Rebellion at Longbourn

by Victoria Kincaid

  The gates to Longbourn were closed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Elizabeth stared, absolutely stunned. Jane gasped. Kitty cried out. And their mother commenced to have hysterics. Darcy and Bingley surged forward, endeavoring to open the gates, but they were soundly locked. People in the back of the crowd began calling out, demanding to know why the procession had halted.

  After a moment Collins appeared on the other side of the gate, his arms folded over his chest and a smug smile on his face. He stood in the middle of the road, dangling the gate key from one hand.

  “Cousin,” Elizabeth called in a loud, ringing voice, “why are the gates closed?”

  “You have been evicted from Longbourn,” Collins announced triumphantly. “Along with your sisters and your mother. I have endured every possible insult from your family. I will tolerate it no longer! You are no longer welcome at Longbourn.”

  “Evicted! From my only home!” Elizabeth’s mother wailed. “We will be tossed into the hedgerows!” Mary quickly took her to the side of the road, where she could rest on a flat boulder.

  Elizabeth’s lungs compressed as if a heavy weight had settled on them. She had known eviction was a possibility since embarking on her covert rebellion against Collins, but the reality was a cold bucket of water.

  Longbourn was her home. Even if she would henceforth be living at Pemberley, Longbourn was the home of her heart. She had anticipated frequently visiting her family and reliving childhood memories. Without Longbourn, she would be untethered in the world.

  Her mind conjured images of the canopy over the bed, the worn loveseat in the east drawing room, the roses behind the well. Would she never see them again?

  Even more importantly, what would become of her mother and sisters? Would they be torn from their home without so much as a chance to bid it goodbye?

  William marched up to the gate. “Do not be a fool! You cannot banish these women from their home on Elizabeth’s wedding day.”

  “I can.” His chest puffed out. “What is more, Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself is in complete agreement with me. ‘Harsh measures are called for.’ Those are her precise words.”

  William took a deep breath, endeavoring to control his temper. “Come, Collins, at least admit me so we may discuss this matter like calm and rational men.”

  Collins shook his head. “No. Lady Catherine specifically demanded that I should refuse you entrance.”

  Elizabeth approached the gate, striking a more conciliatory tone. “Please, Cousin, let us have the wedding breakfast at least. All the preparations are made; the food should not go to waste.”

  Collins gave a rather mean smile. “You should have considered such consequences before you so rashly defied me and Lady Catherine. Longbourn is mine—to do with as I please.”

  Drat the man! He relished this. Like any petty tyrant, he drew pleasure from exercising power over other people, deriving amusement from denying Elizabeth something she desperately desired.

  Unsure how to break the impasse, Elizabeth and Darcy retreated to the front of the procession, where everyone commenced speaking at once, creating a cacophony of voices. Mr. and Mrs. Greeves pushed their way to the front of the crowd to inquire what was amiss. Elizabeth quickly explained the situation to them.

  Scoffing at Collins’s assertion of authority, Mr. Greeves marched up to the gate. “Mr. Collins, sir,” he said in his booming voice. “How do you propose we operate the estate with most of your tenants on this side of the fence?”

  “We have animals to tend and children to feed,” Mrs. Greeves added.

  Collins gave the man a condescending glare. “Obviously, I will admit my tenants. You are valuable to Longbourn. I am more concerned with keeping out the…parasites,” he said with a sneer. He made a sweeping gesture to include the tenants. “You may enter,” he said before pointing to the Bennets. “They may not.”

  A shocked silence followed this pronouncement. Jane broke down in tears; Mr. Bingley put a consoling arm around her shoulders. Then Mr. Greeves barked a laugh. “Collins, don’t you understand that the Bennets have done far more for Longbourn than you ever have?”

  Collins gaped at Mr. Greeves; no doubt he had not anticipated such insubordination. “Their father perhaps, but these women…? How can you say that after all I have done for Longbourn?”

  The large farmer shifted so he was addressing the tenants as well as Collins. “Oh yes, you have done so much for Longbourn! You have used it to buy yourself those Hessian boots.” He pointed to Collins’s footwear. “And that watch fob and that waistcoat. And your brandy and carriages and many trips to London.” Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. “You take from Longbourn. Miss Elizabeth—excuse me, Mrs. Darcy—and her family give to Longbourn.”

  Collins blinked, genuinely baffled by the other man’s words. “B-But Longbourn is m-mine! It is m-my estate!”

  Mr. Greeves folded his arms across his massive chest. “Then you are welcome to cultivate it yourself.” The other tenants loudly cheered this declaration, and many shouted, “Let the Bennets in!”

  Then it was Mrs. Greeves’s turn. She planted herself in front of the gate. “If the Bennet family can’t enter Longbourn…that just isn’t right. It’s their home! If they can’t go in, then I guess I’ll stay out here, too.” Folding her legs, she sat where she stood, demonstrating no concern for the state of her skirts in the dry dirt of the road.

  “I believe I will join you.” Mr. Greeves sat beside his wife.

  Mrs. Wiley pushed her way through the crowd; Collins showed no sign of recognition. “I stand—or sit—for Mrs. Darcy as well!” She took the other spot beside Mrs. Greeves.

  Mrs. Knight shouted, “Let the Bennets in,” and sat where she stood, gesturing for her husband to follow suit.

  Mr. Bingley and Georgiana were the next people to sit, prompting several of the gentry to emulate them.

  One by one, all the tenants and townspeople declared their loyalty to the Bennets, sitting down in the road and refusing to enter Longbourn. Even Sir William and Lady Lucas scanned the crowd sheepishly and sat down, although they were careful to find a fallen log rather than squat in the dirt.

  Soon Darcy, Elizabeth, and the Bennet sisters were the only ones left standing in the road.

  William surveyed the sea of seated bodies and chuckled. “Well, Collins, I wish you good fortune operating an estate without any tenants or the cooperation of your neighbors.”

  “I can hire new workers,” Collins said loudly. “And I will! They are in violation of the lease if they do not work the fields.”

  William rubbed his chin. “Indeed. If you started today, in a month you might be able to fill…half the tenants’ cottages. I would guess it will be the end of summer before they are all filled. In the meantime, your fields will not be planted, tended, or harvested. But perhaps Longbourn is prosperous enough that it can afford to lose a year’s worth of crops.”

  He was baiting Collins. Few estates could withstand the loss of an entire year’s worth of crops. Collins still struck a defiant pose, but his eyes showed doubt. While he was extremely ignorant about farming, he knew that much.

  There was a long silence while Collins watched his tenants. They stared back unflinchingly, awaiting his next move. When her cousin shifted his glare to Elizabeth, she returned it; the man had brought himself into this ridiculous position.

  Finally, he sighed. “Very well. I suppose it is unfair to evict Elizabeth and her family on her wedding day. I will admit them.” Everyone cheered.

  But Mrs. Greeves hurried to her feet before the others stood and pointed a finger at Collins. “You won’t try to evict any of the family again?”

  Collins hesitated. Clearly, he had hoped to retain the right to banish them at a later date.

  Mrs. Greeves sat down again. “This road is becoming quite comfortable.” Around her, people murmured imprecations against Collins.

  Collins sighed again, his expression beleaguered. “V
ery well. I promise I will not evict them later.”

  An even louder cheer went up from the assembled crowd, and people started climbing to their feet.

  Collins unlocked the gates. However, before he could tug them open, the vanguard of the crowd pushed forward. Within seconds, the gates had been pushed wide open. Elizabeth was content to let the Greeveses lead, but Mrs. Greeves pulled her and William into the front of the crowd as they marched toward Longbourn Manor.

  Collins was forced to scurry out of the way or risk being flattened by a tide of humanity. He huddled in the shrubbery by the side of the road, ostentatiously not part of the celebratory hordes.

  He was a stupid man, but he was clever enough to recognize when the people he ostensibly led—the people who should regard him as their leader—had given him a resounding vote of no confidence. The expression on his face was one of bleak and utter humiliation. Elizabeth would have felt sorry for him, but he had been given many opportunities to befriend the tenants and had not taken them.

  The crowds bore the newlywed couple inexorably toward the manor. This boisterous stream of people was not the decorous procession Elizabeth had imagined for her wedding day, but no couple could have been escorted to their wedding breakfast with greater enthusiasm.

  ***

  The wedding breakfast was finally over. Darcy wondered if there had ever been such a raucous wedding breakfast in the history of the world. Guests invited to the full meal inside Longbourn had mingled freely with the tenants’ families enjoying biscuits and lemonade in the garden. Children had run about and played games in the courtyard. Dogs ran freely underfoot. More than once, the farmers’ wives had burst into songs that were enthusiastic but of questionable decency.

  Georgiana and Anne had been surprised by the informality, but Darcy had carefully tempered his reaction. It might not have been the wedding breakfast he had anticipated, but he did not want to deprive the Longbourn community of their opportunity to bid Elizabeth farewell.

  Now, finally, everyone had departed. Darcy wondered how much damage the garden had sustained from dozens of visitors in one day, but it had already been rather wild and overgrown so the difference might not be noticeable. Mrs. Collins, Kitty, and Jane assisted Polly, Wilkes, and Hill in cleaning up after the revelers. Elizabeth had started to help, but Jane had waved her away, stating that the bride was not permitted to work on her wedding day.

  Unfortunately, Darcy knew that he and his new bride had a far more unpleasant duty in store. He collected Anne and her new husband Peter before approaching Elizabeth—who was listening as her mother exclaimed her delight over the events of the day. “Mrs. Long said she had never seen such an elegant dress! And the Phillipses exclaimed over the delightful ham at breakfast. And Sir William”—she lowered her voice—“is always boasting about Charlotte being mistress of Longbourn, but that is nothing compared to Pemberley! Then—”

  “My dear,” Darcy interrupted gently, touching his hand to Elizabeth’s elbow, “we must speak with Collins and my aunt.”

  Surveying his small group, Elizabeth instantly understood his intent. “Of course. Charlotte should also join us. Please excuse me, Mama.” She took Darcy’s proffered arm with a weary smile. “I believe my cousin has Lady Catherine in the yellow drawing room. It is small and isolated from the rest of the house.” Darcy had not seen his aunt since the church; Collins had made only a brief appearance at the breakfast, where he glowered at the revelers before disappearing again.

  The small group trooped into the hallway and then—after a delay to collect Mrs. Collins from the nursery—entered the drawing room. One of Longbourn’s smaller rooms, it barely had enough chairs and felt quite cramped once everyone was seated.

  Aunt Catherine was arranged on a fainting couch with Collins seated beside her, an unopened book of sermons in his hand. Darcy rather suspected that the clergyman’s offer to read to his aunt had resulted in several hours of listening to her complaints. But Elizabeth’s cousin regarded her ladyship with untiring admiration; perhaps he believed it was a privilege to hear her grievances.

  Darcy did not seat himself but hovered near the fireplace, one hand on the mantle. He gave both Collins and Aunt Catherine nods of greeting, thinking how bizarre it was to demonstrate such politeness to two people who just that day had endeavored to prevent his marriage. However, manners were essential to civil society—the grease that allowed the gears of civilization to run smoothly. “Aunt Catherine, I trust you are feeling better?”

  His aunt put her hand to her forehead as though about to swoon, but the forcefulness of her voice belied any weakness. “Indeed, I am not. I do believe it will take me quite a while to recover from this terrible shock!” She glared at her daughter.

  “I apologize, Mama,” Anne said with little evidence of contrition. “I did tell you that I love Peter and intended to marry him.”

  Aunt Catherine gave a disdainful little sniff. “Yes, but I did not believe you were serious.”

  Anne’s smile was rather fierce. “You thought you could prevent it, you mean.”

  Her mother turned her head to the wall but did not deny the accusation.

  “In any event,” Darcy interjected, “Anne and Peter are married, and we should discuss their living situation.” A frisson of anxiety traveled down his spine; he had put this plot into motion, but its success—and his future happiness—depended on others playing their parts.

  “Living situation?” Aunt Catherine echoed as if she did not understand the term.

  “Yes, Mama,” Anne said with a smile, reveling in having the upper hand for once. “After all, Rosings Park is mine—my inheritance. Peter and I could take up residence there.”

  Aunt Catherine gaped at her.

  “You, of course, would then move into the dower house,” Anne said matter-of-factly, folding her hands in her lap.

  His aunt’s expression nearly provoked Darcy to laughter. The dower house had been his suggestion, and Anne had embraced it. They both knew her mother was loath to lose any scrap of the control she had exercised over the Rosings Park estate since Anne’s father had died.

  Aunt Catherine lifted her chin. “I have no intention of moving into the dower house!”

  Anne shrugged as if the answer held no importance. “Alternatively, I could go to live with Peter at Locksley Grange. His parents have been most welcoming to me and would be quite pleased to have me stay.”

  Caught between two unpalatable alternatives, Aunt Catherine glared at Anne. She had lost control of her daughter. Anne was being generous in offering her mother the chance to maintain control of Rosings. Aunt Catherine recognized the charity for what it was—and hated it.

  “I think Locksley Grange would do very nicely for you.” Aunt Catherine bit off every word. “There is no need for you to assume control of Rosings Park just yet. You and your…husband might enjoy some…quiet and relaxation.”

  Anne smiled, the picture of delight. “That was precisely my thinking as well, Mama! Indeed, we intend a three-month honeymoon at the seaside before we return to the Grange. I would imagine we shall be extremely relaxed by then.”

  Aunt Catherine said nothing, but a movement in her jaw suggested she was grinding her teeth rather strenuously as she pictured her daughter’s honeymoon.

  Darcy gave a brisk nod. “Excellent. That is decided, and—”

  “But forgive me, Lady Catherine,” Mrs. Collins chimed in as if they had rehearsed their parts in this play. “Will you not feel too isolated at Rosings Park without your daughter’s companionship?”

  His aunt regarded the other woman down her nose. “I daresay I may bear the deprivation.”

  “Naturally, but must you?” Aunt Catherine frowned at Collins’s wife. “I know you offered my husband the position as your personal chaplain. Perhaps he might join you at Rosings—at least for the first few months—to help ease the solitude. I would be willing to sacrifice his company for that long.”

  When Mrs. Collins had started speaking, h
er husband appeared to be in danger of falling off his chair from the shock, but by the end of her speech, he regarded Aunt Catherine like a dog hoping for a treat.

  However, before Aunt Catherine could respond, Collins shook his head and fell back into his chair. “No, I cannot leave Longbourn. I am needed here.”

  Elizabeth’s body shook as she suppressed a giggle.

  Darcy shrugged, affecting a nonchalance he did not feel. Thank God these two did not know how much his future felicity relied on their decisions. “Many people may run an estate; there is not much expertise required.” Darcy had uttered several falsehoods recently, but this one was the most galling. “Only you could be the solace that my aunt needs in her times of trouble.” He directed an entreating look toward Collins.

  “I might also point out, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said delicately, “you are not terribly popular with Longbourn’s tenants at the moment. Perhaps a different hand at the wheel might do some good…for a little while at least.”

  Mrs. Collins agreed. “Perhaps I could manage Longbourn in your stead? Certainly I could not handle it as well as you, but I believe the estate will not suffer.”

  Oh, she is good, Darcy thought. Appealing to his vanity while giving him an excuse to do what he wants.

  Collins considered for a moment. “That is an excellent idea. My heart would rest easy if I were to leave Longbourn in your capable hands…temporarily, of course.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Collins agreed hastily. “Naturally, I will miss you, my dear.” She batted her eyelashes at her husband. “But we must all make sacrifices for the greater good.”

  “Yes, yes, indeed. Clergymen and landowners must make a great number of sacrifices.” Collins settled back into his chair with a self-satisfied smile. Why would he not be pleased? He had just acquired his perfect situation in life: Longbourn’s income and prestige—without a pesky need to write sermons or a requirement to make decisions.

  “Can you possibly manage Longbourn on your own?” Elizabeth asked Mrs. Collins with a very convincing expression of alarm.