Chapter Seven

Elizabeth

25 th November 1811

A s winter continued to hold its icy grip on Hertfordshire, the Bennet household was alive with the bustle of Christmas preparations. Elizabeth had taken it upon herself to teach Maggie how to play the pianoforte, an endeavour that filled her with a mix of delight and trepidation. Thus far, it had gone well but she had just shown her a full piece rather than a few simple notes and she would soon see if Maggie had any skill or talent at all.

“Now, Maggie,” Elizabeth said, her tone warm and encouraging as she positioned the child at the pianoforte, “let us try that simple piece again. Remember to keep your fingers light on the keys.”

Maggie placed her small hands on the instrument and began tentatively to play a series of notes. Elizabeth watched with bated breath, hoping to see even a modicum of progress. To her astonishment, Maggie’s fingers danced across the keys, producing a surprisingly coherent melody.

“Oh! Very good!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her heart swelling with pride. “You are a natural!”

From her spot near the fireplace, Mary looked up from her book. “I did not expect her to be able to master it so quickly. It is rather extraordinary, is it not?”

“Extraordinary indeed!” Mrs Bennet chimed in, her hands resting on her hips as she surveyed Maggie’s performance with an air of maternal satisfaction. “Perhaps she comes from a family of musicians. Wouldn’t it be delightful to discover she is of higher birth than we assumed?”

Elizabeth felt a twinge of unease at the notion. “Mama, do not be so hasty in your assumptions. Just because she plays well does not indicate her lineage. There are many talented individuals from all walks of life.” Yet she couldn’t help but wonder, was there more to Maggie than met the eye? It had been five weeks since she had found the child, and despite the constable and the magistrate’s best efforts, nobody had come forward to claim her.

“Do not be silly, Elizabeth. Maggie, pray, did your Mama and Papa play the pianoforte?” Mrs Bennet pressed, her eagerness apparent.

The child paused suddenly, her fingers hovering above the keys. A shadow of discomfort flickered across her face as though she had sensed the scrutiny. Elizabeth noticed and wrapped her arm around her, offering a reassuring smile.

“Maggie, my dear,” she said softly, “you need not worry. You play beautifully, and that is what matters.”

But Maggie’s gaze dropped to her lap, and her lower lip quivered slightly, revealing a flash of emotion that Elizabeth could not fully comprehend. She was painfully aware that Maggie could not speak, and though Elizabeth longed to comfort her, she could not fathom the child’s inner turmoil.

“Mama, please,” Elizabeth urged, rising quickly to her feet. “Let us not press her further. We should focus on her music and how beautifully she plays.”

But before Mrs Bennet could reply, the parlour door swung open, and Jane entered, her cheeks rosy from the cold air outside, though Elizabeth could see that despite the glow her face was pale. “Elizabeth! Mama!” she exclaimed, her voice breathless and urgent. “You must hear this, Caroline Bingley just informed me that the entire Netherfield party is leaving today!”

Shock rippled through the room, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake. Elizabeth’s heart sank at the news, her thoughts instantly flying to Mr Bingley and his amiable nature.

“Leaving?” Mrs Bennet echoed, her brow furrowing in disbelief. “But that cannot be! Mr Bingley must come to explain himself. How can he abandon us so soon? Why, it is scarcely fitting—”

“Jane, are you certain?” Elizabeth interrupted, her mind racing. “They cannot leave without reason. Perhaps it is merely a temporary departure? I heard that they were to stay until summer at least.”

Jane nodded, her expression grave. “Caroline seemed quite certain that they will not return for some time, if ever.”

Elizabeth exchanged a worried glance with Mary. “This cannot be. Mr Bingley would not abandon you so abruptly, especially after the kindness he has shown.”

Mrs Bennet fanned herself dramatically, the prospect of losing the connection to Netherfield sending her into a flurry of indignation. “No, surely he would not. I am certain he intends to call on you to explain himself, Jane, my dear. We must prepare to receive him with the utmost hospitality! Come, we need to clean this room at once. Mary, put down that book and help me.”

Elizabeth felt a surge of frustration at the uncertainty of it all. Why was it that each time they found a glimmer of hope, it was so easily snatched away? A bad feeling rose in her stomach, and she was not quite as certain as her mother that Mr Bingley would appear. After all, if he intended to, he would have already done so and not left it to his sister to deliver the news to poor Jane.

She turned her attention back to Maggie, who had fallen silent, her little hands still resting on the pianoforte as if to ground herself amidst the commotion.

The little girl looked at her with uncertain eyes.

“Do not fret, Maggie. Instead, let us play one more time,” Elizabeth said, forcing a smile to lighten the mood.

“Yes,” Mrs Bennet replied. “That way, when Mr Bingley comes, we can entertain him with music.”

“Mother,” Mary said in protest, for she was truly the musician in the family.

“Do not stretch my nerves, Mary. Clean, clean, clean, and you dress properly, Jane. You cannot greet Mr Bingley in your everyday attire. Put on the nice gown you purchased when we were in London.”

With that, the family dispersed to prepare for the eventual farewell visit from Mr Bingley—a visit Elizabeth hoped would explain the party’s sudden departure.

***

As evening descended upon Longbourn, the flickering candlelight cast a warm glow across the parlour, but the atmosphere within the room was anything but cheerful. Mr Bingley had yet to arrive, and Mrs Bennet’s fretting had reached a near fever pitch.

“Mama, perhaps he is merely delayed,” Elizabeth suggested, though she felt a growing unease deep within her. The cheerful chatter of the earlier afternoon had given way to tense silence, broken only by the shuffling of feet and the occasional sigh.

The door swung open, and in rushed Lydia and Kitty, their cheeks flushed from the cold and their eyes alight with excitement.

“Did Papa get off alright?” Mary asked as Mr Bennet had travelled north to Northampton to visit his younger sister to deliver Christmastide gifts and greetings.

“He did,” Kitty replied.

“Oh, what a fine time to leave,” Mrs Bennet interjected, throwing her hands in the air. “When I need him most! How can he be so selfish as to leave me at a time like this? Surely Alexandra could have done without a visit at this time of year. Who visits before Christmas to deliver gifts? We could have all gone in spring.”

“Did not you tell him to visit her before the snows come and the roads become impassable?” Elizabeth interjected but her mother waved her concern away with a wave of the hand.

“Hush, Lizzy. I need him to speak with Mr Bingley. He could have made enquiries as to why they have decided to depart so quickly. I had hoped Mr Bingley would say his farewells with Mr Bennet present, but now he is gone, Mr Bingley will be greeted by only us with the head of the household nowhere to be seen.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You need not fret so, Mama. It is clear that Mr Bingley has no intention of returning. We saw several carriages leaving Netherfield!”

Elizabeth’s heart sank further at the news. “Carriages? You are certain?”

“Quite certain!” Kitty replied, her brow furrowing. “They were leaving in quite a hurry. It was most curious!”

Mrs Bennet gasped, clutching her chest as if she had been struck. “Hang that man for abandoning Jane in such a manner! He has no consideration for her feelings.”

At that moment, Jane entered the room, her countenance pale and her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Lizzy,” she began, her voice trembling. “Is it true? I cannot believe it. He has left us without a word. How could he?”

Before Elizabeth could move to comfort her, Jane dashed out of the room, her distress palpable, leaving Elizabeth feeling as though a weight had settled upon her chest.

“Jane!” Elizabeth called after her, but her sister was already gone, swallowed by her sorrow.

“Crying won’t do her any good!” Lydia scoffed, crossing her arms. “She should have known better than to take his kindness to heart. Men are fickle creatures, after all.”

“Lydia!” Mary scolded, her voice sharp. “Have a care. Jane’s heart is in turmoil, and your flippant remarks do nothing to ease her suffering.”

Lydia shrugged. “What do you care, Mary? You have no notion of love at all, your nose is always buried in a book.”

“Enough of this bickering!” Elizabeth interjected, feeling a swell of frustration. “This is not the time nor the place. We must be kind to one another, especially to Jane.”

She glanced at Maggie, the girl sat quietly in the corner, but her large eyes reflected the discomfort the raised voices were causing her. Elizabeth reached out and took the child’s hand. “Come, dear. Let us go and check on Jane.”

As Elizabeth left the parlour, she could hear her mother lamenting over Mr Bingley’s thoughtlessness, the sound a steady background to her racing thoughts. How had it come to this? Just the other day, Georgiana Darcy had mentioned how the Netherfield party intended to remain until summer—what had happened to change everything so drastically?

Elizabeth made her way towards the staircase with Maggie at her side, the soft glow of the oil lamps cast flickering shadows across the hallway. She felt the air shift as the front door creaked open.

Letting go of Maggie’s hand, she turned and saw Hill, their housekeeper, at the entrance. She could not see her face but saw her body tense as she addressed a caller. For a moment she wondered if Mr Bingley had arrived, however they had not heard the sound of a carriage approaching.

“My master is unavailable,” she said, for Hill never revealed if any member of the family was out of town, especially not Mr Bennet. She knew how to be vague for a house full of women stood as a target for those who might seek to harm them without the presence of a man. Elizabeth crept closer, she was aware that eavesdropping was wrong, but given the events of the evening she wanted to know if this was connected with the Bingley party’s sudden departure. Had Mr Bingley come to speak to Jane?

“What of the lady of the house then?” the caller asked, it was not Mr Bingley. This man’s voice was deep and his accent suggested he came from Birmingham.

Elizabeth crept closer still. The man was tall, with ash blond hair that seemed to catch the light in an unsettling way, contrasting sharply with the dirt on his collar and the frayed cuffs of his coat. His short beard was scraggly and unkempt, lending him an air of neglect that made Elizabeth’s skin crawl. The way he stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, spoke of impatience mixed with unease, as though he were more accustomed to being in command than at the mercy of others.

“Mrs Bennet is occupied. I am happy to pass along your calling card,” Hill said, as the family was not accustomed to admitting strangers at this hour.

“Please, my good woman,” he said, his voice a blend of desperation and authority, “I have come for my daughter, Cecilia. She is here. I saw the signs posted at the constabulary.”

The word daughter struck Elizabeth like a cold wave. Cecilia? She quickly moved away from the hall and to the staircase where Maggie waited. The man seemed adamant, his fervour unsettling. Her mother stepped out of the parlour, alerted by the voices no doubt, her brows furrowed in confusion as she studied the man with a critical eye.

“Cecilia?” she echoed, glancing back at the stairs where Elizabeth and Maggie were standing. “Maggie has been with us for weeks. She—”

“My daughter’s name is Cecilia and I saw the sign posted saying she was found. I had to ask all around town because that useless constable was nowhere to be found. Now, where is my child?” The man interrupted, his tone sharpening, the fire of indignation igniting in his blue-grey eyes. “I have searched high and low for her since her governess lost her while she was charged with her care. It was a dreadful circumstance, truly, and I have been beside myself with worry.”

Elizabeth felt a rush of protectiveness for Maggie. She could see the fearful expression in the little girl’s wide, glistening eyes. As he launched into a convoluted tale, Elizabeth remained still, listening intently, the grip of unease tightening around her heart. Surely, if this man was Maggie’s father then she’d have run towards the door as soon as she heard his voice? Something was terribly wrong.

“Your governess lost her?” her mother asked, confusion rife in her tone.

“Yes, the carriage was held up by highway robbers. The poor woman fought bravely, but they overpowered her and the coachman and took everything… and my daughter ran away in fright.”

Mrs Bennet frowned, her suspicions palpable as she pressed him further. “And where did this happen?” Her voice remained low and steady, but Elizabeth could detect the slight tremor beneath her words, a telltale sign that she was not convinced. Her mother might sometimes be silly and prone to dramatics but she could be sensible—and this situation did not strike Elizabeth as sensible at all. Why would the man have just come to Longbourn? None of the signs the constable had posted regarding the girl said where she was staying and nobody in the village would send him here without first checking with the constable—whom Elizabeth knew to be in the constabulary right now, not missing as this man claimed.

She knew this because she’d seen Mr Jackson, the constable, just that morning while at the market and he had complained about having to be at the constabulary all night to complete paperwork.

“In a small village—near a river, I think…” The man hesitated, his brow furrowing as if he were grappling with the details. “They were travelling from… from… the north.”

Elizabeth’s instincts screamed that something was off. The way he stumbled over his words, how his tale twisted like the branches of a gnarled tree—it all felt wrong. That and the fact that Maggie showed no signs of recognition. The thought of the child being in danger sent a chill through her. But before she could gather her thoughts, a small whimper escaped from above, where Maggie remained hidden behind Elizabeth.

“Maggie?” Elizabeth called softly, rushing up the remaining stairs to find the child curled against the wall, her small body trembling. “Are you all right?”

Maggie shook her head violently, her eyes wide with fright.

Elizabeth’s heart sank as she knelt beside the girl, wrapping her arms around her protectively. “Is this man really your father?”

Maggie gasped, tears pooling in her eyes and she shook her head so her hair flew around her face.

“Do you know him?”

Maggie shook her head again and drew closer to her, holding on as if for dear life.

Elizabeth felt the full weight of Maggie’s distress in her bones. She pressed the child closer to her, her heart aching at the raw fear radiating from the girl. “It’s all right, Maggie. You’re safe with me,” she whispered, though she knew they had to do something to dispel the threat below.

Returning her focus to the conversation unfolding below, Elizabeth’s mind raced. The man continued to provide details that did not align with what they knew. He spoke of the incident occurring four weeks ago, yet Maggie had been with them for longer than that.

She was going to say this, but she could see that her mother was also wary of the man. “And what of your whereabouts during all this time? Surely you must have some knowledge of where she was taken? We spread news that she was with us all around Hertfordshire as well as town.”

The man’s expression soured, and he glanced around as if seeking an escape from the scrutiny of her questions. “I—searched for her but there were false leads. It took me a while to find her. And why am I being interrogated? Where is my child? I demand you give her to me.” He stepped into the hall. “Cecilia? Come to your Papa.”

“Mr…” Mrs Bennet started.

“Hinson,” the man said.

“Mr Hinson, let me fetch my husband from upstairs and I will have him come down and speak to you. In any case, the little girl is not at home at present, she is at my sister-in-law’s home with my eldest daughter. They will return in due course. But let me first fetch my husband.”

Her mother clearly understood how peculiar this situation was. Elizabeth knew this now for of course her father was on his way to see his relatives. Quickly, she took Maggie and lifted her up, carrying her towards her chamber and then, she waited for her mother.