by Don Jacobson
Bennet interrupted, eyes sparkling at this freely provided opportunity for him to engage in his favorite sport, “If t’is to be whimsical and a performance for my amusement, then perhaps you would climb out of your rabbit hole and join me, the Cheshire Cat about who Mr. Dodson wrote, on this side of the looking glass?
“Perhaps in this chair next to me? Speaking of glass-es, perhaps I could trouble you to offer me an adult beverage? Then we could calmly assess the absurdities you might serve up to provoke my interest.”
Crawley blushed, laughed, and hauled his lanky frame from his chair. His perambulations took him to a well-appointed sideboard. He splashed two generous dollops of well-aged whiskey into crystal tumblers. He handed one to Bennet and settled into the adjacent chair.
Then Crawley outlined the most inventive inheritance scheme in the annals of British law.
After a long pause, he intoned in sepulchral tones, “You, Mr. Bennet, are dead.
“You have been dead for somewhere around 130 years.”
Bennet’s eyes widened, and he made a great show of pinching himself as if to prove he was awake and thus alive. Then he japed, “You promised something which would attract my attention. That you have unquestionably accomplished.
“Even though I am certain I have not assumed room temperature, I would have you give me your best Oxonian argument as to why, contrary to empirical fact, I must believe otherwise.”
Crawley grinned, “But, you are assuredly deceased, Mr. Bennet. I know you have been avoiding the Longbourn churchyard, but, I promise you that this has been your well-tended resting place for decades.
“However, the Trust, to avoid possible anachronistic discontinuities, has removed your headstone for ‘refurbishment.’ Likewise, the Trust Archivist, despite your authority as Founder, has obscured references to the dates of your and Mrs. Bennet’s respective demises.
“Recall that we live in the times of the Wardrobe. Yes, you are alive, sipping whiskey with me, here in my office in 1948. At the same time, however, you are dead and have been since before the reign of Queen Victoria.
“However, sir, I am pleased that you are enjoying your drink with me as your companion, for if t’would be otherwise—that you were truly on the other side of the grass—what we are about to do would be impossible. You need to be alive in this where/when so that you may prepare what you must do when you eventually return to your original time.
“This grew out of my audit of your Trust account. I realized that until last year, not one pence of principal, not one pound of growth or dividend, had ever been touched. Of course, your original investment of £10,000 in 1812 would have grown only modestly before your passing.
“You wisely chose not to bequeath your non-entailed wealth using either primogeniture or postremogeniture and even eschewing Salic solutions.”
Bennet raised a hand, halting the flow of Crawley’s thoughts, “How can you possibly chew anything with such a mouthful of word salad? Might you spare this old Cambridge man’s brain and tell me what the Hades were you trying to say? I followed you through primogeniture.”
Crawley laughed, “Oh, I apologize, Mr. Bennet. Sometimes I hide behind legalese. Postremogeniture is the opposite of primogeniture—the inheritance by the eldest son—and means the designation of the youngest son or daughter to inherit.
“As for Salic rules of inheritance; the surviving children would have received equal shares of your fortune. This usually results in nobody receiving much and everybody being unhappy with their portion. I refer you to the pickle Charlemagne’s son, Louis the Pious, found himself back in 841 in when it came time to figure out what to do with the Frankish Empire. You see, he had three sons. They ended up dividing it. Nobody was happy, and their successors have been fighting over who gets the Rhineland ever since.
“You, however, chose a fourth path and bequeathed your non-entailed cash to none of your children. Rather you insisted that your wealth be held by the Trust and allowed to grow.”
Bennet cleared his throat, “Well, Jane and Lizzy have already married wealthy men. Mary will be comfortable, as well. Kitty has been gone nearly three years. As for Lydia and Wickham: I would sooner offer to spoon feed the lions at the Tower Menagerie than allow Wickham near any of my leavings. So, it seems that I chose well.”
Crawley added, “I realize that you have no particular idea of the size of your fortune in the present day. Simply put, you could set loose Mrs. Bennet on the fashion houses of Paris and the jewelers of Amsterdam without fear. You could indulge in a yacht, two or three homes, and a first-class round-the-world cruise on the Queen Mary without ever injuring your standing as one of the wealthiest men in the Empire.
“All because of one provision that was inserted in your Last Will and Testament in late 1814.”
Crawley reached across to his desk and burrowed through a short pile to find a single sheet of paper. Pulling it free, he handed it to Thomas before continuing his explanation.
“All of us in the legal profession find pleasure in well-turned phrases that clearly set out the client’s wishes. This clause is remarkable in that it reflects the equally remarkable desires of a man seeking to establish his posterity, but not in the normal manner so often used by other great men.
“Imagine if you were someone like Rhodes, a robber baron of the first degree. While many would argue that his legacy was the British African Empire, he understood that the creation of that vast swath of land stretching from Cape Town to Cairo, protecting the sea and land lanes to India, was exacted at incredible cost: the genocidal conquest of countless nations and kingdoms.
“The foundations of his great wealth were piles of skulls not unlike those the Assyrian kings would leave behind as they spread across ancient Sumer, eradicating one city-state after another. As he aged, Rhodes came to realize the other cost: that to his reputation.
“While there are still some alive today who can recall the stories of his manipulations that led to our shame in the Boer War, those of my generation who were shaped by the more recent war—launched by a man who claimed he wished to build, but eventually lusted only for destruction—know Rhodes only for his annual scholarship awards.
“Rhodes was not unique. After the Industrial Revolution of the 19th Century, many of his contemporaries sought to burnish their final images by creating great foundations or endowments. The Swedes have Nobel: the Americans can hold up Carnegie, Ford, and Rockefeller.
“These, though, are men of the latter part of your century and the beginning of mine.
“You, Mr. Bennet, were probably the first in all of history to truly consider the implications of the power of your wealth, not immediately after your death, but rather decades and centuries removed from your where/when.
“And, here is where we run into one of the paradoxes the Wardrobe creates.
“You, I am certain, will not find in your mental catalog of the bequests found in your present final declaration what we will come to in a moment. Yet, once you act upon that which you have asked me to consider, I will never recall our conversation because it will never have taken place!”
Bennet sagely nodded and replied, “For when I act upon this,” he shook the paper he held, “in my original where/when, this universe will be pinched off like a soap bubble blown by a child. T’will cease to exist because the foundational item for this particular time slice—my need to provide for Miss Nearne—will vanish. However, my own memories of this and all subsequent history will remain as my journey will be completed in an unaltered here/now.
“You are behaving with remarkable equanimity given that your existence will end.”
Crawley shook himself before continuing, “T’is as if someone is walking atop my grave. However, what I do know is that while this Edward Crawley may vanish, I am equally convinced that other iterations of myself, in other universes established as you create new possibilities with the Codicil will continue. I will leave further considerations to those of a metaphysical bent. Back to th
e matter at hand.
“The paper you hold is a special clause to be placed in your will which I have handwritten so that you may provide it to your solicitor, Mr. Philips, when you update your final wishes.
“We call it The Bennet Codicil.
“You will note that the language is significantly different from the rotund legal prose of the Regency period. I imagine it will attract the attention of Family historians seeking to comprehend your actions. Your will already has been the subject of many monographs and more than one dissertation on this timeline.
“Plus, you are ordering actions which only the great Edward Gardiner could have imagined, and only then after the Prince Regent ordered him to contemplate such edifices after Waterloo.”
Bennet looked down at the document he held. After adjusting his spectacles, he read, following the script with his finger as he peered down through his spectacles.
Regarding my holdings in the Bennet Family Trust, they are not to be divided amongst my named heirs at any point. The annual proceeds of these investments will be bequeathed in their entirety to my beloved wife, Frances Lorinda Bennet, for the balance of her life. Upon her demise, the returns shall be reinvested by the Managers of the Trust.
After Mrs. Bennet joins me in the Hereafter, I instruct the Managers and Trustees of the Bennet Family Trust to create a second and subsidiary Trust to be named the Thomas Bennet Endowment. All my holdings in the Bennet Family Trust, principal and interest, shall be transferred to the Thomas Bennet Endowment and managed in a manner wholly consistent with the financial philosophies of the parent Trust as defined by Mr. Edward Gardiner, my brother. Under no circumstances will any of the Endowment’s funds be invested in non-British government bonds or securities based upon non-British governments.
No distributions of funds will be made until and after the Year of Our Lord 1900.
At that time, the Board of the Bennet Family Trust will establish an advisory committee composed of scholars, politicians, industrialists, social activists, and trade union leaders…
Crawley leaned over when he saw Bennet reach the last.
He interrupted, “Yes, Mr. Bennet, union leaders. In your time, were not such men seen as a seditious lot? Yet, here you are insisting that someone like Mr. Kier Hardy[lxxxvi] sit on the board alongside Darcys, Bingleys, Gardiners, and other social leaders.”
Thomas snarked, “I imagine the Second Earl of Pemberley was long dead before he would have been forced to rub elbows with laborers and tradesmen.”
Crawley smiled, nodding, “Your daughter, Lady Kitty, shared your sarcastic view of that particular gentleman. However, by 1900, Lord Henry, the 11th Earl of Matlock, had been Managing Director for nearly a decade. Lord Edward Darcy had been elevated to Pemberley’s seat back in the Nineties, succeeding his father.
“But, pray, continue.”
Bennet chuckled at the truth that the eternal wheel stops for no man and did so.
…who will determine the qualifications of nominated recipients and amounts to be awarded for the annual Bennet Genius Grants.[lxxxvii] The board must be composed of equal numbers of men and women. The annual grants will be awarded using Fifty Percent of the annual income of the Thomas Bennet Endowment. The remaining Fifty Percent of the annual return will continue to be reinvested as previously instructed.
The Advisory Committee will decide the qualifications, candidates, and recipients of these grants using my following instruction as guidance. These awards will be made to individuals who stand as leaders in their field. The underlying objective of the cash grants will be to permit the recipients to pursue their vocations or avocations for one full year without fear of privation. All awards are subject to review by the Board of Life Directors of the Bennet Family Trust.
Bennet looked up and asked, “But, what about Miss Nearne?”
Crawley’s response, so great was his excitement, was immediate, “Now, we come to the crux of the task to which you set us, Mr. Bennet.”
With a self-satisfied look, he reached inside his jacket and removed an unsealed envelope and handed it to Mr. Bennet. There, in a firm hand was marked the instruction:
SIGNET SEAL: To be opened by Bennet Family Trust solicitors after July 1, 1952
Bennet lifted the flap and removed a slip of parchment.
I further instruct one final modification to the manner in which the Thomas Bennet Endowment will disburse funds.
Beginning on October 1, 1952 and continuing in perpetuity, the aforementioned Fifty Percent of the Thomas Bennet Endowment’s annual income not dedicated to Genius Grants will be disbursed to Miss Eileen Nearne, MBE, or whatever may be her styled name after she has wed, and, later, her heirs to use and distribute as they see fit in perpetuity.
Bennet had audibly gasped as the audacious simplicity of the plan.
“Will it work?” he croaked, handing both documents back to Crawley.
The lawyer smiled and nodded, commenting, “What guarantees that our program will work is that we are stealing the success of Rhodes Scholarships, Nobel Prizes, and Rockefeller Foundation grants. By the time those three created their legacies, Carnegie’s Gospel of Wealth had changed the attitude of the wealthy toward philanthropy.[lxxxviii]
“When the Thomas Bennet Endowment begins giving grants after 1900, there will have been about ten years of previous awards by other trusts. Yours will not be considered unusual, but rather another entrant in the lists of philanthropy.
“But, imagine the furor if you had started giving away money in the 1850s or 60s. I would wager that your great-grandson, the Second Earl of Pemberley, would have mounted a challenge to your Will. Given the tenor of the times and the concerns about radicalism, he probably would have prevailed.”
Bennet’s mentalitée returned to Longbourn’s parlor to hear his wife greeting Eileen as she moved into the room. He politely stood to accept the younger woman’s hug and peck on the cheek. He then extended his arms to the ladies and walked them out of the parlor and escorted them to the Rover 16 for the half hour drive into Town.
Chapter XXXII
The Grill Room, Savoy Hotel, London
The terrace space adjacent to the main floor was cordoned off with red velvet ropes looping from stanchion to stanchion. Bulky men with serious looks stood sentinel. Their tuxedo jackets were generously cut, all the better to conceal various weapons of war holstered and slung from beefy shoulders.
An unusual addition to the security contingent were three women, each lithe and well-muscled and each clad in a medium-length evening dress. For propriety’s sake, the gentlemen of the party chose not to imagine where these ladies chose to conceal their firearms. The sole purpose of these unsmiling Amazons, modeled after the daunting distaff fighters of the Haganah, was to accompany any of the female guests should they choose to retire to the powder room.
The cocktail hour was in full swing when the Longbourn party arrived. The Cecil-Darcys and Fitzwilliams greeted the Bennets. Alois and Lizzy Schiller and Richard Fitzwilliam, still uncomfortable wearing his Viscount title, joined Eileen off to the side. After various busses and spoken salutations, the Schillers drifted over to the more senior circle of married couples leaving Richard and Eileen to their own counsel.
Time had provided a healing balm to seal the gapping wounds riven between the two former and now current comrades.
For her part, Eileen had processed most of the trauma she had undergone in the bunker and then in her quest to assassinate Richard. Her regard for the dark-haired, grey-eyed gentleman, once in eclipse, was waxing anew.
Richard’s trust in his SOE co-equal had never waned. He had, however, built walls around his heart to hide his pain and confusion when, first, she had been declared dead and then, later, discovered dangerously alive. With their Anubis partnership giving them a common, if professional, ground upon which to tread, Fitzwilliam had, once again, begun to see Eileen for the mysteriously attractive woman she had been during all those years in Nazi-occu
pied France.
Like the last leaves of autumn’s oaks, the two of them were trembling in the decision to release that branch which had been their security. Richard and Eileen were standing on the edge of that abyss into which all lovers must fall. If they leapt individually, t’would be the end of all dreams. However, if they embraced the simplest, yet most awesome, phenomenon of human nature, that of reaching out to the object of their heart, they would soar into the heavens rather than tumble into the depths.
This is what Mrs. Bennet saw. But, although she would attempt to join their hands beneath the vicar’s looping stole, unless they chose to allow themselves to die alone so they could live a new life together, all would be for naught.
The pair looked across the space at the other eight.
“This scene strikes me as odd. Here we are, the ten of us moving on with our lives when poor Manfred…, “she choked.
Richard softly replied, “We have all lost men and family in this fight. However, the Sergeant left us with a great gift beyond that singular clue. He filled us with a terrible resolve. We live to fulfill his final wish: to punish our man.”[lxxxix]
Hospitality needed to come before further conversation. After a waiter had taken their drinks orders—a whiskey for Richard, a dry Martini for Eileen—the former rector thought to offer her a cigarette. Like him, she favored a potent Turkish blend found in a Jermyn Street tobacconist’s custom-made smokes.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver case showing decades of loving use in the tiny dings and scratches marring its slightly pebbled finish. Ever the elegant gentleman, Fitzwilliam popped open the case and presented it to Eileen who took it from his hands and removed a cigarette. Then she admired the inscription inside, reading it aloud.