by Greer Boyd
On the way down the corridor, Elizabeth heard her aunt and sisters talking about Lydia, the results of the doctor’s examination, and the fact that, although she was in an unconscious state, the battered young woman was not taking the nourishment that was being offered to her. She wondered silently if Lydia would will herself to die rather than face the truth of what her poor judgment had wrought. Just as she entered the study, she heard Mary voice the selfsame concern, and she reiterated, “I thought the same thing Mary.”
Holding her baby close to her body and brushing the top of his head with her lips, she pointed out that since Jerome did not have any family remaining except for her and little Thomas, there was no one else to notify of his death. She would have to wait to talk with her uncle and Mr. Fleming about the notification to their business associates.
She had begun to miss him already. He would have known how to sooth her mind. He would have taken control of the details so that she could have been the strength for her family that she had always been. Now, he was not there and . . . never would be again. Realizing just how much she had grown to care for Jerome, Elizabeth remembered the little things—how he would spontaneously kiss her when he was extremely happy; how they had talked about everything; and especially how he had listened to her thoughts about investing and business. With whom would she talk now? What was her financial standing at this point? Would she be able to take care of Thomas in the manner that she wanted?
Jerome had given her a settlement of £20,000 when they married. She would have that, but what of her investments and her shipping company? Did she still have those? She knew that by law, her investments, everything that she had, had become Jerome’s at the time of their marriage. Was the shipping company still hers? How did Jerome’s death affect that? She realized that before her mind could become befuddled with too many ‘what ifs,’ she really needed to speak with her uncle. Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she said aloud, “I will need to talk with Uncle Edward as soon as I can.”
Since Jerome was not a member of her family’s parish church, earlier in the day she had petitioned the parish church in Meryton to have him buried there close to her father and Kitty. Two days later, permission having been granted, Jerome was laid to rest beside her father during a service scheduled for late morning so that the family would have enough time to return to London before nightfall. In a rare occurrence, little Thomas was left in the care of his nurse and wet nurse while Elizabeth made the journey with her uncle.
The following day, Uncle Edward came to meet with Elizabeth along with Mr. Henry Grove, the solicitor whom she and Jerome had hired almost immediately after their marriage to handle both their business and personal affairs upon the recommendation of her uncle.
“Good morning Uncle and good morning to you, Mr. Grove. It has been a while since we last spoke,” said Elizabeth from behind Jerome’s, now-to-be-her, desk as she stood to greet both of them. Uncle Gardiner kissed Elizabeth on the cheek, while Mr. Grove bowed gravely and then shook her hand.
“Henry,” Uncle Edward gestured for the younger man to take a seat in one of the two chairs situated in front of the desk, “shall we begin?”
“Of course,” replied Mr. Grove. He ran a finger beneath the starched collar of his shirt as he dutifully turned toward Elizabeth. “Mrs. Mills you may not be aware of this, but just after the birth of your son, Mr. Mills came to my office and asked that I clarify some of his finances should anything ‘unexpected’ happen to him. I know that he had also indicated that he would speak with you at a later day about the structuring of your finances once I had had an opportunity to review everything more thoroughly.”
“And what things had he wished you to clarify?” asked Elizabeth, restraining herself from leaning forward, lest her desperation to know everything rush her to miss an important point.
“Mainly,” he began as he looked fully into her face, “the legality of your holdings after your marriage.” Before Elizabeth could ask further, he raised his hand in supplication instead of a verbal request for her patience as he began again, “Let me tell you first of his questions and concerns and then what actions he had already taken.”
Elizabeth, waving her hand in the air before her in a manner similar to his previous action, responded, “Mr. Grove, let me call for some tea, since this sounds like it is going to be thirsty business.” As her uncle and solicitor chuckled slightly, she pulled the bell cord, and asked the servant who responded to bring the tea forthwith. Clara returned quite promptly with the tea service. Elizabeth smiled inwardly; apparently Mrs. Upton had anticipated her request.
As the servant carefully situated the tea tray on a small table a little off to the side, Elizabeth took note at the care that each member of the staff was showing toward her. She had always appreciated those who worked for her, but now felt that they were taking extra special care. She made a promise to herself to always let them know how very grateful she was for all that they did.
As the young woman turned to leave the room, Elizabeth acknowledged, “Thank you so much, Clara. Please tell Mrs. Upton I will ring if anything else is needed.” Once she had finished serving the tea, Mr. Grove began to describe Jerome’s concerns.
“First of all,” he stated without apology, “your husband made certain that I knew that you were the one responsible for the tremendous growth of his companies and his finances since your marriage.” Elizabeth blushed brightly, and Uncle Edward reached across the desk to pat her wrist.
“Mr. Mills had asked for clarification concerning ‘your’ personal finances and investments. Under current English law, with your marriage to Jerome, all of your assets transferred to his name. He, in turn, wanted a way for his holdings to transfer to you should he fall victim to an accident that rendered him helpless or he should die. He had held ‘your’ personal finances and investments separately from
‘his’ holdings since the beginning of your marriage, allowing you to handle them in the manner that they had always been treated, and therefore, they were just as accessible to you as they had always been. He held ‘your’ holdings in Affinité Enterprise in the same manner.
“Fortunately, I had previously researched a similar situation for a Duke who lives in Derbyshire whose only grandchild with inherit all of his assets upon his death. The child is only a few months old and already has a fortune that few could ever dream of holding. Fortunately, her grandfather and her father work in tandem to insure that the fortune remains in good health.”
Elizabeth remained silent as she contemplated what he had stated knowing that nothing said so far had made anything any clearer or definitive in her mind. Mr. Grove looked at her and then her uncle: “There is a little used but legally valid holding of ‘feme sole’ that allows any holdings to remain the property of the female and be held by her outside of the bonds of marriage.”
He could almost see Elizabeth’s mind working to comprehend as he continued, “This is how Mr. Mills had me restructure the transfer of all of his assets. If he had lived to see his son come of age, he would have changed the transfer of most of ‘his’ assets to his son . . . mainly those of Mills Ventures and a large portion of his other investments. As it is now, all assets have been transferred to you and you alone under the legal holding just mentioned.”
Elizabeth’s head turned abruptly. As acknowledgement came to her, she looked to her uncle who smiled approvingly. The only thing that she could say was, “Oh, my.”
“Mr. Gardiner, Mr. Charles Bingley, and I have agreed to assist you in any manner you see fit with regard to Mills Ventures and the investments that Mr. Mills held within the marriage. We three also have agreed to assist you in the same manner regarding Affinité Enterprise, along with one other. Mr. Mills had wanted Mr. Stanley Fleming to work with you also, though I realize he died before he had the opportunity to talk with you about Mr. Fleming. Again, you and you alone have the final word with everything. I will only advise you to allow those of us who are willing to assist yo
u to do so.”
Elizabeth sat stunned for a few moments, giving herself time to stop any quaking of her voice before asking, “When did Mr. Mills make these changes?”
“Some of the changes were made shortly after your marriage, while others were made only a few days after Master Thomas was born,” replied Mr. Grove. “However, he had asked about initiating such changes more than a year before.”
“Mr. Grove, Uncle,” smiled Elizabeth as relief poured over her face and her countenance brightened. “To say that I am stunned would be an understatement. After witnessing what happened with my sisters and mother after my own father’s death, I had meant to speak with my husband, but had not expedited the conversation simply because . . .” her voice shook slightly as emotions held in check fought to emerge, “because I thought that there was plenty of time and it had not seemed a pressing matter.”
Smiling, albeit with a slight tremor at the corners of her mouth, she turned her gaze directly to Mr. Grove, “May I call you Henry, as does my Uncle?”
“I would consider it an honor,” said Mr. Grove, with a slight nod and his own wide smile.
“Good, since we are hopefully going to have a long business relationship. Uncle will you work with Mr. G . . . will you collaborate with Henry to ascertain Mr. Fleming’s willingness to work with me in his new position, which I will allow the two of you to define. I only ask that you compensate him generously and even a bit more.” The tension in her brow visibly released as she continued. “And Henry, as soon as you can start, please work out the best way for transferring assets to my son when the time comes; or better yet, prepare as soon as possible for any contingency, since these past few days assuredly have proved that life can be uncertain.” She rose from her seat behind the desk and shook his hand. Then, kissing her uncle on the cheek, she stated sincerely, “Thank you, thank you both.”
∞∞∞
Except for the time devoted to Jerome’s burial, Elizabeth, her sisters, and Aunt Lilly had been taking turns sitting with Lydia since she had been brought to Elizabeth’s home four days before. Shortly after two o’clock in the morning of the fifth day, Mary, in her nightgown, dress robe, and house slippers, came to relieve Elizabeth and begin her four-hour shift. Elizabeth went directly to her bedchamber, readied herself for bed, and had barely fallen into a restless slumber when the maid from Lydia’s room began knocking insistently on her door.
“Mrs. Mills,” she spoke excitedly, “please ma’am come quickly.” She had just entered the bedchamber when Mary turned to face her, tears silently coursing down her cheeks. Elizabeth knew without asking that Lydia had passed away, never having regained consciousness. She silently thought to herself, “Four deaths within two months. Has any other family in the whole of England suffered so much loss within such a short time? Within a matter of months, our family has been reduced to nearly half the size it had once been.”
Aloud, she said, “Mary, there is nothing that we can do until the morning. Please come with me.” She all but lifted her sister to a standing position, then, gripping the bereft young woman’s elbow, headed upstairs to the nursery.
Elizabeth went directly to the crib, carefully picked up her son, and placed him over her breast with his little head resting on her shoulder. Then both young women sat in the rocking chair used by the wet nurse. It was proportioned to accommodate someone much larger, so Elizabeth and Mary, the smallest of the Bennet sister, quite comfortably sat together, with the sleeping child on one of Elizabeth’s shoulders and Mary’s head leaning on the other. That was how the wet nurse found them two hours later, as she very gently took the child from his mother’s arms and returned him to the crib. She was loathe to wake the young women, since neither had had a good sleep in quite a while. Instead, she took one of the small blankets used in the crib and draped it lovingly over them. The morning would come soon enough.
Mrs. Upton came to the nursery a little before seven that morning to wake the sisters, assuming they had not already awakened by themselves. Elizabeth was indeed awake and whispered that she would wake Mary when it was time to feed Thomas. She had always preferred to feed him herself whenever possible, and she would feed him this morning as well.
When the little boy awoke, the nurse took him from the crib to change his napkin and then handed him to his mother to be fed, as a maid changed the bed linen in the crib. Elizabeth gently woke Mary and bade her stay beside her while the baby nursed. The soft cooing and quiet suckling noise were like a soothing balm to both of them. When he had finished, Elizabeth placed him over her lap on his stomach and gently patted his back until she heard his bubbly burp. Once it was clear that he was satisfied, the nurse took the child. Elizabeth and Mary rose together and walked down the stairs to their separate bedchambers to prepare for the long day ahead.
Two days later, Lydia’s body journeyed to Hertfordshire to be interred in the cemetery at the Meryton parish church alongside her sister, Kitty.
The family all returned to London and stayed with Elizabeth for another week, until she sent Jane and Charles back to Netherfield so that they could finally begin their life together. Mary and Mrs. Bennet were to remain in London with her. Mary’s activities would be limited for the next six months, because of the requirements of mourning especially for women. All three women’s activities would be circumscribed to some degree over the next two years, but there would still be more for Mary and her mother to do in London than in Hertfordshire, since Longbourn was no longer their home.
As the owner of two thriving businesses, Elizabeth was able to meet with her customers or investors, or other business associates much as she had always done in the past. But she was very careful not to violate the more stringent requirements of mourning, diligently avoiding dancing or attending balls. Most of her activities centered on her family and her businesses anyway, so she felt she experienced very little sacrifice, certainly no more than she would have chosen even without social convention.
CHAPTER 9
Having spent most of the morning playing with Thomas, Elizabeth left him with his nurse and Aunt Lilly and took her carriage to visit with Gabby and her sisters at Madame Claudine’s. It had been nearly a year since Jerome died, and she looked forward to adding the little bits of neutral colour to her wardrobe that were allowed at this stage of her mourning. Given the beautiful day, she decided to walk from Madame Claudine’s to visit with the owner of White’s Gentlemen’s Club. Since her maid was not a very good walker, Elizabeth bade the young woman (who was quite relieved) stay at Madame Claudine’s while she walked the ‘short distance’ to White’s alone.
She was almost there when she heard shouting. As she looked toward the street, a man ran squarely into her, almost knocking her from her feet. Instinctively she grasped his arm in an attempt to right herself, but then she happened to look into his face.
“WICKHAM,” she screamed.
Quickly glancing down the street, she saw soldiers racing her way. “They have to be after Wickham,” she thought, as she grabbed hold of his arm to keep him from running away. She should have known that, at her small size, she could not possibly prevent his departure. With that in mind, she had almost released her grip, when he suddenly struck her with his fist and everything went black.
There . . . there it was . . . that thread again . . . but not the first thread . . . the one that made her body tingly and itchy feeling . . . the one like the feeling from long ago . . . the one she wanted very much . . . the one that held a hint of what? . . . Desire? . . . Suppressed passion? . . . NO . . . No this thread was smaller . . . needful . . . it pulled at her maternal core . . . What? . . . Had she heard a small voice . . . there on the other side of the clouds? . . . They were much lighter now . . . not nearly as oppressive . . . Where was that thread? . . . She knew it was there somewhere . . . somewhere just beyond her reach . . . Reach Lizzy . . . reach in the direction of the thread . . . Yes, that’s right . . . can’t get it . . . what? . . . It sounded like a small voice . . . thi
n and reed-like . . . like a high musical note . . . held against the wind . . . What did it say? . . . There it was . . . the thread . . . hold on . . . do not let it go . . . The small voice . . . Were the voice . . . and the thread the same thing? . . . What was it saying . . . “Mama?” More determined than ever, she reached for the thread until she was sure . . . sure that she held it by the tip of her fingers . . . “Mama” the tiny voice said again . . . I am coming . . . Here . . . Darling . . . Mama is here . . . then she had the thread firmly in her grasp . . . “Mama is here, Darling”. It seemed as though the thread entwined around her body . . . and she sought to caress it closer . . . Suddenly . . . there . . . still out of her reach she felt it . . . the first string . . . desire . . . need . . . still there . . . still out of her reach . . . but closer . . . so close . . . she would rest a while . . . then search for it again.
∞∞∞
Hot . . . so, so very hot . . . the clouds were not white any longer. . .they were red with hints of black at the edges . . . the clouds were getting redder all the time . . . the thread . . . the small thread was being taken away . . . she reached for it but it was so far away now . . . hot . . . she was so terribly hot . . . then she felt soothing waves of cool relief . . . it felt so good . . . Yes. Yes, I will rest a while . . . in the cool waves . . . Maybe the waves will sooth away the heat . . . then . . . then I can look for the thread again . . . but it is so hot . . . I cannot think . . . the clouds are so red and angry now . . . getting darker . . . blacker . . . NO! . . . I do not want to go back into the blackness . . . Good God. NO . . . the black shadow of the hand . . . grasped for her again . . . she heard the evil laughter . . . the hand tried to pull her into the darkness again . . . but there . . . desire . . . she felt it again . . . and need . . . different from either of the other strings . . . it seemed a part of her . . . yet not . . . the first thread slowly twined around the third . . . then they were gone . . . the soothing waves swept her away from the blackness . . . the red clouds were still there . . . suddenly . . . the threads again . . . now there were three . . . seemingly waiting . . . waiting just beyond her reach . . . so hot . . . still so hot . . . she grasped for the threads . . . she fought to get closer . . . but they were still just beyond her reach . . . still she fought . . . hot . . . cannot think . . . she extended her hand toward the threads . . . wanting so much to touch them again . . . to have them caress over her again . . . “aahhh” . . . they floated toward her . . . twined around her fingertips as the red clouds gave way . . . she was floating in the white clouds again . . . she would rest a while longer . . . then begin her search again.
