Elizabeth Marton

This is also a historical fiction. Enjoy!

From even her first sighting of him, Elizabeth strongly despises Fitzwilliam Emmerson, the silent, surly friend of Edmund Fitzwield, owner of a nearby estate. However when things take a funny turn and something more than what Miss Marton could ever have anticipated is revealed, she begins to realize
exactly how wrongly judgemental she has been, particularly concerning Mr. Emmerson's father...

5Likes
9Comments
4193Views
AA

19. 19

Mr. Emmerson was told to leave after that, and Elizabeth really did begin to cry a little then. Her father ignored it, which just gave  her cause to sob harder. Mr Fitzwield whom was stood by the fireplace, sadly shaking his head, came and tried to comfort her, but his attempts were in vain, for his presence just made it, on top of everything, rather a lot worse.

 

Mr Fitzwield, Janet and Lucinda went home soon after Mr. Emmerson's melancholy departure and Elizabeth retired back to her bedroom, where she leant against her door and wept four a half-hour. Then, exhausted at last, she went to bed and fell into sleep - a restless one, certainly, but it was better than nothing. She did, however, toss and turn for most of the night, her damp pillow making for a most uncomfortable one, unable, truly, to find relief in resting, but neither, apparently, in waking, for Elizabeth Marton spent spent the next few weeks trapped in a world halfway through dreams and reality. Dreams, that is, that were more like nightmares and reality that was much the same. No one, not even Janet, dearest Janet, came to visit her. She also heard nothing from this so-called "John Faxton" although when she reminded herself of this hope it did give her mood an opportunity to lift a little, if only slightly. Finally, however, as Elizabeth slept one morning - a habit she had recently acquired and now spent a lot of time doing - there came a soft tap at her bedroom window. Then, a second later, a rustling of paper and then of leaves occurred and, at this, Elizabeth sat up and stared in wonder in the direction of her curtained window. It was a few moments, even, after that before Elizabeth could rouse herself to approach the window, lift aside the heavily embroidered curtain and take in the sight that awaited her there: A small, slightly bent, heavily sealed envelope. It was not named. Fingers trembling, Elizabeth picked it up and, after carefully breaking the seal, she allowed herself to look inside. Just as she had expected, a letter came out, and it was a letter of two pages.

 

"Dearest Elizabeth,"

She read.

"I am supremely sorry that I did not write sooner, or even once, to reassure you or attempt to comfort you over the last few weeks. If I were to ungraciously excuse my nerve-enticing behaviour, then I should tell you this: I feared interception. I merely supposed that any mail you received would be monitored and it is as of that one suspicion of mine that this letter was also delivered by the means and confidence of the stable boy - whom is, by the way, exceptionally good at climbing ivy plants. Next time, I hope, I will indeed use the postman, as well as my pen name (J.J. Faxton) and the letter ought be delivered within a much shorter time period.

For now, however, I wish merely to bid you good day and to tell you that I am in good health - although I am still exceptionally gloomy.

Much love and regard,

~F.E."

Elizabeth finished reading, her spirits vastly lifted and, picking up her pen, she scribbled her answer.

 

"Dear Fitzwilliam,

I imagine Mr Fitzwield has been the one whom has been providing you with comfort over the past few weeks. He is a very amiable man and a very good friend. Jnet is exceedingly lucky to have him and, speaking of Janet, could you perhaps ask her to write? I am missing her - as well as your - company so much.

I am in fair spirits  No, indeed I am not in a fair mood; I am very miserable and shall not lie to you about it. Do you remember, though, that ball at which Mr Fitzwield made us play the piano together? Oh, how I feel even he knew of our love before we did... And so obvious it seems now, too! You knew the song I played, as well! By the lord I have never met any person outside of my family circle whom knew that song as well as I! How do you know of it?

Yours, with much love and affection,

Elizabeth."

Then, still smiling as she slid the letter into an envelope and sealed it carefully, Elizabeth took up the note and her parasol and headed, not for the post-office, but for the dairy in the grounds of her own house.

 

Hannah, a young girl of about Kitty Marton's age, had worked and lived at Roland house all her life, her mother being the cook. She was a gentle, rosy-cheeked little creature, with blonde hair shoved up under a cap and, as a result of the fact that she was trusted by everyone, what with her reputation of being an extremely good servant, Elizabeth knew that it was Hannah whom she ought turn to.

 

And so, off went Elizabeth in search of the dairy maid, soon finding her speaking to the butler about silverware just behind the stables. Upon seeing Miss Marton, the pair hastilly bowed and curtsied and, when Elizabeth made it plain to the butler that she required a private word with Hannah, he left courteously, with a nod of his head, leaving the two girls in peace.

"Hannah." said Elizabeth in her most authoritative manner as soon as they were alone. "I have come to ask you a favour."

Hannah blinked, vaguely surprised "Indeed, Miss. What is it you require?"

"Deliver this letter to Mr. Emmerson at Inklefields. And mind you keep quiet about it!" and Elizabeth put the envelope into the maid's hand.

"Of course, Miss..." Hannah curtsied. Then, unusually, but not at all rudely, she added. "But Miss Elizabeth! Why would you ask me?"

"Because you are the most trustworthy."

Hannah beamed "Oh, Miss" You are far too kind to me!" she cried, giving a little leap of excitement. Then, she at once stopped leaping and looked, suddenly serious at Elizabeth. "Pardon me for being so nosey and prying, Miss," she politely said, lowering her voice slightly. "but is it... A love letter?"

Elizabeth found her cheeks reddening. "That, it may be considered as." she said quietly, smiling shyly "Although it is not one of much sentimental feeling."

Hannah humbly bowed her head, feeling as though, this time, she had asked one question too many. However, it was not so and Elizabeth had yet another word to speak. Deciding she could trust the servant girl, Elizabeth pressed on. "My true feelings towards Fitzwilliam Emmerson, the recipient of this letter, are as follows: He is a perfectly civil gentleman and, whilst he may - or may not; it is not my part to say - have some minor faults, I honor him above any other man in my acquaintance and feel strongly the presence of every one of his superior qualities." Then Elizabeth found herself struck by another thought, this one, too, which was told to the dutiful dairy maid and which both young ladies giggled at and which made Elizabeth blush again. "That, and the fact that all Mr. Emmerson's features are in extremely fine proportion!"

 

Hannah, once she had, at last, smothered her girlish laughter, bobbed her young mistress yet another curtsey. "I shall deliver this letter immediately, Miss." she said, as Elizabeth dismissed her. And she walked away, ever the sweet gentle post-lady. Smiling to herself, Elizabeth turned and took a stroll about the garden, feeling, very much as though a little of the weight upon her shoulders had been finally lifted.

 
Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...