Page 3 of The Mercy of Chance

The house came into view, solid and familiar against the clear sky, its Portland stone gleaming honey-gold in the late morning light. The light August breeze stirred the tops of the elms along the drive, carrying the sweet scent of newly mown hay from the south field. Gravel crunched beneath their shoes as they approached, the sound as familiar to Elizabeth as her own breath. Mrs Bennet smoothed her expression as she mounted the stone steps of Longbourn. Hill opened the panelled oak door and Mrs Bennet and Elizabeth stepped into the foyer and handed their bonnets to the faithful housekeeper.

News of Mr Bingley and Netherfield must wait. The present crisis required all their attention. They had learnt these past five years that tomorrow’s possibilities meant little when compared with today’s certainties.

“I shall review the western field calculations with him immediately,” Elizabeth said as they mounted the steps. “He will rest easier knowing the work continues.”

“You indulge him too much,” her mother replied, although her tone held no real censure.

“He taught us that responsibility to the estate must come first,” Elizabeth said simply. “I would not have him think us neglectful of his lessons.”

Hill opened the panelled oak door, and they stepped from the cool dimness of the entry hall to the drawing room.

“Mr Jones has just left, Mamma. He left some draughts and directed Cook to make up some beef tea. He urged Grandfather to rest, but…” Jane said.

“But he insists the estate will not manage itself,” Elizabeth finished. “I shall bring the account books to his bedchamber.”

Jane and her mother conferred in low tones. News of Netherfield’s new tenant must indeed wait. Their situation at Longbourn diminished steadily with the passing months, for their grandfather’s declining health marked the approaching hour when the estate must, by law of entail, transfer to Mr Collins—leaving the ladies to economise ruthlessly and cultivate what connections remained to them else they be cast upon the charity of relations, Mr Collins’s impatience grew more evident with each letter. Perhaps, in another life, she might have viewed the arrival of a single gentleman of fortune as an exciting social prospect. But that luxury belonged to young ladies whose futures were not bound to the land as securely as theirs.

Elizabeth secured the correct ledger and ran up the stairs to her grandfather’s chamber.

“Has Netherfield been let at last?” Elizabeth started at her grandfather’s unexpected greeting.

“Your mother will have heard the news in the village,” he replied, his voice growing fainter. “Five thousand a year, they say. A decent sum, if prudently managed.” His eyes drifted closed. “We must secure an introduction. There is much to be addressed along that border…”

His voice trailed off as Mrs Bennet entered the study, her steps quick but controlled. Mary rose to greet her, speaking softly. “His breathing eased somewhat with the draughts once we returned him to the study, but he remains agitated about estate matters.”

“As ever.” Mrs Bennet sighed. “There was a time when Thomas and I found his dedication amusing. Now I find myself wishing he had your father’s talent for seeing the lighter side of life.”

Elizabeth smiled faintly. “Father always said Grandfather achieved enough seriousness for both of them.”

“Indeed.” Her mother’s expression softened momentarily before returning to its practical mien. “It is well that Mr Jones has left draughts. Have you been reading to him, Mary?”

“Yes, although he attends little. He keeps asking for the ledgers and mentioning the property line with Netherfield.” Mary hesitated. “He was speaking about a new tenant?”

Mrs Bennet moved to check on her father-in-law, her fingers lightly tested the pulse at his wrist. “So Mrs Long said. A young London man with five thousand a year, apparently, although I am more concerned with whether he might prove a better steward than the previous tenant.”

Mrs Bennet straightened as she tucked the shawl securely around her father-in-law’s thin shoulders.

Mr Bennet patted his daughter-in-law’s hand. “Thank you, Frances. I will be well. Perhaps I should not have pushed myself to go out to the barns this morning.”

“There is no perhaps about it, Mr Bennet. The barns do not require your attendance, but we do. Now let’s settle you with some beef tea. Our girls will take care of the ledgers, as they always do. Although I sometimes wonder what kind of life they might have led had their father lived to see them all properly established in society.”

So do I , Elizabeth thought, although she kept the sentiment to herself as she made way to the writing table. Grandfather’s mind remained as keen as ever in estate matters, his judgement as sound as it had been these sixty years of stewardship. Yet his body betrayed him, turning even a morning’s work into an ordeal. They relied upon his guidance absolutely, which made it all the more difficult to persuade him to husband his strength. Each time he pushed himself too far, it undid weeks of careful recovery. Matrimonial prospects and social niceties—the concerns that might have occupied a normal family of five daughters—seemed increasingly like luxuries they could ill afford. Longbourn’s needs, as always, must come first.

“This quarter’s returns exceed last year’s by a fair margin,” Mr Bennet said, his voice firm despite his pallid countenance. “Although we must consider—” He broke off as another cough seized him.

“Grandfather, please,” Elizabeth murmured. “Let us resume after you have rested.”

“The decisions cannot wait, child. The grain merchants will require our answer by the month’s end.” He reached for the ledger with a trembling hand.

Mrs Bennet stepped forward. “Perhaps we might review the figures whilst you take some refreshment? Jane has just sent word that Cook has prepared that beef tea you find tolerable.”

Her father-in-law’s sharp eyes met hers. In them she saw the same keen intelligence that had guided Longbourn through drought and plenty, war, and peace. “You believe I overtax myself, Frances.” His lips lifted into an affectionate smile.

“I believe your guidance is essential to these decisions, sir. Which is why we must ensure you are strong enough to see them through properly.” Mrs Bennet smoothed his shawl, her familiar movements soothing as she subtly observed his pallor and his breathing,

He subsided back in his chair, a slight smile touching his lips. “You have learnt to manage me very well, my dear. Very well indeed.” His gaze moved to the window, where the autumn sun slanted across the park. “The south field must be addressed before the frost sets in. The drainage—”

“Is proceeding exactly as you recommended,” Elizabeth assured him. “Mr Robinson agreed to begin the work yesterday, following your specifications to the letter.”

“Good. Good.” He closed his eyes briefly. “You may send for that beef tea, Frances. But bring me the ledger where I can see it. And tell me what news you heard in Meryton today. One must keep abreast of local matters, even when confined to one’s study.” He smiled teasingly, then settled back in his favourite soft chair, his legs extended toward the warming hearth.

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with her mother as she pulled the bell cord. If discussion of Mr Bingley’s arrival at Netherfield would distract him from estate matters for a time, perhaps they might achieve both rest and social intelligence. Perhaps he would allow her to place a blanket on his lap.

The breakfast room at Longbourn was awash in early autumn sunlight. Jane poured tea whilst Elizabeth toasted bread, then spread on butter, both tasks performed with the automatic efficiency of long habit. Mary sat comparing two volumes of agricultural reports, whilst Kitty sketched what appeared to be a new design for the kitchen garden. Even Lydia, normally restless at an early hour, was occupied with copying measurements from their mother’s household book.

“Sir William called yesterday,” Mrs Bennet announced, accepting her tea from Jane. “He brings intelligence of Netherfield’s new tenant.”

“I am still amazed they finally found someone willing to tolerate those atrocious drainage problems.” Elizabeth enquired, not looking up from her toast. “The lower fields have been flooding the lane to Meryton every spring. Not to mention the overflow in the autumn nearly to the kitchen garden.”

Mrs Bennet gave Elizabeth a quelling look. “A Mr Bingley has taken it. Sir William says he means to arrive before Michaelmas.”

“That gives poor Mrs Nichols barely a fortnight to make the house habitable,” Jane said. “Cook says her sister, the charwoman at Lucas Lodge, heard the roof needs considerable work. The attics might be water damaged.”

“He brings a substantial income,” they say. And a party from London.” Mrs Bennet continued.

“Then he can well afford to be a proper landlord,” said Mary, marking her place with a finger. “These reports show the damage poor drainage can do to neighbouring properties. He ought to be a responsible member of the neighbourhood…”

“A young, single gentleman,” Mrs Bennet added with studied care, watching her daughters’ reactions.

“Poor man,” said Elizabeth with a slight smile. “Already the neighbourhood must be arranging his future. How many eligible young ladies between here and London will be throwing themselves in his path?”

“Lizzy,” Jane reproved gently. “We must not prejudge him.”

“Lady Lucas will put her girls forward directly,” Lydia predicted with a worldly air that sat oddly on her fifteen years. “Charlotte said Maria has a new blue gown made up.”

“It signifies very little to us,” said Kitty practically. “Since Grandfather cannot call, we shall not be among his earliest acquaintance.”

“But Sir William has offered to convey our good wishes when he pays his respects,” Mrs Bennet said. “He understands our situation.”

“Sir William is all kindness,” Jane murmured. “Although I wish we did not require his accommodation.”

Elizabeth glanced at her sister. “It is not ideal, but we cannot alter it. And truly, what signifies a new neighbour when compared to the south field drainage? Which, Mamma, Grandfather insists must be addressed before--”

“Before the frost, yes. I have not forgotten.” Mrs Bennet glanced at her daughters in turn, then unfolded a letter. “Mr Collins writes again.”

A brief silence fell over the breakfast table. Even Lydia’s pencil stopped scratching.

Elizabeth set down her toast. Her appetite quite fled. “What does our esteemed cousin require this time?”

“He expresses his usual solicitude for Grandfather’s health,” she began, with her brows lifted in incredulity. Mrs Bennet’s tone remained even though her fingers appeared to tighten on the paper. “And enquires whether we have considered his suggestion about engaging a male steward.”

“The cost of the steward he suggested would consume nearly half the estate’s annual income,” Mary said, closing her agricultural report. “And would hardly know the estate’s needs as well as we do after five years’ management.”

“Besides which,” added Jane quietly, “Grandfather would never accept it.”

“No, indeed.” Mrs Bennet folded the letter with precise movements. “Sir William and Mr Phillips have both offered their opinion that the estate has never been better managed. Even Lady Lucas remarked upon the improvement in the home farm’s yields.”

“Yet Mr Collins persists in believing six women are unable to balance household accounts,” Elizabeth said. Her voice held more weariness than bitterness. “I warrant he has never balanced a ledger in his life.”

“It signifies little what Mr Collins believes,” said Jane, ever diplomatic. “So long as our neighbours continue their support. Sir William’s kindness has been invaluable.”

“Although I wish Charlotte need not always make excuses for why her mother cannot invite us to their musical evenings,” Kitty remarked, adding another neat line to her garden sketch. “As though we might forget our position without reminders.”

“Lady Lucas means well,” Mrs Bennet said, “but she has her own daughters to consider. And with Maria just turned sixteen…”

“She fears our situation might taint her daughters’ prospects,” Elizabeth finished. “As though misfortune were catching.”

“Like a fever,” Lydia added with a grimace. “Although I notice they were glad enough of our advice when their roses developed rust spots.”

“Lydia,” Jane remonstrated, “they have been kinder than many. And Sir William’s friendship has protected us from worse gossip.”

“Indeed,” said Mrs Bennet. “We must remember that most of our neighbours have treated us with great consideration, given the peculiarity of our situation. The Longs still call regularly, and Mrs Goulding always includes us in her garden parties.”

“Where we are seated with the dowagers and spinsters,” Kitty muttered.

“Better that than not invited at all,” Mary pointed out. “And they do purchase our preserves and honey, which adds to the household income.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened as she regarded her younger sister. Mary had developed a remarkable head for business these past years, tracking every penny that came in from their various small enterprises. At eighteen, she managed the still room and poultry sales with an efficiency their father’s grandmother would have approved.

“And yet,” Mrs Bennet spoke with composed deliberation, “we cannot depend forever on neighbourly kindness. Mr Collins’s letter, unwelcome as it may be, reminds us that our position here is not permanently secured.”

“Unless one of us makes a brilliant match,” Lydia suggested with a trace of flippancy. “Perhaps this Mr Bingley will prove our salvation.”

“Lydia,” Elizabeth began, but their mother interrupted.

“We shall secure our position through competent management and careful stewardship,” Mrs Bennet said firmly. “Just as we have these years past. Although I will not deny that advantageous marriages would provide security, we cannot rely upon the mercy of chance to ensure our happiness.” She rose from the table. “Now, Jane, you must see to the laundry accounts, and Elizabeth, your grandfather, will expect you in the study at ten. Mary, Kitty, did not Hill mention something about the quince preserves?”

As her sisters dispersed to their various duties, Elizabeth lingered over her cold tea. The arrival of yet another of Mr Collins’s letters had cast its usual pall over their morning, yet Elizabeth considered Lydia’s jest about Mr Bingley with more serious purpose. How would a new neighbour of consequence alter the delicate balance of local society? If he proved a responsible landlord, the improvements to Netherfield would prove salutary to all the surrounding estates. More significantly for the Bennets, his arrival would reveal how their neighbours chose to present the Bennet family to newcomers. Elizabeth considered, with no small degree of vexation, that their reception by Mr Bingley might well determine how the neighbourhood should regard them. Her fingers tightened around her teacup as Charlotte’s words from yesterday echoed in her mind: “Mr Bingley’s circle will reset the social order in Meryton.” The implication had been clear enough—their position rested upon the most uncertain foundation. Would this stranger’s judgement turn the balance further against them? Elizabeth set her cup down with more force than intended, causing the tea to slosh over the rim. Jane glanced up, her eyebrow raised in silent question. They shared the horror of being regarded as five unfortunate spinsters in the making, awaiting their cousin’s eventual succession to the estate.

If only Grandfather were well enough to make that first, crucial call upon Netherfield’s new master. When his health had permitted him to venture into the neighbourhood, his very presence had served as a reminder that Longbourn remained under the guidance of its rightful master, not merely maintained until some gentleman should take charge. His commanding figure, though latterly supported by a walking stick, had carried the authority of five decades of land management. Now, with Grandfather largely confined to his book-room by his increasing infirmity, the ladies of Longbourn were subject to scrutiny that bordered on impertinence.