Page 7 of Searching for Elizabeth
For some reason, her self-reflection ignited a surge of creativity, and Lizzy eagerly turned to her duties as an author. Mr. Briggs, her editor at Mortimer Press, was expecting the entire manuscript ofTales from the Hedgerowsnext week. She sat down and lost herself in writing the last tale, a farcical adventure starring a petulant fairy and a hideous ogre that, by story’s end, magically reverted to his original form of a Welsh pooka.
Settingaside the rough draft of the fairy/ogre/pooka story, she congratulatedherself for her near completion of the book. She decided to reread all the final copies of the other eleven tales, looking for mistakes; upon completion of that read, she mentally patted herself on her back because she felt able to declare the stories perfect. Althoughshe still had to edit and make a final copy of the last story, she was satisfied that she would be able to put it in the postsometime in the next fewdays.
It was time to make a serious inventory of her assets. She went through the little house, considering whether or not long-term occupancy would requireany additionsto what she already had. Luckily, she could identify only a few crucial deficiencies.
Lizzythen counted the money currently in her possession. It would do for now, she decided. She opened the little book in which she kept track of the money she had invested in her Uncle Gardiner’s business. She had earned far more with Uncle than if she had bought government bonds in the five percents, but she wouldsoonneed some of the money earned from writing inreadycash. She decided to write to her uncle, directing him to send her some of her earnings and investing only a portion. However, she needed to wait at least a short time in order to figure out how much money she would need each week.
She tucked her coin purse and investment booklet away and wandered aimlessly around the cottage.
A day seemed so much longer when she was not surrounded by sisters and parents and servants. She loved the peace, loved the quiet—and yet, somehow, she also hated the peace and quiet.
Lizzylonged to go outside, to exercise her body and enjoy nature. There was some risk in taking a walk, of course; more so when living alone, because nobody waited at home to notice and act if some accident befell her and she did not return in a timely fashion.
Walking to Meryton would likely be a problem. She had heard from Mary that Mama had made it seem like she had just stepped out somewhere when Mr. Darcy had asked to speak with her, so it was possible people would still not know she had been banished…but her presence without any sisters would be noted and talked about. And if someone knew about her expulsion, they would wonder where she was living.
Another problem reared its metaphorical head: Papa, who had told her to go to Aunt Phillips, would likely know by nowthat she had never made it to her aunt’s house. She wondered if there would be a search…although parents who would kick a young woman out of their house would surely not care enough to search for her, would they?
Lizzy decided she could not stay cooped up in Blackthorn Cottage forever, even if she was worried that people (searchers or gossips or whoever) would see her. Of course she worried!—she felt sure that, if her mother discovered that the cottage existed, it would be taken away—and Lizzy just could not see, after so many years of physical labor, losing her safe place. The mere thought of losing Blackthorn made her feel nauseous.
But being trapped in one’s safe place was not so nice, either.
She fetched her pelisse and gloves. Instead of wearing a bonnet, Lizzy pulled a cape over her outfit and head. Putting the ribbon-and-key around her neck, she cautiously scanned the forest from the slightly opened door, then stepped outside, pulled the door closed, and secured the padlock. She walked rapidly away from the cottage; once she was far from it, she relaxed her vigil a bit and thought through what she would say if she were to meet anyone.
She walked and walked, reveling in the fresh air, although it was cold enough to burn her lungs; the sunshine, although it was pale and weak this late in November; and the forest all around her, although it was more barren than lush at this time of the year.
A thought flit through Lizzy’s brain:Barrenwas quite an apt metaphor for her life just now.
Chapter 8: Wickham
—early afternoon—
George Wickham was astonished to find himself in a terrible fix. That bastard Forster was apparently one of those busybody colonels who checked every single thing about his soldiers’ lives, because he had somehow discovered the fact that Wickham owed the folks of Meryton a lot of money.
Wickham had never been in gaol before, even after all of his scrapes. He hoped like the devil that he could wheedle himself out of this damned cell before Mary King’s uncle heard about it.
Wickham shook his head. No, the King fortune was assuredly out of reach, now. Too many fellows had heard him brag about his engagement to the heiress; her uncle would already know of his ignominy.
Suddenly, Wickham put two and two together—this was all Darcy’s fault!
Afteroverhearing that conversation in the alehouse, Wickham had asked around to see if there was a connection between his nemesis and the lovely Lizzy. He had found out that Darcy had danced with her at the Netherfield ball, and even just the one dance, when it concerned Darcy, indicated an enormous amount of attraction on his side. Simply stated, the man avoided dancing at all times and in all situations.
Darcy hadalwaysbeen weak. He had neverso much asslugged him, not even after the Georgiana debacle; he had not challenged him to a duel, turned himoverto a magistrate, or even told his father aboutWickham’smisdeeds. In the past, Wickham had laughed at the damned coward (behind his back),because Darcy had gone around paying his debts and paying off girls he’d had his way with.
If Darcy was finally taking a stand now, here—
Wickham gasped. Oh my lord, Fitzwilliam Darcy was in love!
Chapter 9: Darcy
—early afternoon—
Fitzwilliam Darcy had already sent an express authorizingagents to look into the possibility that Elizabeth Bennet had fled to her relatives in London. He had also asked Smithson to pry around for any kind of gossip, especially about Longbourn. After eating and putting these investigations into motion, he did the inevitable: he fell asleep in the comfortable leather chair he used while working in Bingley’s library.
He woke up with a stiff neck from leaning awkwardly into the winged back of the chair. Standing and stretching, he rubbed at the soreness and rolled his eyes at his desire to be comfortable when Elizabeth was…well, who knew?
Darcy consulted his pocketwatch and decided to go on some more calls. When he arrived at Longbourn, he asked the housekeeper if Miss Elizabeth was home. She shook her head, so he asked to see Mr. Bennet right away. She steered him down the hall and into the book room, bypassing the parlor.
“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth’s father looked astonished. “Do you have another warning? Perhaps against Lieutenant Denny?”
