennet studied his daughter's earnest face, his expression softening. He reached for his coin purse, withdrawing a modest sum. "This is all I can spare, Lizzy. But I'll leave it to you to decide how best to use it."
Relief and gratitude filled Elizabeth's heart as she took the coins. "Thank you, Papa. I promise I'll be careful with it."
As she turned to leave, Mrs. Bennet appeared at the door, her face flushed with irritation. "Mr. Bennet, you cannot be serious! Giving money to the tenants—Elizabeth has no business interfering in such matters!"
Mr. Bennet looked at her with a mild smile. "My dear, if Lizzy wishes to be of service to our tenants, I see no harm in it. She may well learn a valuable lesson in doing so."
Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips, her eyes flashing. "This foolishness will only distract her from more important things! I won't allow it."
"Nevertheless," Mr. Bennet replied, his voice firm, "I have given my permission, and that is the end of the matter."
Mrs. Bennet huffed in frustration but, seeing her husband's resolve, stormed off without another word. Elizabeth looked back at her father, her heart aching with a strange mixture of relief and sorrow. Though grateful for his support, she could hardly believe her mother's reaction, her cold indifference to the plight of people like Mrs Carter.
After her difficult conversation with her parents, Elizabeth found herself sitting by the schoolroom fireplace, the crinkled notes clasped tightly in her hand. She looked up at Mrs. Havers, who was seated beside her, her kind eyes studying Elizabeth with a gentle patience.
The total amounted to five pounds, each bearing the insignia of the Bank of England. Elizabeth held the notes tightly, feeling the rough texture of the paper between her fingers. She had never seen such money in one place before, and yet, as she examined the crisp notes, it seemed little for the task she had set herself.
It seemed so little, and yet it felt heavy with the weight of her responsibility. Her father had given it to her, telling her it was to help with the tenants, a gesture she had never expected. She had not been accustomed to managing money, especially not in such a sum.
But as she sat there, deep in thought, her mind wandered to her mother and how she would have spent such a sum. Mrs. Bennet would likely not have spared a second thought. She would have gone straight to Meryton, where the finest silks and ribbons awaited, and perhaps, she would have picked up new gloves, a new bonnet, or a fashionable shawl to wear to the next gathering. A few pounds could easily disappear on such luxuries—things that were certainly important to Mrs. Bennet's sense of appearance and social standing, but had no lasting benefit for the family or the tenants.
Elizabeth's chest tightened as she thought of it. Her mother had always been preoccupied with her daughters' appearances, always seeking to maintain a position of respectability through fine clothes, but had she ever shown the same concern for the families who worked so hard on their estate? Elizabeth could scarcely recall her mother ever speaking of the tenants in any way other than to complain about the farmhands' inefficiency or the trouble they caused. Never once had she spoken of their hardships or done anything to help alleviate them. The idea that Mrs. Bennet might take five pounds and spend it on herself rather than helping the very people who depended on Longbourn—Elizabeth couldn't bear it.
She had hoped for more, so much more. Five pounds was not nearly enough to provide for the tenants in a meaningful way—certainly not enough to ease the harshness of the coming winter. Would it be enough to buy warm blankets, food, and firewood for those who struggled most? Would it even make a difference in the long run? The numbers swirled in her mind, but no matter how she calculated it, it never seemed sufficient.
The weight of the responsibility pressed down on her shoulders. She had asked for help, she had confronted her father, and now she had a meager sum to show for it. Would it be enough to show them she cared? Could five pounds truly change anything?
Elizabeth sighed, looking down at the money again. It seemed little for what she needed. But she would make it work. After all, it wasn't the money alone that mattered—it was how one used it, and she was determined to make it stretch as far as possible.
"I don't know how to make five pounds enough," Elizabeth said, her voice quivering with the worry that had kept her awake through the night. "There are so many people who need help, Mrs. Havers. I want to help all of them. But how?"
Mrs. Havers gave a small, thoughtful smile. "Well, Elizabeth, sometimes helping others isn't only about how much we can give. It's about making the most of what we have—and using our own skills, kindness, and creativity to make it go further."
Elizabeth stared at the money again, nodding slowly as Mrs. Havers spoke. "So, how do I make it… go further?"
The governess looked out the window, gathering her thoughts. "First, we must look to the most urgent needs of the tenants for the winter. Many will lack proper food, fuel, and warm clothing. If we think carefully about what five pounds can buy, and what else we can contribute with our own hands, I believe we can bring some relief, even in the hardest of times."
Elizabeth's heart swelled with a small hope as Mrs. Havers explained how they could divide the money to maximize its usefulness.
"To start," Mrs. Havers continued, "we'll spend £2 on bulk food staples. Flour, oats, beans—things that will last and feed the tenants' families for a longer time than just one meal. With another pound, we can get candles and firewood for warmth. Many of the cottages are drafty, and firewood will help them bear the cold."
"And the other two pounds?" Elizabeth asked, holding the money closer, as though weighing its potential in her hand.
"One pound can go to secondhand clothes, or blankets if we can find them affordably. Even gently used items can provide warmth, and every extra layer makes a difference." Mrs. Havers paused, glancing at the remaining note with a soft smile. "And with the last pound, we'll create an emergency fund—something to keep aside for those who might face a sudden need, whether illness, a lost income, or a repair."
Elizabeth nodded, the pieces beginning to form a plan in her mind. "But we could do even more if we could find things that don't cost money," she mused.
Mrs. Havers's eyes brightened at Elizabeth's thoughtfulness. "Indeed, we can. We can mend some of the clothes here, and I can show you how to sew a bit more so that we can give the tenants not just old clothes, but ones that are as good as new. You might even be able to enlist the help of some of the household staff to make warm hats and mittens with scraps of cloth or wool we already have."
They discussed further ways to stretch the little they had. Elizabeth would ask Cook to donate leftover vegetables from the kitchen garden, carrots or potatoes that hadn't been used for the family. In her own small way, Elizabeth felt as though she was finally beginning to take some responsibility, not just for the house, but for the lives touched by Longbourn.
Once they had agreed on a plan, Mrs. Havers rose and gathered a few small things—her sewing kit, scraps of fabric, and an old woolen shawl that she promised to mend into scarves.
"One last thing, Elizabeth," she said, stopping by the door. "Being a good mistress also means showing kindness and respect. Even if we have only little to give, a kind word or thoughtful visit can mean as much as a new coat. Many tenants only see the family from afar. If you visit them, it will show them that you care, that they matter. Those gestures are often remembered long after the winter has passed."
Elizabeth's gaze softened, her heart swelling with an odd, unfamiliar mix of purpose and resolve. It felt good to have a role—to be needed in a way that made her feel like she was truly doing something.
Elizabeth had been pacing, the five-pound note still tucked securely in her hand. She was already making plans in her mind. What to do first? Jane. Jane, with her kind heart and gentle hands, would be a perfect help in sewing clothes or even stitching blankets for the tenants' children. If Jane was willing, they could put their hands to work together, and perhaps do some good.
She found her sister in the sitting room, embroidering a handkerchief, as was her usual quiet task. Jane looked up with a gentle smile as Elizabeth approached.
"Jane, would you—" Elizabeth began, her voice soft but full of intent. "Would you help me with something?"
Jane tilted her head, intrigued. "Of course, Lizzy. What do you need?"
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, looking at the five-pound note in her hand. "I want to help the tenants. There are so many families on the estate who have so little, and with winter coming, I think we could make a difference. We could sew blankets or clothes—things to keep the children warm, things they'll need."
Jane blinked in surprise, looking at her sister as though she'd just been handed a wild idea. "Oh, Lizzy," she said softly, "I understand how you feel, but what can we do? Surely, not enough to make a real difference."
Elizabeth's eyes lit up. "But Jane, it's something. We could make the blankets ourselves. We could talk to Cook and see if she can spare some extra food for them. We could do more with our hands than just sit idly. Will you help me?"
Jane looked conflicted, her brows furrowing slightly. "I... I don't know. What if Mama hears of it? She will not be pleased with this idea, Lizzy."
At that moment, the unmistakable sound of Mrs. Bennet's voice carried down the hallway. "Elizabeth! Where is that girl?"
Before Elizabeth could respond, Mrs. Bennet appeared in the doorway, her face flushed with exasperation. "What on earth are you two planning now?" she demanded, fixing her sharp gaze on her daughters. She had overheard just enough of their conversation to know that something was afoot.
"Mama," Elizabeth began, trying to explain, "I was asking Jane if she would help me—"
"Help you?" Mrs. Bennet interrupted, her voice rising in annoyance. "What ridiculous notion have you gotten in your head now, Lizzy? Sewing blankets for the tenants?" She scoffed loudly, hands on her hips. "You're no seamstress, and neither is Jane. The idea of helping those... those people is absurd. I will not have you wasting your time on such nonsense."
Elizabeth's heart sank, but she didn't back down. "Mama, they need help. And we can do something, however small it may be. It's not a waste of time if it's for a good cause."
Mrs. Bennet's face turned redder with indignation. "Do not tell me what is a waste of time in my own house, Elizabeth. It's bad enough that you're always off on your own schemes, but now you've involved Jane. Jane, do not listen to your sister. Leave this nonsense to your mother. You will not waste your time with such ridiculous endeavors!"
"But, Mama, I don't think—" Jane began hesitantly, her voice soft, as though she were trying to avoid upsetting her mother further.
"No, Jane," Mrs. Bennet snapped, cutting her off. "I forbid you to get involved with your sister's wild ideas. There are more important things to concern ourselves with than helping those people. We must think of ourselves, of your future—of the things that truly matter. Now, Elizabeth, leave Jane alone and stop wasting her time with these ridiculous notions. You should be spending your energy on more appropriate matters."
Elizabeth stood frozen, the anger rising in her chest. How could her mother be so callous, so blind to the suffering around her? She had expected as much, but the sting of it still hit hard. Her mother would rather see her daughters idle or occupied with frippery than engage in any act of real kindness.
Turning to Jane, Elizabeth could see her sister's hesitation, her natural inclination to obey their mother still strong. But Elizabeth could also see the flicker of discomfort in her eyes. Jane didn't want to upset their mother, but she didn't want to leave her sister to struggle alone, either.
With a sigh, Jane put down her embroidery and spoke in her gentle way. "I'm sorry, Lizzy. I think Mama is right."
Elizabeth nodded, forcing a small smile.
Mrs. Bennet, having won the moment, turned on her heel and swept out of the room. "Good. I won't have any more of this nonsense. Now, go on and do something productive."
Elizabeth watched her mother leave, a sense of frustration growing in her chest. She had hoped—if only for a moment—that Jane might stand beside her. But even Jane, kind as she was, could not escape the gravity of their mother's demands.
Turning back to Jane, Elizabeth spoke softly, her voice thick with disappointment. "I will do this, Jane. Even if I have to do it alone. I won't let them suffer while we have so much. I'll figure it out, somehow."
With Mrs. Havers's guidance, Elizabeth spent the next few days putting together supplies. A few of the servants even helped her stitch small patches and make simple gloves and scarves.
Once everything was gathered, Elizabeth, with the help of Jon, the footmen, carried a bundle of supplies to Mrs Carter and her family on the edge of the estate. The family's cottage was small, with smoke escaping from a patchwork chimney. When she knocked, Mrs Carter answered, her face lined with worry and exhaustion. She did recognize Elizabeth, her eyes widened.
"Miss Bennet?" the woman said, curtsying stiffly.
Elizabeth nodded, feeling a pang of shame at her fine coat and gloves in the cold, damp room. "I—I wanted to bring you these," she stammered, holding out the bundle. "There are some blankets, clothes, potatoes, and a bit of wool… for the children, perhaps."
The woman's face softened, her eyes welling with gratitude. "You've come all the way here for us? It's more than we could have asked for, miss. You'll never know what this means." She took Elizabeth's hand briefly in her rough, calloused one, then glanced shyly away.
Elizabeth managed a shaky smile as she took in the scene—the thin walls, the damp chill in the air, the worn clothes. She suddenly felt an ache in her chest that she couldn't quite name.
When she returned to the warmth of Longbourn that evening, her thoughts were filled with the tenants she'd met. Over a quiet supper, she looked at her mother, watching Mrs. Bennet chatter about new ribbons and the possibility of a winter ball. Elizabeth felt her heart harden as she thought of the families shivering in cold cottages.
When the conversation died down, Elizabeth spoke up. "Mama, did you know some of our tenants don't have enough food or warm clothes for the winter? They need help."
Mrs. Bennet blinked, her expression shifting to one of exasperation. "Honestly, Elizabeth, why on earth are you troubling yourself with that sort of thing? They manage as they always have."
"But Mama," Elizabeth persisted, her voice urgent, "they are struggling. I saw it myself. If we could just spare a little more—maybe some more food or blankets…."
Mrs. Bennet scoffed, her expression hardening. "Enough, Elizabeth. It's not a young lady's place to go poking her nose into those matters. We have our own concerns to tend to. Honestly, this fixation of yours is quite unbecoming."
Later that night, as Elizabeth lay in bed, she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. The chasm between herself and her mother felt wider than it had ever been. How could her mother dismiss such suffering so easily, again and again? The idea of ribbons and balls now felt hollow, as if they were trifles in the face of real hardship. Elizabeth's heart ached with anger, confusion, and a new determination. Tomorrow, she would help the rest of the tenants and begin allocating the money towards more endeavors, determined to make a real difference in their lives.