Chapter Text
In the year 1815, the skies over England were lit with sunsets of uncommon splendour. The people then thought it only a distant gift from the East Indies—the mighty eruption of Mount Tambora—and little imagined that a shadow of unease would soon settle over the countryside. The weather seemed to have lost its senses: midsummer brought sudden frosts that blighted the crops, and wheat, oats, and barley failed in the fields.
Two years have now passed since that calamity, yet its spectre lingers still. It is July, and the expected summer has not come: the sky hangs low and grey, the air is damp and piercing as winter; there are no insects humming, no birds singing, and the countryside lies in unnatural silence. The labourers who live by the seasons speak in low voices of another “Year Without a Summer.”
Mr. Darcy has of late attended every agricultural meeting in the county, where the assembled gentlemen wear faces of deep gloom yet can devise no remedy. The new laws have secured their rents for the present, but at the cost of bread that few can buy; the long wars have left all things dear, repeated harvests have failed, and tenants fall ever deeper in arrears. Tenants fall behind with their rents, unable to purchase grain, still less to pay what is owed; landlords, though possessing corn at high prices, see their income dwindle as their tenants sink deeper into distressThus both landlord and tenant are entangled in the same mire—beneath all outward respectability, neither politeness nor prudence can extricate them.
All schemes for enlarging the house or grounds at Pemberley were laid aside; the London season was abandoned; even the expense of balls and assemblies was curtailed; Mr. Darcy had, moreover, substantially reduced the rents demanded of his tenantry. By the master’s steady management and the tenants’ honest industry, the estate contrives to weather the storm. Elizabeth, as mistress, feels the anxiety keenly and has redoubled her visits of charity among the cottages.
For many days together the rain has scarcely ceased, and the roofs of several farms are in sad repair. The steward, according to the covenants of their leases, has served notice that the tenants must make good the defects within a fixed time. Among them is Miller, whose harvest last year scarcely filled his barn; he has no money to spare for slates or labour. Should he fail to comply, a heavy fine awaits him. Under the weight of these troubles Mr. Miller has fallen ill.
Mr. Darcy is ever generous in relieving distress, yet in the observance of rules he is strictness itself. In this extremity the Millers have ventured, through the housekeeper, to lay their case before the mistress. They are an honest, hard-working family, with two children not yet five years old; Elizabeth could not remain indifferent. She resolved not only to send immediate relief, but to see for herself how matters stood. Mr. Darcy being from home for some days on county business, the moment was favourable. She ordered broth and bread from the kitchens, and had the still-room maid pack herbs and cast-off linen that might be useful.
Georgiana, hearing of the intended visit, insisted on accompanying her.
“Do let me go with you. I am not certain my brother would approve your venturing out alonejust now, but he will be easier if I am by. Besides—” she paused, and a new gravity, the gravity of one who begins to feel herself future mistress, appeared in her eyes—“I ought to see these things for myself. I ought to hear what is said, and learn what may be done.”
Georgiana was now become quite the accomplished young lady, and wore the gentle glow of a newly engaged heart. Nothing gave Elizabeth more pleasure and honest pride than to see how the once-painfully shy girl had begun, little by little, to take the cares of the house and estate upon her own shoulders, and to study, with quiet earnestness, the duties of a future mistress.
“That is excellent, Georgie,” said Elizabeth with a warm smile. “You will soon be mistress here; there could not be better practice. He is sure to approve.” She leaned a little closer, her voice dropping to the conspiratorial whisper of old. “And—the most material point—he is not here to object. Come, I am in perfect health; what possible harm can befall us?”
In managing the Darcy family, Elizabeth had always possessed a talent that defied resistance. Within a very few minutes the two ladies were in the carriage and on their way to the farms, guided by one of the tenants through the cottages whose roofs had suffered most.
The lanes were heavy with mud after the rain, and the carriage moved slowly; one could not but reflect how much greater the labour must be for those who had no choice but to walk. Elizabeth looked out over the fields. There were none of the bright green waves of July that promised plenty; instead she saw only a dull, sickly expanse, streaked with ominous black. No one needed to wait for autumn to know that this year’s harvest was already lost.
The tenants came eagerly to their doors, curtsying and full of gratitude for the ladies’ kindness. When they reached the Millers’ cottage, two pale, thin children were crouching on the threshold, listlessly pushing pebbles about; the moment they heard the wheels, they darted inside like startled sparrows.
Elizabeth and Georgiana descended. The sight of the place went to both their hearts: the roof gaped in half a dozen places, the wood-pile was all but empty, and the few fowls in the yard moved as though half alive. Mrs. Miller hurried out, wiping her hands again and again upon her apron before venturing to take the covered baskets the servants handed down. She curtsied low, over and over, yet kept a respectful distance; the two children, who had crept forward in curiosity, were instantly pulled back behind her skirts.
Elizabeth desired the footman to make careful note of every particular want. While they spoke, Georgiana touched her sister’s arm with a gentle nudge.
“Goodness! Eliza—look! Is that not—?”
Elizabeth followed the direction of her startled gaze, and felt her own heart sink like a stone.
At some little distance, a single horseman was riding toward them at a brisk canter.