Chapter Three

Elizabeth

20 th November 1811

Longbourn, Hertfordshire

“N ow, Maggie, here you are, my dear. Take this cut. It has a little more fat, which will do you good. And make sure you butter your bread properly,” Mrs Bennet said with a smile.

“Why does she always get the best cut?” Lydia complained, crossing her arms and pouting.

“Because she is the youngest, and she needs it,” Mrs Bennet replied, her tone somewhat sharper. “You heard what the physician said. She could stand to put on a few pounds. She barely touched a morsel in her first days with us, and who knows when she last ate before that. The poor child might have been wandering the woods for weeks!” Mrs Bennet pressed a hand to her forehead with a dramatic flourish. “Oh, the thought quite upsets me.”

“Then, my dear, do yourself and your nerves a favour, and think of it no more,” Mr Bennet replied dryly. Elizabeth chuckled, though she could not help but feel sympathy towards Maggie, the name they had bestowed upon the young girl whom Elizabeth had found a month ago wandering alone in the woods.

Elizabeth recalled how their mother had always favoured Lydia as the youngest, though not with the fervent doting that she now bestowed upon Maggie. Lydia, of course, had noticed this shift in attention and had developed a deep dislike for the new addition to their home.

“There you go, Maggie. Very good. Now, spread that butter thickly on your bread, just like that. And do drink your tea,” Mrs Bennet said, her voice brimming with indulgent affection. Elizabeth exchanged an amused glance with Mary and their father.

Lydia rolled her eyes and leaned forward with deliberate defiance, placing her elbows on the table.

“Lydia! Sit up properly. What sort of example are you setting for young Maggie?” Mrs Bennet admonished, her tone sharp. Lydia let out a groan.

“Maggie this, Maggie that! I do not matter anymore,” she muttered petulantly.

“Lydia,” their father’s voice cut in firmly, “that is quite enough. Maggie is our guest, and she has no family. We must—”

“And why must we?” Lydia interjected angrily. “Why does she get all the best things? She is even wearing my old clothes!”

“I was unaware you had plans to reuse the dresses you wore at six years of age,” Elizabeth said with a slight laugh.

“You need not be so snide, Elizabeth,” Lydia snapped. “This is all your doing! You brought her here. And what do you know of my plans for my clothes? Perhaps I meant to repurpose them.”

“And when precisely were you planning to execute this grand plan?” Elizabeth teased. “You can hardly sew a straight line.”

Elizabeth felt a twinge of pity for both Maggie and Lydia. The latter had always been spoiled, and now her frustrations were being unfairly directed towards an innocent child.

“Lydia,” her mother interjected sternly. “Have you a family?”

“Yes,” Lydia mumbled.

“And have you a home, a father and mother who care for you?”

“Yes,” she repeated, more sullenly.

“Then do remember that Maggie has none of those things. So what if she wears your old clothes? So what if your mother gives her the best cut of meat? If we spoil her as though she were a royal, where is the harm? She has nothing else. She has not been unkind to you, has she?”

Maggie, looking small and shy at the mention of her name, quietly shifted in her seat. “She even picked flowers for all of us yesterday,” Mr Bennet added, casting a disapproving look towards Lydia.

It was remarkable how the arrival of the abandoned child had altered the family dynamic. Lydia, who had once enjoyed the lion’s share of her mother’s attention, had been brought down a peg, and this had not gone unnoticed by her. Kitty, who had once been inseparable from Lydia and shared in her unkind remarks about Maggie, had since distanced herself from such behaviour, becoming something of her own person at last.

Yet it wasn’t only Lydia and Kitty who had changed. The entire household seemed to function differently now—more considerately, with greater respect and kindness towards one another. Perhaps it was seeing this small, vulnerable girl, who had no family and no past to speak of, that had reminded them all how fortunate they were to have each other.

The debate came to a stop when the front door opened and Mrs Bennet looked up.

“I think I hear Jane,” she said, rising from her chair just as the front door opened. Indeed, it was Jane, resplendent in a gown of soft blush-coloured silk that seemed to float about her as she walked. Her serene expression matched the gentle hues of her attire.

“How was your outing?” Kitty asked immediately. “Was he as charming as ever?”

“Of course he was,” Mrs Bennet gushed. “Mr Bingley is charm personified. Quite the perfect match for our dear Jane.” She clasped her hands together with a satisfied smile.

Jane and Mr Bingley had spent the afternoon walking in the countryside with his sisters and brother-in-law—the second such outing since Jane’s ill-fated visit to Netherfield the previous week. Mrs Bennet had had the rather ingenious, albeit risky, plan of sending her daughter there in the rain, hoping the gentleman might be persuaded to prolong her stay to wait out the bad weather.

Of course, the plan had backfired somewhat, for Jane had caught a dreadful cold and was bedridden at Netherfield for three days. As Elizabeth recalled the incident, she shuddered at the memory of her own visit to tend to her sister, during which she had endured more than one uncomfortable encounter with the insufferable Mr Darcy.

While Mr Darcy had shown a surprising interest in little Maggie’s welfare—something Elizabeth appreciated—he had otherwise remained as proud and disdainful as ever. His questioning of her accomplishments and condescending air had left her more eager than ever to quit Netherfield. Yet one positive outcome had emerged from this ordeal, Mr Bingley’s growing affection for Jane was now evident to all.

Elizabeth glanced out of the window just in time to see Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley departing. Ahead of them, Mr and Mrs Hurst walked along with Miss Caroline Bingley. So Mr Darcy had been with them on the walk? How fortunate that she had not been compelled to go.

“What a delightful man Mr Bingley is,” her mother remarked with a beatific smile. “It is a pity the same cannot be said for that dreadful Mr Darcy,” she added, her nostrils flaring as if she had caught a most unpleasant scent.

“Mr Bennet, you should have heard the way he spoke to me when we called at Netherfield after Jane took ill.”

“I know, my dear,” replied Mr Bennet, his tone marked with long-suffering patience. “You’ve told me several times.”

“He was indeed rather condescending,” Lydia chimed in, no doubt eager to gain her mother’s favour.

Elizabeth nodded slightly. “He was not polite at all. It is clear he holds a deep disdain for Meryton and its inhabitants. Both he and Miss Caroline Bingley seem to think that life in the countryside is of little worth when compared to London.”

“Indeed,” Mrs Bennet declared. Then, turning towards Maggie, she said, “Maggie, promise me this, should we find out that you are of noble birth—perhaps even a princess—never, never condescend to those who live in the country. It is here, in the country, that we fuel the Empire, with fields, mines, and the hard labour of good people, like my dear brother-in-law, Mr Phillips, and my brother, Mr Gardiner.”

“Uncle Gardiner lives in Town,” Kitty supplied, but her mother’s narrowed gaze silenced her at once.

“Always at cross purposes, Kitty,” Mrs Bennet sighed, shaking her head. Then, turning back to Maggie, she continued, “Promise me, my dear, that you will not grow to be like Mr Darcy—too high in the instep for his own good.”

Maggie nodded obediently, though Elizabeth knew the poor girl had no notion of what was being discussed.

Elizabeth often disagreed with her mother’s hasty judgements, however, in this instance, she could not help but concur. When Jane had fallen ill at Netherfield, Mrs Bennet, Kitty, and Lydia had all descended upon the house uninvited. Mr Bingley, of course, had said nothing, given his attachment to Jane. During the visit, it had become glaringly obvious that her mother was far more concerned with ingratiating herself with Mr Bingley than with Jane’s well-being.

Mr Darcy, sensing this, had been rather curt, as had Miss Bingley and her sister, Mrs Hurst. Her mother, proud as ever, had announced that in Meryton they dined with over twenty families, a statement that seemed to amuse everyone except Mr Bingley, who, to his credit, remained above such matters.

The conversation had been thoroughly unpleasant, and Elizabeth was in no hurry to see Mr Darcy again. Yet, given Jane’s affection for Mr Bingley, she knew she would have no choice but to endure his presence. With a sigh, she turned her attention back to Jane, who had been speaking for some time, no doubt recounting her experiences.

“Did he say anything about the ball he promised?” Lydia demanded eagerly, referring to the ball she had pressed Mr Bingley into hosting at Netherfield.

“Indeed,” Jane replied, and Lydia’s eyes sparkled. “It is to be held next Saturday.”

“Next Saturday?” Lydia exclaimed. “But that is ten days away! Why so long?”

“It is because Mr Darcy’s sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, is arriving on Monday, and they wish to allow her time to settle in before the ball. She is said to be a thoroughly charming young lady.”

“Well, if she is half as charming as her brother, I have little hope for her at all,” Elizabeth remarked. Her father gave her a reproving glance, but she merely smiled in response.

“I am sure she is a bore,” Lydia muttered, rolling her eyes. But then, as if struck by a thought, she snapped her fingers. “Goodness, Lizzy, I nearly forgot! I saw your friend in town today—Mr Wickham. He was with Mr Denny. What a shame it is that he seems so fond of you, otherwise I would not mind his company for myself.”

Elizabeth smiled at her sister’s youthful exuberance, though her thoughts were drawn to George Wickham. She had met him some weeks earlier. A member of the militia, he was pleasant and agreeable, and she had grown fond of his company. He had the misfortune of knowing the Darcy family intimately, having grown up as the son of Mr Darcy’s steward. It was this shared dislike of Mr Darcy that had initially piqued Elizabeth’s interest in him, though now she genuinely enjoyed his company.

“Did he say anything of Miss Darcy?” Jane asked.

Elizabeth shook her head. “He seldom speaks well of her. In fact, he seems to have little good to say about anyone in Mr Darcy’s circle.”

“Give him a chance,” Jane urged. “I cannot believe that Mr Bingley would befriend someone entirely without merit. He has always been perfectly civil to me on the occasions that we have spoken.”

“He must find you very agreeable then,” Lydia replied, but before anyone could respond, a loud noise, like a gunshot, echoed through the air. Everyone at the table jumped at the sound, and Mr Bennet immediately rose to look out of the window.

“It seems to have come from the direction of Lucas Lodge,” he observed. “I suspect Sir William put down that mare at last, she was on her last legs.”

He got no further, for at that moment, a sharp cry interrupted him. It was not Mrs Bennet, who had let out a yelp, but rather Maggie.

The little girl sat with her hands over her ears, tears streaming down her face, trembling violently. Mrs Bennet was by her side at once, wrapping her arms around her and holding her close.

“There, there, my dear. It was nothing. We often hear such sounds in the country, but they are always harmless, I assure you,” Mrs Bennet murmured soothingly.

Ever since Maggie had come to live with them, certain noises—a bang, a shout, a clap of thunder—would send her into a panic. She would cry and tremble, sometimes for an hour or more. The physician had prescribed laudanum, though it did not always work. What did calm her, however, was sitting in a darkened room, with the drapes pulled tight and only a candle for light. They had discovered this by accident, when Maggie, during one of her episodes, had crept into the kitchen pantry. They had searched the entire house for her, and Mrs Bennet had been on the verge of a fainting fit when the cook finally found her.

While her mother could not allow the girl to hide in the pantry, since then, if Maggie had one of her episodes Mrs Bennet settled her in a quiet, dark room, though she was determined to break the habit. “It is not fitting,” she had declared, “for a young lady to run and hide at the slightest provocation. What will people say when she is two-and-twenty and still fleeing into the dark every time there is a thunderclap?”

Yet this episode was more severe than any they had seen before, and even Mrs Bennet had to admit that the best course of action would be to allow Maggie her familiar retreat.

As her mother carried Maggie to her chamber, Elizabeth could not help but feel a pang of anxiety. What were they to do with this child? What if they never found her family? What if they never uncovered the truth of her past? The future seemed uncertain, but for now, all they could do was offer comfort.