2

1 December, 1811

Longbourn was in uproar. Poor Mrs. Hill had been late in waking Mrs. Bennet, having been detained by her son Johnny, who had sprained his ankle earlier that morning. Mrs. Bennet loudly lamented this news, for the housekeeper’s strapping son had been meant to protect Longbourn in the Bennets’ absence. “The manor shall be set upon by bandits, I am sure it shall,”

the lady of the house wailed as she made ready. “All the other servants have abandoned us while we were asleep in our beds!”

“Beds which we were meant to be out of two hours ago,”

Mr. Bennet huffed with a shake of his head. He led his wife down the stairs, carrying her large valise for her. “Do not begrudge our servants their holiday, Mrs. Bennet - concern yourself with our own travel arrangements, for we must be off directly. I have wagered your brother ten shillings that we shall make it as far as Bedford by nightfall.”

Mrs. Gardiner attempted to corral her four rowdy children into some semblance of order as her husband loaded their trunks onto the baggage cart. “We ought to have been nearly to Luton already,”

she tutted.

The chaos of the house soon overflowed onto the front drive, where the footmen and drivers did their best to hastily prepare the four carriages and baggage cart for the departure of the family caravan that was to travel north. The Bingleys, Bennets, Gardiners, and Phillipses managed to haphazardly organize themselves, though they were all of a mind to grumble through the disorder.

The air had grown colder, and the wind picked up as they prepared to embark on their journey. Mrs. Bennet had not ceased her fussing for a moment since waking, scolding everybody into haste as she continued to fret over the absence of her servants, Johnny Hill’s injury, and the near-certainty that Longbourn would be overrun by brigands the instant her family left the place.

“La!”

Lydia laughed, despite the tension that hung in the frosty air. “Did not the colonel call yesterday to assure us that all will be well in Meryton? The regiment will look after everything, though ‘tis a pity we shall not be here to look after them.”

“Indeed,”

Kitty agreed. “Such a shame we must part with the officers for a whole month. I do not know why we bothered hanging mistletoe in the parlor, if we shall not be home to entertain them.”

Lydia brightened with triumph. “Oh, but Wickham and I made the most of the mistletoe when he called yesterday.”

“Lydia!”

Jane swatted at her sister, but shielded the girl from their parents’ notice. “You must not say such things. Besides, are you not eager to see the home Charles has taken for us?”

Kitty snorted with laughter. “What a fine joke that it should be so near Pemberley! But it would serve Lizzy right if that odious Mr. Darcy should be calling on us while we are visiting MacAllister Manor!”

Mr. Bingley joined them; Jane breathed a sigh of relief that her handsome new husband had not heard her sister’s unkind remark, and she shooed the younger girls toward the Phillips’ carriage.

“But where is your sister Lizzy? I had thought to ask her to ride with us.”

Jane looked about as her relations began to clamber into the carriages. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. “Perhaps she is riding with Papa? Let us ask Mary to join us, and perhaps my little cousin Emily?”

Mr. Bingley agreed at once, and set about ensuring his beautiful bride was made comfortable in his fine carriage, with a warm blanket about her and, beneath it, a hot brick at her feet. Mrs. Hill came round to each of the equipages and handed in baskets of fruit, pastries, and cheeses to compensate for their rushed and sparse morning repast. The harried-looking housekeeper wished them all a safe journey, accepted the good wishes from all for her dear lad’s recovery, and she waved them off as the caravan was at last underway.

After a half-hour of raucous noise consuming the house, a calm fell over Longbourn. Mrs. Hill remained long enough to relish the rare and precious peace, and to stoke the fires in the parlor and the study, for she meant to return that afternoon and see to a thorough cleaning of the house from top to bottom. A strange sense of something being not quite right troubled her as she made her way to her cottage at the end of the lane, to look in on her injured son, but the practical woman decided most expeditiously that she had enough to think of without seeking out any further trouble.

For another hour, the crackling of the two small fires and the rattling of the wind in the window panes were the only sounds at Longbourn. And then, up in the attic, Elizabeth Bennet sat up and groaned.

***

Elizabeth yawned and stretched; she rolled her shoulders, for she had slept very poorly indeed on the old chaise in the attic. In her fit of pique the previous evening, she had punished only herself, and fresh vexation simmered within her. Hoping her mother and Lydia had slept very ill indeed, she ventured downstairs, expecting to find the household in a state of upheaval as her family prepared to travel.

Instead, Longbourn was silent.

Elizabeth moved through the second floor corridor in a state of bewilderment, for never had she seen her home so still. She drew her shawl about her shoulders and descended down to the ground floor; the disarray in the parlors was nothing out of the ordinary, but the complete want of noise was something she had never experienced at Longbourn. For the first time in all her twenty years, Elizabeth was home alone.

She made a complete circuit of the sitting room, the music room, the dining room, and even peeked into her father’s study; all were empty. Standing in the front hall in her stockinged feet and nightdress, shrouded in a shabby old shawl, Elizabeth briefly wondered if she was still asleep - perhaps it was all a strange dream. A laugh bubbled from Elizabeth’s throat as she moved toward a window looking out on the front drive. There were deep ruts in the gravel, where so many carriages had assembled, and the front gate had been left wide open.

This was no dream - she supposed it was rather meant as a punishment. “Well,”

Elizabeth said with a stubborn snort, a smile tugging at her lips. “This is just what I was wishing for yesterday. I shall not repine at all.”

Trusting that Hill was about somewhere, Elizabeth headed down to the kitchen to pilfer whatever sweets were left over from yesterday, and perhaps a cup of tea.

***

Jane sighed and stared out the window of her husband's carriage as the village of Luton disappeared in the distance. By unspoken agreement between all the carriages in their family convoy, there had been some rearranging when they stopped to refresh the horses, and Jane had hoped to exchange one sister for another. For above an hour, she had listened to Mary squabble with their eldest Gardiner cousin about the book of sermons Mary had read aloud to them until Emily had most obligingly chucked it out the window.

While Mary had gone to ride with the Phillipses, who she was sure would hear her out, Emily returned to her parents’ carriage. Her dear husband would not hear of Jane exchanging the comfort and warmth of the carriage for the chill of the thoroughfare, and offered to seek Elizabeth himself. But first he would take advantage of their solitude, for the newlyweds had managed no more than a few chaste kisses since returning from their honeymoon.

Their ardor was interrupted by howls of laughter from Kitty and Lydia, who clambered into the Bingley carriage uninvited, declaring that they should be vastly more comfortable in their new brother’s barouche than they had been riding with their parents. The Bingleys were far too amiable to argue with the girls, and it would have done little good if they had, for they were underway once more before Jane could give Elizabeth a second thought.

Amidst the chatter of lace and finery, and all the hints that Mr. Bingley ought to give a ball at his new home, Jane smiled at her husband’s kindness to her sisters and then allowed her thoughts to turn to the happy musings of what her new home would be like. With each mile, Longbourn became a distant thought indeed.

***

For the next few hours, Elizabeth wavered between considering that her abandonment was the consequence of her ill-humor the previous day, and wondering if her family could truly have forgotten her. It was true that none of her relations awoke with the same alacrity as herself - indeed, several of them were entirely useless for the first hour of every day - but surely somebody would have thought of her.

It must have been by design that they had left her behind, thinking to teach her a lesson for her churlishness. They must think her a greater fool than Lydia, if they imagined she would be distressed at being alone for a few hours. Every moment she was expecting her family’s carriage to return. Her mother would think she had taught Elizabeth a lesson and her father would simply laugh at his wife’s charade, and then they would all be on their way in earnest.

Elizabeth was resolved that she should be the one to teach them a lesson, for she had no intention of being ready to travel when they returned for her. “If they wish me to believe they have abandoned me, I shall oblige them,”

Elizabeth said to the fat orange cat she had retrieved from the barn. The mouser blinked up at her and mewed before returning his attention to the saucer of cream she had set atop her father’s desk.

“Exactly so, Lord Whiskerton,”

Elizabeth said with a nod. “When they return for me, I shall still be in my nightdress, having shed not a tear of distress at their absence. I am sure I shall require so much time to prepare for the journey that we shall not possibly make Bedford before tomorrow, and Papa will owe my uncle ten shillings that Mamma might have spent on something lacy and hideous.”

As the cat continued lapping at the cream, Elizabeth’s stomach began to rumble with hunger. There had been little in the larder, for Mrs. Hill had been instructed to allow their stores to deplete in advance of the family’s journey. Whatever was left from their dinner the night before must have already been taken to the tenant families, for their housekeeper could not abide waste.

Wishing she had been more peckish the previous evening at supper, Elizabeth slowly opened one of the drawers of her father’s desk. She knew he kept a tin of biscuits hidden away, and once she had helped herself, she began to eye his brandy.

It was no great leap, after she had imbibed her second glass of the amber liquid, to make herself quite comfortable in her father’s sanctuary. Her family would surely return at any moment - why should she not enjoy the blissful peace and quiet until then? And if she should appear entirely unrepentant when they discovered her thus, so much the better!

Elizabeth added another log to the fire, selected a book to occupy her mind, and was soon reclining in her father’s leather chair, her feet propped up on his desk. Lord Whiskerton warmed her lap as a third glass of brandy warmed her chest; the cat purred at her gentle petting and Elizabeth did her best not to vex the creature with her coughing as she lit one of her father’s fine cigars.

“They are certainly taking their time returning for me, and so much the better! I am quite at my leisure.”

***

Something felt odd to Thomas Bennet, who looked up from his book with an inescapable sensation of disturbance. He surveyed his companions, but Jane, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Gardiner all appeared indifferent to the indefinable shift in the air. They had made more tranquil companions than any other that day, and it had been a relief to quit his wife’s company when they stopped to refresh themselves in Clophill.

His new son-in-law kept a very fine carriage indeed; perhaps it was the luxury of it that felt so queer, for his own had not been new or remotely remarkable since his children were all very young. Glancing down at his book, Mr. Bennet spared a thought for his favorite child, whose company he had not enjoyed all day. It occurred to him that perhaps that was what felt amiss, for he seldom passed a day in his life without enjoying a jest or two with his darling Lizzy.

He supposed she was sulking after her mother’s intemperate scolding the previous evening - she was likely venting her spleen to one of her aunts even now. Well, that was his dear girl, ever defiant. He laughed indulgently to himself, resolving that he would speak to her when they reached the inn. They would have a hearty laugh about the whole dreadful business, and perhaps he would buy her a little present to make it right, some pretty trinket, or a tasty sweet she might make a show of refusing to share with her sisters, for there would be some justice in that, to be sure.

A light snow began to fall as the sun sank on the horizon, and Mr. Bennet smiled brightly at his brother by marriage. In the distance was the village of Bedford; he would have an extra ten shillings to spend on his favorite daughter, and all the satisfaction of winning this little wager.

***

Elizabeth had grown so lost in the novel that had occupied her for hours that she had forgotten about the fire until it went out. She had intended to sustain it, to feed it wood whenever the flames grew weak - but she had no notion of how to light the fire now that it had gone out entirely. Where was Mrs. Hill? Was not Johnny Hill meant to look after Longbourn?

She giggled to herself, for Elizabeth could hardly begrudge the housekeeper and her children in this dereliction of their duties. After Longbourn had been brimming with relations, she rather wished all the servants might rest and recover from the ordeal.

And yet, it had grown cold as the sun began to set. Elizabeth gently lifted the cat from her lap and set him down on the desk, resolved to go in search of warmer attire. It occurred to her as she went up the stairs that Lydia had stolen her favorite pelisse for Jane’s wedding, and Elizabeth crept into her younger sisters’ room to retrieve it.

Happily, Lydia had not been so brazen as to pack the pilfered pelisse, and Elizabeth put it on as soon as she retrieved it from the armoire. This was not the only possession she reclaimed, for there was a veritable treasure trove of her own belongings to be found strewn about the room that Kitty and Lydia shared, from ribbon and hair pins to slippers, spencers, scarves, and gloves.

Elizabeth was clad in a wild array of fine garments as she left her youngest sisters’ room, still heady from the brandy. She hummed a tune, swaying and spinning down the corridor. She had added a feather to her loosely braided hair, and carried herself with droll dignity downstairs to the music room to assault the pianoforte with half-remembered notes of a very bawdy song. The racket seemed to summon Lord Whiskerton, who sauntered into the room with a meow of absolute ennui.

Elizabeth scooped the cat into her arms and began to dance about the room with him, laughing merrily at the creature’s haughty disdain. She spun about, until there was a shout from the doorway, and Elizabeth stopped suddenly; her gaze landed on the startled face of Mrs. Hill.

The housekeeper staggered backward with her hand over her heart as if Elizabeth had given her the fright of her life. “Great God in Heaven, Miss Lizzy! Whatever has happened to you, child?”

The absurdity of her situation suddenly lost all semblance of hilarity as Elizabeth surveyed herself, dressed like a madwoman and certainly behaving like one. All at once she recalled that she was tired, hungry, cold, and a little half-sprung. The sun was setting, and still her family had not returned for her. “They left me behind,”

Elizabeth sighed, hurling herself into the kindly woman’s embrace as she burst into tears. “I do not think they are coming back.”