Page 18 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

“I suppose you are right,” Mama said. “And poor Lady Lucas, she frets so much with their John having joined the regulars.”

“We, at least, are deprived of that concern. I daresay Bingley has no intention of joining the army, nor Jane travelling to the Peninsula as a nurse.”

“So droll, sir,” I said. “Your mind is taking a queer turn this evening.”

“Perhaps, Lizzy. But I am reminded that Jane and Bingley are soon to return to us. Do you think, my dear,” Papa said, turning to Mama, “that we could ask them to Longbourn? For while I enjoy your and Lizzy’s company, I believe I would like to get to know my son. There was little enough time I spoke with him when he was courting Jane. Perhaps, by now, he will have tired of her incessant talk of ribbons and dressing bonnets and seek my superior company.”

If I could have but leant across the table and swatted him with my napkin, I would have. Truly, Papa was in a very good mood. Mama laughed, and took his hand, gently rubbing it with her fingers. She looked at him with such longing, such care and concern. It broke my heart that when he turned towards her he winced, feeling the joints in his neck grate under the movement.

That evening, James pushed Mr. Bennet’s bath chair to the parlour. He sat with Mama and me as we took a glass of sherry, taking one for himself.

* * *

The next morning, Mama and I were sitting at an early breakfast when James knocked and entered the parlour. He faltered—his manner unsteady.

“Ma’am, Miss Elizabeth.” He struggled for breath, his eyes blurring as he held back his tears. “I am so sorry… but Mr. Bennet passed in the night.”

The words hung in the air, impossible to grasp, and for a moment the world seemed to tilt, the ordinary light and sounds of morning now strange and distant. Mama sat completely still.

“Thank you, James,” she said, her voice barely audible above the crackling of the fire. She stared, uncomprehending, across the table, her eyes unfocused, then burst into tears. “Oh, Lizzy, that silly, silly man!”

* * *

Chapter 9

Longbourn

“No, Mr. Collins! You cannot stay at Longbourn! Do you not understand, sir, that the house is in mourning? It would be decidedly improper for you to reside here.”

Fortunately, my uncle Philips came up at that moment. Mr. Collins was standing on the portico, demanding entry to the house. James stood with me, his face impassive—my bulwark against Collins’s intrusion.

“Mr. Collins, why are you here?” Mr. Philips addressed the man in the sharp, clipped tone he normally reserved for questioning witnesses at the Assizes in St. Albans. “Miss Bennet has the right of it. You cannot stay at Longbourn.”

“But it is my estate! I am the heir—the master; it is my right to live in my own house.” His voice was petulant, whining. I recalled that his voice had always been harsh, grating. It must be painful for his parishioners to sit through a hectoring sermon given by the man.

“Had you come for the funeral—as heir to the estate, as was your duty—then my wife and I would have offered you accommodation in our own home.” My uncle looked severely at the man. He was a distant cousin to Mr. Bennet, next in line to inherit under the entail. Indeed, it was extremely disrespectful for him to come now; he should have been present at Papa’s funeral, held three days before.

My uncle Gardiner from London had attended, having left his wife and children, who were all suffering from a fever—not severe, but such could turn worse at any time. Even he, despite his anxiety for his family, wished to pay his respects to Mr. Bennet.

Hattie, Mr. Gardiner’s elder sister—my mother being the younger—urged him to return to London immediately after the funeral. “The living are more important than those who have passed, Edward,” she said, embracing him. “Fanny has Elizabeth and me—she would wish you and your family well above all else.”

Mr. Collins continued to protest. “B—but Lady Catherine said I must remain at Hunsford for matins. She had selected passages from the Scriptures which she declared could not possibly be delivered with any coherence by the verger. I was forced to delay my journey to Monday, for I also took evensong.”

Mr. Philips looked disgustedly at Collins. “Did I hear you correctly, sir, that you failed to attend Mr. Bennet’s funeral, the very man to whom you owe the estate, because your patroness—what is her name, Lady Bonehead?—wished you to read the scriptures rather than have a verger read them? You offend me, Mr. Collins.”

He turned away. “Lizzy, I take it the other gentlemen have arrived for the reading of the will?”

I nodded; they were assembled in the parlour. In truth, I had left Mama with them alone for too long, having been obliged to deal with Mr. Collins. He had no part in the reading of the will, since his inheritance arose from the entail, and not from any bequest by Mr. Bennet.

“Leave your valise here, Mr. Collins, for collection on your departure,” Mr. Philips said. “Since you have come in time for the reading, I will allow you to sit with us. I believe you will find it illuminating, and, given your tardiness in paying your respects to the household, your reward well-deserved.”

“Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Sir William, gentlemen.” Mr. Philips acknowledged the occupants of the parlour. “While I intend to read the will, as attorney to Mr. Bennet and the estate, there can be no distribution of his bequest until the will is proved by the Episcopal Consistory Court of the Diocese of Lincoln. My purpose is that there be no misunderstandings as to Mr. Bennet’s intentions. If the will or bequests are disputed, then your concerns can be taken up with the court, which, according to their calendar, will be held in St. Albans on the fifteenth of next month.”

He paused; those assembled signalled their understanding. I clutched Mama’s hand; her countenance was strained. This meeting was to dispose of dear Papa’s personal effects. His mortal body had been interred in the small family plot adjacent to the Longbourn chapel where Papa had stood with Jane at her wedding just five weeks before. Oh, to recall the pride, the tears in his eyes when he took her hand and placed it upon Mr. Bingley’s. In a moment of true sorrow, I envied Jane, for Papa would now, never be able to do the same for me. Mama must have felt my distress, for she pressed my hand ever more firmly with hers.

“It is somewhat unusual,” continued Uncle Philips, “but, as I have said, I am attorney for Mr. Bennet, yet also appointed his executor. Further, I am his brother by marriage—Mr. Bennet and my sister, Mrs. Bennet, were one flesh under ecclesiastical law, thus I am his closest male relation, though not of Bennet blood. We shall proceed.”

Papa had set aside sums for all of Longbourn’s servants, who would be notified once the will was proved. But there were two servants, Mrs. Hill, our housekeeper, and Mr. Haddon, manager of the home farm, who had each served Longbourn in excess of thirty years, even before Papa had become master. Mr. Bennet provided them with an annuity in their retirement. Further, he had bequeathed to Mr. Haddon a small parcel of land, just one acre, together with a small stone cottage.