Hertfordshire, September 1803

Elizabeth Bennet skipped down the path from Longbourn, her father’s estate house, as she headed out for her morning walk. At thirteen years old, Lizzy knew that her remaining days of skipping, running, and other unladylike behaviors were few in number. Her elder sister, Jane, had recently come out to the local society, and from Lizzy’s perspective, it was dreadful.

Fifteen-year-old Jane required fittings for the plethora of dresses that their mother Fanny Bennet insisted were imperative for a daughter as beautiful as Jane. Jane, her mother declared, had a beauty that would lead to a great match if only she would follow all of her mother’s edicts regarding appropriate behavior for a gentleman’s daughter. Not being the daughter of a gentleman herself was immaterial, in Fanny’s mind.

Opportunities to escape Longbourn and its noise were becoming increasingly rare as there had been no children born since Lydia’s entrance to the world eight years prior. Longbourn was entailed outside the female line, and an unknown cousin was due to inherit should Thomas Bennet not birth a son. Fanny Bennet’s nerves had become increasingly agitated with each girl child she bore, and now it was clear that her childbearing days were over.

While Fanny loved all of her girls, she was quite vocal about her heightened love for Jane and seven-year-old Lydia. Their appearances were like Fanny’s had been when she was a girl, so she naturally preferred them to the remaining three girls, whose looks favored their father. Their headstrong and stubborn personalities mirrored their father’s as well, much to Fanny’s eternal consternation.

Lizzy soon reached the forested path beyond the hedgerows that bordered the small wilderness outside her home. Once she was sure she was out of view of anyone who might happen to peer out the window, she broke into a run. This was freedom.

Several minutes later, Lizzy stopped, panting for breath. As she drank the cool water at the nearby stream, her thoughts again wandered to the morning’s events and the chaos she had escaped.

At eight years old, Lydia had discovered that her mother would give her anything she demanded in order to avoid any fuss. As a result, Lydia was becoming spoiled and unmanageable. Unfortunately, Fanny did not see anything wrong with her precious angel’s behavior.

That morning, as Jane was fitted for her newest batch of gowns, Lydia insisted upon being attended to as well. Her rambunctious behavior upset the seamstress madame, who threatened to leave and take her bolts of fabric with her. Lizzy managed to slipped out the door as her mother wailed for her smelling salts and berated the seamstress for not allowing Lydia to fondle the silks and muslins. Fanny had appeared not to notice that Lydia’s hands were encrusted with jam and crumbs from the last of the biscuits, which Cook had reluctantly relinquished to the entitled Lydia before breakfast.

Lizzy grimaced as she recalled how Lydia had waited to eat the treats until Kitty and Mary had risen, shoving them in her mouth and chewing noisily, reveling in the fact that there were none left for her sisters. Kitty had wailed in a fit of temper that was more appropriate for a child of two than of ten, only to be hushed by her mother for upsetting Fanny’s nerves so early in the morning. Conversely, Mary maintained a stoic countenance aside from a glimmer of tears behind her glasses. Even at the tender age of twelve, Mary had long ago learned that to betray emotion only increased Lydia’s delight at tormenting her sisters.

Lizzy shook her head in consternation as she recollected her father’s droll voice echoing above the din—mocking the scene in front of him—and Jane’s placid face betraying no hint of disquiet. How can Jane be so entirely unaffected by such behavior? Lizzy wondered in frustration. She knew Jane, with her mild temperament, would find a way to excuse the uncouth behavior of both her mother and sister, as she always did.

Stumbling over a tree root, Lizzy jolted from her musings and realized she had reached the border between Longbourn and Netherfield—the neighboring estate—and suddenly halted, unease filling her mind.

Netherfield was owned by Lord _____, who spent most of his time in London. His lordship gave his steward, Mr. Cartwright, carte blanche to run the estate and manage the tenants as he saw fit. Many members of the aristocracy did similarly, but none of them had a steward as wonderful as Mr. Cartwright.

Mr. Cartwright was a favorite of the adults among the four and twenty neighborhood families that dined together. He was well-mannered and charismatic, and he managed Netherfield with fairness and dedication. Indeed, the man was entirely amiable and gentlemanlike. The children loved him because he always had a sweet or two for them in his pocket.

However, Mr. Cartwright was also rather particular and fastidious, as befitted a man of his position. He did not permit neighboring children—regardless of their station to trespass on Netherfield lands. Everybody minded Mr. Cartwright in this matter, including Lizzy.

Retreating slowly, Lizzy turned and scuttled back down the path toward home.

***

A few hours later, Lizzy approached her home. By the angry shouts echoing across the lawn from the open drawing room window, it was clear that the seamstress was still there. Instead of entering through the front door, Lizzy opted to make use of the servants’ entrance in the kitchen.

Upon entering the room, Lizzy noticed Hill and Cook whispering animatedly near the pot over the fire. Hearing the door close, the women startled and fell conspicuously silent. After a few moments, Hill came forward and scolded, “Just look at you, Miss Lizzy! Covered in dirt from head to foot! Mark my words, your mother will be fit to be tied if she sees you in such a state at your age! Quickly, up the stairs and I’ll send Sally up with some water.”

Lizzy turned toward the staircase and made to climb it. Her foot hesitated on the first step, and she glanced back. She was surprised to notice Hill staring at her, a pensive expression on her face.

“Yes, Hill?” Lizzy asked, “Did you need something from me?”

“Miss Lizzy, where did you walk today?” Hill inquired, seeming to ignore the question.

“Along the stream towards Netherfield. Why?”

Hill hesitated, then ventured, “Miss Lizzy, just be careful around Netherfield’s lands. That’s all.”

Lizzy stared at Hill for a moment, waiting for her to continue. When the woman did not offer further explanation, Lizzy asked, “Why? Is it dangerous?” Lizzy laughed lightly at the mildly ridiculous notion.

Hill hesitated again before replying. “Just – just be careful, Miss Lizzy, that’s all I’m saying.”

When it became clear Hill would not elaborate, Lizzy nodded and continued up the stairs to freshen herself before her mother noticed her state of disarray.

***

Some weeks later, Lizzy found herself walking the same trail toward Netherfield. As she approached the boundary between Longbourn’s tenants and Netherfield’s, she paused.

As Lizzy deliberated continuing onward to satisfy her curiosity about Hill’s strange warning, something made the decision for her. A faint sobbing reached Lizzy’s ears. As she strained to hear where the sound was coming from, she noticed a bonnet blowing across a Netherfield tenant’s field, ribbons trailing behind. A few moments later, she saw a girl around Jane’s age stumbling fruitlessly after it.

Lizzy didn’t hesitate – she rushed down the small hill and raced to intercept the bonnet that swept in her direction. Scooping up the accessory, she slowed her pace but continued toward the girl, intent on returning the bonnet to its owner.

As she grew nearer, Lizzy was startled to recognize Becky, the daughter of one of Netherfield’s tenants. Becky was only twelve years old, but she had grown in height and development to appear some years older. Becky’s eyes were red with tears.

“Oh, Miss Lizzy,” Becky gasped as she approached, “Thank you ever so much.” Becky hastily wiped at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve and grabbed at the bonnet, refusing to meet Lizzy’s questioning gaze.

“Becky,” asked Lizzy, “are you quite all right?” Her sharp eyes took in Becky’s state of dress, which was in disarray. The buttons were misaligned, and there was grass and dirt on the younger girl’s hem.

“Yes, Miss Lizzy,” Becky answered, eyes cast downward. She grabbed once more at the bonnet; this time, Lizzy allowed her to take it.

“Becky!” boomed a harsh, angry voice. Becky’s eyes widened in fear as she turned frantically to look behind her to locate the source of the voice. Lizzy could see that the entire back of Becky’s dress was covered with grass and dirt, and she had twigs in her hair.

“Becky, you stupid chit, get back here right now!” The angry voice was drawing closer. Becky’s wide eyes met Lizzy’s, pleading silently.

“Quick!” Lizzy ordered. “Run toward the trees and hide! I’ll distract whoever it is.”

“No, Miss Lizzy! You mustn’t!” Lizzy didn’t think it was possible for Becky to be more frightened, but she was. “It will make things worse, it will. Mr. Cart——.” Becky froze mid sentence.

Lizzy gasped. “Mr. Cartwright? Is that who you are running from? I didn’t recognize his voice.” Lizzy paused for a moment, considering. “Did he hurt you, Becky?”

Becky began to stammer and backed away, shaking her head emphatically. “No, Miss Lizzy! Please don’t ask any questions. Twill only make things worse.”

“But Becky,” Lizzy insisted, “if someone is hurting you, then maybe I can help. Papa could –”

“No!” Becky said firmly. “Miss Lizzy, you mustn’t say anything of what you saw to anyone, especially the gentry. I would be ruined, and my family would be turned from their homes. That’s just the way it works at Netherfield.”

“I don’t understand,” Lizzy said.

“Please, Miss Lizzy. Promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. Not one word to a single soul.”

Lizzy hesitated.

“Promise me!”

Lizzy considered the desperation in Becky’s eyes. “Alright, Becky. I promise.”

Becky breathed a sigh of relief. Her body tightened in fear again, however, when the murderous voice rang out again. “Becky! Mark my words, girl, if you keep me waiting any longer, things will be much worse for you than they already are!”

Becky looked at Lizzy with desperate eyes, “Run, Miss Lizzy!” she whispered urgently, “Run and hide!”

Lizzy felt a shiver of dread slither up her spine as Becky’s terror began to infect her sensibilities. She knew, however, that she should remain and aid the distressed younger girl. She opened her mouth to refuse to leave when Becky suddenly shoved her with surprising force toward Longbourn’s fields.

“Go!” Becky ordered emphatically, then turned and ran toward the voice.

Lizzy scrambled back up the slope toward the trees. Once hidden safely on Longbourn’s land, she paused, gasping for breath. Turning, she spied Mr. Cartwright mounting a nearby knoll as Becky sped toward him.

“Forgive me, sir!” Becky cried. “The wind carried the bonnet faster than I could run.”

Mr. Cartwright’s hand lashed out, striking her across the cheek. Becky tumbled to the ground. Lizzy gasped in horror, then covered her mouth with both hands as tears filled her eyes.

Becky’s hands cupped her already-swelling face. “Please, sir-” she begged.

Lizzy turned away as she heard another loud slap echo across the grounds. Unable to bear what was sure to follow, she fled toward home. Becky rose, unsteady on her feet. She swayed as she walked, which led Mr. Cartwright to grab her by the hair that was falling down around her face. “Quickly, girl!” he ordered.

Lizzy watched mutely, tears streaming down her face. As they disappeared from view, she saw Mr. Cartwright begin pulling Becky’s dress down around her shoulders.

Lizzy stood rooted in her place, time passing unnoticed as she kept her eyes on the spot she had last seen Becky and Mr. Cartwright. Being the second oldest of five children and a country girl who enjoyed nature, Lizzy was somewhat aware of the behavior between men and women. However, she had never before seen such brutality, especially towards someone her own age.

After what must have been hours, Lizzy began to feel chilled. She looked around and noticed that the sun was beginning to lower behind Oakham Mount. Realizing the lateness of the hour, Lizzy began to run towards home.

As she ran, Lizzy struggled to process everything she had seen. She knew that tenants were under the power of stewards and masters. She knew her own father was indolent, but she had never known him to be vicious or intentionally cruel. She had thought the same of Mr. Cartwright. It was difficult to reconcile such evil with such a handsome face and pleasant countenance.

Should she tell someone? Lizzy immediately discounted her mother – all Franny would do is gossip to the neighbors, which would ruin Becky and destroy her family. Perhaps Papa? Lizzy recalled her father reclining in his study with a book and port, firmly entrenched in his favorite chair and spectating on his family’s lives. If he couldn’t stir himself to tend to his own daughters’ behaviors, he certainly would not exert himself on the behalf of a common drudge who wasn’t even his own tenant.

Lizzy contemplated telling her dear elder sister, but she knew Jane’s gentle nature would reject the notion of such wickedness in a man with whom they were acquainted. Jane would insist that it was all a misunderstanding. Certainly Mr. Cartwright has the appearance of goodness and amiability! Jane would insist. Next, Lizzy considered Hill. Based on Hill’s odd behavior in discussing Netherfield land a few weeks before, the reputable servant most likely already knew—or at least suspected—Mr. Cartwright’s true character.

No, Lizzy concluded. I mustn’t tell anyone. And I will never trust a handsome face again until I know what character lies behind it.