Page 3 of Lizzie’s Spirit

To: The Vicarage, Bakewell

Dearest Jane—

How I wish I could bask in your good humour; I must admit to being out of sorts and miss you greatly.

But no! Let me reassure you that dear Papa is well and continues to improve.

At least to my eye he does, although Mama still laments his immobility.

This morning, whilst feeding him gruel mixed with honey, his eyes sought mine; and, by the grace of God, behind those eyes I perceived his mind striving to escape the chains of his paralysis.

Do I require more proof that Descartes has the right of it: that the natures of mind and body are separate, that each exists independently of the other?

Here is Papa, his body frozen by apoplexy, yet his mind wanders freely, only seeking a method by which he may talk with us.

Oh, that my talent for languages should extend to the spirit world!

I wished to include a fine paragraph from Descartes’s ‘Meditationes de prima philosophia’, but my recollection is faulty, so you are saved from trying to decipher my very ill Latin.

I seek refuge in languages other than English when despairing and alone.

How I wish for your sweet disposition to bring me sunshine on such cold, dark days as these.

Mama and I returned from St. Albans after a long day, having left Longbourn early in the morning.

Not having before seen the session times in the court gazette, we found our case was to be the last of the day, and, therefore, we could have journeyed later in the day.

Nevertheless, we found a respectable parlour for use by women in the Great Red Lion Inn on the corner of High Street and Market Cross; we encamped there until we were called by a footman to the court for our case to be argued.

The court chamber is very grand, panelled in dark oak, illuminated by dusty clerestory windows; there’s a high bench where the judge sits; bar tables on the floor for barristers, advocates, and attorneys, and a tiered public gallery.

We had reserved places and seated ourselves in the front row of the gallery.

Our fear was Papa would be declared incompetent by the judge; by rights, we could have lost Longbourn and, therefore, needed to rely on the mercy of our odious cousin, Mr. Collins.

I fear he would have turned us out of the house as soon as he pleased.

No! Our father remains life tenant, which is a blessing of sorts, and we retain income from the estate.

We’re to remove to the dower house! Yes, it has been unoccupied for many years, but the roof is sound and the rooms are dry, though in no way spacious; they smell of neglect, and the decoration is sadly wanting.

In having to leave our beloved Longbourn, our situation must, at best, be bad enough, but it is no worse; I have need to be thankful.

The court session was very strange. Mr. Collins was represented by a barrister from London, Mr. Darcy.

How I wish you could have seen him. He was the most impressive man in the chamber and was looked at with great admiration by all present; he was somewhat proud (perhaps rightly so, being a barrister, unlike a mere country attorney as is our Uncle Phillips), but I cannot like him as he seemed to take some great dislike of me and was often rude and patronising.

I do not know whether to hate him greatly for his ill treatment of our family (for he declared we should move to the dower house) or laud him (he secured our portion of the income from the estate).

The judge, whom I despise, was eager for his dinner and left all of the written disposition of our future in Mr. Darcy’s hands.

Oh, I didn’t say! A landslide on the St. Albans road blocked the carriage way, and Mr. Phillips could not proceed— dear Mama was left to plead our case alone.

Perhaps I may tolerate Mr. Darcy (barely) because he informed us the entail includes only the manor house, the estate farms, and the grazing cattle, but neither horses, sheep, nor those chattels that one can physically move—these are deemed our personal property.

We may also keep the milk cows and goats.

Because the dower house includes a large kitchen garden and some fields, we shall be well supplied with milk, cheese, and vegetables.

Mr. Phillips, who visited us this morning, was pleased Mr. Darcy had read the documents in such fine detail and could only agree with him. Hip-hip-hurrah!

Papa will be quite delighted when he is recovered enough to sit and read in his favourite chair, perhaps with a glass of Madeira at hand—his library is safe.

As also is Mama’s crockery, silverware, and dining-room furniture.

Recall that when Mr. Collins visited, he examined and praised all of the contents of the dining-room—Mama was mortified that he supposed he was viewing it all as his future property. Not so, sir!

Once we make a budget complete, we’ll be well-off indeed, but not so much as when we resided in the manor.

Any surplus to our needs can be sold, such as the sheep, though Mr. Phillips suggested we should leave at least basic furniture for Mr. Collins’s use and store such utensils and quality fittings we would need when we return.

Dear Jane, I plan on Papa’s full recovery and our triumphant march back to Longbourn proper!

You must learn some of my new philosophy.

Think only of the future, as its anticipation gives you pleasure.

I shall finish this letter and send it posthaste (but not express to save your purse).

There’s one more item from the court decree I must tell you.

But first, you must promise to remain in Bakewell for at least the next four months.

Yes! Otherwise, you might be trapped in an appalling marriage with a man of mean understanding and venal character.

Indeed, I speak of our cousin Mr. Collins.

I’ve persuaded Mama to send you a monthly allowance so that Mrs. Simpson (whom I failed to enquire about as to her health with the baby near due!) does not bear the extra expense.

Would five pounds do? Please write to confirm this amount is sufficient.

Promise me, dearest, you WILL remain in Bakewell.

I’m sorry! I find I cannot tell you now of my distress; otherwise, my salty tears will blot the page. My explanation must be left for another letter, though I suspect Mama will write you of it. Time will explain.

Your loving sister—Elizabeth.

The letter was sanded, sealed, and placed on the stand in the vestibule for delivery to the post at Meryton.

Elizabeth could not burden her sister with the knowledge the court had willed her to wed Mr. Collins.

Jane was all that is sweetest-tempered and most generous-hearted; to save Lizzie, she would offer herself to satisfy the intent of the court.

Such a match would be an abomination; there could be no happiness; it would place Jane in an unequal marriage where she could scarcely escape discredit and misery— she, Lizzie, could not know the grief of seeing her, Jane, unable to respect her partner.

***

Mrs. Bennet came to accept, with a weary resignation, that Longbourn Manor—her home for the past nineteen years—would be given up.

Yet she found it harder to accept that her lively Lizzie should also be given up to that man.

In earlier days, when Mr. Bennet had been hale, she would have railed bitterly against the cruelty of settling the estate away from her five daughters.

Though nothing could absolve Mr. Collins of the guilt of taking possession of Longbourn, she now had other responsibilities: arranging their orderly removal to the dower house, keeping Jane safely hidden in Bakewell, ensuring the continued well-being of leaseholders and cottagers, and, above all, loving and comforting her dear Lizzie during this bleak time.

“Mama,” called Elizabeth, stepping into the front parlour where her mother was sitting at the writing desk gazing out of the casement window, “I’ve written to Jane but not informed her of my marriage to Mr. Collins.

We should keep this knowledge close. I wish for neither our neighbours’ pity nor their approbation.

Could you visit Aunt Phillips and ensure she doesn’t spread this gossip?

As a solicitor, Mr. Phillips will keep the court settlement confidential, but he may let slip to his wife more than is proper. ”

“Oh, Lizzie,” exclaimed her mother, her eyes moistening as they had so often over the past few days, “I suppose it’s for the best. But all will surely know when Mr. Collins comes to gloat over his ascension to Longbourn and his marrying you, the brightest jewel in the country.”

“No, Mother, the brightest jewel is Jane!” laughed Elizabeth, making light of the matter, trying to ease her mother’s distress. But what was it like to be a mother and see her child disposed of so cruelly?

No! She, Lizzie Bennet , was selfish! Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her was only mandated by a court.

But still, he would be her husband. Surely marriage was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and, however uncertain of giving happiness, it must be their pleasantest preservative from want.

This preservative she had now obtained, but at the age of fifteen it did not feel pleasant; it felt wretched.

** *

The household servants—the housekeeper-cook, under-cook, two housemaids, kitchen-laundry maid, valet-footman, and kitchen gardener—had gathered in the back parlour. Their chatter ceased when Mrs. Bennet and Miss Elizabeth entered the room.