Rebellion at Longbourn

by Victoria Kincaid

  “What is happening?” Elizabeth asked both women.

  Mrs. Wiley peered up at her. “You knew nothing of this?”

  “No! Did you not plan to remain at Longbourn until John could take over the work?” The poor woman’s husband had passed away less than a year ago. It was customary to allow a widow to take over a lease in her own name until her son was old enough to work the farm.

  Mrs. Wiley struggled to her feet, still clutching the younger boy in her arms. “This fellow showed up a half an hour ago and says I have to leave!”

  “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.

  “But if Mr. Collins found out, he would toss me out for sure.” He scratched his forehead.

  “Even if he discovers the Wileys, they will not say that you helped them.”

  The man considered for a long moment. “Very well. It ain’t right to force out a family when the nights are still cold like this. I’ll take her things to the North Field cabin.”

  Elizabeth poured the coins into his hand. “There is no road to the cabin,” she reminded him. That was why it had been abandoned.

  “Yes’m, but I can drive the wagon to the Three Oaks clearing and carry her things the rest of the way.”

  Elizabeth smiled. Carrying the furniture through the woods would reduce the chances of being discovered. “Clever man.”

  He ducked his head and blushed. “Should I bring the Wileys, too?”

  “No. I will escort the family by another route.” They could travel more inconspicuously across the fields.

  “Very well. I’ll take my leave, then.”

  “You are a good man, Sam White.”

  He blushed again and then hurried to the cart.

  Mrs. Wiley, with little Tom clinging to her skirt, and Mrs. Greeves emerged from the house just as it was rolling away. “Did he agree, then?” the widow asked, her eyes wide with amazement.

  “Yes.”

  “I thank you, miss. You worked a miracle for my family today.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “It was the least I could do. Longbourn owes you a deep debt. You deserve better treatment.” Her husband had died fighting a wildfire at Longbourn six months ago.

  Elizabeth took the older boy’s hand. “I can lead you to the cabin and make sure you have a stock of wood for the fireplace. But this must stay a secret; Mr. Collins would be quite angry to find you living on Longbourn property. I shall attempt to bring you food directly, but I want to avoid rousing suspicion.” She looked questioningly at Mrs. Greeves.

  “I can get her the food when you can’t,” the other woman said stoutly. “Nobody is watching where I go. And a few of the other neighbors can be trusted.” Mrs. Greeves would know which tenants would keep such a secret; no doubt most could. The tenants of Longbourn seemed to watch out for each other.
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  Elizabeth nodded. “I will send the food to Mrs. Greeves, then. Of course, this is but a temporary measure—until I might find another place for you.”

  Mrs. Wiley wiped an errant tear from her eye. “I wrote to my brother in Plymouth, but I don’t know when we might hear from him. He’ll need to find someone to read the letter to him.”

  This woman faced so many obstacles that Collins would never even consider. “We will find a place for you.”

  “God’s blessings on you, miss. I’ll pray for you, I will.”

  Elizabeth wished she could do more to earn such gratitude. “Let us go to the cabin now and have you settled by sundown.”

  Mrs. Greeves embraced her friend. “I’ll visit you tomorrow, Kate.”

  Elizabeth led the family toward the road, calculating a path to the cabin that would draw the least attention to the family. John made a small noise of distress. Elizabeth squeezed his hand. “Is this not exciting? You shall live in the woods!”

  He gave her a tentative smile—rather brave under the circumstances. “Is it an adventure? Like in the stories?”

  “Indeed, it is,” she said with a cheerfulness she did not feel. “Let us venture out and see your new home!”

  ***

  Elizabeth found it difficult to sit down to dinner with the very man who was responsible for the Wileys’ plight. Fortunately, she was satisfied with how well the family had settled into the cabin. Sam had unloaded the furniture and—without any prompting—collected wood for the fireplace. He had accomplished it all with such cheerfulness that Elizabeth knew he had no intention of revealing the family’s whereabouts to Collins. They were safe enough for now.

  Under ordinary circumstances, dinner with Collins was trying. Everyone at the table presented a false front of civility, pretending that the Bennets and Collins truly took pleasure in each other’s company. Charlotte was the only person whom everyone genuinely liked, and her conversation frequently revolved around her infant son.

  As a result, there was extensive discussion about the weather, insignificant events in the neighborhood, and the food. When Papa was alive, Elizabeth and Mary sometimes engaged him in conversation about the war or recent Acts of Parliament, but Collins frowned on that sort of talk from women. Whenever Elizabeth raised a subject Collins believed to be inappropriate, he would begin to quote Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women. It was tedious in the extreme.

  Dinner was also awkward because the entire family had to maintain the fiction that Elizabeth had not helped to prepare the meal. Collins had let two maids go and refused to hire replacements. But he did not like to acknowledge that his parsimony had essentially forced his cousins to take the place of servants. She suspected he secretly took pleasure in having her perform these “menial” tasks on his behalf. For her part, Elizabeth did not mind; most of the food she prepared would be nourishing her mother and sisters, after all.

  However, Collins did not want to acknowledge that a gentleman’s daughter worked in his kitchen. When he wished to identify a spice in the soup, he scowled if Elizabeth answered the question. He much preferred summoning Hill from the kitchen—and away from her own dinner. If the bread was tasty, Collins would say, “Hill baked particularly good bread today.”

  It was a ridiculous farce. He had pushed the Bennet sisters into this position but did not want their neighbors to guess that Elizabeth labored in the kitchen—or that Jane cared for the chickens and goats while Mary cleaned the rooms and Kitty served as his son’s unpaid nursemaid. He was quite pleased to enjoy the free labor but wanted to maintain the façade that his “fair cousins” were real ladies. On many occasions, Elizabeth had hurried out of the kitchen and up the servants’ stairs as she removed her apron and smoothed her hair, arriving at the dining table to greet guests as if she had been idling away her afternoon in embroidery rather than cooking the meal they were about to consume.

  Their mother wailed and bemoaned Collins’s treatment of them, declaring that they were “quite ill-used!” But this did nothing to improve their circumstances.

  As Elizabeth cut into her beef, she glared at Collins, seated at the head of the table and busily shoveling food into his mouth. The man had callously evicted a widow and her two sons that day and yet still had a hearty appetite. At the foot of the table, Charlotte bounced baby Robert on her knee so he would not cry.

  Their mother and Kitty discussed the price of ribbons and lace in Meryton. Collins cleared his throat, a signal that he expected other conversation to cease. “Did you have a pleasant dinner at the Longs?” he asked Jane. Jane and Elizabeth had been invited the previous day to dine with the Longs.

  Elizabeth froze, alert for any hint of trouble. Was Collins displeased that he and his wife had not been invited as well?

  “Yes, sir. It was quite agreeable,” Jane responded quietly.

  “Did Mr. Shaw favor you with his attention?”

  Elizabeth suppressed a groan. So that was Collins’s purpose. Mr. Shaw was a retired admiral who had rented Purvis Lodge about a year ago. Having married late in life, he had several young children. But his wife had died in childbirth not long after their arrival in Hertfordshire. As a gentleman with a respectable income, Mr. Shaw had been the subject of much speculation in Meryton society. Would he remarry? Would he take a wife from Hertfordshire?

  He had danced with Jane at the last assembly, an incident of sufficient excitement to set tongues wagging. Elizabeth had dismissed such speculation, but the man had demonstrated some partiality for Jane at the Longs’ dinner—which Elizabeth found alarming. The man was old enough to be Jane’s father and as charming as a sore tooth. His incessant complaints about his children’s behavior suggested that he desired a wife primarily to serve as an unpaid governess.

  But the most alarming thing about Mr. Shaw was that if he made Jane an offer, Elizabeth was not at all sure she would refuse. Collins had dropped many hints that he hoped his “fair cousins” would soon be wed. Although he gave them meager allowances for clothes and granted them few opportunities to go out in society, he never hesitated to remind them that they were a burden on the estate and his family.

  Mary had said she did not plan to wed, and Elizabeth privately believed it was unlikely she would either. Although she had not voiced the thought to anyone, she had all but given up hope of finding a husband for herself; her portion was small, and the population of Longbourn needed her help. But Jane and Kitty still had the opportunity to make good matches.

  However, Jane hated to disappoint anyone, even Mr. Collins. And she was very much aware that she was a burden. If Mr. Shaw made her an offer, she might feel compelled to accept it.

  “He did speak with me,” Jane responded neutrally. “I cannot say whether he favored my company.”

  “If he makes you an offer, of course, you would be pleased to accept,” Collins said, cutting into his meat. His tone of voice sounded like a question, but Elizabeth—and Jane—knew it to be an order.

  “I have no reason to believe he will make me an offer, sir,” Jane responded, her eyes on her plate. It was a small show of defiance and one that Elizabeth had little faith in.

  “Humph. What about you?” He waved his fork—complete with a hunk of potato—at the other sisters. “Kitty? Lizzy? Mary?” They shook their heads. “You are not without your charms, although you are not getting any younger. But some men are not too particular.”

  Elizabeth silently seethed, wishing she could give her cousin the response his thoughtless comments deserved. But she could not object every time the man said something insulting, or they would do nothing but argue. Still, Kitty appeared about to burst into tears, and Mary fidgeted uncomfortably with her fork.

  “Your portions are so small,” Collins continued through a mouthful of potato. “You cannot expect much, of course. Beggars cannot be choosers.”

  A tear rolled down Kitty’s cheek; Elizabeth knew her younger sister hoped to marry for love. But Collins renewed his single-minded devotion to his meal whil
e the rest of the table fell into an uneasy silence.

  Not for the first time Elizabeth considered whether she should find a way to remove her sisters from the estate now—without waiting for husbands who might never come. Some days living with Collins seemed intolerable, and everything he said appeared designed to break their spirit.

  Elizabeth considered the options once again. The Gardiners would accommodate some Bennet sisters, and the Phillipses might take in her mother but nobody else. However, there were four sisters; no relative could bear the expense of more than two. Still, Elizabeth had made plans that Jane and Kitty would go to London if their circumstances grew intolerable, and their mother would go to Meryton. That would leave only Mary and Elizabeth to shift as they could at Longbourn. She could not leave; the tenants must be shielded from Collins. Elizabeth could do little enough for them now, but at least they had more food.

  The tableau was interrupted when baby Robert emitted a wail. Charlotte dandled him on her knee. Refusing to be jollied, the child made even more plaintive noises. The dandling grew more urgent, to no avail.

  At the other end of the table, Collins grunted. “Must we have the child at dinner?” he said, following the complaint with a few gulps from his wine glass.

  “I believe it does him good to spend time with the family,” Charlotte responded mildly.

  Collins dropped his fork with a clatter. “He is only an infant! He belongs in the nursery.”

  “If he is in the nursery, then Kitty will not be able to join us for dinner,” Charlotte said, keeping her eyes focused on the baby. Indeed, since his birth she had devoted most of her energy to his care—at a time when most mothers would hand their child over to a nurse.

  Collins shrugged irritably, obviously not believing this was a great sacrifice. “I find the sound agitates my nerves. Surely you can quiet him.”

  “This is the only time of day that Robert may see his father,” Charlotte observed, hoisting the boy to her shoulder and patting his back. Fortunately, his sobs subsided.

  “I visit the nursery on Sunday,” Collins said. “And sometimes on Wednesday.”