Chapter One

Elizabeth

16 th October 1811

E lizabeth walked resolutely down Oak Mount, her hands curling into fists and releasing as she went. She could only imagine what she must look like to anyone passing by—an enraged young woman, with steam practically coming from her nose and ears.

Why she was still so incensed over that northerner, she wasn’t entirely sure. But the way he had spoken of her, with such obvious contempt, calling her barely tolerable and saying that she was not handsome enough to tempt him, was a bitter insult indeed. Yet it wasn’t merely that Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley had insulted her; it was his attitude towards the town and its inhabitants, whom she held so dear.

She knew that Meryton likely did not compare to London, and that to some it may seem rather provincial, but it was her home and its inhabitants were no less deserving of respect than those in Mr Darcy’s circles.

“Elizabeth!” A familiar voice called from behind her, and she stopped, glancing over her shoulder. Charlotte Lucas, her dearest friend, was hurrying after her, one hand on her bonnet as she hastened down the narrow path.

“Charlotte, where did you come from?”

“Home, of course. I am going into town. You walked right past Lucas Lodge. Did you not hear me calling?”

“No,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head. “I was deep in thought, reflecting on the assembly last night.”

Charlotte slipped her arm through Elizabeth’s. “It was wonderful, was it not? Everyone looked splendid. I only wish someone had danced with me. My mother has been lamenting all morning that I danced only with men to whom I am distantly related. She seems convinced I shall be an old maid.”

“Charlotte, you danced with that officer, or did that slip your memory?” Elizabeth smiled.

“I did. He asked me to dance again, but I declined. What would people say if I danced twice with the same gentleman?” She shook her head. “Dancing twice with the same gentleman would give rise to talk.”

“I know,” Elizabeth said, “but it only goes to show that there is interest.”

“Perhaps,” Charlotte said wistfully, “but my mother would never approve of an officer. Though, if I get much older, I might have no choice.” Charlotte paused and glanced over at Elizabeth. “You look wistful, what were you thinking about? Did someone displease you?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Oh, it was not about dancing. Rather, it is a certain gentleman who has unsettled my thoughts.”

“Ah, Mr Darcy,” Charlotte said knowingly. “To think everyone was so interested in meeting him only to end the night disappointed by his unfriendly nature.”

“It is not just that he was unfriendly,” Elizabeth said and recounted the details of the conversation she had overheard and the contemptuous remarks Mr Darcy had made about her and the town of Meryton. Charlotte nodded sympathetically.

“I must say,” Charlotte began, “when word spread that there was a gentleman worth ten thousand pounds a year attending the Meryton assembly, everyone was full of excitement. Yet after his behaviour last night, his respectability is much diminished. To refuse to dance with a single lady! What arrogance!”

“Indeed,” Elizabeth agreed. “It is no wonder he is not yet married.”

“Such a shame,” Charlotte sighed. “One expects a man of refinement to behave with more grace.”

Elizabeth smiled, though the sting of Mr Darcy’s words still lingered. She was about to reply when Charlotte suddenly grabbed her arm.

“Lizzy, look!” She pointed towards an oak tree nearby. Behind it, turned away from the road, sat a small figure. It was immediately clear that it was a young girl, and she appeared to be crying.

“What should we do?” Charlotte asked, her voice hushed.

Elizabeth bit her lip. “Let us approach quietly. She seems to be in distress.”

They moved carefully towards the child. Elizabeth purposely made some noise to draw the girl’s attention.

The child looked up, her face streaked with dirt. Tears had carved tracks through the dust on her cheeks, and her large blue eyes, red from crying, quivered with fear.

“Hello,” Elizabeth said softly. “I am Elizabeth. People call me Lizzy. This is my friend Charlotte. What is your name?”

The girl opened her mouth, but only a sound, half grunt, half sob, came out.

“May I come closer?” Elizabeth asked, but the girl shrank away. Elizabeth did not press further. Instead, she knelt down in front of her, her voice gentle.

The child’s knees were scraped, as were her hands. Bruises marred her arms, where her sleeves had torn, revealing the distinct impression of someone’s grip. Her dress was ripped, exposing her legs, and the bruising there told the same grim story.

A deep sense of dread settled in Elizabeth’s stomach as she examined the child.

“Did someone hurt you?” she asked, her voice soft. This time, the girl nodded, ever so slightly.

“Are your parents nearby?” Elizabeth ventured.

At this question, the child burst into fresh sobs, her small body trembling with the force of them.

“Hush, hush,” Elizabeth said, her heart breaking at the sight. “You are safe now. We will take care of you.”

“Charlotte,” she said, turning to her friend, “give me your cloak.”

Charlotte quickly shrugged it from her shoulders, and Elizabeth wrapped the girl in the warm blue fabric.

“Did you run away?” Elizabeth asked gently. The child nodded again.

“Can you tell us your name?” Charlotte asked, her voice firmer than Elizabeth’s.

The girl opened her mouth, but no words came. Only frustrated grunts escaped her lips.

“Lizzy,” Charlotte whispered, “I do not think she can speak.”

Elizabeth nodded. The child’s silence might have been due to injury, that much was clear. “We cannot leave her out here,” she said. “I shall take her to Longbourn. Charlotte, will you go into Meryton and fetch the constable? We must make a report. Something dreadful has happened to this child.”

With that, the two friends parted ways. Elizabeth stood and extended her hand to the girl.

“Will you come with me to my home?” she asked gently. “We can take care of your injuries there and find you something to eat. Are you hungry?”

The child, still sniffling, nodded.

“Good,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “We shall get you something to eat.”

The girl hesitated for a moment before placing her small hand in Elizabeth’s. Elizabeth pulled her gently to her feet. The child’s head barely reached Elizabeth’s waist. She could not have been more than six or seven years old.

As they walked towards Longbourn, Elizabeth’s mind raced. Where were the girl’s parents? What terrible event had befallen her? These were the questions the constable would ask, but Elizabeth bit her tongue, not wanting to distress the child further.

When they finally reached Longbourn House, Elizabeth paused and smiled at her companion. “This is my home,” she said softly. “It’s called Longbourn. Do you know the name of your home?”

The girl shook her head.

“Never mind,” Elizabeth said kindly. “We shall figure it out in due course.”

She led the girl inside, bracing herself for she had no idea just how her family—particularly her mother—might reacted to this sudden, unannounced visitor.

***

“Lizzy, what on earth—who is this? Where did you find her?” Mrs Bennet asked. The little girl was seated on the kitchen table, where Hill was presently scrubbing her face with a washcloth.

“She was sitting behind a bush near Oak Mount,” Elizabeth replied. “She hasn’t spoken at all, but given her appearance and the bruises, I fear something dreadful may have happened to her.” Elizabeth had expected her mother to fly into her usual histrionics, but surprisingly, Mrs Bennet remained calm.

“She certainly looks unwell,” Mrs Bennet observed. “I wonder if she might be a poor peasant child, perhaps abandoned because she cannot speak. Terrible business, what some people will do to their children.”

“We cannot know that,” Elizabeth said firmly. “She may have run away from her family, or something worse may have befallen them.”

Mrs Bennet stepped resolutely into the kitchen. “Well, we must do what we can.”

She smiled kindly at the little girl and bent down to her eye level. “Goodness, just look at you, all that dirt! As black as night,” she exclaimed, shaking her head at the basin of water Hill had been using to clean the child. “I think what we need is the washtub and some good, hot water. Hill, put on the pot.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. The washtub was reserved for Saturday nights, when the family took their weekly baths to be fresh for church the following day. It was rarely brought out during the week, and certainly not for strangers.

Her mother, however, continued unperturbed, now addressing the child. “I am Mrs Bennet. You may call me that. This,” she gestured towards Elizabeth, “is my daughter, Lizzy. Now, I have five daughters of my own, so I daresay I know a little about taking care of young girls—and it seems to me that you are in a spot of trouble.”

The child bit her lip.

Mrs Bennet placed a comforting hand on the child’s shoulder. “You are not in trouble with me, my dear, but I do believe something terrible has happened to you. Is that so?”

The girl nodded hesitantly.

“I see. Do you know where your parents are, my dear?” Mrs Bennet asked gently.

The girl shook her head.

“Do you know where you are from?” Mrs Bennet tried again.

Again, the girl shook her head.

“Well, then,” Mrs Bennet declared briskly, “we shall have to summon the constable.”

“Charlotte has already gone to fetch him,” Elizabeth said.

“Good. Just what is needed. But first,” Mrs Bennet continued, “we must see this poor child properly bathed, dressed, and fed. I will not have the gossips of Meryton spreading rumours that Fanny Bennet does not take care of guests in her house!”

She called over to their housekeeper, “Hill! Put on the stew from yesterday and some bread and butter as well. Heaven knows how long it will take to heat up all the water we’ll need. Might as well feed the poor thing first.”

Then, turning to Elizabeth, she said, “Lizzy, take Mary with you and go up to the attic. In the trunk, you’ll find some clothes from when Lydia and Kitty were small. Bring a few down that will fit this child. And be quick about it!”

She clapped her hands together and before Lizzy could so much as utter a reply, she turned her attention back to the child. No, Elizabeth understood, she need not have worried about her mother at all. For it seemed seeing the dirty, frightened, and injured child had awakened something within her mother—she would take charge of this girl, no matter what.

And for that, Elizabeth was immensely grateful, for the girl, whoever she was, needed all the support and help she could get.