She would at last wrench her mind away from such self-flagellation, only to have the fate of her daughters rise like a spectre. Within ten years, Sarah would be sixteen, Laura close to fifteen; precious little time to find a means of securing their futures, if that security was to be provided in the form of a sum sufficient for independence. How could she possibly set by enough? She ran their household with such efficiency, she made a small annual profit; not for nothing was she the child of William Lucas, a merchant before his elevation in society. But she had no illusions of being able to provide substantially for both girls. She would have to find a legal way around the Longbourn entail, and how was she to succeed where Mr Bennet had failed? Lady Catherine might be cultivated as an ally: she who had managed to preserve Rosings for her daughter. But how was she to approach her ladyship on such a matter, and in such a way that Mr Collins – who would most likely be appalled to discover his own wife intended tampering with his inheritance – did not find out?

She drew up numerous plans, friends who might be prevailed upon to assist, avenues to pursue; but in those bleak midnight hours, she quailed at the enormity of the task and her own ignorance of the law.

CHAPTER III

CHARLOTTE FOUND HERSELF AFFLICTED BY a more private matter of bodily health as well. A few days after the funeral, she had begun her monthly courses earlier than usual. Charlotte was physically robust, and this was not usually a matter that troubled her, but after more than a week passed with the flow as heavy as ever, she grew alarmed. Visions of a canker or wastage that would render her daughters motherless haunted her already hideous nights. She was tempted to mention the matter to Elizabeth, who, after the early impulse that had led her to share her own sorrows, had shown her old friend nothing but kindness and many attempts at solicitous distraction during the fortnight of her visit. But something held Charlotte back from discussing the vagaries of the female body with a friend who had recently suffered a miscarriage.

When another week had passed, with no lessening of her problem, she paid a discreet visit to Mrs Talbot, the village midwife, under the guise of dropping off napkins for a parishioner’s laying-in. Mrs Talbot had delivered all three of Charlotte’s children, and the two women were close without the expectations or rituals of friendship. She uttered condolences all the more sincere for being terse, and did not allude to Tom’s condition or suggest that his death had been in any way some sort of merciful release, commenting only on the sweetness of his temper.