Chapter 13
Clem Collins was debating whether to acquiesce to the demand that the solicitor, who was far below a landed gentleman like himself, had made in the note he had just received.
He was already in a foul mood over being dissatisfied with his wife seeing that it had been more than three years since another damned daughter had been born.
She had never fallen with child again. No matter how much he berated or punished her, the woman simply refused to carry another child for him.
He was getting desperate for an heir; as such, he did not know how much longer he would tolerate a wife who was not doing her duty to him.
In addition, the estate’s income had fallen even lower, and no matter what he did, there was not enough money to meet what needed to be paid to run Longbourn.
Regardless of how much he demanded, cajoled, or even begged the bloody tradesmen to allow him, the master of Longbourn, to open accounts, they steadfastly refused.
Desperation had driven him to gamble heavily, and for some reason, he lost. As he could not pledge all or part of Longbourn, his creditor demanded half of his quarterly income until the debt, which had been doubled as Collins could not pay it all at once, was paid off in full.
He had sacked the manservant and one of the two maids, and still it was not enough of a saving.
He could not discharge Mrs Winters because he had to eat, and his wife could not boil water for tea, let alone cook.
He let the second maid go and put his wife and daughters to work in her place.
Kitty was six and Lydia three, so, in Collins’s mind, they could work.
With all of the measures he had taken, it had not helped.
He tried to berate his tenants to increase their yields and pay more rent.
He had been met with threats to move and rent farms at other estates.
Knowing he could not afford to lose what he was receiving from his two tenants, Collins backed off.
Nothing he had attempted to attract additional tenants had been successful.
As usual, because he felt humiliated by the lowly tenants, he took his frustration and anger out on his wife.
He still had the note in his hand when his thoughts returned to the present. He decided to reread it, before he determined if he would go see Phillips or not.
18 November 1799
Phillips Law Office
Mr Collins:
I need you to come to see me at your earliest convenience.
This is with regards to your inheritance of the Longbourn estate as dictated by the entail on said property.
Before you refuse, know that it is in your best interest to do so. What needs to be done will happen whether or not you attend me. Please make sure you present yourself at my office no later than midday on Wednesday the 20th day of this month.
In expectation of seeing you,
Mr F Phillips, Esq.
After the second reading, Collins decided he should go and hear what the solicitor wanted. Although now that he was the master of Longbourn, what this could mean he could not guess.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
Fanny Collins was a shell of her former self.
Her husband had beaten the woman she used to be out of her.
She could not complain or contact anyone, because Mr Collins—he denied her the privilege to call him ‘Clem’ since she had not given him a son—forbade her from sending or receiving post. She was not allowed to leave the house.
The only servant remaining was Mrs Winters, and on the one half day off she had each fortnight, her reticule was searched to make sure she was not carrying a letter for the mistress.
Fanny realised that even had there been a way to write and post an epistle, there was no one left who might have a sympathetic ear to her plight.
For so long, Fanny had blamed everyone else for her failings, but in the last months, she had finally understood that she was paying the price for her wrongheaded actions and decisions.
By the time she owned that she needed to admit what she had done with her Bennet daughters, her husband had decreed that she was not to communicate with anyone outside of Longbourn’s manor house.
After admitting her faults to herself, Fanny decided that she was suffering justly for what she had done.
Denied the ability to post letters, Fanny poured her confessions into missives which she placed inside of her journal.
So far, she had been able to protect Kitty—who although not comely, was thankfully not like her father in looks—and Lydia who looked far more like herself than her husband, from the worst of Mr Collins’s wrath.
He had only slapped Kitty once, and so far Lydia never.
Her daughters were timid and withdrawn as she had taught them to do nothing which would anger their father.
To spare her youngest two daughters as much as possible, Fanny did almost all of the work the maids would have done.
She gave Kitty and Lydia easy and light tasks which would not callous their hands like had happened to her own.
In addition to callouses, Fanny’s hands were scarred and stained from doing the laundry.
To add to her woes, she had lost a lot of weight because of the meagre scraps that Mr Collins allowed her and his daughters.
Of the little he set aside for them to eat, Fanny gave most of it to her girls.
At least the girls ate enough. It was thanks to the food augmented by Mrs Winters, who would always bring additional bread, fruit, and cheese when Mr Collins was not at home or too much in his cups to pay attention.
Fanny would only eat the food Mrs Winters brought once her daughters were sated.
She prayed that one day Edward would discover her journal and find the letter of apology and confession she had written to him.
If God were good, He would end her suffering soon, although she was determined to remain in the mortal world as long as she could to protect her two daughters still at Longbourn.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
As Collins walked to Mr Phillips’s office, his already bad mood worsened.
Here he was, master of the second-largest estate in the area, having to walk the one mile into Meryton.
That excuse for a carriage he had been left with was no longer in working order—it had been that way for well over a year—and he had not the money to repair it.
As no one had wanted to purchase the nag, he had slaughtered it and ordered Mrs Winters to use it for food.
Since he had become master, especially as his financial problems had become serious, the chickens and pigs had slowly been turned into comestibles for him.
He had been most put out when Mrs Winters informed him there were no more eggs.
It was only then he realised he should have left a few hens in the coop.
Phillips was not surprised when the idiotic bully walked into his office without an appointment.
He had Jamison open all of the windows and doors to try and dissipate the foul odour which arrived with Collins.
It was well known in the area, especially by anyone who had the misfortune of smelling him, that the master of Longbourn was averse to bathing.
“What is it you want?” Collins demanded after sitting without being invited to do so.
Phillips had to fight not to block his nose. “Mr Collins, aside from the clauses I indicated to you the day the late Mr Bennet’s will was read, have you read the whole of the entail document?”
“Why should I? I own the estate now; so there is no need,” Collins insisted.
“Mr Collins, you are not the owner of Longbourn. Like the late Mr Bennet before you, you are a lifetime tenant. The reason I asked about the entail is that there are clauses which cover the situation you have caused, the insolvency of the estate,” Phillips explained slowly as if to a young child.
“My estate is not bankrupt! You are jealous because I am a landed gentleman, and you are a lowly solicitor,” Collins bit back.
“As you almost always are, you are wrong! My wife and I are the owners of Netherfield Park, and my son will one day be the master of a much larger estate in Devonshire. So of what, pray tell, have I to be jealous?” Phillips mocked.
On the seventeenth day of October 1798, Lawrence Franklin Phillips had been born. He was named after his grandfather Morris and his father. The babe had become the heir apparent to Beech Hill on his birth. Agatha and Frank Phillips’ pride and joy had turned one-year-old a month and a day past.
“Or should I envy the fact that you took an estate which was earning more than three thousand pounds per annum and ran it into the ground, earning less than five hundred pounds now? Perhaps you think I want to be a man devoid of honour like you who beats his wife? Tell me, Mr Collins, which of your stellar attributes or achievements have ignited my jealousy?” Phillips was about to sit back when he saw the moment the rage took over, and the portly, malodorous man opposite him decided to attack him.
Thanks to being a champion pugilist at Oxford, Phillips jumped up from his chair, and easily sidestepped the man and unleashed a devastating jab which connected with the despicable man’s face.
He watched with satisfaction as the bully’s head snapped back and blood began to fall from his damaged nose.
“Now sit so we may conclude our business, or do I need to demonstrate my skill with my fists again?” Phillips growled.
Collins did what he always did when he was faced with one stronger than himself—he backed down. He returned to his seat and began to dab his bleeding nose with his rather filthy handkerchief. “Why am I here?” Collins managed.