My dear Lizzy,
I have news which I hope will bring a smile to your face. I believe you have already perceived that your uncle has not been at all pleased with the idea of finding you a family in which you might engage in those employments which a young lady may undertake without losing her standing.
But a solution has presented itself which pleases him—and which I myself admire exceedingly.
My sister Agnes, greatly concerned for your distress, has often asked me in the last weeks what she might do for you and whether you would wish to spend some part of the summer with her.
Elizabeth paused, her heart beating quickly. A journey to Derby was indeed a prospect she could not ignore in the present situation. She knew Mrs Cooper, Agnes, well enough, having seen her several times in London, and having visited her before with her uncle and aunt. Mrs Cooper was a widow, living alone since her husband, Robert Cooper, died in Antigua, where hepossessed sugar plantations. Derby could not be compared with little Meryton; it was a town in full expansion, growing rapidly through its manufactories of silk and porcelain, in which Mr Cooper himself had invested. This prosperity was evident in the comfort of Mrs Cooper’s establishment, in the large house upon a principal street, not far from the river Derwent. With renewed spirits, she returned to the letter.
Together with her, and without troubling your uncle with too many particulars, we have wondered whether you might like to go there, perhaps accompanied by Jane, though the invitation is for you especially; for Agnes writes that she would be delighted if you would guide the education of her two children during your stay.
Elizabeth rose from her seat, scarcely restraining herself from moving about the room. For a moment, the sadness and despondency that had filled her since her father’s death gave way to hope. It was, indeed, a most interesting plan.
You would, of course, be received as a valued and beloved guest, and, if you should consent to instruct Violet, who is eight, and Robert, who is nine, your efforts would be properly valued.
Elizabeth pressed the letter to her breast, and, looking about her, whispered, “I am going, Papa; I am certain you rejoice in it!”
As soon as I receive your answer, I hope with your consent, I shall write to Mrs Bennet, though without entering into many particulars. If you accept, I invite you to London, so that we may speak together and prepare you for your journey. I think you might travel with one of your maids, who will soon be without a place.
Elizabeth coloured with pleasure. There was indeed Anne, whom she and Jane had taught many of the little artsby which a modest and seldom renewed wardrobe might be transformed into gowns, pelisses, and bonnets of some elegance.
She replied at once to Mrs Gardiner, accepting with gratitude and in a few words, and then hastened to Jane, certain she would accompany her.
But, unhappily, she found her sister in tears, and Elizabeth wondered, without any shade of malice, how much of her sister’s grief still belonged to Mr Bingley. One thing was certain: Jane had not forgotten Mr Bingley.
The news did not delight her, and, drying her tears, Jane refused.
A profound silence fell upon the room where they had once so often laughed in their younger days. Something had altered between them—not their affection, but a certain ease, which now seemed lost.
“I shall perhaps go to London in August,” she added, and with that, their conversation ended.
Chapter 10
Only when they had reached Luton did Elizabeth rest her head upon the comfortable cushions of the carriage, resolved at last to bring some order to her feelings and reflections.
Their departure from Longbourn had been heavy and sorrowful. Her mother’s tears, falling in silence, were a thousand times more powerful than the words with which she had so often surrounded herself in the past. Mary and Jane held her fast in their embrace, and the last image which haunted her for many hours was that of the three of them standing before Longbourn.
Torn between grief and guilt, she wept all the way to London, in spite of Rose’s desperate attempts to calm her. Only Mrs Gardiner succeeded in restoring some degree of composure. Still, the feeling that she had abandoned her mother and her two sisters alone in their most trying moments did not leave her for a long while.
She had found Kitty somewhat more composed; distance from Longbourn had not made her forget, but rather allowed her to persuade herself that nothing had happened—that their father remained in his room, and that Longbourn still retained its air of activity.
But her stay in London had come to an end, because Mrs Bennet had summoned her home; she required assistance in removing to her sister’s house, as they had not yet found a residence of their own.
On the evening before Elizabeth’s departure for Derby, Kitty came timidly to her chamber to implore her to speak to Mrs Cooper and invite her also to Derby. She found London too near, and any visit might so easily end in that short journey back to Hertfordshire.
Elizabeth did not promise; but if the occasion were to present itself, she would certainly request that favour.
“Do you think we shall ever be happy again?” Kitty asked suddenly, and immediately Elizabeth drew her into her arms with a warmth she had not always felt for her younger sister, who had been so often absorbed only by Lydia.
“My dear Kitty, how can you ask such a question? Of course we shall be.”
“But how? We are poor, we have no home…you must go so far away, and you will have to work.”
“Oh, what I shall do is not work, my dearest. Do not be uneasy for me.”
“I am not—for you are clever and strong…but I am afraid for us. I do not know what will become of us. Will our friends in Meryton still receive us? How shall we live without our father?”
And then Elizabeth did something she had never thought to do; in a calm tone, she said, “Kitty, we must marry…all of us. Papa always allowed us to speak of love as a necessity for marriage—”