From my novel-in-progress…
“Do you have no tea here, love?” called Mrs. Hanks as she looked through the cupboard.
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I am afraid not.”
The older woman put her hands on her hips, indignant. “No tea? Why that dastardly man! I daresay not a man at all, certainly not an Englishman. Leaving his poor wife alone with no tea. The very idea!”
“There are some dried chamomile flowers above you, Mrs. Hanks. I have been using those.”
She huffed and muttered to herself but, in due course, water was boiled and a kind of tea was made. Mrs. Hanks remarked as she took a sip. “Tis better than I thought.”
Elizabeth nodded. “The apothecary recommended it for my mother’s nerves. I always thought it smelled lovely.”
“You must miss her,” she said quietly, observing Elizabeth with great care.
“In my way, I do,” she replied. “But it is my dear sister, Jane, who I am longing for right now.”
Mrs. Hanks smiled. “Of course, you are. Have you written to her?”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, trying to hide the emotion in her voice. “We were in London for a few days and I wrote to her then.”
“And you shall write to her again once your husband returns.”
Elizabeth did not immediately reply. After a moment she said, “I do not know, Mrs. Hanks, that my husband has any idea of ever returning.”
The older woman observed her closely. “Tell me what happened, child. Tell me what happened to have you marry a man you clearly do no love, nor like.”
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in the old, wooden chair. It had seemed like a waste of breath to tell her tale only moments before. But now, with a chance to be heard, to be reassured, and perhaps even to receive some sound counsel, she was beginning to change her mind.
“Mr. Wickham took it up himself to kiss me at a dance and we were observed by my mother,” she spat out in a tight cry.
Mrs. Hanks clucked her tongue. “I wish I could say I was surprised. George Wickham is nothing but a liar and a cad. But your mother? Did she not wish to cover the whole thing up and spare you?”
Elizabeth let out a resentful laugh. “Oh heavens no. She saw it as an opportunity. She had my father and uncle make Mr. Wickham marry me. The words she used… The way she exaggerated what happened… And my father believed her!” She was becoming agitated now. Holding all of this emotion in had been so difficult and now it was overflowing from her. “Forgive me, Mrs. Hanks. I do not mean to burden you.”
“Oh, hush, child! You do no such thing. I only feel pity and a wish to help you.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “There is no help for me. I am either ruined or married to a wicked man. There is no in between.”
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