Rebellion at Longbourn

by Victoria Kincaid

  Collins arched a brow. “And yet your father did not implement it.”

  Although it felt disloyal to her father, Elizabeth had prepared for this argument. “My father did not…expect Longbourn to yield the profits that you do.” It was a diplomatic way to say her father had been a bit lazy, and Collins was rather greedy.

  Collins shook his head in a mockery of sympathy at her grief. “No, your father was too lenient with the tenants. Such was the reason why Longbourn was a shambles when I took possession. An enterprise such as this must be run with a firm hand.” Elizabeth would have bet money that he was quoting Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

  She pressed her lips together and resisted the impulse to argue with him over a claim she had heard many times before. Longbourn had fared well under her father’s ownership. To be sure, he had taken a rather laissez faire attitude toward much of the estate’s operations. It could have been more profitable if he had expended more effort, but he had treated his tenants fairly and everyone had prospered.

  But Collins was determined to portray her father’s ownership as nearly ruinous to Longbourn and view his arrival as the estate’s salvation. This narrative served him well—at least in his own mind—allowing him to justify many of his actions. As with so many other things, it was difficult to discern if the man actually believed his reasoning or was merely using it as a convenient justification for his actions.

  “These articles are quite compelling. If you would—” Mary pointed to the journal.

  Their cousin bestowed the sort of smile one gives a child who endeavors to read a book that is beyond her ability. “I am quite impressed with your efforts, Cousin. But perhaps your time would be better occupied with needlework, pianoforte practice, or Fordyce’s sermons.” Mary seemed crestfallen. Elizabeth knew that after they retreated from the room, she would need to reassure her sister that an interest in farming was not unfeminine but quite admirable.

  But Elizabeth was not quite ready to wave the white flag. “Cousin, Mary can explain the diagram—” Elizabeth attempted to draw his attention to the book.

  Collins crossed his arms over his chest. “Lady Catherine does not use such a seed drill contraption or any newfangled farming methods. If tried and true methods are good enough for her, they are certainly sufficient for Longbourn.”

  Elizabeth sighed inwardly. When Collins invoked Lady Catherine de Bourgh as his authority, it was a sure sign of impending stubbornness.

  “If the old ways are good enough for Rosings Park, they are certainly good enough for Longbourn,” Collins declared. Elizabeth could not help recalling the gaunt and unhappy tenants at Rosings Park.

  “Longbourn has not the means for such risky endeavors,” he continued, settling back in his chair and stroking his gold pocket watch as the light from the window glistened off the embroidery in his waistcoat. Although Elizabeth had not seen the estate’s accounts recently, she had been familiar enough with them during her father’s time to know what it could and could not afford. And gold pocket watches fitted into the latter category.

  No doubt Lady Catherine had advised Collins on the purchase of the clothing and the watch; they helped him play his part as lord of the manor. Certainly fancy clothes, expensive carriages, and fine wines were well within Lady Catherine’s means, but Longbourn was a far smaller estate. It was not equal to a similarly lavish lifestyle.

  Flush with his newfound wealth, Collins had spent profligately and was now in debt. But he would not cease spending lavishly. Elizabeth had tried to delicately hint that he should moderate his spending and then explained it to him in plain words, but the only result was that he had further reduced the allowances he granted to the Bennet sisters. She had overheard Charlotte pleading with her husband to spend less, but he had told her not to worry.

  Elizabeth shuddered when picturing how much money he had already spent, and undoubtedly she did not know the whole of it. Only a fortnight ago he had returned from a lengthy visit to Lady Catherine’s townhouse in London, where he had joined a gentlemen’s club and may have partaken in gambling.

  Since he would not decrease his spending, she had hoped at least he would embrace the idea of increasing the estate’s income. But now Collins gave her a patently false smile. “Your concern for Longbourn does you credit, Cousin. However, as a woman, you naturally do not understand such things. It is all accounted for in the ledgers.” He gestured vaguely toward his desk, which was entirely empty. “It has to do with credits and debits…profits and so on.”

  Elizabeth suspected she understood Longbourn’s ledgers better than Collins did or he would not be purchasing gold pocket watches.

  “You, my most exquisite cousins, should concern yourself with domestic duties—where you are doing an admirable job—and allow me to worry about the finances and such.”

  Perhaps the time had arrived when Elizabeth needed to remind him why additional income was desirable. “Of course, Longbourn is your estate and you may decide what happens here, but it is clearly in need of additional funds. The tenants’ houses—”

  Collins sighed and rolled his eyes; the tenants had raised these matters before. But Elizabeth pushed forward. “The tenants’ houses are in need of repair. Longbourn needs greater profit.” Standing, Elizabeth tapped one of the books on the desk before Collins. “I implore you, sir, to at least read the passages Mary has marked. It is your duty to Longbourn to be the best landowner you can be!”

  She knew instantly that she had pushed too far. Collins had quite a temper, although he liked to pretend he did not—one of many lies he told himself.

  Red in the face, Collins clambered to his feet. “You and Mary should not concern yourselves with these matters when there are many household tasks waiting to be performed. These journals appear to be a distraction from your ordinary duties; I shall cancel the subscriptions, and you will return these books to the library. After all, they belong to me.”

  Mary’s face was a picture of anguish. “But surely there is no harm in—”

  Collins lifted his chin. “You both live at Longbourn on my sufferance,” he intoned. “I ask little in recompense.” That was a lie but not one Elizabeth could dispute with any success. “However, I do insist that you leave the running of Longbourn to me. I know everything that happens on the estate and, therefore, am in the best position to make decisions.”

  Mary blinked back tears as Collins gathered journals and books from the table and tore still more from her arms, setting them on the floor behind his desk.

  Elizabeth put her arm around her sister as she gave Collins a cold stare. “Indeed, sir. We will trouble you no longer.”

  Mary raised her chin as if she would object, but Elizabeth shook her head slightly. They could accomplish nothing more at the moment. She held herself rigid and straight as she escorted Mary from the room.

  Kitty and Jane awaited them in the kitchen, the one room that Collins would never visit. Polly was helping Hill prepare dinner; both strained to overhear the conversation.

  “What happened?” Kitty asked, running up to them as they descended the stairs.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “He would not listen to a word we said.” Kitty’s face fell.

  “Worse, he confiscated the books and said he would suspend the journal subscriptions,” Mary moaned.

  “My sincerest apologies.” Elizabeth gave her sister a comforting hug. “I did not foresee that possibility. But I have no doubt we can sneak the books from his study when he is not at home. He will never notice their absence. And I believe Sir William Lucas subscribes to at least two of those journals. He would happily lend them to you.”

  Mary’s face brightened.

  “Your conversation was extremely enlightening and proper,” Elizabeth assured her sister. “You can do nothing if Collins is a fool.”

  Mary’s smile widened.

  At least I brightened someone’s day, for I have accomplished little else of worth. Maybe Sir William would hire Mary to be his steward; at least then
one of the Bennet sisters would not be dependent on Collins’s largesse. Elizabeth smiled at her own whimsy. If only women could be stewards, Mary would excel at it, and Elizabeth would not worry about that sister’s future. She had hope that eventually Jane and Kitty would make respectable—if not spectacular—marriages. But Mary had shown little interest in marriage, and Elizabeth doubted her temperament was well-suited to becoming a governess or lady’s companion.

  “What will we do now, Lizzy?” Kitty’s words drew Elizabeth from her reverie. Everyone regarded her expectantly, making Elizabeth yearn for a good response. But she had pinned her slim hopes on persuading Collins to adopt more modern agricultural methods. Nothing happened on an estate without the landowner’s cooperation. They were virtually powerless. Already the effects of Collins’s bad management were being sensed by the tenants and demonstrated by the estate’s productivity.

  Her hands balled into fists as she stared at the five women in the kitchen. Their lives—and the lives of all the other inhabitants of Longbourn—were scarcely less important than Collins’s. And certainly far more important than Collins’s waistcoats. It was unfair that they should have so much less control over their own lives than he did.

  If only Papa had fathered a son. No, if I would make impossible wishes, I might as well wish that women could inherit property as men did. It was not sensible that they did not. Certainly Mary or Elizabeth or Jane could have managed Longbourn better than Collins. Even Kitty, who had grown far more sensible in the past two years, could have managed by heeding others’ advice.

  Elizabeth longed to offer her sisters encouragement, hope that somehow they might improve life at Longbourn. But she did not know what she could tell them except that someday they might marry and escape the estate. She was saved from the necessity of inventing a reason for optimism by a knock at the kitchen door. Hill hastened to open it, revealing a ragged child whom Elizabeth immediately recognized.

  “Charlie Greeves!” Hill said. “What brings you here at this time?”

  The boy was abashed to have so many pairs of eyes staring at him, but he stumbled across the floor to Elizabeth. “Me mum sent me to find you. She said to tell you they is trying to e-e-e—” The boy struggled with an unfamiliar word. “They is trying to make Mrs. Wiley leave her house. He took her table and chairs to the wagon and everything!”

  Elizabeth’s hand flew to her mouth. “Evict her? No! No, they cannot!”

  Charlie nodded solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter Two

  Elizabeth grabbed her bonnet from a peg and tied it on as she spoke to her sisters. “Jane and Kitty, can you help Hill with dinner? I do not want our cousin to guess that I have left the house.” While her sisters had other chores, Elizabeth usually helped in the kitchen, but nobody knew the tenants as well as she did. If there was a problem, Elizabeth was the one to handle it.

  “Of course,” Jane said.

  Kitty held out Elizabeth’s cloak; it was not quite spring yet, and the air was still cold. “Do hurry. Mrs. Wiley needs your help!”

  Elizabeth bounded out of the back door with Charlie hard on her heels. As they crossed the back garden, she interrogated the boy. “Which men came to Mrs. Wiley’s cottage?”

  “It was only one.” Charlie panted as he raced to keep up with her longer stride. “Sam White.”

  Sam was one of Longbourn’s stable hands, a gentle and simple young man. The order to evict the Wiley family must have come directly from Collins, and Sam would not feel comfortable refusing.

  Collins had promised to let the widowed Mrs. Wiley stay. The blackguard. But it would not be the first time her cousin had promised something and then did the opposite. No doubt he had hoped the Wileys would be gone before Elizabeth learned of the eviction.

  Her father had respected Mrs. Wiley’s late husband; he would have been appalled at Collins’s actions. But, she reminded herself, as bad as life is now, nothing compares to the awful days following Papa’s sudden death.

  The day that Mr. and Mrs. Collins had arrived to take possession of Longbourn had been a beautiful June day, entirely the wrong setting given Elizabeth’s state of mind. Their mother had declared herself unequal to the task of greeting the new owners of the estate and shut herself in her room. So it had fallen to Jane to provide Charlotte with the keys to the china cabinet and the silver chest. Charlotte had been everything that was gracious and understanding, doing everything possible to ease the awkwardness of the situation. The same could not be said for her husband, who had taken little care to conceal his joy at acquiring such an estate.

  Elizabeth had known, of course, that someday Mr. Collins would inherit Longbourn estate, house, and its furnishings. But until that day she had not considered what “furnishings” encompassed. Suddenly, she realized that her father’s favorite reading chair by the fireplace now belonged to Mr. Collins. The clothes press in her room likewise. The dining table where Kitty had once carved her initials. The china shepherdess figurine on the mantelpiece that had fascinated Elizabeth as a child. Her father’s beloved books. The garden. The pianoforte. The sheets of music. All these things no longer belonged to her family. They were now Mr. Collins’s possessions.

  Of course, their mother had brought some valuables to the marriage, and some jewelry was hers outright—a gift from her husband. Each of the daughters owned clothing and shoes, of course, and a few pieces of jewelry. And Elizabeth possessed a small collection of books.

  But on the evening of Collins’s arrival, Elizabeth had sat at her dressing table, gazing at a little pile of ribbons she used to adorn her hair and realized that her cousin now owned Longbourn and all its contents—while Elizabeth herself could lay claim to little above a handful of ribbons. Simply because he had the good fortune to be born male while Elizabeth had not.

  That was the problem with men, she had decided that night: they possessed…well, everything. Women could only enjoy things temporarily, and only with men’s permission. Men owned the land and the buildings and the furnishings and the horses and the chickens and the books while women were reduced to the status of renters, fleetingly making use of men’s possessions—if they were fortunate. Any worldly possessions they brought to the marriage—whether it was an estate or a hairbrush—became the husband’s property once they were wed.

  It was a bitter realization. That evening Elizabeth had stared at her face in the mirror and wondered why she had never recognized this truth earlier. The world was divided into owners and owned. And women almost always fitted into the latter category.

  Unexpectedly, she found herself envying Anne de Bourgh, who was sickly and cross and had barely spoken two words when Elizabeth had visited Rosings Park. But Miss de Bourgh had the great good luck to inherit her own land and fortune. Her property was not entailed, and she need not wed if she did not wish it. At Rosings, Elizabeth had regarded the other woman with pity and revulsion; only later had she realized how fortunate Mr. Darcy’s cousin had been. In Miss de Bourgh’s position, Elizabeth would not have allowed her mother to dictate to her.

  The Bennet family had been fortunate, too, Elizabeth was quick to acknowledge to herself. Mr. Collins had immediately offered hospitality at Longbourn indefinitely. Few men would have been so generous to distant relatives. And yet the Bennet sisters were all too aware that their residency could be easily revoked. They were now guests at Longbourn—guests who were more tolerated than welcomed.

  Of course, the Bennet women had never really been in possession of Longbourn at all; it had been an illusion that the house and estate had been theirs. Her father had owned it, and they had been his guests. Their father merely had a greater obligation to house them.

  It had been a bitter pill to swallow. Unless Collins broke the law, the Bennet sisters could do nothing to protect the tenants or Longbourn or themselves— or even prevent him from bankrupting the estate.

  When Elizabeth was tempted to despair, she reminded herself that many women in England would give much to ha
ve safety, a good home, and a steady supply of food. She was fortunate indeed. But it was hard to remember that when she suddenly felt so vulnerable.

  The Wiley cottage, a simple wooden structure, came into view. A small cart sat in front of the door. Sam White had carried a chair from the cottage and stacked it none too carefully in the cart. Tall and broad with a shock of blond hair, Sam always moved ponderously, but he was very good-natured.

  Elizabeth hastened her steps, slipping into the cottage behind Charlie while Sam fussed at the wagon. She found Mrs. Wiley huddled on the floor by the fireplace with her two boys. The cottage itself was no great prize. Water stains marred one wall, and a rag was stuffed into a window where the glass was broken. The door to the cottage’s other room hung crookedly on its hinges, and several of the floorboards had warped.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, wishing she could shut out the sight entirely, but that would be irresponsible of her. The Wileys’ cottage was not in the worst condition of all those at Longbourn. She had visited most of the cottages, delivering food from the manor’s kitchens—unbeknownst to her cousin—to nearly every tenant family.

  Her anger at Collins surged again; he was responsible for keeping the tenants’ homes in good condition, but he shirked that duty. If he had agreed to Mary’s plan, at least Longbourn might have money to initiate these needed repairs, despite the cost of embroidered waistcoats.

  The younger of Mrs. Wiley’s children, a boy of about four, cried in his mother’s lap while the older boy, eleven years of age, clung to his mother’s side, watching the proceedings with a grave face. Mrs. Wiley herself was wide-eyed with shock.

  Charlie ran up to his mother, Mrs. Greeves, a stout matronly woman who stood nearby, scowling out of the doorway at Sam. She and her husband were well regarded in the tenants’ community, and Elizabeth was not surprised that Mrs. Wiley had asked for the woman’s help in her alarm.