Page 42 of The Mercy of Chance

A t Longbourn, Mary met them at the door, her usual composure betrayed by evident concern.

“Jane, Lizzy—thank goodness you have returned.

Grandfather has taken quite ill.

Mamma is with him now.”

After assuring themselves of their grandfather’s care—he slept fitfully whilst Mrs Bennet applied cool cloths to his brow—the sisters gathered in the dining room.

Elizabeth related their morning’s discoveries whilst Kitty fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair.

“The barn at the Lodge is nearly complete,”

Lydia reported.

“Although moving the sheep flock in spring will be a delicate business.

We shall need to time it precisely with the grass coming in on those new pastures we bought from Matthews’ estate.”

“And the removal of our personal effects to the Lodge?”

Elizabeth asked.

“Half done,”

Mary answered.

“Mamma’s jewellery and personal plates have been packed, along with the books and sheet music we purchased.

The furniture brought with her marriage portion is safely stored, and we have catalogued all the smaller items that came from the Gardiner side—the tea services, paintings, and linens.”

“We must do more,”

Elizabeth said, then signed deeply.

“Mr Phillips warned us plainly: ‘Should the court find merit in Mr Collins’s petition, they may appoint a commissioner to take inventory of Longbourn, to determine which portions fall within the scope of the entail.’ We are to ensure that only what cannot legally be moved remains within reach of that determination.”

“I find the whole business intolerable,”

Mrs Bennet declared from the doorway, her hands fluttering in distress.

“To be told what we may or may not remove from our own home! To have strangers poking about my cupboards and counting my linens!”

“Mr Phillips was most emphatic,”

Jane said gently.

“He urged that we must not allow sentiment or discomfort to endanger the legal clarity of our position.

All that can be justly claimed as personal property must be removed—soon.”

“I daresay if he had to pack up his own drawing room he would not speak so confidently,”

Mrs Bennet huffed.

“Disrupting the entire household! I never imagined I should live to see such a day.”

“We shall manage it, Mamma,”

Elizabeth said with a calm that belied her own weariness.

“The more diligently we act now, the better fortified we shall be if the matter proceeds to trial.”

“And Grandfather’s books?”

Lydia asked.

“The agricultural texts purchased within his lifetime have already been marked,”

Mary replied.

“Those inherited from previous generations must, of course, remain, but we have distinguished the two in the catalogue.”

Elizabeth glanced around the room, taking in the familiar furnishings with a pang of quiet resolve.

“Let it not be said that we did not meet Mr Collins’s falsehoods with clarity, order, and truth.

We will preserve what is ours—and defend what remains.”

“Must the portraits remain?”

Jane added quietly.

“Are they fixed to the walls so that they are considered part of the house?”

“Personal chattels.”

Elizabeth replied.

“They are not considered fixed to the walls, only hung upon them.

They are not integral to the structure—like glass in the windows or the wainscotting; the question is whether they are to be termed ‘heirlooms.’”

“As with most of the furniture,”

Mary continued.

“Although Mamma was careful to keep the bills of sale for the pieces we purchased with the profits over the years.

Those at least are ours to take.”

“And Grandfather’s personal effects?”

Elizabeth asked.

“His books and instruments remain in his chambers for now,”

Mary said.

“Although we have identified which volumes were purchased during his lifetime, rather than inherited.

The modern agricultural texts, in particular, are clearly his personal property.”

“What of the plate in the dining room?”

Lydia asked practically.

“Did not some of it come from Mamma’s family?”

“Only the smaller pieces,”

Jane explained.

“The main silver service was here when Grandfather inherited.

We have marked everything—Hill has been most particular about checking the dates of purchase against the household books.”

“I have begun moving my dried specimens and saved seeds to the Lodge house cellar,”

Kitty offered.

“Although I worry about transferring the more delicate specimens in this weather.

The new kitchen garden beds will not be ready until spring, but at least the house is sound.” She hesitated, then added, “Speaking of the gardens, there is something else I should have mentioned before,” Kitty said, her fingers worrying at her sleeve.

“About three weeks past, when I was gathering herbs in the kitchen garden, two men came to the door.

They claimed to be selling farm implements.”

“I remember,”

Jane said.

“Hill turned them away.”

Kitty nodded.

“But afterward, I heard them talking as they walked the path toward Netherfield.

I did not think much of it then—they seemed to be discussing drainage work they had performed at other estates.

But they mentioned Netherfield, and they carried far more tools than ordinary peddlers would.”

Elizabeth’s eyes met Jane’s.

“They were establishing a pretence for being seen in the area.”

“And the tools they carried,”

Mary added quietly, “would have been exactly what one needed to move the soil and alter channels.”

“It makes a pattern,”

Lydia said, unusually serious.

“First the writ against Grandfather, then this attempt to damage Netherfield.

He means to discredit our management of both estates.”

“We cannot prove it was Mr Collins’s doing,”

Jane said.

“No,”

Elizabeth agreed.

“But who else would benefit from flooding Netherfield’s kitchen gardens? Who else would have both the knowledge of our improvements and the motive to cause such precise damage?”

“The question becomes,”

Mary said, “what we do with this information.”

“Whatever we decide,”

Lydia interjected, “we must secure the Lodge property first.

If Collins gets wind that we have discovered his scheme, he might turn his attention there next.

I will not have my sheep’s spring pasture ruined because of his spite.”

The sisters fell silent, each considering the implications.

Through the window, Elizabeth saw storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

They would need to act quickly, before winter’s grip strengthened and their evidence was lost beneath the ice.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh

Rosings Park

Kent

My dear Aunt,

I trust this letter finds you in good health.

The weather in Hertfordshire has been uncommonly fine this fortnight, and Georgiana progresses most satisfactorily.

It is with considerable reluctance that I take up my pen to address a matter of some delicacy.

Intelligence has reached me concerning certain activities undertaken by your parson, Mr.

Collins which appear to be directed against the Bennet family of Longbourn.

These include attempts to have Mr.

Bennet declared of unsound mind, and what appears to be deliberate damage to improvements recently made to their estate.

Such actions seem quite beyond the resources of a clergyman whose income derives solely from his living.

I feel obliged to remind your Ladyship that, as trustee of the Rosings estate since my uncle's passing, and after the recent difficulties with the accounts of the estate which constitute the property of my cousin under the terms of my uncle’s will, I maintain oversight of all financial matters pertaining to the property.

In this capacity, I have observed several substantial withdrawals from the estate accounts in recent months, made without the customary explanations or documentation.

I find myself unable to approve these expenditures without proper accounting.

It is my unpleasant duty to inform you that these irregular disbursements, combined with the extraordinary expenses already incurred this quarter, have entirely depleted the allowance allocated for your Ladyship's use.

No further funds can be made available for the next two quarters, and then only if accompanied by proper accounting of their intended purpose.

Should it transpire that your Ladyship has any connection to Mr.

Collins's present endeavours, I must caution that such involvement carries considerable risk.

The courts look most unfavourably upon attempts to wrongfully impugn a gentleman's sanity or to deliberately damage his property.

Any person found to have instigated such actions would face both legal consequences and irreparable damage to their standing in society.

Finally, I am compelled to address what I suspect underlies these machinations.

If, as I fear, these actions are undertaken with the design of compelling me into marriage with my cousin Anne, I must speak plainly.

Neither Anne nor I have ever entertained such an expectation, despite your Ladyship's frequent assertions to the contrary.

To continue to put about such reports as established fact can only result in harm to Anne's reputation when it becomes evident that no such union will occur.

The scandal arising from such disappointed expectations would fall most heavily upon Anne herself, who has done nothing to deserve such treatment.

I remain, as ever, mindful of the respect due to your Ladyship as my relation, and it is with genuine concern for your welfare and that of my cousin that I write so candidly.

Your most obedient nephew,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

The Meryton magistrate’s office proved even more cramped than Darcy had anticipated, its low ceiling and musty air doing little to improve Bingley’s evident discomfort.

Mr Kensington, a thin man with spectacles perched precariously upon his nose, cleared his throat for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes.

“So, you are unable to provide specific details regarding the alterations to the grounds, Mr Bingley?”

“I am not a man of particulars, sir.”

Bingley tugged at his cravat.

“Mr Darcy has a far greater understanding of such matters.”

“Yet you are the leaseholder of Netherfield.”

Mr Kensington’s pen scratched against his page.

“And the testimony must come from you directly if it is to hold legal weight.”

“Yes, well.”

Bingley shifted in his seat.

“There were ditches where ditches ought not to have been.

And… stones moved.

Or perhaps not moved when they should have been.

The technical aspects escape me.”

Darcy sat rigidly beside his friend, resisting the urge to intervene.

Bingley had insisted he could manage this portion of the inquiry alone, yet each halting response further undermined their position.

“I see.”

Mr Kensington’s look suggested he saw very little indeed.

“And these alterations occurred after you took possession but before your arrival?”

“I cannot say with certainty.

That is, I did not notice them immediately upon taking possession of the property, but then, I was not looking for such things.”

“Of course.”

The solicitor made another note, his expression decidedly unsympathetic.

“Perhaps you might return with more precise documentation, Mr Bingley—Dates, measurements, observations from your staff?”

“Yes.”

Bingley stood abruptly.

“Certainly.

Another day, perhaps.

Thank you for your time, Mr Kensington.”

The carriage ride back to Netherfield passed in uncomfortable silence until they had travelled beyond the town limits.

“I have no head for this, Darcy.”

Bingley burst out suddenly.

“Drainage systems and legal testimony and property disputes.

It is wholly beyond my capabilities.”

“You underestimate yourself,”

Darcy replied, although with less conviction than he might have wished.

“I do not.

The owner should manage this matter himself.

Why should I struggle with an issue that shall be his concern long after my lease has ended?”

“Because it affects your tenants and your yields presently.

And because you gave your word that you would address it.”

Bingley waved a dismissive hand.

“The word of a man who did not fully comprehend what he was agreeing to undertake.”

Something in Darcy’s chest tightened at the cavalier response.

“Is that to be your approach to all challenges that arise, Bingley—To withdraw when the circumstances prove more complex than anticipated?”

“Not all challenges.

Merely those for which I am ill-suited.”

Bingley’s gaze slid away from Darcy’s.

“I own, Caroline has suggested I might apply the same wisdom to other areas.”

“Such as?”

“As you know, she has strong reservations regarding Miss Bennet.”

The words emerged in a rush.

“Her connections, her unorthodox situation.

Caroline believes I might form a more advantageous attachment elsewhere.”

“And you are persuaded by this counsel?”

“I…”

Bingley hesitated.

“I value my sister’s opinion in such matters.

Her judgement is sound.”

“Her judgement is concerned primarily with her own interests.”

The words emerged more sharply than Darcy intended.

“Have you considered whether Miss Bennet’s qualities might outweigh the supposed disadvantages that Miss Bingley has catalogued?”

“Of course I have.

She is all that is gentle and lovely.

But a man must consider practical matters as well as affection when contemplating matrimony.”

“Indeed.”

Darcy turned to look out of the carriage window, his jaw tight.

“Although I wonder if you have given equal consideration to the practical matter of your own happiness.”

“Happiness comes in many forms, does it not? A suitable match need not be built on grand passion.

Classic beauty is not everything.”

“No,”

Darcy agreed, thinking suddenly, painfully, of Elizabeth Bennet’s fine eyes.

“But neither should your wished be sacrificed to please those whose primary concern is their own consequence rather than your contentment.

Further, perhaps you ought to have restrained your attentions to the lady until you had sorted your thoughts on the matter.

A gentleman does not raise expectations which he has no intentions of fulfilling.”

Bingley fell silent, and Darcy did not press him further.

He was deeply disappointed in his friend—and more troubled than he cared to admit—by the parallels drawn to his own situation.

If Bingley could so easily be dissuaded from pursuing a woman who brought him evident joy, what did that suggest about the strength of his character? And what of Darcy’s own resolve regarding Miss Elizabeth?

The remainder of the journey passed in silence, each man absorbed in his own thoughts, and neither entirely pleased with their course.

“Good God.”

Bingley stared at the figures his steward had laid before them in Netherfield’s study.

“The damage extends beyond the kitchen gardens?”

“Yes, sir.”

Thompson pointed to his precisely drawn diagrams.

“The altered channels have undermined the foundation of the west garden wall.

Come spring, the entire structure may need rebuilding.

And the flooding has killed most of the root stock in the fruit trees—they will all need replacing.”

Darcy examined the cost estimates.

“What of immediate repairs required to prevent further damage?”

“They are extensive.

And must be done before the soil has been washed away completely, sir.

That is the most pressing expense.”

Thompson shuffled his papers.

“But the lost productivity of the kitchen gardens alone… we will be buying in vegetables and fruits for at least two seasons.

The soil has been fouled in places—it will take a great deal of work to restore it.”

Bingley ran a hand through his hair.

“And you are certain about these figures?”

“I had Mr Williamson from the Caldwell orchard examine the fruit trees himself.

And Mr Jenkins, who did the original drainage work three years ago, provided the estimates for repairs.”

Thompson shifted in his seat.

“They are both willing to testify to the extent of the damage, should it come to that.”

Darcy watched his friend pace to the window.

Once the steward had gone, Bingley dropped into his chair.

“You are plotting something, old friend.”

“Perhaps.”

“I know that tone, Darcy.

What is in your mind?”

“Mr Collins holds no present ownership interest in Longbourn—only the expectation of inheritance.

Yet he speaks and acts as though the estate were already his.

Such presumption, combined with his recent manoeuvres, suggests a certain… eagerness to consolidate influence.”

Bingley turned, his interest sharpening.

“You believe he might be susceptible to pressure?”

“I believe he may consider any proposal which lends legitimacy to his position—or funds to his purse.

If one were to express interest in acquiring adjacent fields—”

“Fields he cannot truly sell,”

Bingley interrupted.

“True.

Yet men of ambition often seek to bargain with that which is not theirs to yield.

And should the current distress become public, he may attempt to broker terms in anticipation of what he presumes will one day be his.”

Bingley’s expression turned thoughtful.

“It would be a delicate matter.”

Darcy inclined his head.

“Delicate, yes.

But not impossible.”

“Collins does not know I purchased Matthews’s estate.

If he receives offers from both you and Matthews…”

“He may well be eager to sell to both, thinking he can play us against each other.”

Bingley laughed.

“Rather devious.

Although will he not discover the truth eventually?”

“Not before the agreements are signed.”

Darcy’s smile was grim.

“And Collins will find himself with significantly less of Longbourn to inherit than he imagined- if any.”

“Is it legal?”

Bingley mused.

“Even so, rather devious of you, Darcy.”

“I prefer to think of it as… proper estate management.”

“Indeed?”

Bingley’s eyes glinted with amusement.

“And your interest in proper estate management would not have anything to do with a certain lady’s involvement in these matters?”

Darcy ignored this, returning to Thompson’s figures.

“We should have these repairs begin immediately.

The more visible the work, the more pressure on Collins.”

Bingley was silent for a moment.

“Whilst I see the merit of your plan, I must admit some hesitation at the outlay.

Would this not more properly be done by the landowner? I am only a tenant here.”

“Have you already decided against purchasing?”

“I have not decided, but Caroline is far happier in town, and she is not terribly fond of Hertfordshire.

She insisted I ought to buy in Derbyshire,”

Bingley’s speech echoed his sister’s petulant whinges.

Darcy cringed at the obvious intention of Miss Bingley to force her brother away from Miss Bennet and closer to his own estate.

It mattered not to him.

If Caroline Bingley took up residence on the doorstep of Pemberley, it would not advance her campaign to become his wife by a single yard.

It would, however, be sorely inconvenient.

“If that is your intention, the Phillips will need to contact the owner and determine whether he will pursue the action.

I advise you to think long and hard about what responsibilities you undertook at Netherfield, and how you see your future.

In any case, I can do little more here.

The next steps require decisions that only you, as tenant, can undertake.”

Bingley looked up, uncertain.

“You are leaving?”

“I must return to London.”

Darcy’s tone was even.

“There are obligations awaiting me, and Georgiana cannot remain indefinitely without my attention.”

Bingley did not respond but rose and walked to the window.

“I am convinced it is not so dire that I must decide today.

What say you to a ride around the fields? I think there may still be shooting to be had if we engage some beaters for tomorrow.”

Darcy nodded, his role as a guest compelling him to accommodate his host’s entertainments.

Bingley’s indecisiveness did not sit well, nonetheless.