Mysteries of Pemberley — Chapter 3

My thanks to all of you who are reading along and especially those commenting! Prior installments of this story can be found by clicking these links: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two

Chapter Three 

 

“There you are.” Mr. Bennet smiled at his eldest daughter from his seat at the head of the breakfast table.

“I am sorry. Did you wait long, Papa?” Elizabeth took her seat at the table, smiling at little Charles who sat at his grandfather’s right side, happily spooning porridge into his grinning mouth.

“Not at all,” her father replied. “How fares our countryside this morning? Any news?”

“Well.” Elizabeth made an expressive look towards little Charles. “Perhaps.”

Mr. Bennet replied to this with a tweak of his eyebrow but said nothing. They finished their meal allowing little Charles to have charge of the conversation. He had a dream to relate to them in painful detail—something about a ship that could sail and fly and drive over the land like a carriage and his nocturnal adventures on this wondrous conveyance—and he would not be swayed from a full accounting of it.

When he was finished with his tale, Charles went to his playroom. It was true, he was as yet too young to begin a true gentleman’s education; however, he had shown a desire to learn, and so often engaged himself in drawing letters on a slate or looking intently at various books while trying to recognise the words. After seeing him settled with his nursemaid, Elizabeth went to join her father in his study.

Mr. Bennet had opened his ledgers while he awaited her, but moved them aside when she entered. Elizabeth took a seat near him.

“I had a most unexpected encounter this morning while I was walking.”

“An encounter?” Mr. Bennet raised one bushy brow. “With whom, if I might ask?”

“Mr. Darcy. I found him on the path near Netherfield.”

“Out having a scornful glare at the fields, was he?”

Elizabeth laughed lightly. “Something like that. Not seeing anything to please him, to be sure.”

Here she paused a moment. In the time since she left Mr. Darcy—not even an hour but long enough—she had come to a firm understanding. This was the only way. The sacrifice must be hers. She had no wish to lie to her dear Papa but neither did she wish for any further opposition to her plans.

Mr. Bennet was staring at her expectantly. “Well, child? What did he say?”

“You know, Papa, that I am … I feel it is of utmost important that we should retain our claim on Jane’s son, no matter what, and it seems we are rather doomed in that prospect.”

Mr. Bennet nodded. “Indeed.”

“So … Mr. Darcy has agreed to permit me to accompany Charles to his home in Derbyshire… as Charles’ governess.”

Mr. Bennet stood so rapidly Elizabeth feared for his coffee. “What? A governess! Lizzy, are you mad?”

Elizabeth held up one hand  to forestall her father’s exclamations of dismay. “I am not mad, Papa, I am only determined to fulfil the office with which Jane has charged me.”

“Lizzy, this is absurd. I can hardly send my daughter off to live in Derbyshire in the home of an unmarried man.”

“But you can send your grandson?”

Mr. Bennet studied her for several long moments, then picked up his coffee and went to the window, staring out for some time.

Elizabeth drew a deep, fortifying breath. “I would never wish to go off with such a man as Mr. Darcy for my own sake. I want to remain with Charles until … until Mr. Darcy realises that the care of the child is more than simply collecting him and tossing him in a nursery somewhere.”

Mr. Bennet did not turn from his intent scrutiny of the world outside his window. “I do not like it. Firstly that you should descend to being a governess is—”

“Is my likely fate.” He turned back to face her but she did not back down. “Is it not? I do not like to speak so, but let us be frank. In some years when Charles is grown and you are gone, that is likely my fate. I am doing no more than skipping ahead a bit.”

With slow heavy steps, Mr. Bennet returned to his chair, sinking down into it. “What about your marriage?”

“My marriage?”

“You must wish to marry.” Mr. Bennet attempted an indulgent smile. “Of course no man I have ever met is good enough for you—but surely you must want your own home some day.”

Elizabeth sighed. Her father’s wilful blindness was, at times, tiring. “Such fancies as those have long ago passed me by. I am five and twenty and certainly no more handsome than I was in my bloom. Furthermore, every man I meet is one whom I have known since my infancy. I do not see any great inducement towards marriage, nor any indication that it is ever likely to come. I have made my peace with it and I beg you would do likewise.”

“I cannot allow it. Lizzy. I cannot send you off into the care of a man I do not know from Adam, a man who is haughty and disagreeable one moment and complaisant and considerate the next. We know nothing of his character, nothing of his morals, nothing of—”

“While I cannot deny the truth in those assertions, they are nevertheless overcome by the fact that he will take our Charles. Every feeling within me revolts against that notion.”

Mr. Bennet stared sightlessly at his desk for a moment.

“Jane would want me to stay with little Charles,” Elizabeth insisted. “And in due time, perhaps Mr. Darcy will tire of the needs of a small child in his house. Even better, perhaps you will have time to take it before the courts.”

Elizabeth paused for a moment, wishing for her father’s avowal to do just that. When such reassurance did not come, she went on, pretending not to notice Mr. Bennet’s lack of interest in pursuing a legal course against Mr. Darcy.

“Alas, I realise now that every thing we have done in this matter   thus far has only made Mr. Darcy more determined to carry his point. He might have been prevailed upon to do otherwise but we challenged his authority and now he must carry through to save his pride.”

Mr. Bennet nodded thoughtfully.

“However, once the true task is understood to him—when little Charles is in his care—he will apprehend that it is not merely some game, that there is no such thing as winning or losing in cases such as these. Then he may wish to give up the scheme.”

“We can dare to hope.”

“And perhaps if we are very lucky,” she added with a mischievous smile, “he might soon find himself a lady to marry, one who dislikes small children, particularly when they are not her own.”

“Just take care that he does not fall in love with you,” Mr. Bennet warned.

“I think I may safely promise you,” said Elizabeth as she rose and went to place a kiss on her father’s cheek, “nothing of that sort is even remotely possible.”

*

With what was likely the deference due to him, in light of his generous offer, Mr. and Miss Bennet extended an invitation to Darcy to dine that evening. He would have been just as happy taking a bit of stew in the public house but felt it would be ungenerous to refuse them.

His horse’s shoe was mended and with considerably vaster skill than he expected should exist in this insignificant hamlet, but Darcy decided to walk. He knew from his morning exercise that the distance was an easy one and reasoned that the fading light would give him an excuse for an early escape from the social customs.

The air was cold and damp but the walk was brief and soon he had arrived at Longbourn. He paused a moment in the lane to regard it as he had not before, when he was nearly apoplectic with rage.

Longbourn had fine old bones and elegance in its form but, if the tattle he learnt from his man was true, it suffered from the indifference of its owner. It had once brought in two thousand a year but recent estimates were less, particularly in this most difficult of years. Darcy had no doubt but that he was doing the Bennets an enormous favour in removing the burden of care of the lad from them—and now Miss Bennet, too. Unlike Longbourn, he had the means to support them.

He was shown in with more alacrity than he encountered on his first visit and was given directly into the care of the master himself. Mr. Bennet received him in his study, again holding what Darcy guessed was an ever-present book.

When the two gentlemen were settled, Mr. Bennet spoke. “You have made my daughter an extraordinarily kind offer, sir.”

Less an offer than reluctant acquiescence. Darcy shifted in the uncomfortable chair he had been directed towards. “It seems the path of least misery for us all.”

There was a silence then during which the two gentlemen regarded one another warily. Darcy, feeling the weight of respect that one must give an elder, deigned to speak first.

“It is clear to me that this family is very attached to the boy and, likewise, I must assume the boy is attached to you as well. If I am to assume guardianship of the child I must begin now by doing what is in his best interest. Having his aunt there shall ease his way and make him more comfortable. The benefit to me is that if he is happy, it shall ease my conscience.”

“Very good of you.”

Darcy inclined his head a fraction of an inch to indicate his gratitude for the compliment.

“Of course as her father I must voice my fears of the sorts of behaviour which can sometimes arise when a young lady is placed into the care of—”

Darcy felt his cheeks flush but did not know if it was embarrassment or vexation that yielded the colour. He interrupted Mr. Bennet immediately, brusqueness of tone intended to convey his irritation at such an implication. “You know nothing of my character, sir, and thus I will forgive your insult. I assure you I do not countenance nor indulge any such proclivities.”

“I do not intend to insult you,” said Mr. Bennet. “As you say, I know nothing of your character. I am merely a father concerned for the welfare of his daughter.”

“Then you should do best to warn her against the scheme.”

“And so I have,” said Mr. Bennet, looking vexingly calm. “But she will not be moved.”

A retort came to Darcy’s mind—as a father, ought not he have had the final say? But he knew how a young lady could prevail against all strictures and so his tongue was stayed.

“The Darcy family has always held considerable patronage in the Church,” he replied stiffly. “And my father exhorted me from a very early age that such patronage should include not only our fortune but our character and our reputations as well. I assure you that Miss Bennet will be as safe in my home as she is in yours. If it eases your mind, I will add that my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is also in permanent residence in my house.”

“Your aunt?”

Darcy nodded, stiff and small. “Yes. My mother’s sister.”

“I see.”

Mr. Bennet considered that a moment while regarding Darcy solemnly over his spectacles. “That is some consolation, I will own. Nevertheless I must say to you as my father once said to me: never forget that within every lady is someone’s daughter, someone’s wife and someone’s mother and pray treat her with the respect afforded those stations.”

“You have my word, Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy, all the while wondering how it was that he found himself in this situation. Mr. Bennet would do well to recall I am obliging them, not the other way around.

The evening passed pleasantly enough. Longbourn retained an excellent cook, particularly noteworthy in such difficult times; the fish, if small, was tasty and the venison was likewise. The breads were light and crusty, as Darcy liked them, and the pudding was among the best he had ever had.

The conversation at dinner was also surprising in its sophistication and wit. Mr. Bennet and Miss Bennet were both avid readers and the discussion soon became spirited as they conversed easily about the books they had read. Before long he realised that Miss Bennet played a game of sorts with him.

“Miss Bennet, I begin to think you are fond of professing opinions not your own,” he accused.

“Perhaps I do,” said she, her eyes sparkling at him. “Otherwise we might simply agree with each other and what fun would that be?”

It was then that the most displeasing part of the evening occurred. As he sat there, with this lady—the most unappealing sort of country hoyden he had ever known, a lady who would insist on intruding where she was plainly unwanted—he felt an odd tug within him. Along with it, an unwelcome thought entered his mind: she is pretty.

And she was pretty. She was dressed for an occasion—he supposed dinner with a gentleman of good fortune was certainly an occasion—and had thusly come to the table in what was undoubtedly her best gown. It did not compare to what he saw in Town—or rather what he used to see— but it was well cut and suited her figure admirably.

Rather a light and pleasing figure, too.

Accursed thoughts! And yet they were thoughts that proved difficult to dispel. Mr. Bennet soon suggested some music in the drawing room and Miss Bennet, after some pretty little protest, agreed to oblige them. From her demurrals, he expected rather little of her, but her performance, while by no means capital, was perfectly adequate.

When she sang, it was another matter entirely.

Her voice reached into him, into all the dark recesses of his soul, and offered him light. It was enchanting and enthralling to hear her and watch her and he was, against all inclination, uplifted. For a brief time, the length of her song, he had a strange sense come over him that he could not immediately identify. Oh yes—it is optimism.

He sighed and then was recollected to his wits, realising he most likely seemed like an imbecile staring at her so. He straightened himself, placing on his countenance his usual demeanour and only then dared look at Mr. Bennet.

As Darcy suspected, the gentleman was watching him. When Darcy made eye contact, Mr. Bennet half-frowned and murmured, coolly, “Someone’s daughter, Mr. Darcy.”

*

Since her return to the bosom of her family in Hertfordshire, Charlotte Collins—widow of Reverend William Collins—had also resumed her place in Elizabeth’s heart. They had been childhood playfellows, but a strain was introduced when Charlotte married a man who Elizabeth considered one of the most ridiculous people, man or woman, she had ever known.

Mr. Collins was to have inherited Longbourn on the passing of her father, but a fever had taken him soon after his marriage, likely the same fever which had afflicted her dear sister and Bingley. Since his passing, Longbourn was still entailed, now to some other distant cousin, but alas it was a cousin too young for Charlotte to marry. She would never be, as her mother had so hoped, mistress of Longbourn.

She arrived shortly after breakfast with the intention of remaining with Elizabeth for some time. Elizabeth met her at the door and watched as she removed her thick woollen pelisse, noticing that she looked very thin and her skin exceptionally pale. Though Charlotte had never been a handsome girl, she had always boasted a lovely creamy complexion. Now that complexion looked faded and a little grey.

“Charlotte, are you feeling well?” Elizabeth took her friend’s arm to lead her into the parlour.

“Perfectly so,” Charlotte answered. “Do I look ill?”

“No, no, just a bit … well, tired perhaps.”

“I am tired,” Charlotte admitted, sinking gratefully into the plush chair Elizabeth offered. “With our housekeeper gone, we are down to just one girl to help with the laundry and the cooking. The rest is left to Maria and me.”

“We feel very fortunate that Hill has remained with us,” Elizabeth said. “So many have gone off to work in factories and the like.”

Charlotte shrugged. “The servants must do as they can to survive in these difficult times. But enough about that. What is this I hear about you going to Derbyshire?”

Elizabeth smiled faintly in reply. Charlotte’s father, Sir William Lucas, was a notorious gossip and Elizabeth had no doubt that Charlotte probably knew more about Elizabeth’s trip than she herself did. Nevertheless, Elizabeth would relate the news to her as if it was new.

She began with Mr. Pritchard. Charlotte was satisfyingly dismayed and distressed about the prospect of a strange gentleman tearing little Charles from his home but as Elizabeth’s recitation continued she saw the futility of her protest.

“I began to see that there was little hope of thwarting it,” Elizabeth concluded by the end. “I am sure you can imagine my feelings on the inevitability of such a notion.”

Charlotte had tears in her eyes. “Oh Lizzy! I do not know how you can sit there so calmly. I am about to run mad with the grief of parting from him and for you it must be so much worse!”

“It would,” Elizabeth agreed calmly, “had I not insisted that I should come along as his governess.”

The effect this statement had on Charlotte was not insubstantial. Charlotte was not customarily prone to displays of excessive feeling but this amazed her and she was silent for nearly a full minute.

“A governess? Lizzy, you surely do not wish to—”

Elizabeth waved aside her concern. “Is it not my eventual fate? Why not hasten to it so that I may remain with my dear little Charles.”

“But your marriage prospects—”

“Will not be materially different than they are now, which is to say, improbable if not impossible.”

“Oh Eliza.” Charlotte’s grey eyes warmed with her compassion. “I do admire your selflessness.”

“Is it not what a mother does? I promise dear Jane I would do as she would have done for him. That is all there is to it.”

“You do your sister credit even though I fear it will not redound to your benefit.” Charlotte shook her head. “But enough of that. I can see you are resolved and when Eliza Bennet has made up her mind, there is no sense in trying to persuade her otherwise.”

“Quite true.” Elizabeth grinned with more confidence than she felt. “So I shall be off to Derbyshire to live in a very grand house with the very grand Mr. Darcy and his noble aunt—”

“Noble aunt?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

“Lady Catherine De Bourgh?” If Elizabeth thought she had exhausted the possibility of shocking Charlotte, she was mistaken. “You do recall my former connexion to that lady, do you not?”

Elizabeth thought for a moment. “The name had some familiarity to me when he said it, although at the time, I thought little of it. A connexion to you?”

“She was Mr. Collins’s patroness,” Charlotte replied. “The lady of Rosings Park?”

“Oh yes! How stupid of me! I cannot believe I forgot!”

“It has been almost five years.” Charlotte sighed. “Hard to believe but it is true. Five years gone already.”

“And now she lives with her nephew?” Elizabeth shook her head. “That makes no sense. From what you told me, she seemed exceedingly proud of her home. I wonder why she left it.”

“It must have been when Mr. Darcy married her daughter,” Charlotte said.

“Mr. Darcy married her daughter? But he is a bachelor.”

“Well I am certain they were engaged,” said Charlotte. “I know that much is true. I was not long in Kent but I heard of it often while I was there. Miss de Bourgh herself had little to say of the matter but her mother was definite and she is not a woman to be gainsaid.”

“Had you met Mr. Darcy often?”

“No, I never met him.”

“Perhaps he had no wish to marry his cousin?”

“I should think the possibility of having two such great estates, not to mention Miss de Bourgh’s fortune would be sufficient inducement for him.”

“That is true. In any case, among noble families, the matches are made more to suit the families than the lovers themselves.” Elizabeth shook her head. “No matter the inducement, I cannot imagine tying myself to such a man for my life long.”

“If Lady Catherine was your mother, you might think otherwise,” Charlotte replied. “A married lady, as you know, is able to preside over her own house and arrange it as she likes but an unmarried girl must bend to the wishes of her elders.”

“You need not tell that to me, Charlotte.” The two friends chuckled comfortably.

“So Miss de Bourgh gained the respectability and relative freedom of a married woman from the union and Mr. Darcy became wealthy.”

“No he was already wealthy. That marriage likely made him one of the richest men in England.”

“A splendid payment for what must have been an excessively short marriage,” said Elizabeth. “Particularly if they were only engaged while you were married to Mr. Collins.”

“Yes,” said Charlotte. “He must have married her in ’12, I suppose. Perhaps she died in the childbed?”

“It seems the most likely cause,” Elizabeth agreed. “But Lady Catherine remains at his house? I wonder that she does not return to Rosings Park.”

“I believe someone else lives there now,” said Charlotte. “Mr. Darcy must have wished to let it out although I cannot say for certain. My time in Hunsford parish was so short, I do not have anyone to whom I write, nor anyone who writes to me.”

“In any case,” Elizabeth pronounced cheerfully, “whatever their reasons I must be glad of them for they serve my purpose now. I shall remain with my little Charles and that is all I care about.”

“Perhaps not all you care about, Eliza.” Charlotte gave her a sly look. “I know it must excite your anticipation to imagine going to Derbyshire. Maybe you will at last see the Lake District.”

“It was once a dream of mine.” For a moment, Elizabeth was lost in wistful remembrance of the summer she was meant to travel with her aunt and uncle to the Lake District. Jane’s marriage and impending confinement had led her to decide to remain at home rather than go with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. She would never say that she regretted the decision, or that she would ever choose differently; however, as the letters arrived that summer bearing descriptions of all that was seen and done, she could not deny intense feelings of envy. “Yes,” said she with a smile at Charlotte. “At last I shall see something outside of Meryton.”

*

Elizabeth began her calls of farewell with her two sisters, both of whom remained in Meryton or close by. Mary, or Mrs. Willard as she liked to be called, was the first order of duty.

Mary had been married just above three years and had dutifully birthed two sons to her husband. Arthur, her eldest, was fair haired and pinch-faced and from the very beginning of his life, had carried with him the same faintly disapproving air that his mother always did. Even now he sat quietly with a set of blocks, creating ramrod straight, square little structures while casting suspicious glances at Elizabeth and little Charles. He did not choose to play with little Charles; Mary explained that young Arthur found it trying on his nerves to be exposed to the high spirits of other boys. With a sigh, Elizabeth looked at the infant sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms. She could only hope that he might be more inclined to liveliness and good humour.

“Derbyshire, Lizzy? Why should you be going to Derbyshire?”

“With Charles,” Elizabeth explained patiently. “Certainly your husband must have explained everything to you.”

“I was sure he must have heard wrong.” Mary pursed her lips and then took a fussy sip of her tea. “He thinks you are to go as a governess to little Charles.”

“Mr. Willard is correct. That is exactly what I intend to do.”

It seemed hardly possible but Mary’s lips pressed together in an even thinner line and her eyes narrowed such that Elizabeth wondered that she could see. Elizabeth bit her lip, determine not to permit her sister to aggravate her.

“And who,” said Mary in clipped tones, “shall marry you then?”

With exaggerated gaiety, Elizabeth said, “Oh with as many suitors as I have now, there is no doubt I will collect just as many in Derbyshire.”

Mary’s lips nearly disappeared and Elizabeth hastened to respond in a more serious way. “You know I have no intention to marry, not now.”

 

“Jane never intended for you to be tied to her son while forgoing all of your own concerns.”

Elizabeth rubbed the back of her neck and heaved a sigh. “What concerns have I neglected?”

“Your own family,” Mary replied primly. “You have no husband, no child of your own. It is not respectable.”

Her words stung but Elizabeth would not permit Mary to know that. Certainly there had been changes to her life introduced by the addition of Charles to her care. She could not roam about as she once had—she had the concerns of the household upon her. She did not go to assemblies; she was not often at the neighbourhood parties. Her life had become one common to many spinster daughters: tending a hearth not her own and raising the children of other people.

For the briefest of moments, Mary dropped her usual pompous humour, looking for a moment like she had a true sister’s heart. “I worry for you. Do you not wish for those things? A husband, a home? Your own child?”

“I do, of course I do.” Elizabeth swallowed. “But this is to be my lot in life and I intend to find contentment in it. There are no guarantees in this world and if the only boast I have at the end of my time on this earth is to say I raised one special boy, then I shall be satisfied.”

Mary granted only a tight smile and then went on to more pious conversation. Elizabeth had once believed that to be the wife of a parson would have suited Mary very well, but wife of the town solicitor did nearly as well. Mary enjoyed knowing the matters of finance and business for those around her, and she scrupled not to discuss her opinions on how they managed their concerns.

It was nearly an hour later that Elizabeth was able to bid her farewell, with a hug and a promise to write often. She gave Arthur a kiss on the head, which alarmed him, and then collected little Charles and went off to Kitty’s house.

Kitty had married rather well, certainly better than might have been expected. She married Mr. Goulding after the death of his wife, unconcerned for the fact that he was older than their father. They had  twin girls, age two, and Kitty spent her days eating cake with Mariah Lucas and dreaming of who her daughters might some day marry.

Her visit with Kitty passed easily. Her younger sister cried at the idea of Elizabeth leaving, then engaged her in a violent argument about ancient and irrelevant grievance from back when Lydia was yet alive, then cried again at the idea that Elizabeth would leave Hertfordshire.

Both  visits were exhausting, as much from the exertion as from the effort required to bear the silliness of her sisters, and Elizabeth was nearly dead on her feet by the time she arrived back at Longbourn. However, she had just enough time before dinner to write a few letters for two more sisters were due some correspondence.

The late Charles Bingley had boasted two sisters, though neither of them ever gave him much source of pride. Miss Louisa Bingley had married a man of more fashion than fortune and eventually the former had outpaced the latter. With debts mounting, he had abandoned her, disappearing to places unknown.

Miss Caroline Bingley married one Mr. John Milne, a man many years her elder who had a sufficient fortune to maintain both sisters in style. They divided their time between London and Bath and felt, strongly, that the country life was not for them. It was not long into their marriage before children arrived, though alas, Mrs. Milne had followed the example of Mrs. Bennet and delivered only daughters to her husband thus far.

Her letters to Elizabeth suggested that she was as much interested in little Charles as she was her own daughters; that is to say, not at all. Nevertheless, Elizabeth thought she ought to write her.

Mrs. Milne, 

How long it has been since we last spoke! I do hope you and Mr. Milne and Persephone and Helena are continuing on in good health. This dreadful weather we are having has not been any advantage to Hertfordshire, but I understand it is this way everywhere so likely there is no use complaining about it.

Your brother’s son is doing very well. He quite amazed me the other day by counting to one hundred, wholly unprompted, and my father has been teaching him all about astronomy and the sciences. Little Charles seems to find it excessively fascinating. Unlike either your brother or my sister, he also enjoys time with his books; nearly anything will capture him and he often stares at the words on the page doing his best to make them out. Such simple joy there is seeing the awakening of his mind and wit!—I am sure you shall encounter such pleasures in your little daughters as well. 

Elizabeth went on then, relating other little stories from the neighbourhood, though it had been many years since Caroline had seen any of them. When at last she had exhausted her store of on dit of little consequence, she came to the true object of her letter.

We had something of a shock several weeks ago—at least to me it was a shock. To my father, it seems the news was not wholly unknown. Evidently your brother, before his death, named an old friend of his as Charles’ guardian. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy is his guardian and though having had nothing to do with him, or us, these many years, he intends to take him off to his estate in Derbyshire.

Elizabeth paused a moment, swallowing against the flood of emotion such simple words raised. With a deep breath, she went on.

You might imagine how I perceived such news and intentions and, as such, I have managed to secure a position with Mr. Darcy’s household. I shall go with Charles, to serve as his governess though he is full young to need one just now. I would say Mr. Darcy invited me, but to say he acquiesced to my demand has more truth in it. We will leave Longbourn very soon and I shall write to you as soon as I am settled to provide you the direction.

As Mr. Darcy was of enough importance to your brother to induce your brother to remand his child into his care, I must presume he is a man of good character. Surely you must have known something of him from your younger days and I pray you will write to me and tell me good things of the gentleman, that my anxieties over leaving my home and entering his will be quelled. I do understand he was once married? I wonder what became of his wife. 

Warmest regards, 

Elizabeth

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