Page 2 of Homeless

And there, shouldering at last to the front of everything, came the final indignity. They had done this in wine and in wrath and in want and in plain folly; they had done it lawfully, before God and a Spanish priest, which somehow made it worse and not better; and whatever name she settled on to get herself through the morning, her own body was not going to agree to the lie. Half dressed in the cold Spanish dawn, aching and ashamed and furious and far too alive to the warmth of the man behind her, she sat and waited for Fitzwilliam Darcy to wake, so that she might begin the impossible work of pretending the road in front of them was the same road it had been the day before.

I

Opportunity

21 April 1814

Gracechurch Street, London

Gracechurch Street, in the first softness of an April afternoon, wore its prosperity without elegance. Trade passed under the windows all day with no regard for gentility, and the back parlour, warm from the oven and faintly scented with bread, had that air of use which belongs only to a house where comfort is made and not displayed. Elizabeth sat upon the hearth-rug with her aunt’s youngest boy upon one knee, while Marianne Gardiner, aged six and inclined to tyranny, declared that the fortress constructed from account-books and sofa cushions could not possibly be defended unless Aunt Lizzy consented to perish in it.

“I have perished twice already,” said Elizabeth. “A third death would expose me to remark.”

“You smiled when you died.”

“Then I was not treated with proper solemnity. Edward, if you pull my ribbon out altogether, I shall be obliged to appear before your mother like a woman escaped from shipwreck.”

Edward, being four and attached to ruin for its own sake, gave the ribbon one last tug and then chose a more ambitious devastation. He climbed the rear wall of the fort, which promptly collapsed and woke Thomas, in the cradle near the fire.

Elizabeth rose and rescued Thomas before he could gather himself to howl. He settled against her shoulder, warm through the lawn of his gown and smelling of milk and lavender. Marianne was already rebuilding the fortress. Edward explained to the room at large that the fall had been occasioned by artillery. Mrs Gardiner laughed, then checked herself with a hand over her stomach, as laughing too much still punished her.

It was a room meant to be lived in and used hard, and no finer room had ever been half so comfortable. She knew this room too well—the light on its carpet at every hour, the temper of the house when her uncle was expected late. It was a fine thing, to know a house so nearly. It was another to want one of her own, that she might have the disordering of it by right.

“You will spoil him,” said her aunt, watching Thomas submit to Elizabeth with disloyal contentment.

“He was spoiled before I touched him. I am only the instrument.”

“Then ruin him while you may. His nurse means to reclaim him within the hour, and she will chastise you justly for meddling in her ways.”

“Nurses and sovereign princes resemble one another in that point.”

Mrs Gardiner chuckled. This last lying in had left her paler and thinner than usual, but had done nothing to diminish the sweetness of her temper or the soundness of her judgement. “You have been too long in London,” she said. “You speak like a pamphlet.”

“Then send me away before I start attending salons like a bluestocking. I do not think I could look myself in the mirror afterwards.”

Mrs Gardiner laid aside the little gown she had been folding. “My dear Lizzy, if London has begun to oppress you, you need not hide it from me. Why not visit your mother? I daresay she would entertain you.”

Elizabeth scoffed. Oppress was not the word. Gracechurch Street gave her kindness, employment, a clean chamber, and children who flung themselves upon her with all the tyranny of affection. It also reminded her every morning, in a hundred gentle forms, that she was a relation received from love and not a woman placed in the world upon her own footing. Since Longbourn had ceased to be hers, usefulness had been the best condition within reach. She translated Portuguese letters in her uncle’s office. She kept accounts neatly. She made herself easy to keep.

“Mama would have me married to a shopkeeper before a week was out. No, thank you. I am only dull,” she said. “Which is not a tragedy, unless one endures it too long.”

“You endure everything a little too long, Lizzy.”

“A cruel summary.”

“A true one.”

Before Elizabeth could improve upon that reply, the front door opened below with such force that Marianne flew to the parlour threshold crying, “Papa!” Edward followed in a collision of limbs and squeals.

A moment later, Mr Gardiner entered, carrying the street in upon him—the damp of it in his coat, the briskness of it in his manner, and a creeping mischief in his face which in some men meant folly, but in him commonly meant profit.

He kissed his wife as he passed her chair, submitted to Marianne’s demand for equal notice, caught Edward round the middle when the boy attempted to scale him, and then nodded toward Elizabeth.

“Cousin, niece, clerk, conspirator, and nursery despot — whichever office you hold at present, I require you, Elizabeth.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“It may make us very rich.”