“Surely there has been some sort of misunderstanding.”
Sam lumbered into the house toward the other chair, but Elizabeth blocked his way. “This must be a mistake,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height, even if it was a foot shorter than Sam’s. “Mrs. Wiley has a lease.”
The stable hand fidgeted under her gaze. She was no longer the daughter of Longbourn’s master, but respect for her was ingrained. “I have my orders, Miss Bennet. She must be put off the estate today.”
“Who gave you the orders?” she demanded despite a sick feeling that she knew the answer.
“From Mr. Collins himself,” the man replied. “And I ain’t getting paid if I don’t do it sharpish.”
Elizabeth sighed; it was the answer she expected. Taking advantage of her distraction, Sam dodged around her and grabbed a hastily packed trunk. As he shouldered it and carried it from the cottage, Mrs. Wiley gave a loud sob, prompting the other woman to put her arm around her friend’s shoulders.
Elizabeth longed to knock the trunk from his grasp and attack him with her fists, but it was not his fault. Sam was basically a good soul who was only following orders. Naturally, he was far more intimidated by Collins than any of the women; he wanted to keep his position at Longbourn.
Sad to say, Elizabeth was not even surprised that her cousin had broken his word. He was quite adept at justifying just about anything he wanted to do. Briefly she considered returning to Longbourn Manor to plead the widow’s case again, but that would leave the woman alone and unprotected in the meantime.
She met Mrs. Wiley’s eyes. “I shall not abandon you and the children.”
“Bless you,” the older woman said, but there was little hope in her face as she watched Sam carry a pile of bedding to the cart.
“Do you have any relatives to take you in?” Elizabeth asked.
Mrs. Wiley hugged her older boy to her side. “No, miss. All my folks live down Cornwall way. Times are hard, and nobody can take in three more mouths to feed.”
Mrs. Greeves glanced at Elizabeth apologetically. “I wish we could take them, but—”
“Of course not,” Elizabeth assured her. The Greeves had six children; they could not afford to support another family. But Sam must have instructions to take the Wiley family to the poorhouse if they had nowhere else to go.
All of the tenants were struggling. Silently she castigated her cousin and his need for profitability. No doubt Lady Catherine had impressed upon him the necessity that landowners must be ruthless or similar nonsense. Elizabeth recalled Mr. Darcy upbraiding his aunt for failing to treat her tenants well. She could not recall the specific offense, but he had been quite stern with his aunt when he was usually deferential. She had an odd moment of longing for Mr. Darcy’s presence; he would know how to handle this situation. You are being silly, Elizabeth, she told herself. He would handle it by spending money; you do not have that option.
She stared at the cottage’s water-stained walls. It was here: the Rubicon she had known was approaching. Up until this moment she had skirted the fine line between obedience to her cousin and covert care for the tenants. If Collins discovered the amount of food she regularly supplied to the tenants, he would be angry, but it would not be construed as a defiance of his authority.
But any meaningful action to help the Wileys would cross quite firmly into the realm of disobedience. Her insides fluttered nervously. The moment of decision was at hand. She stared into the face of Mrs. Wiley’s sobbing child. I should not fool myself; I made this decision long ago. I am merely acting on it now.
“All will be well.” She gave the woman a reassuring smile. “I have a plan.”
Mrs. Wiley nodded, but her expression was dubious. Elizabeth could hardly blame the woman; even she did not know if her plan would succeed. Quickly she explained the idea to the widow, who agreed readily enough despite her doubts. Anything was better than the poorhouse.
As Elizabeth hurried from the house, she dug around in the pocket of her dress, finding a few coins remaining from an earlier trip into town.
Sam was lashing the last of the Wileys’ belongings securely to the cart.
“Hello, Sam,” she said, striving to imbue her tone with warmth.
“Miss.” He nodded respectfully.
“This is a sad business, is it not?”
He hung his head. “It is indeed. I don’t like forcing a woman out of her house, but I don’t want the master to turn me out neither.”
“Of course not. Such a shame the family has nowhere to go but the poorhouse.” She opened her hand to reveal the coins, drawing Sam’s attention. “But I was thinking… There is an old cabin on the edge of the North Field, near the woods. Nobody lives there….The Wileys could inhabit it without disturbing anyone.”
Sam’s brow furrowed. “Would the master like it?”
“There is no reason he has to know. It would be a temporary solution,” she hastened to add. “Until I might find a new home for them.” Surely one of the local landowners would be compassionate enough to give them a cottage until John was of age.
Sam’s eyes focused on the coins, a month’s pay for him.
“You would be doing her and me a great favor,” Elizabeth said.