Chapter 10 A Test of Fire

“If you wish to avoid Mr. Collins, you have to dress so we can begin,” Jane Bennet whispered into her sister’s ear. Her proximity playfully tickled her sister, and Elizabeth squirmed.

Suddenly remembering the night before, Elizabeth sat bolt upright in the bed, nearly bashing her head into Jane’s face who jumped back just in time.

“How do I sleep so much now? We have reversed roles,” she said crossly, getting up from the bed and searching for a gown and her favorite boots. Jane laughed at her sister who indeed, before the fire, was so often up early to stomp in the woods with her sketch book in hand.

“You dress, I will make sure the wagon is packed and father knows where we are going.”

Elizabeth flailed her arms to shove her frock over her head. “Bring Marcus. William is too slow,” she said, giving her preference of driver to accompany them on visiting the tenant farmers. 

Traditionally, they delivered baskets the morning after the assembly, but the fire had dictated otherwise. Still, for Elizabeth, the prospect was absolutely thrilling. It would be her first outing in almost two weeks. Jane had already delivered half of the baskets on the side of their father’s lands that buttressed Lucas Lodge. This morning, they were working towards the west.

After making herself ready, Elizabeth used the back stairs to leave through the kitchens. The unsuspecting staff grinned and greeted the Bennet sister they saw the most often. Hill approached Miss Lizzy to offer her a slice of toast with honey butter wrapped in a handkerchief. 

“Miss Jane has a jug of warmed cider for you, and the other food Cook packed. This is something just from me,” she said, with a wink, compressing her hands around the outside of Lizzy’s as she accepted the bundle of fabric.

“Thank you, I am so happy to bother you all again,” she teased, as kitchen maids scrambled with their early morning chores. Most of them wore cast offs from Elizabeth and Jane’s closets, apart from the gowns passed down to their younger siblings. But Lydia and Kitty had begun demanding custom frocks now that they were out and socializing, a new burden upon the family ledger.

The wagon waited for Elizabeth, full of a half dozen baskets and her sister Jane, with the stable hand William at the reins. The evening’s dew clung to the bottom of her cloak and underskirts as she clasped her hunter green cloak around her shoulders, pulling the hood up as the chill prickled her sensitive skin. Accepting a hand from her sister, Elizabeth grinned as she pulled herself up into the seat next to her sister.

William tapped the crop and called out for the two horses to begin driving the wagon to the backroads that criss-crossed the Bennet property.

Jane leaned over to talk privately to her sister. “Father said William or you could not go.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips, and the three ducked their heads low as an unruly branch threatened to knock into their heads. 

“Must talk to Mr. Harper about that one,” William muttered, and the girls agreed. 

The first farm they visited was the closest to the main house. The Altons were a good family of six with two of the children grown and on their own. The best situated, from generations of working the land at Longbourn, their eldest daughter had just taken a maid’s position at Netherfield Park when Mr. Bingley came to the neighborhood. Still, the Bennets put together a leg of salted ham and jars of the jellies made that summer from the berry gardens to aid the family’s coming winter. 

Two more houses later, and the morning sun finally appeared over the trees, giving Elizabeth a proper bathing in her outdoor sanctuary. She turned her face up to the powerful rays, allowing the sway of the wagon to lull away the stress of the everything waiting for her back at home. Squirrels raced along the nut trees planted in the front pasture of the Morans. When the front door was not opened, William carried the basket to the back to find anyone in the barn. This basket was much bigger than the previous, as Mr. Moran had grown ill and passed away the previous winter, so the farm was now managed by the Widow Moran and her eldest son, James. 

Jane had remained uncharacteristically quiet during most of the morning, and Elizabeth suddenly thought it best to ask her about Mr. Bingley.

“Are you cross with Father about last evening? I do think Mr. Bingley was about to propose,” Elizabeth said.

“He already has,” Jane answered, softly, looking around her to make sure they were truly alone. But the only sound was an angry duck quacking at another duck threatening his territory in a nearby pond.

“Jane!” Elizabeth exclaimed, but her sister hushed her. Still, Elizabeth gripped her sister’s arm and implored her to tell her more. “How? When?”

Jane gave her sister a sly smile. 

“What happened the night of the fire between you two?” Elizabeth asked, recalling that the other day both her and Mr. Bingley avoided her questions entirely, the day her fever came upon her. 

“Our dancing party separated. You and our sisters and Mr. Darcy all followed the flow of people to the front of the tavern. Mr. Bingley grabbed my hand and led me towards the back, where there were less people. But I slipped,” she explained, “and then suddenly there were too many people, oh Lizzy, it was horrible. Part of the upper level collapsed into the kitchens,” Jane said, closing her eyes.

“We all saw too much that night,” Elizabeth said, sagely. 

“Yes, but we survived,” Jane said, meekly, receiving an affirming nod from her sister. The annoying duck had waddled from the pond and began babbling his quacks around the wheels of the wagon. Both of the Bennet sisters laughed at the silly animal’s antics, until it hid under the bed of the wagon.

“Oh no, shoo! Shoo!” Elizabeth said, holding onto the wagon and leaning over to scare the duck away. Her head upside down, the duck looked defiantly at his would-be villain with a proud side eye and emphatically quacked!

“Lizzy!” Jane reached over and dragged her sister back into a seated position. “If you fall out of this wagon and hurt yourself again, so help me I will not call Mr. Jones but let you suffer,” she oathed.

Elizabeth giggled at her sister, finding Jane so markedly changed since the night of the fire. Large gaps existed for Elizabeth in witnessing her sister’s transformation, due to her recovery. But Jane’s new strength in voicing her needs delighted her sister. “So when did Mr. Bingley ask you to marry him?”

“After I kissed him.”

“After you— you—, not you, no, never,” Elizabeth could not believe she heard her sister correctly. “Jane, you didn’t!”

Jane suddenly appeared stricken with shame, then nodded. “He pushed people aside, hard Lizzy, and helped me from the floor where I might have been trampled to death. His arm around me, he led me out to safety. And we kept walking away, the nervous energy took over my body and I was so frightened. When we finally reached the large oak tree in the back by the stables, I couldn’t breathe. But his face, he smiled at me with his hair tousled, his costume ruined. He reached up to touch my cheek. And I, I stepped forward and kissed him.”

Elizabeth blew out the breath she had held during her sister’s recounting of the night that changed their lives forever. 

“Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t believe so. We feared gossip, that is why he stayed away initially, but there has been none,” Jane said. 

Closing her eyes, Elizabeth could see a face in her mind’s eye that made her feel the emotions and stirrings similar to her sister’s description: Mr. Darcy’s. Turning in her seat, she inspected her sister’s face for sincerity. “What did it feel like?”

But Jane tucked her lower lip under her top one and shook her head. “Mmmhmmm, I shouldn’t tell you, Lizzy. It was wicked of me to do it, and I am lucky that right after that Mr. Bingley proposed. He asked me to marry him.”

“But Jane, that is so romantic! You know he loves you, truly, he risked his life to save yours!”

Jane raised an eyebrow at her sister. “Mr. Darcy did far more to save you,” she pointed out but Elizabeth crossed her arms in front of her chest. She kicked the front of the jockey box Mr. Bennet had added to the simple farm wagon to make it safer for his daughter’s use.

“He’s promised to another.”

“I am not so sure. Mr. Bingley has never mentioned it. Our cousin is, perhaps unreliable. He may have misunderstood. Have you asked Mr. Darcy about it?”

Elizabeth looked around them, no longer worried about the duck under the wagon. “Where is William? Why has he not returned?” Elizabeth lifted the reins of the wagon to Jane’s protestations. But Elizabeth glared at her sister. “I can’t leave the wagon, remember? I will just drive us up to the lane around the cottage to the back, see, the ground is firm enough,” Elizabeth said, and for a few moments, the plan worked splendidly. A loud quacking behind them attracted the notice of both young women, and they both laughed to see the duck perfectly unharmed, but angry to lose his shaded respite.

Driving around the cottage to the farm yard Elizabeth and Jane spied what held young William up for so long. The Widow Moran spoke animatedly with Mr. Bingley, dismounted from his horse, and Mr. Darcy behind him, still mounted. Mr. Bingley brightened upon spotting Jane and he waved. Elizabeth pulled the reins to bring the wagon to a halt, about ten yards from the congregation. Poor William stood dumbly holding the basket, unsure of what to do.

“Miss Bennet! What a surprise,” Mr. Bingley said, walked forward to help Jane down from the wagon. He appeared confused for a moment, gazing back at William. “Oh! He’s one of your family’s men! But, this farm is on the lands of Netherfield,” he said, leading Jane to Mrs. Moran.

“It is not!” Elizabeth shouted, scrambling to exit the wagon herself. Mr. Darcy rode up on his horse, and then dismounted when he saw Elizabeth attempting to jump down. But by the time he reached her, she was already walking with a shaky gait to where Jane and Mr. Bingley stood. Mrs. Moran continued her diatribe about all of the problems with the property, from the leaky roof, to the improper drainage on the southern field.

“But now that you are here, Mr. Bingley, you can put a widow’s mind at ease. My James here, is a good lad. A strong lad. But always much more suited for books, not barns,” she pointed in a direction utterly devoid of people. “See what I mean? Gone again! I’ll catch him later doing sums.”

Mr. Darcy furrowed his brow as he cleared his throat to speak. “I do beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but we consulted the property lines this morning before our ride. This farm and two others further to the west are the last for us to inspect.”

“How fortunate—” Elizabeth said, giving her sister a glare. She suspected that Jane had told Mr. Bingley of their plans last night at dinner, and this just cemented her suspicion it was planned for them to happen upon Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. “How fortunate that we ran into you so that we can help correct the errors of your information. My Grandfather Bennet and Mr. Turner who bought the property almost a hundred years ago disputed that line for decades. My father and his counterpart, Mr. Turner’s son, decided further legal action unnecessary, the line follows an ancient stream dried up from damming, and the line goes throughs fields and cottages on all three properties.”

“The line is in dispute?” Mr. Darcy asked, to clarify, turning to look away from the group for signs of the water Miss Elizabeth talked about. But the ground showed no signs of depression or mounding from a cut of water swatching through. “I believe we have discovered why this property was vacant a leaseholder.”

Elizabeth Bennet ignored Mr. Darcy and turned to Mrs. Moran. She urged William to present her with the basket. “I will have Mr. Harper come meet with you again, Mrs. Moran. He will go over once more all of the corrections the men will make in spring and my father will look for more hired help for the farm.”

“But Mr. Bingley here was just saying how in situations like mine, the manor often gives a small token of appreciation and me and James could be moving to London. You’ll make your coin bringing in a much larger family than mine, and when Mr. Moran was alive, I saw it for myself. There was never much left at the end of the season after paying out the hired help you call it, and paying our rents each quarter.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and knew her father and Mr. Harper were going to be very cross about this morning. Somehow, it would become her fault for meddling again, she was the one who had sent books and ink for young James to learn his letters and sums. She had even sat with him a few times to give instruction, in the meadow with a few other children nearby since the church was too far for most of them to take their lessons regularly there.

“Well then, now that Mr. Bingley is here, and I believe here to stay for some time,” Elizabeth said, putting words in the mouth of the man who had stirred the pot brewing with trouble, “he can help see that your wishes are met. But this is a conversation best saved for my father’s man, and perhaps my uncle and Mr. Bingley,” she said, with a finality, leaving Mr. Darcy out entirely. She begged Mrs. Moran’s forgiveness that her injuries were bothering her and received the woman’s sympathies.

“We all prayed hard, Miss Elizabeth, that you’d be well. I knew God could not take such a bright young lady from us so soon.”

Elizabeth thanked her for the sentiment, and swallowed the bitter mouthful of bile that retched up into her mouth. Everyone kept telling her how protected she was, or how lovely it was that she survived. And each time she heard it, all she could think is what did that mean for those who perished? Aunt Phillips? Charlotte? Maria? 

She waved over to William for his assistance to help her back to the wagon, much as it hurt her pride. When she had jumped down and walked quickly, she had forgotten that although her burns were mostly healed, she had not done any physical activity for two weeks. Her skin was also tight and uncomfortably itchy inside of her boots, and she was thankful her father wasn’t present to see her indignity. He would have laughed at her expense and reminded her that she was to stay in the wagon.

Mr. Bingley and Jane spoked to Mrs. Moran for a moment longer, and then separated so that Mr. Bingley could mount his horse and Jane get back into the wagon. The new arrangement put Elizabeth in the middle of the jockey-box, which suited her just fine. Just as she predicted, the two gentlemen rode their horses at a slackened trot to escort the wagon to the last two houses. But before they left, Mr. Darcy spoke.

“Should we escort you back to Longbourn? If you have injured yourself, you should rest,” he cautioned.

Elizabeth laughed. “Drive on, there’s only two houses left. Besides, I had to say something to get us to move on, or we’d be here until nightfall!”

The party of five continued their westward trek along the road that eventually led to another farm.

At the first one, William took the basket and Jane and Mr. Bingley escorted him as Mr. Bingley now wished to meet the neighbors he shared with the Bennets. Mr. Darcy remained on his horse and in the public road with Elizabeth. 

“How did the Turners and your father mitigate the lack of a clear property line?” Mr. Darcy asked.

Elizabeth remained in the middle of the bench in the front of the wagon and groaned in annoyance. She remembered Jane’s advice, but didn’t think of anyway to ask him if he was engaged to another without practically declaring her affection and interest in him. And if he was betrothed to another, she reasoned, her feelings for him were entirely inappropriate and might burden him unduly when he had already done so much for her. 

Unlike Jane, she could not declare herself so openly and hope for it to be returned, she had thought herself in love before and it passed. Better to remain silent and wait, after all Jane would marry Mr. Bingley, she would always have a home.

Twisting in her seat, Elizabeth summoned happiness to conceal her turmoil by taking stock that she was outdoors and away from Mr. Collins. She chose to address Mr. Darcy with her feelings pushed aside with nothing but respect for the man’s actions and words, as she knew them.

“They made an informal agreement to split the rent and responsibility. Our family traces back over five hundred years, our deeds are older than the surveyor who came through here in the early 1700s.”

Mr.Darcy’s horse showed frustration at having to hold still for so long, but Mr. Darcy kept the animal under control. As he spoke with a terse voice, Elizabeth observed that perhaps the beast merely reflected the mood of his owner. “But that is preposterous. Surely the surveyor took into consideration the existing property lines,” he said.

Elizabeth laughed, as this part of the story, she knew. “My ancestors were miserly, having lived through the uncertain century, as my father put it, it was a time when who could know where the crown would land? And so my father’s great-grandfather refused the man lodging.”

“He refused . . .”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, giggling. “Two generations of bickering over a bed and trench of stew!” she said, recalling how funny all of the threatening letters and even once an armed skirmish had occurred over three small farms. “In the end, my father, who hates conflict if you cannot surmise, and Admiral Turner, the son who never expected to inherit, decided they could both line their pockets if they came to an accord.”

“But now the Admiral is dead,” Mr. Darcy said, recalling the story he knew from Mr. Phillips when the lease was signed. “And the son and his mother wish to live in Town.”

Elizabeth nodded. 

“You seem to know far more than your sister, in matters of your family’s estate.”

Elizabeth blanched at his words, unsure if she should take them to be a compliment or condemnation. “My father relies upon me,” she ventured.

“Yes, I can see that he does,” Mr. Darcy said, as the rest of the party returned. Calling Mr. Bingley over, the two men spoke briefly, and then Mr. Darcy nodded to both ladies and took off on his horse.

Jane became concerned for a moment and she inquired about Mr. Darcy leaving. 

“Oh, he has some business to see to in Meryton. I assured him we could travel to the next farm ourselves,” Mr. Bingley said, without taking his eyes off Jane. “And then, if I may, I should be happy to escort you ladies back to Longbourn.”

Jane agreed with Mr. Bingley’s plans, and the two of them carried the basket in themselves so that Elizabeth did not sit alone. As she watched the happy couple greet the Jones family, relations to the apothecary in the village, she felt as though she glimpsed her sister’s future. When Jane and Mr. Bingley married, if he purchased Netherfield Park, then these families would continue to be taken care of for another generation. There would not be the acrimony and lack of respect that festered in their parents’ marriage; Mr. Bingley sought Jane’s opinion on everything it seemed.

Sighing that her sister was so fortunate to meet a man like Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth leaned forward and rested her chin in her hands. 

“Pardon me, Miss Lizzy, but is there any cider left?” William asked, and she handed the jug to him. 

“Of course, Jane hardly touched her share,” she said, offering the stable hand a means to quench his thirst.

The last stop ended up being the quickest as the prospect of returning to Longbourn satisfied everyone, including the horses. True to form, as soon as the two nags realized they had turned around, poor William struggled to keep them at a steady pace.

“Franny is always quick to rush back to the stables,” Jane said, pointing to the beige horse forcing the pace on the older Harvey. 

Elizabeth stifled a yawn. “She knows there will be oats waiting for her, and she’ll never turn down a good meal,” she replied drolly, just to make conversation. The horse’s behavior provided her father an additional laugh when Elizabeth rode with her him to inspect the farms. He would always elbow her and point out the similarities to the beast’s namesake. Oh, Franny the horse loved to get out and socialize, and then ate more than any other horse in the stable. 

Taking one last look at Mr. Bingley who elected to ride behind the wagon, Elizabeth smiled and then returned to looking forward to see the smoke rising in the distance from the manor house. She would demand that Mr. Bingley make her one promise when he married Jane, or perhaps more than one once she reconsidered, but at least this one: that he would never name a farm horse after Jane.