A Virtue of Marriage

by Elizabeth Ann West

  “Yes. I was remarking on how quiet you managed to keep your engagement, and yet here you tell me you are married almost a year come this summer!”

  Georgiana focused with all of her might to not squirm as a pupil under the interrogation of a tutor. She was the married woman in the room, though Miss Milbanke’s recent engagement to Lord Strange, the eldest son of the Earl of Derby, gave her an air of superiority over Georgiana. She had to hold the line of her matrimonial rank, even if she would never hold a courtesy title from the peerage from her marriage.

  “We kept it strictly a family affair and my George and I were married at the seaside. My brother Fitzwilliam stood up for George.”

  It was a lie, but it was the falsehood Colonel Fitzwilliam and her brother had taught her for the day when questions of her marriage would arise. Confess to first a secret marriage, and that they had the second ceremony later for family in London.

  “How is dear Fitzwilliam? I have not seen him since the Cowpers' ball to end last Season. I heard rumors he killed some poor girl in the back country with his horse.”

  Georgiana took a meditated sip from her now perfectly cool tea. She frowned about his trip to Hertfordshire, an event she still felt a strong signal that her brother did not truly care in the least for her. She had eloped and he had not come after her, not like her other guardian, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Georgiana decided a change in subject was warranted.

  George had said Anne's demise was nearing, and her last letter from her brother did relate even he thought the situation was dire. Surely there could be nothing wrong with finally telling the truth of her brother's coming marriage and impending widower status?

  “He is in Kent attending to our ailing cousin, Anne.”

  Miss Milbanke feigned a small smile at the heroics of Darcy. She had never deigned to chase the elusive Dark Man of Derbyshire, but she had plenty of unattached friends who would crow for this information. “Dear me, I hope it is not too serious.”

  “On the contrary, Anne is dying.” Georgiana added another biscuit to her plate, then scolded herself because it would be her third one this morning.

  “I say, shouldn't you also be there to tend to your cousin at this trying time?”

  Georgiana shook her head, as her mouth was full from failing to resist the pastry. Miss Milbanke waited patiently as Georgiana washed down the remaining crumbs in her mouth with another gulp of tea.

  “Brother wished for me and George to stay here. Our presence would not please my aunt, Lady Catherine, you see.” Georgiana cringed anticipating a question from the opening she just gave.

  “Oh you poor dear, ordered away from your cousin that forgive me, we all knew suffered so painfully during her short life. It speaks very highly that your brother shows such family devotion.”

  Georgiana inhaled a breath of relief that Sarah hadn't asked her to clarify how she and her husband wouldn't please her aunt. Without thinking, Georgiana eagerly corrected her impression of why Fitzwilliam was in Kent.

  “But Fitzwilliam must be there! Anne is to be his wife, they are to marry any day now.” Finishing her biscuit, Georgiana missed the slightest signs of shock as Sarah Milbanke’s cheeks reddened and her nostrils flared.

  After a few seconds of silence, Georgiana glanced at the clock to see if the hour was near to end tea. She had tired of Miss Milbanke’s company even though George was most earnest to receive an invite to a dinner party next week to be hosted by Lord Strange.

  “George Wickham,” Sarah Milbanke mused. “Isn't he the heir to the Duke of Devonshire?”

  On impulse, Georgiana giggled. How could this woman not know that it was the Cavendish family who fulfilled the dukedom? Even she, nearly sixteen, wasn't so base as to not study the peerage lines.

  “While His Grace is an acquaintance of my family, my husband is much closer in familiarity. His father was my father's steward.” Georgiana beamed with pride that her husband had been mistaken for the heir to a dukedom. She would be sure to tell him about the funny mistaken identity.

  “Pardon me, once more, but did I hear correctly? You married your steward's son?”

  Georgiana's bubble of pride popped. “Er, no, Old Mr. Wickham was a steward to my father, but not our current steward. George was educated at Cambridge with my brother. He is a gentleman in all that matters!”

  Sarah Milbanke snorted as she placed her cup of tea on the small consort table before her. As she donned her gloves, Georgiana noticed the clear cue that the social call was over and she knew George would be upset with her that she hadn't obtained an invitation to the Stanley family dinner party. Summoning up her courage, Georgiana made one last desperate move to please her husband.

  “Miss Milbanke, I thought to host a dinner party and hoped to send you and Lord Strange an invitation.”

  As Miss Milbanke rose, she tightened her lips into a most displeasing line, though her eyes showed a small amount of sympathy to the young woman before her treading water far deeper than her head. “I'm sorry, I believe we have a previous engagement that evening. You understand, with the wedding a mere two months away, my calendar is full to the brim since the Earl of Derby and his family’s connections are so vast.”

  “Certainly, such a lengthy engagement must be a taxing social endeavor. I was never formally out before finding my true love, and thankfully spared your burden.” Georgiana showed sympathy back to the older woman before her, hoping her comment didn't offend.

  “I shall bear my burden with the bravest face . . .” Sarah Milbanke paused to walk towards the foyer and turned around as they reached the door “and the loveliest gowns!” Both women laughed at her tease, though Georgiana’s laughter was forced politeness.

  It wasn't until after Sarah Milbanke was handed into her carriage with the most scandalous intelligence of the Darcy family and Georgiana climbed the stairs to rest in her suite that she realized her invitation was spurned without a set date. Concrete she was too stupid to even notice a cut as it hit her during tea time, Mrs. Wickham collapsed onto her bed and cried.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dawn greeted Elizabeth Bennet with a mission. Rising with the sun, she set out to learn the truth behind the mystery of the chickens only producing a fraction of the eggs one would expect from the brood the parsonage kept. Wrapping herself in a shawl and wearing her weathered boots, she tiptoed from her guest room. Now three days since her arrival, it was the first morning she felt confident of the household routine to escape unnoticed.

  The young maid Eileen cleaned and assisted in the parsonage, but as her elder sister worked at Rosings, Elizabeth felt that she could not trust the young lass to agree to her plan to stalk the chicken coop. Rather than test the girl, Elizabeth saved her from ever making a choice by keeping the maid as much out of her affairs as was humanly possible. And Anna, being a guest servant, but not quite truly Elizabeth's own maid, did not need to get into any mischief. No, the chicken investigation would by necessity be a one-woman operation.

  With the early glow on the horizon, Elizabeth waited in the dusky shades of the retreating night in a darkened corner of the hencoop. She had to stoop low, but her small frame allowed her to enter the vile smelling cranny with minimal fuss from the chickens as she was not above collecting their labors herself shortly after the sun rose. Animals know a person accustomed to their keep and care.

  Her stealth paid off in but minutes when a young boy of about eight poked his head right in and lifted an egg from a vacated nest right in front of her eyes.

  “Ooooo! So you're the thief!” Elizabeth chuckled but scared the poor boy right out of his wits. After making a startled yelp, the boy began running away. “Wait!”

  All of the commotion caused an uproar in the previously docile chickens, making them flap and squawk and attack Elizabeth as she tried to maneuver out of the small coop. Feathers and muck flew in the air. Gashing her hand against the rough wooden frame on her way out, she paused a second to see which way the boy ran, and seeing some tall wee
ds moving rapidly to her east, she also took off running.

  Years of walking and occasionally, unladylike running, made Elizabeth far faster than the poor boy and she caught up to him just as he was crossing a glebe field and dashed into the small copse of woods that lined the southern edge of Rosings. Elizabeth had never ventured in this direction before, as she had yet to meet the tenants of the glebe lands. Barred from her “rambles” as both a practical rule and one of the great indignities Mr. Collins imposed to exert control over his cousin, the unfamiliarity of the lands began to worry her conscience more than the senseless rule.

  “Please, wait, I shall not hurt you. But I am unfamiliar with these parts and I will become lost without your aid.” She called after the boy who paused and looked surprisingly at Elizabeth so close behind him.

  “You run fast, miss!”

  Elizabeth smiled. “We haven't been properly introduced.” Elizabeth wiped her hand on her apron and noticed the nasty gash between her thumb and her forefinger. A healthy amount of blood mixed in with the dirt and likely chicken droppings smeared on her hand, making even Elizabeth repulsed at the idea of touching it. She shook her hand loosely and nodded to the boy. “I am Elizabeth Bennet. My cousin is Pastor Collins, the manager of these lands.”

  “Peter Holbein, ma'am.” He gave a small bow and grinned, showing missing teeth in the top of his mouth next to his front two teeth.

  “Mr. Holbein, may I count on you for assistance? I injured my hand back there and need desperately to clean the wound.”

  “Our cottage is just around here.” He pointed further into the copse of trees, and Elizabeth tried to follow the direction of his hand, but it was pointless. All she could see was the forest becoming denser and a narrow footpath before her.

  “Well, I should have to trust your lead, sir.”

  Peter grinned at Elizabeth and marched on at a quick pace, though not trying to lose her, but just urge her to hurry with him towards help. Before long, they stood in front of a modest home with the prettiest brook off to the northern edge of it. Elizabeth recognized at once where she was as she saw the drive lead through another copse of woods back toward the main road to the proper village of Hunsford. She remembered the bridge crossing on her arrival, but had no idea this picturesque cottage lie just minutes away and on lands controlled by her cousin.

  “Hurry inside, miss. Mama is a right good healer. She takes care of all my scrapes.” Peter gave another broad grin, still holding possessively to the one egg he managed to nick that morning.

  Elizabeth took notice of his stolen treasure, reminding herself she wasn't completely happy with this boy and had to speak with his parents about his thievery of Charlotte's eggs, but first she needed to clean her hand as quickly as possible before it made her ill.

  “Perhaps you should go inside first and let your Mama know I have called.” Elizabeth shifted her weight from foot to foot, feeling far more the horrific stranger for calling at such an ungodly early hour and not as a gentlewoman related to the manager of the lands the Holbeins leased.

  Peter nodded and ducked his head inside the plain wooden door. He had hardly closed it when he heard him yell for his mother. In a few moments, the door swung open quickly; revealing a woman not too much older than Elizabeth with long, thin auburn hair and a belly full with child. Her dress was clearly on a turn and looked to be nearly ready for the rag pile.

  Elizabeth quickly dropped to a curtsy for the woman who did her best to respond, though given her condition managed not much more than a slight knee bend.

  “Oh please, I am so sorry for the inconvenience. You see I ran into young Peter at my cousin's chicken coop this morning and I injured my hand...”

  “Come in, come in Miss Bennet.” The woman smiled much like her son, and Elizabeth couldn't help but be calmed by the resemblance, though Peter's hair was a dark brown. “Petey told me all about it and I must say, I've been so very thankful for the work your cousin be letting him do.”

  Confused, Elizabeth followed Mrs. Holbein into the snug home that consisted of a main open room with a single door on the back end. Stairs led to a lofted area above, where she supposed Peter slept. A young girl, perhaps two or three, sat on a ratty rug in front of the fireplace and sucked on her two first fingers on her right hand in comfort. Mrs. Holbein stooped down and scooped the young girl up, turning to present her to Elizabeth.

  “This here is my youngest, Mary Jane.”

  Elizabeth was delighted to hear the young girl's name and shared she had two sisters of those very same names. The young girl pulled out her fingers and gave a toothy smile and then shocked Elizabeth by responding.

  “My name is for my aunties who are in heaven.” The young girl promptly returned her fingers to her mouth and Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. Perhaps she was not so young as she was just simply small.

  Mrs. Holbein poured some of the water set to boil for breakfast into a basin and added cool water from the pump. A small sliver of lye soap on the sink joined the bowl at the plain wooden table and Mrs. Holbein directed Elizabeth to it.

  “Mrs. Holbein–”

  “Please, call me Diana.”

  Elizabeth smiled and then grimaced as the woman plunged her hand into the basin and began vigorously scrubbing at the dirt and grime caked onto the skin. She sucked in her breath and then felt an odd sensation on her leg. She looked down and saw the petite hand of Mary Jane touching her knee to calm her as the girl looked up dolefully from the floor, her fingers of comfort still in place. Before Elizabeth could say anything, the sharp pain stopped as Diana had wrapped her hand in a fresh towel and beckoned Peter to dispose of the water outside.

  Protectively holding her hand, as it still stung from the fresh cleaning, Elizabeth addressed the woman and thanked her for her help.

  “Twas nothing, Miss Bennet. The least I could do for all of your family's generosity.”

  “Now, you must call me Elizabeth if I'm to call you Diana.” Elizabeth paused; slightly perturbed at the number of liberties she was breaking by first imposing on this woman at such an early hour and now calling her by her Christian name, but was rapidly making up for it in reciprocating the offer. While she had fully planned to take Peter to task for his misdeeds, the family living inside of the cottage made her pause before jumping to a decision. But she felt most unpleasant there was a falsehood afoot about the source of eggs Peter was bringing home, and she would remedy reality to the truth, one way or the other. “Is your husband already at work in the fields?”

  “Nay, he's still resting but should awake in an hour or so when the drink wears off.”

  Again shocked by the honesty of Mrs. Holbein, Elizabeth squirmed at the mention of Mr. Holbein's drunkenness. “I am so sorry to hear of his affliction.” She looked down at the table, trying to formulate a solution to her current predicament.

  “Oh no miss, he's no devil of a man. The ale lets him sleep what little comfort he can. Last fall, a tree fell on him, as he's a lumberjack. It nearly killed him. Broke his back, I say. He's been stuck up in a bed for months and the pain just makes him moan and moan. I worked as a launderer until I became too far along with this one, the babe the Good Lord blessed us with before my husband turned ill. Our last I suppose, as my good John cannot walk on his own.” Diana rubbed her protruding belly as she told her tale and Elizabeth felt heartsick.

  “Forgive me, but what has your family subsided on?” Elizabeth naturally reached down to little Mary Jane, still playing at her feet and planted the young girl onto her lap. Mary Jane twisted around and looked up at her new friend with the trust only a child can bestow. With a happy sigh, the little girl rested her head against Elizabeth's shoulder.

  “We had some money saved up, and there was the firewood John had cut for us that I was able to sell. I wrote to his cousin Peter as well, as some of John's family came to England before we did, and I suspect he will send some aid soon.”

  Mrs. Holbein began to pour in oats to make a large bowl of porridge whe
n Peter came running in, releasing his stolen treasure to his mother.

  “Sorry Mama, I only collected one this morning before bringing Elizabeth to get help for her hand.”

  Diana patted his head and took the egg as a most precious cargo. She cracked it gently and dropped it in the boiling water before wiping her hands on her apron. Her work made Elizabeth remember she would be missed before too long and had to leave.

  Spying young Peter shift nervously at the corner of the kitchen area, Elizabeth sat up taller as she realized how she could help. She caught his eye and winked, making the boy with a gaunt face, now that she took proper stock of him, open his mouth in a surprised ‘o’ shape before pressing it closed again.

  “If you can spare Peter for a little more time this morning, I have a few more tasks he can help me with Mrs. Holbein.” In her fib, Elizabeth forgot to use Diana's Christian name, but hoped the flaw wouldn't be noticed.

  “Absolutely, Miss Bennet.” No such luck and Elizabeth realized her mistake re-established her superior social class to the Holbeins though that was not her intention.

  Diana turned to Peter to address him after opening the larder to hand him the moldiest piece of bread Elizabeth had ever seen. Forgetting she might offend the woman further, Elizabeth stepped in to promise to break Peter's fast at her own kitchens as soon as they arrived.

  With nothing more to do than to take her leave, Elizabeth marched back across the fields soaked in dew with young Master Holbein at her side. Her anger at the poor family's situation rose as a bitter taste in the back of her throat, but she refused to let it rule her reasoning.

  “Mr. Holbein, while I appreciate the measures you felt necessary to save your family by stealing my cousin's eggs, nevertheless a thief holds no honor. You may have eggs and other food as they can provide, but you will report here each morning to help with the chores in payment for the assistance.”

  Peter's eyes lit up. “You are offering me work, Elizabeth?”

  “Well no, not a permanent position, but there will just be no more stealing food that rightfully belongs to Mr. Collins. You may earn food to eat, but never take.” Elizabeth noticed the young boy walking a touch taller in response to her admonishment and assignation of enough age to earn his keep. Her own stomach gave a lurch from the hours of consciousness with no nourishment, and she wondered if the Holbein children only received one meal a day, as it would not be inconsistent with the state of the larder she saw.