Elizabeth and Jane laughed, and Mary smiled.
“Do you remember what Mama taught you in the still room?” Elizabeth inquired. “She was always having to correct me. 'Grind it finer, Lizzy. It is not dry enough yet, Lizzy. Do not touch that, Lizzy, it is too strong for a girl your age.’” She chuckled. “She was always certain I would eat everything and poison myself.”
“Was she wrong?” Jane asked mildly, her eyes twinkling.
Elizabeth put her nose up in the air and pretended not to hear whilst her sisters laughed.
“She taught me how to make lavender water,” Lydia said, pressing her eyelids closed and concentrating. “I remember that.”
“That is a good memory,” Jane said soothingly.
“I recall learning how to brew willow bark tea,” Kitty added before she pulled a face. “I dislike how it tastes.”
“No,” Elizabeth said emphatically. “It is so bitter!”
“I remember that Mama was always best pleased with me when I followed her instructions perfectly,” Mary offered shyly. “She called me clever.”
“She was always impressed with your memory for details,” Elizabeth said. “I envied you that.”
Mary’s eyes widened and her cheeks pinked. “You did?”
“I did. I do,” Elizabeth replied. “Unfortunately for me, you are such a dear I cannot hate you for it!”
Mary giggled a little.
“What would she say if she were here now?” Jane wondered.
Elizabeth wondered too. She loved her mother, but would she have taken her father’s position, that Mr. Collins was too foolish to be a good match for any of his daughters? Or would she have worried about the entail?
“Papa has always accepted the entail as a part of life,” Jane mused.
“It is really more of a strict settlement,” Elizabeth said, “or Papa would have been able to break it, but he says ‘entail’ requires less explanation.” She paused to look at each of her sisters. “He inherited some years before we returned, you know. He meant to add the income from the estate to Mama’s jointure so that she would never have to worry about money after his death.”
“But she died first,” Kitty said sadly.
“He continues to invest with Uncle Gardiner in London, too,” Elizabeth added. “And when we marry, we shall each have a portion of those funds for a dowry. Perhaps because we were already used to living on what he had as a general, Papa never treated Longbourn’s income as something to fritter away. I doubt he even bothered to tell Mama how much it was.”
“How much is it, Lizzy?” Lydia pressed forward.
Elizabeth shrugged. An inelegant movement, but surely it would not matter when she was alone with her sisters. “Papa does not share that information with me, Lydia. Is it not enough that we are so very well off compared to nearly every other family in England?” She suspected an amount of about two thousand a year, but she did not know for certain and in this, at least, would not speak out of turn.
“There are many people who have more.” Lydia sat back, dissatisfaction writ across her features.
“Not so very many, and certainly not locally.” Mary picked up her sewing. “You forget that not all the world is comprised of landowners. Uncle Phillips does not make near the income Papa does, yet he and Aunt Phillips do well.”
“There is also Uncle Gardiner.” Elizabeth followed Mary’s lead by mentioning their mother’s brother. “Though he may prove the exception, as his business interests have done exceptionally well. His income may even now rival or exceed Papa’s.”
“He must live in London, though,” Mary said, her nose wrinkling. “Everything is so expensive there.”
Elizabeth agreed. Here at Longbourn, so much was provided for them. They did not pay for a lease, they could grow or raise most of their own food, they even had a small coppice where they could continually grow trees to provide wood for the estate. Her uncle Gardiner had to spend his money for all those things.
“We shall see the Gardiners at Christmas,” Jane said. “And I do hope the children will accompany them.”
“So do I.” Lydia picked up her sewing, but quickly put it down again and retrieved her bonnet instead. “I enjoy not being the youngest in the house.”
Jane smiled at their youngest sister. “It must be a trial, Lyddie,” she said without any indication of irony.
“Oh, it is,” Lydia declared earnestly.