Mary said, “Let us not dwell. Lydia said we do not have much time.”
Shaken, Elizabeth started trying to reconcile what she now knew with what she had once thought about the handsome redcoat, and could not actually picture the gentleman at all. It was as if her entire acquaintance was chopped out by a surgeon with nary a scratch.
She shook her head to restore herself and returned to the topic at hand.
“You may not know it, but our grandfather was like that. Our great-grandfather made the entail because he feared his son would squander centuries of Bennet consequence in a gaming hell. He enacted it so the estate would keep its size and importance. That is what all significant families want:their family’swealth and influence to accumulate over generations. If a single son can ruin centuries of work, a family never advances, foreveryfamily will have a wastrel heir sooner or later. Father is obliged by the entail to pass the estate on to you whole andcomplete, William. We are just lifetime tenants, little better thanourtenants.”
Lydia stared in wonder at the revelation, while Mary fidgeted.
Elizabeth continued, “I must confess, William, I was very concerned when you first appeared.”
Surprising everyone, Mr Collins chuckled. “I do not make the best impression when I am nervous, do I, cousins?”
Elizabeth’s brows rose towards her hairline, while Mary glanced around the room and leaned over to plant a rather sloppy kiss on her intended’s cheek—which seemed about as much shock as her sisters could endure.
“I was so nervous until you and my Mary saved me that I could hardly think straight, and I know I never said anything that made the slightest bit of sense. I wonder I did not offend everyone in the county.”
Elizabeth laughed, and once again resolved to disregard all first impressions. She continued the lesson.
“English law is very peculiar, and made for the convenience of men. There is little use fretting about it. If an estate is held in fee simple, he may will it to a daughter or all of them; but then it would pass to her husband—another family.Sometimes they might will it to the eldest male grandson. Sometimes they will make the heir take their name, but all this means that the family status declines.”
Lydia stared in wonder. “That actually makes sense.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Do not think me so awfully clever. I only worked that out recently.”
“Still… what of dowries?”
“Your daughters are still your family, even though they leave their father’s home to join their husband’s. Families maintainwealth and power throughalliances, and that is where dowries began. Let us return to our favourite rich ne’er-do-well. Mr Darcy’s aunt is Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and his mother is the daughter of an earl. Those are important alliances, and both probably help him maintain his family’s wealth and status, agreed? Any mere gentleman must count it a coup to wed the daughter of an earl, unless of course the earldom has financial problems.”
All nodded.
“You could argue that the earl bribed the Darcys and de Bourghs to take his daughters off his hands, but that is not true. The earl has two families of privilege in his orbit where he can ask support, favours, that sort of thing. Conversely, both families benefit from the relationship with the earl. Everyone wins, but the price of entry is the dowry. The earl would not allow his daughters to marry just anybody.”
Mary said, “I can see that. The earl has daughters, and many others want alliances, so the dowry is how it all works. I suppose it is less like selling cattle, but still—”
“Embarrassing? Degrading? Perhaps it is, and perhaps not. I try to live in the world we have, not the one we imagine where life is fair. Now let us leave those lofty heights and return to here and now. Let us say that young pup courting Jane married her. He would gain a gentleman’s daughter, and she would gain security. The alliance between the families would strengthen, and the consequence ofbothfamilies would improve. Itmighthappen without a dowry, but what sensible man would take a dowerless woman when he can have one just as goodwith one? No dowry means the Bennets squander a chance to advance the extended family.”
Lydia said, “So, our parents’ indolence means that the Bennet family, instead of increasing in consequence, will decrease.”
“That is correct. We compete in a market for eligible men, and we have much less to bargain with, so will likely have to accept a lesser man—at least lesser in status.”
Everyone absorbed that for a moment, and Elizabeth continued.
“There is one more thing. Every parentowessomething to future generations to compensate for the privilegestheyreceived from their ancestors. It is only fair. Mama brought £5000 into this marriage, most accumulated over generations, and the articles say it all goes to her surviving children. That allows some or all of it to pass down to future generations. Life is hard, too, and people die. Mama needs that money if Papa dies early and leaves her at the mercy of a new heir. Dowries, jointures, marriage settlements—all such things are meant to protect the women and children in a family, so they might use what they need and pass the rest down to their descendants. Mama squandered the interest from her jointure, but she cannot touch the principal. We have portions of £1,000 on her death, but without that contract, it could all be long gone before then.”
“Elizabeth—that was a long and—well—actually, surprisingly not tedious lecture,” Lydia said. “I understand now.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You are learning, Lydia. I know more than I did, but the more I learn, the more I understand how little I know. Socrates said something like that, and I doubt he was the first.”
Lydia jumped up and danced around the room. “La, Lizzy, I am for once ahead of you. I have known all along that I knew practically nothing.”
Everyone laughed, but Lydia returned, grabbed Elizabeth’s hand, and cried, “Come with me—all of you.”
They followed her into the corridor. Lydia peered both ways, dragged them into Bennet’s library, closed the door quietly, opened the bottom drawer, pulled out a heavy box, reached under it, opened a hidden panel, and removed a large key. Without a word, she ran to a cleverly hidden cabinet on the back wall—one Elizabeth had never suspected—moved aside a small sampler to reveal a keyhole, and unlocked it. Hidden shelves lay within. She carried a large, heavy box to the desk. With a grunt, she laid it down carefully and lifted the lid, on smoothly oiled hinges.
Inside lay a large, heavy, beautifully bound book. It was plainly old, well cared for—and much to Elizabeth’s consternation—hidden from anyone and everyone.
As she examined its front cover, William passed her a handkerchief. “It is clearly old and important, Cousin.”
