Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
L ongbourn,
April 1812
“Oh dear,” Elizabeth said at breakfast. “Our summer is ruined!” Her father had just passed her a letter from Lady Priscilla. “Lord Matlock has been thrown from his horse, and broken his leg! The doctor says that it is a terrible break, and that two months may not be sufficient for his healing. The Matlocks will not journey to Brighton this summer.”
“Do not worry, Lizzy.” Her father smiled at her. “I am certain your suitor will journey to spend the summer with you in Meryton.”
“I am certain that he will, but it is still a shame. Poor Lord Matlock,” Elizabeth replied.
“Perhaps being under your mother’s nose this summer will inspire the two of you to finally come to an understanding with your gentleman friends,” Mr Bennet teased. “You and Jane have tried her nerves sorely these months. It is a good thing Mary is engaged, or Mrs Bennet would have expired of anticipation before St Valentine’s Day.”
“There is no excuse to drag out a courtship in such an abominable manner!” cried Mrs Bennet. “Especially you, Jane; Mr Bingley has not been in the north all spring like Mr Darcy has. The two of you ought to have come to an understanding by now!”
“I will be certain before I commit myself, Mama,” said Jane serenely. “Mr Bingley feels the same. He has confessed to me that he fell in and out of love quickly, and often, in town. He wants to be certain that what we feel for one another is abiding, and I agree.”
“Oh, pish!” Mrs Bennet said.
“I believe it is eminently sensible,” said Kitty. “I should like it very ill if I were to be married, and my husband fell in love with another angel the very next time we went to town.”
“Which is why I consider it fate, that when Mr Bingley travels to Kent to retrieve Miss Bingley in two weeks, he shall detour to London and spend a fortnight there before returning.” Jane replied to her sister. “Miss Bingley is excited to try out her new manners in society, and he is to escort her to some entertainments and visit Mr and Mrs Hurst before returning to Netherfield. Now that Lady Catherine and Anne both vouch for Caroline’s behaviour, Lady Matlock has sent a note to a very select few of her friends, asking that the Bingleys and the Hursts be added to their invitation lists. Her society will still be limited, of course, until either someone else in London takes a shine to her and adds their support, or until Lady Matlock has been to London to judge Caroline’s reception herself, when she will decide whether to introduce her to more of their acquaintances.”
“Have you lost your senses! Jane Bennet, how could you be so foolish! You must travel to visit your aunt while Mr Bingley is in town, you must not let him forget you! What if he meets some nobleman’s daughter from one of these new invitations?”
“If he is to forget me so easily, then the sooner the better, I think,” responded Jane, unruffled. “Of course, if his affections did prove to be unreliable, I will not lie and say that I would not be devastated, for I believe we have courted long enough for me to admit that my hopes are very high. I am certain that I can trust all of you not to repeat that.” She eyed her mother with a rather stern expression for Jane. “But still, Mr Bingley has admitted himself to be capricious in the past. It speaks well of him that he wishes to know his heart and mine well before we commit ourselves. I will not go to London. I will remain here in Meryton, and assist Mary in her efforts on the parsonage.”
“Brava, Jane.” Elizabeth smiled at her sister. Jane had finally learned that the trick to escaping her mother’s endless speculation about her feelings and affairs among the other ladies of society, was to be open with her, and then demand her confidence. Mrs Bennet, grateful to have the knowledge that Jane very much wanted to be married, and was encouraging a gentleman in her own way, allowed that to be enough, and interfered less in her courtship. Elizabeth had convinced her mother that while Mr Bingley was a prize, that even if Jane did not marry him, it was impossible that she would not wed. Elizabeth assured her mother that she had always been correct. Jane could not be so beautiful nor so good and kind for nothing. It was unthinkable that some man would not see her worthiness. And now that Mary was to wed Mr Collins, they had no fear of the hedgerows. These thoughts calmed Mrs Bennet greatly, and she fussed a great deal less.
“And I shall be very grateful for Jane’s help. It was so very kind of my godfather to offer to redecorate the entire parsonage before our wedding,” said Mary. “William and I appreciate it so much, for little had been done to it since before Mr Babcock arrived, and he has been here over forty years.” Mary’s godfather refused to allow her to move into a shabby parsonage. Sir Henry had set up an account for her at Uncle Gardiner’s warehouse, and Mary had been given leave to refurnish the parsonage from Netherfield’s attics. A great deal of time had been spent selecting samples of fabrics with her sisters, and an adventure to search the attics in question had been planned for the following week, with Mr Bingley’s blessing. They would not go to excess, a clergyman’s home should be modest, but the wall coverings, fabrics, and furnishings would be of good quality, and give the impression of gentility. Sir Henry had even insisted that a very small pianoforte from a back parlour of Netherfield be moved to the parsonage for Mary. Her playing still suffered. Even after working diligently with Georgiana for months, her playing had not improved very much, but she still loved to practise every day; it brought her great peace. Thankfully, William had not much of an ear for tune, and he enjoyed hearing Mary play no matter how she sounded.
“Hullo, cousins!” greeted William Bennet as he entered their breakfast room. Mr Collins had learnt shortly after his betrothal to Mary that in order to take his inheritance upon the death of Mr Bennet, he must return to the Bennet name, which his grandfather had parted from when he married a woman with property. That property had been lost to bad debts, and his father had always been bitter about it. Instead of expecting Mary to change her name to Collins upon her marriage, and then back to Bennet upon the death of her father, he had officially changed his last name to Bennet before taking his place as rector in January.
“Hello Cousin William!” The Bennet ladies chorused as he took a seat next to Mary, a seat which was always kept for him, for he joined the family often. “Hello, my dear, you look radiant this morning,” he said to Mary, as he smiled at the rest of his cousins. “As do you all, ladies.”
“What elegant little compliments you bestow so liberally, Cousin,” Elizabeth teased him. “I am certain you must lie awake all night arranging how to give them as unstudied an air as possible.”
“No such effort is required when my dear family are the ladies in question,” William laughed. “You all make it far too easy for me, the accolades merely slide off my tongue.” William got on exceedingly well with all of his cousins, having come to know them all individually, and appreciate them each for their own merits, but his bond with Elizabeth was special. Cousin Elizabeth had been the first to welcome him to the family; the first person in his entire life to give him sound and altruistic advice. He credited her entirely with his acceptance into the Bennet family, and he would be grateful until he died for her kindness.
“I just heard from Darcy, Elizabeth,” he informed her. “I wrote two weeks ago, asking if he would consider selling Bartholomew. He says he will take it into close consideration, but asks if I might wait until September for his answer. Odd request, but it is not as if I must be in any hurry to purchase a horse. I merely felt guilty for monopolising his, and offered to buy him because I like the beast so well, and thought to give him an opportunity to ask for the animal back if he did not wish to be rid of him. Instead, he says that it is more convenient to house him at Netherfield presently. Mr Bingley is willing to keep him on in his stables, and Mr Darcy asks if I might do him the favour of delaying the purchase of another horse, so that I might exercise Bartholomew for him until he can give me his answer.”
Elizabeth smiled. She knew why Will had made the odd request. Will was waiting until Mary and William’s wedding in late August to make a gift of the horse to them. Charles had purchased a small trap for them, and Papa purchased a pony to pull it for Mary when Bartholomew was engaged with William. There was a local squire in the next village over, whose children had outgrown their pony, and the man wished for the beast to have a kind and undemanding home. Mary would be able to to easily travel about the parish on her business as the parson’s wife, and William would have Bartholomew to do the same, and to help Mr Bennet with estate matters. Mr Bingley would offer to keep them in the stables at Netherfield for the duration of his stay in Meryton. The parsonage was very near to Netherfield. Mary and Mr Collins would only need to send a maid over to request their horse or pony and cart, and a stable boy would bring it directly, saving them the expense of feeding and housing the animals, and the work of their upkeep. Mr Bingley told Jane that it was his pleasure to make such an offer, and that it would be his particular contribution to the parish.
William Bennet had changed a great deal in manner since December. He was competent on his horse, and had learned a great deal about manners, propriety, and gentlemanly conduct from his cousins and the gentlemen from Netherfield. Mr Bennet and Mr Darcy were constantly giving him reading material, including agricultural texts, history, theology, works of fiction, and even a few translated classics, much of which was beyond what he could fathom, but he did his very best. He and Mary read voraciously in their spare time, and discussed what they read with Mr Bennet, or even sometimes had little group debates with Elizabeth and Darcy which led to very lively conversation.
He spent much of his time helping Mr Bennet. He knew all of the tenants, and visited them often. When he was not about parish business, he was learning to become the de facto steward of Longbourn. Mr Bennet admitted that due to William’s enthusiasm, and Mr Bennet’s newfound desire to improve the estate for Mary and her children, that there was a good probability that the estate would see an increase in profit come the next harvest. William was tireless, and Mr Bennet was hard put not to be swept away by his enthusiasm.
William could still be a little silly at times, particularly when meeting new acquaintances, and could sometimes be overly friendly or condescending. Mary would put a gentle pressure on his arm in these cases, and he would pause and modulate his tone or behaviour. Mr Bennet often bemoaned the loss of the old Mr Collins, and the amusement he had once enjoyed at the young man’s expense. William had even lost some weight, with all of the work and running about that he did for the estate and the parish. Having shed a great deal of his own self importance, he was less demanding to his kitchen maid about his meals, and so his figure benefited.
Mary was also learning and improving day by day. She spent a great time in the kitchen, and the cook said that Miss Mary could replace her soon enough. She also spent time with Mrs Hill and the maids, learning exactly how the work of the house was done, so that she might be of assistance to the kitchen maid and young boy that would come daily to help at the parsonage. She also learned a great deal from the tenants and parishioners. She had taken to carrying a bit of paper and a pencil to write down all the advice she was given by women who had been running their own homes for years, and most of it sounded very helpful.
“Will you break your fast with us?” Mary asked her beau, as she poured him a cup of tea.
“Just a cup, thank you, my dear,” he said gratefully. “Miss Eddy left me a scotch egg, and I enjoyed a muffin and some marvellous preserves with it not an hour ago. Bennet, I am on my way over to Mr Blackwell’s farm to see about that barn roof. Do you wish to join me?”
“No, William, I believe you can be trusted to manage the problem. I believe I shall play the gentleman today, and remain in my book room. You have tricked me out too often since you arrived, I have neglected my classics. Matlock sent me an interesting text last week about the Roman Empire, you may enjoy my share of the resolution,” Mr Bennet declined as he rose to find his book room. William finished his tea, then bid his sweetheart goodbye, kissed Mrs Bennet’s cheek, and went along on his business.