Page 22 of The Mercy of Chance

T he early winter morning brought with it a chill that seemed to seep through the walls of Longbourn itself.

Elizabeth had been reviewing the quarterly accounts when Hill announced the unexpected arrival of Mr Collins and a companion.

She found them in the entrance hall—Mr Collins, whose clerical black only emphasised his florid complexion, and beside him a lean, grey-featured gentleman who might be his solicitor.

“Miss Elizabeth.”

Collins managed to make her name sound like an accusation.

“I hope your grandfather is well enough to receive visitors?” His smile did not reach his eyes.

“Indeed, Mr Collins.

And you are…?”

She turned to the other man, although she had already guessed his profession from his worn leather portfolio.

“Mr Stevenson, solicitor,”

he replied with a slight bow.

“We have matters of some urgency to discuss.”

Elizabeth led them to her grandfather’s study, where Mr Bennet sat in his customary chair by the window.

Despite his physical frailty, his eyes were sharp as he observed their visitors.

Jane was already present, having been reviewing tenant agreements, and Elizabeth was grateful for her steady presence.

“Mr Bennet, sir.”

Collins began, his voice dripping with false concern, “I have come to address some deeply troubling matters.” He nodded to Mr Stevenson, who began laying out documents on the desk with stiff precision.

Elizabeth caught the slight tremor in her grandfather’s hand as he reached for his pen.

She moved to stand behind his chair, a position that allowed her to both support him and face their visitors directly.

“We have evidence,”

Collins continued, “of gross mismanagement of the estate.” He emphasised each word as if savouring them, speaking slowly, as if to someone without sense.

Mr Bennet sighed.

“Have you indeed.”

“Indisputably.

The allowing of women—begging your pardon, ladies—to make decisions regarding crops, tenant contracts, and livestock management is unprecedented and, I must say, deeply concerning.

These are not the actions of a man in possession of his faculties.

These decisions have disrupted the natural order by shifting crops from field to field.

The soil, being a gift from Providence, is inherently inexhaustible and will perpetually yield the same bounty, regardless of what is planted upon it.

This notion of alternating crops is nothing but the idle fancy of silly women who seek to complicate the simplicity of God’s design.

I cannot fathom why they insist on ‘rotation,’ as if the crops are spinning about in the fields like a child’s top. Do they mean to say we must physically turn the plants around? Or perhaps the fields themselves are to be moved? It all seems a most peculiar and unnecessary contrivance. If the aim is to grow more food, why not simply plant more of what we know grows well and leave the soil to its own devices? This ‘rotation’ business strikes me as a needless complication, born of overthinking what has always been a straightforward matter of sowing and reaping. The natural order is to continue to sow the grain as our forefathers did, for their wisdom is unquestionably greater than the imaginings of modern bluestockings.”

Mr Collins ceased his oration, regarding them with an expression of triumph.

Elizabeth wondered whether he had been rehearsing that speech like a sermon for the entire fifty odd miles from Kent.

Mr Stevenson raised his chin.

“Our investigations suggest that these irregular practices have led to a significant devaluation of the property.

As the heir presumptive, Mr Collins has a vested interest in preserving the estate’s worth.”

“Irregular practices?”

Elizabeth kept her voice level, although she felt heat rising in her cheeks.

“You mean the practices that have increased our crop yields by thirty percent over the past five years?”

“Of course, we are well aware that numbers can be manipulated, Miss Bennet,”

Stevenson said dismissively.

“Which is why we require immediate oversight of all financial records and management decisions.

For the good of the estate, you understand.”

Jane spoke up, her quiet voice carrying unexpected authority.

“Our books are meticulously kept, sir.

Every penny is accounted for.”

“Nevertheless,”

Mr Stevenson interjected, “given Mr Bennet’s unfortunate… condition, we feel it prudent to appoint a guardian to oversee matters.”

Elizabeth felt her grandfather stiffen beneath her hand.

Before she could respond, Collins pressed on.

“I should mention that several influential landowners in the area share our concerns.

Lord Matthews, for one, has expressed particular disapproval of the current… situation.”

He smiled, displaying more yellowed teeth than was strictly decorous.

“I believe you lease the north pasture from his estate?”

The threat was clear enough.

Elizabeth’s mind raced through their options, aware of how many families depended on Longbourn’s stability.

She thought of their tenants, of Mary who was even now tending to the sick child of one of them, of the perfectly balanced books Jane maintained.

“We will, of course, need time to consult our own solicitor regarding these claims,”

Mr Bennet said.

Collins exchanged a look with Mr Stevenson, barely concealing his satisfaction.

“We can grant you a week to put your affairs in order.

Although I doubt you will find any legal precedent to support your current arrangements.”

“A week will be sufficient,”

Mr Bennet replied, his tone making it clear the meeting was over.

Collins appeared confused, or perhaps deflated, that no confrontation ensued.

“We shall return one week from today,”

Stevenson said, turning to leave.

Collins opened his mouth to speak, glancing from one lady to the other.

“Do not for a moment think you will fool us with your affectation and coquetry as females.

I know how to manage such headstrong and foolish creatures.

You do not know your own interest; but I will make you know it.”

He fixed Elizabeth with a hard glare, its effect diminished by the sheen of sweat on his brow,

Mr Bennet reached up and placed a hand on Elizabeth’s arm as she drew breath to respond.

Elizabeth pressed her tongue against her teeth and inhaled sharply.

As Hill showed them out, Elizabeth heard Collins remark loudly in the hall, “Poor great-grandfather would be turning in his grave if he could see what has become of Longbourn.”

Elizabeth waited until their footsteps had faded before turning to her grandfather.

His face had grown pale, and there was something in his expression heretofore unknown—was it fear? Or guilt?

“Grandfather?”

she asked.

“I am well.

This was to be expected.

Our accounts are in order, and we have nothing to hide- well, nothing as relates to Longbourn.

Now, I think it is time we reviewed the inventory of the estate and remove any items that were brought to Longbourn as well as those we have acquired independently.”

Lydia burst into the drawing room in a rush of ribbons and skirts.

“You will never guess!”

she shouted into the hive of ledger-checking, silver-inventorying, and linen-sorting that the Bennet ladies had undertaken.

Mrs Bennet looked up from the embroidered damask tablecloth she was folding into a trunk.

“Lydia, please calm yourself.

We are all in a dither with this inventory and you ought to be as well!”

“But Mamma! You must hear the news!”

she said as she tore her bonnet from her head and flung it in the general direction of the settee.

“We will hear your news once you have taken a breath, Lyddie.”

Jane smiled at her youngest sister.

Lydia looked to the ceiling, took several slow breaths, and then positioned herself primly on a chair.

“Very well, Lydia.

What news?”

Mrs Bennet asked.

“I went to check on the cost of additional hay for my flock.

Mr Garrison, was there at the shops as well, and you know how he likes to talk.

Well, he said Lady Matthews has put about that Lord Matthews intends to take back the north pasture when our ‘lease’ expires! She said he is most concerned about ‘management’ at Longbourn and how we could pay the rent, given all the problems Mr Collins has spoken of.”

Lydia’s composure lasted only seconds before she leapt up again, pacing in agitation.

Mrs Bennet’s hands stilled on the damask.

“Did she indeed?”

“Yes! And what is worse, she was going on about how he had only let the land because he felt sorry for our situation, but now he hopes that the estate will have proper management.”

Lydia’s hands flew expressively.

Elizabeth’s quill paused mid-calculation.

“How convenient that he should suddenly recall his ‘ownership’ just when Mr Collins appears in need of allies.”

“The deed is secure in the strongbox,”

Jane said quietly, although her composed countenance had acquired the slightest edge.

“Along with his rather desperate letter begging us to keep the transaction private.”

“And the money was paid in full,”

Mrs Bennet added, her voice sharp.

“Although he seemed eager enough to forget that part when his son’s gaming debts were pressing.”

Lydia flopped dramatically onto the settee.

“But what are we to do? The sheep are settled there now, and the new pasturing plan is nearly complete, and--”

“We shall do nothing,”

Mr Bennet said firmly.

“Lord Matthews may bluster all he likes, but he cannot alter the deed.

Although perhaps, Elizabeth, you might mention the situation to Mr Darcy when next you discuss the drainage work.

His… perspective on such matters might prove useful.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly.

“Yes, and Sir William might be reminded of his role in witnessing the original transaction.

Just in case anyone should question the proceedings.”

“The documents remain obstinately fixed in their unfavourable position for Lord Matthews,”

Jane observed with gentle irony.

“No amount of rewriting history will change the sums in our books.

Or his signature on the receipt for funds paid.”

“Or the fact that the Viscount lost the price of the pasture at the hazard table in a single night,”

Lydia added with uncharacteristic bitterness.

“He would prefer everyone forget that part.”

“Then we shall help him forget it,”

Mrs Bennet said decisively, “by maintaining our usual discretion.

The deed speaks for itself, should it become necessary.

Now, Lydia, since you are here, help me with this inventory.

The linens will not count themselves.”

Lydia jumped up again, assuming an exaggerated pose and avoiding the linen pile.

“But there is more! I was in Johnson’s, looking at ribbons, when who should sweep in but Lady Matthews herself, in all her faded finery…”

She arranged her features into a pinched expression and adopted a nasal tone that made Elizabeth hide a smile behind her ledger.

“‘Mrs Johnson,’”

Lydia trilled in a perfect imitation, thrusting out her bosom and lifting her nose into the air.

“‘I require a travelling ensemble suitable for Bath.

Something that will not show the dust of travel, as I expect to make several journeys this winter.

The waters, you know, are quite indispensable for my health.’”

“Bath?”

Mrs Bennet’s hands stilled on the linens.

“In winter?”

“And not just Bath!”

Lydia twirled across the room, still in character.

“‘One simply cannot remain in the country through all the season.

It is so… provincial.

And with the estate requiring such tedious attention…It might be best if we simply let Dunbar Court go.’” She dropped the impression suddenly.

“And then she said something quite interesting about ‘Eastbridge managing the sale’ before she saw me and stopped talking!”

Jane and Elizabeth exchanged glances.

“Eastbridge is the Viscount, their eldest son,”

Jane said quietly.

“The one who’s been in London these past three years.”

“Living well beyond his means, if town gossip is to be believed,”

Elizabeth added.

She pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her and began calculating rapidly.

“Grandfather, if the estate comes up for sale…”

“We would need to move quickly,”

Mr Bennet said.

“The main house might be beyond our means, but those western fields…”

“Would connect perfectly with the north pasture,”

Jane finished, already reaching for the estate books.

“And the soil there is excellent for wheat.”

Lydia beamed at the stir she had created.

“Lady Matthews also said something about ‘that dreadful Mr Collins’’ and how he was ‘putting about the most shocking suggestions about poor Mr Bennet’s competence.’”

Her impression this time was pitch-perfect, down to Lady Matthews’s habit of tapping her fan for emphasis.

“Did she indeed?”

Mrs Bennet’s voice had grown thoughtful.

“Then perhaps we should invite Sir William to dine tomorrow.

He always has such… interesting information about local property matters.

And Elizabeth, when you speak with Mr Darcy about the drainage issues…”

“I shall mention our interest in expanding our holdings,”

Elizabeth finished.

“Although—we would need to employ some most prudent strategies.”

“The figures may not bend to inventive reasoning,”

Jane said with her gentle smile, “but they have generally proved amenable to careful management.

Particularly when we have time to prepare.”

“Then we shall prepare,”

Mrs Bennet said firmly.

“Lydia, dear, you have done very well.

Now, pray change your gown—you have quite rumpled your ribbons with your exertions.

Then come to help us finish this inventory.

We may need to know exactly what resources we have at our disposal.”

Lydia bounced out of the room, pleased with both her theatrical success and its impact.

Behind her, the scratch of quills sounded as her sisters began their calculations, plotting yet another careful expansion of their domain.