by A K Madison
“Now there is audacity. I have no idea of how he received the news before I did, but that was the incident that delayed me this morning. The rector, Mr. Maury, has died suddenly and unexpectedly from an illness. I have arranged for a curate and looked after the other formalities just this morning.”
“He seemed just the slightest bit put out that I was aware you had compensated him handsomely for the living.”
“He must think he can come to me at any point when it falls vacant. I shall decide about who should have the living once we have returned to Pemberley after our wedding. It is a decision that merits some serious thought.”
“It is like you not to make an ill-judged decision.”
“Fortunately, the bishop is well acquainted with Wickham’s behavior, and he will be a strong ally. However, the living is mine to give. Have you spoken with your mother?”
“I spoke with her this morning after Wickham and the others had left. I told her all, just as you said I should. She assured me of her secrecy, attended carefully to what I was saying, and finished by saying she might have questions for you. What she did not do spoke volumes. She did not go posting off to her sister or friends to share the gossip. I believe she will keep her promise of secrecy.”
The lovers were disturbed by Mrs. Bennet’s voice. “Lizzy? Is Mr. Darcy come? Is he out here with you?” The pair stood and emerged from the branches of the willow.
“Mama, we were hoping for a private conference with you. Mr. Darcy is prepared to answer your questions about what we discussed this morning.”
Darcy stood aside and assisted each lady up the short, rustic step into the wilderness. He seated Mrs. Bennet carefully on one bench and took his place beside Elizabeth on the opposite side.
There was a lengthy, somewhat awkward pause before Mrs. Bennet spoke. “Mr. Darcy, it is well-nigh impossible to believe in such wickedness as Lizzy related to me this morning. Yet I believe it. You have been kind to my children and to me, and you are an honorable man.” She paused for a moment and swallowed. “I must also tell you that I heard him this morning, heard him speaking to Lizzy about the living you have within your gift at whatever parish that is. It caused me to think about last year, about how ready he was to regale all of us, with the tales of his misfortune and your unkindness. It did not occur to me until just now how unseemly that was, how unusual to bring such matters up before strangers. You have given me information that will help me protect my girls, and I am grateful for it.”
She pressed his hand and let it go. “Now I must ask you for advice, Mr. Darcy.”
“Any information I have is at your disposal, madam.”
“I am sore tempted simply to forbid him the house. But it seems to me that would generate more gossip than we wish. Of course, he will never be alone with my girls, and they will never meet him without a proper chaperone. But should I simply cut his acquaintance or is there some middle ground I should take? It is all too confusing! I should also tell you that there are rumors hereabouts. He owes money to tradesmen right here in Meryton. And he may have trifled with their daughters.”
“I am unsurprised. For now, Mrs. Bennet, you may wish to continue with your policy that because your family is in mourning, it is unseemly for the girls to be much in the company of the officers. The officers may grow bored and move on to greener pastures. I plan to ask my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, to have a word with Colonel Forster. But for now, vigilance is the key.”
Mrs. Bennet stood. “I am indebted to you once again, Mr. Darcy, for helping me to protect my girls. And now, if you two doves have done with billing and cooing, luncheon will be on the table in fifteen minutes.” She turned to go, and to Elizabeth’s relief, she proceeded across the garden at a leisurely, thoughtful pace. Had she been bent on gossip, she would have been in a great hurry.
“My mother amazes me,” said Elizabeth. “I do not yet trust her completely, yet she has done remarkably well with all of these new burdens. And I do feel she can be trusted with this secret. She has received, by some miracle, the gift of empathy. She understands your concern for your sister.”
Luncheon was for the most part a merry affair. Darcy amused the group by engaging the two younger girls in a discussion of their reading. Lydia answered him seriously. “Mr. Darcy, I have read the story of Romeo and Juliet in Mr. Lamb’s book. Which, by the way, should be the book of Mr. and Miss Lamb, since she wrote more than half the tales. I have also read the play in the Family Shakespeare. I have not, however, read it in the real Shakespeare, though I intend to do so.”
“You make a fair point about Miss Lamb, Miss Lydia. Have you formed any conclusions about the story told by the play?”
“I have. It is a play about how six people die because the passions of two adolescents are stronger than their good sense.” She paused and thought. “But there is more to it than that. They also die because the grown people, who should be trustworthy advisors, are too busy with their own affairs to advise their children. All they needed was one grown person to put a stop to the nonsense, and everything would have been fine.” Lydia paused for breath, took a sip of her lemonade, and glared at Darcy defiantly. “I know you will say I have got it all wrong.”
“Quite the contrary. I find your views practical and realistic.”
Elizabeth interrupted. “Also, Lydia, by the time I was your age I had dispensed with the Family Shakespeare. So had Jane.”
“What do you mean by that, Lizzy?” Mary looked incensed. “I am still reading the Family Shakespeare.”
Kitty looked embarrassed. “Well, I read ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ and thought it was a lovely fairy tale. In fact, I did several sketches based on the plot. Perhaps I should read it again. May I report to you later, Mr. Darcy?”
“Certainly, Miss Catherine. I should like to see your sketches as well. Not everyone has the same gifts, and you have expressed your views through your art.”
After luncheon the Bingleys came, and the families began the joint planning that would be needed to prepare for the move to Rose Cottage on March 17th. “Tis almost upon us. I can scarcely believe it,” Mrs. Bennet was heard to say on more than one occasion. However, she stood by her numerous lists, and no one found them wanting.
“The painting is done,” said Jane. “And the curtains and draperies have been hung. Uncle Gardiner has sent the rugs, and the floors are beautiful. I have sent two of the maids to do the final dusting and cleaning.”
“The kitchen furnishings finally arrived yesterday,” added Bingley. “And the men are installing and testing the stove even now. I have but one concern left on my list, and that is Mr. Bennet’s library. Those books should be crated and moved.”
“Lizzy, Mary, you will have to be responsible for packing them, and you had better step lively.” Mrs. Bennet settled back and fanned herself with her handkerchief. “I will take the furnishings in my bedchamber, which I brought into my marriage, and as well my wedding china and table linens.” She looked at Darcy. “Those things are spelled out in my marriage articles, and my brother Philips keeps those papers safe on my behalf.”
“Charlotte did write to us about keeping whatever we wanted, Mama.”
“Yes, Lizzy, and I trust Mr. Collins about as far as I could throw him out the door.”
“You are wise, Mama.”
“Thank you, Lizzy.” Mrs. Bennet settled her hands in her lap. “So, my dears, I believe we shall be ready to spend the night at Netherfield on March 16th and our first night at Rose Cottage on March 17th. Lady Lucas has asked that those servants not accompanying us be left here at Longbourn, so our responsibility for paying them will be at an end on the 16th day of March.”
“Well done, Mama,” said Jane. “I believe we have covered everything.”
No one thought to look at Mary, who was hiding her sorrow with difficulty. Bingley looked over, saw her, and went to sit beside her, taking her hand. “Sister Mary, I can imagine you are regretting the loss of your music, are you not?”
&
nbsp; Mary nodded, unable to speak.
“You are not to worry. Did you happen to realize that there are three pianofortes at Netherfield? Three? I can understand why the Darcys might want three at Pemberley, but do you not think it a little ridiculous?”
“Well, Mr. Bingley, I had not thought of it.”
“Well, it is ridiculous, and my dear Jane agrees with me. You are to have the one from the drawing-room.”
“But that is the best of the three. Will not your sisters be angry?”
“Piffle. Let them be angry. I am convinced they only know one song between them, and I am bored with it. Now, dry your eyes and think no more about it.”
Mary did just that. “Then I thank you, Brother Charles.”
Chapter 18
As the date for the move drew nearer, Longbourn began to take on an abandoned quality that all of the Bennets found disconcerting. It was as though their old home were somehow saying goodbye to them. After breakfast on the 16th, Mrs. Bennet and the younger girls went to Rose Cottage to unpack some more, leaving Elizabeth with Mrs. Bennet’s wedding china and table linens. She was busy packing these when Mrs. Hill announced the Reverend William Collins. Then, for some reason known only to herself, the housekeeper stayed in the dining-room with Elizabeth and the visitor.
“Cousin Elizabeth,” said Collins bowing over her hand and actually touching it with his mouth. “Such a sad occasion. Sad indeed.” His eyes darted around the room. “What is this you are packing? Not estate property, I hope and trust.” Mrs. Hill raised her eyebrows and left the room.
“No, Mr. Collins. This is my mother’s wedding china brought by her when she married my father, as well as the linens she embroidered then and has added to over the years.”
“And I suppose these things are spelled out in the marriage articles?” He smiled tightly. “Always better to ask, you know. But then, that is not why I am here. Is there, perhaps, somewhere we could sit down?”
Elizabeth led the way silently to the parlor and rang for Susan. She stationed the maid in a chair by the window and took her mother’s habitual chair, forcing Mr. Collins to take a chair of his own rather than sitting next to her on the settee. “Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Collins. My mother is at Rose Cottage at present. Shall we send for her?”
Collins rubbed his hands on the knees of his trousers. “That will not be necessary, Elizabeth. I am here in my capacity as head of your family to inform you that the ill-advised marriage between yourself and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley will not be taking place. It is my intention to object when the banns are published, and my objections will carry both the force of my own position and the support of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. You are to abandon any thought of such an infamous marriage immediately.”
Elizabeth’s head swam, and she admitted to herself that she had never been so angry in her life. She longed for some help, any help, but she knew it might not be forthcoming. She forced herself to a place of calm and drew a breath before replying. “Mr. Collins, how on earth do you imagine yourself as head of the Bennet family? You are not a Bennet and you never have been. The relationship between yourself and my father was both distant and obscure.”
“Nevertheless, I am now the Master of Longbourn.” The man actually licked his lips.
Elizabeth repressed a shiver. “And as of tomorrow morning, anyone formerly associated with it will have vacated it entirely. My father appointed sound guardians and trustees for his surviving widow and children. Those include male relatives to whom we are united closely by blood or marriage, including my mother’s brother, my aunt’s husband, and my sister’s husband. Aside from that, my mother now enjoys the status of widow, and we, her daughters, are also her dependents. By law, her time of couverture is over, and you, sir, cannot touch her or anything that is hers. She has nothing to do with you. Why, according to the laws, she might even have a vote!”
“Well, said, dear niece,” came a voice from the doorway. Uncle Philips, summoned by the ever-astute Mrs. Hill, strode into the room and stood beside Elizabeth. “I presume you are the Reverend William Collins, sir. Miss Bennet is absolutely correct in everything I have heard her say.”
“And who might you be?” Collins did his best to look down his nose, but his face was growing slippery with sweat.
“I am Mr. Philips, attorney at law and uncle by marriage to Miss Bennet and her sisters. I have the honor to be the husband of Mrs. Bennet’s elder sister. I am furthermore, one of Miss Bennet’s joint guardians and joint trustee of the fortune she will inherit from her mother upon her mother’s death. You may recall consuming my food and drink at a party last year while you were visiting.”
“I was unaware that there was a fortune.” Collins rubbed his sweaty palms again on his trousers.
“There was no need for you to be aware, sir.”
“Uncle Philips, do sit down.”
“A cup of tea would be most welcome after my long journey, Elizabeth.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Collins. You will have to provide your own tea. The tea we have on hand here is a gift from my betrothed, Mr. Darcy. I am not certain he would approve your being given any of it because it is not part of the estate. Mrs. Hill, would you be good enough to fetch Mr. Collins a glass of water. But not in my mother’s crystal.”
Collins’ eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
“Uncle, Mr. Collins informs me he intends to object to my marriage when the banns are published. He bases his objections on two issues. Firstly, that he is somehow head of the family and may object as he pleases, and secondly, that Lady Catherine de Bourgh also objects to the marriage.”
“Is that so, niece? Well, Mr. Collins, we have several documents—duly executed, signed, and notarized—that say otherwise. First and foremost, I retain a copy of Mrs. Frances Bennet’s marriage articles, executed twenty-six years ago, spelling out precisely what items of furniture and so forth she brought into the marriage. That includes the best crystal. It also stipulates the details of the money settled on her by her father for her use during her lifetime and to be distributed to her children upon her death. So, you might just as well permit my niece to finish packing-up the dining room.” Mr. Philips cleared his throat with great portent. “Secondly, I have a notarized copy of the marriage articles executed by Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy in preparation for his marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. These were signed by Mr. Darcy and by Miss Bennet’s other trustee, Mr. Edward Gardiner, just a week or two ago in London. Miss Bennet has also signed them because she is of age. They are legally binding and enforceable.”
He turned as Mrs. Hill re-entered the room. “Ah. Here is our excellent Mrs. Hill with your water, Mr. Collins. I suggest you drink up. Mr. Darcy, as you know, has long since come of age and requires no permission from anyone to marry. Miss Bennet, as I have just said, is also of age. She has the blessing of her mother and her family.” Mr. Philips was a tall, portly man, and he loomed large over Collins when he stood. “Just because the estate is entailed to you in default of heirs male does not mean that you have any interest in or control over the deceased’s widow or her money or her belongings or his surviving children or their money or their belongings. You are not the head of this family, and you never will be.”
Collins licked his lips and began again. “It seems apparent to me that these helpless women are in desperate need of the kind of advice, the kind of leadership, that only a male family member can provide. I would be derelict in my duty if I did not prevent them from making the terrible mistake of allowing one of their number to enter into a marriage that has not been properly sanctioned.”
“Sanctioned by whom, Mr. Collins?” Mr. Philips raised his voice, elevated himself to his full height, and grew fearfully red in the face. “You have not answered me. Sanctioned properly by whom?”
“Why by one of the most illustrious personages in the land, sir. I refer to Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings in Kent.”
“De Bourgh? De Bourgh? The only de Bourgh I know of is old Si
r Lewis de Bourgh, a rake if I ever saw one. He died of the pox about twenty years ago as I recall. Is this Lady Catherine person a relation of his?”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh is his honored widow, sir, the daughter of the late Earl of Matlock and the sister of the present Earl.”
“Oh, so she’s nobody in her own right. That sounds like an honorary title to me, sir.”
“She is my most illustrious patroness—or rather former patroness—and one of the brightest ornaments of English society in our time, sir.”
“She’s somebody’s sister, married off to a man who couldn’t get a wife because nobody in their right mind wanted their daughter exposed to him. I certainly hope she made some money out of the bargain, because we can all be reasonably sure she gained something else from it. Does she not have some sort of half-witted, recluse daughter?”
“Miss Anne de Bourgh, who would be one of the brightest ornaments-”
“Yes, to be sure, one of the brightest ornaments of our time. A brilliant example of why it’s best not to get children when your ballocks are rotting off.” Mr. Philips seemed to recognize that Elizabeth was present. “My apologies, Lizzy. I am certain you are aware of all of this at some level, albeit a more genteel one.” He went on. “Now, Mr. Collins, we have one other item of business to transact. I am in receipt of a letter from you, in the form of a postscript to a letter your wife wrote, saying that March 17th met with your approval as the date for the turning-over of the estate. Do you intend to stand by that like a gentleman , or is it your intention to cause further trouble for this poor, bereaved family?”
“I have my valise, sir. I thought I might ask Mrs. Bennet for a room for the night. And I shall expect to have access to my property tomorrow morning.”
“Mrs. Bennet has no rooms available for tonight. And I would not leave you alone in any case with an unprotected family of womenfolk. I do not like your looks, Mr. Collins. I suggest you either go to your relatives at Lucas Lodge or take a room in Meryton.”