Page 52 of Companions of Their Youth
Then, from inside, a woman’s voice called out, wary: “My husband is out in the north field. He won’t be back till noon.”
Mark glanced at Elizabeth, then raised his voice gently. “It is not him I came to see, ma’am.”
Still silence.
Then Elizabeth stepped forward and called, “Beth? It is me—Miss Lizzy. I wanted to see how you are getting on. We miss you at Longbourn. Will you not open the door for me?”
A moment passed, then a soft click sounded at the latch. The door opened a few inches, and Beth peered out, a baby balanced on her hip and a toddler clinging to her skirts.
Elizabeth stepped forward instinctively and embraced her. The door creaked open wider under the motion, and as they drew back, Elizabeth gasped. “Oh no—what happened?”
Beth flinched. The skin around her left eye was swollen and bruised, with a faint cut along the cheekbone.
“I was clumsy,” she said, voice low. “Tripped over the table. It’s a bit cramped in here, that’s all.”
Mark’s tone turned sharp. “Did your husband do that?”
Beth’s eyes dropped. She hesitated, then gave the faintest of nods.
“But I thought he loved you!” Elizabeth cried in shock and dismay. “He married you when everyone said not to.”
Beth raised her chin a little, defiant now. “He does love me. He just… when he’s been out drinking—he doesn’t mean to. And he feels awful afterward. He always does.”
Mark’s hand came down on Elizabeth’s arm in a firm, calming gesture. “Do you want me to speak with him? Better yet, my father?”
Beth’s head whipped back and forth. “No. Please, no. It’d only make things worse.”
Mark’s voice softened. “If that ever changes—if you ever need help—we will be here. Just come up to the manor and ask for myself or my father.”
Beth’s shoulders dropped, just a little. “Thank you.”
She looked at Elizabeth, her eyes glassy but kind. “And thank you, miss. It means a lot—having someone like you care. Most ladies forget servants once they’re gone.”
Elizabeth stepped forward and hugged her again. “I could never forget you,” she whispered in the young mother’s ear. “You are not alone.”
They left the bundle Mark had carried, filled with dried herbs and several pairs of woolen socks for the children, then continued on the path toward Netherfield.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
At last, Elizabeth said quietly, “I do not understand. Why would a man beat the woman he married?”
Mark sighed. “It is much more common than you think. We have been sheltered here at Longbourn, but when I went to school… the stories I heard. Did you know that the law allows it? As long as he does not actually kill his wife, and the stick he uses is no thicker than his thumb, a man is allowed to discipline his wife in whatever manner he sees fit.”
“That is monstrous,” Elizabeth declared. “But why would a man do that to a woman he claims to love? I can see arranged marriages or marriages made by haste, but Mr. Crawford truly loved Beth… or so I thought.”
“I do not know,” Mark shrugged helplessly. “Some men are just unable—or unwilling, rather—to control their tempers. I do not agree with it, of course, but there is little we can do.”
“There must be something!”
“If Beth were willing, then Father and I could step in. But unless she asks for our assistance, our hands are tied. Any interference may actually make it worse for her. If we push too hard, they may even leave to find a tenancy that is less… interfering.”
Elizabeth’s expression darkened, but she nodded slowly. “I hate it.”
“As do I.”
They continued in silence for a while, then Elizabeth murmured, “Love is not always safe.”
Mark looked over at her. “No. It is not.”
