Chapter 14
The Plan
To everyone’s surprise, the first to respond to Bennet’s salvo was Mr Collins. The patriarch stood like a rooster defending his territory, his expression grim and exasperated. It was the angriest Elizabeth had ever seen him. What exactly was he angry about?
Mr Collins said, “I would suggest, sir, that you are overgeneralising. I would beg you not to assume that all marriages are unhappy, or all brides badly chosen, just because yours was.”
Stunned silence filled the room. Much to Elizabeth’s surprise, Mr Collins stood straighter than he ever had and assumed a completely unexpected masculinity, while her father, who had already been shrinking in her eyes for weeks—or years, if she were honest—crumbled further.
“This is my home, Mr Collins. You will treat me with respect or leave.”
“I will treat you with the respect you are due as my future father-in-law, but I ask you to respect your offspring as well. None of us are perfect, least of all me, but we are all trying our very best. Is this your very best, sir?”
Bennet shrugged, walked the rest of the way into the room, and sat at his desk before replying. “My best or not, since I am not dead just yet, this is still my house. What is it you want here in my domain—the one place I can be in peace in this madhouse?”
Elizabeth snapped, “That is one more than the rest of us have!”
“ENOUGH!” Bennet bellowed, louder even than Raging Jane. “I would ask for the use of my library, if you do not find it entirely too much trouble.”
Mary and Lydia started shuffling toward the door, but Collins stood firm.
“I would happily yield you your solitude without complaint, did I not find myself remiss in my duties to my future sisters. I would speak to you, sir. Should we resolve a few questions, we may leave this subject and never speak of it again.”
Bennet sighed resignedly. “I suppose this is the start of some stubborn campaign that you and Lizzy will wage against me until I relent.”
“I shall not speak for my cousin, only myself. Give me a dozen minutes of your time, and I will be gone. Deny it, and I will very politely and with the utmost humility ask again every day until you do.”
Bennet’s temper rose. “By all means, let us get it over with. I counted on you for some amusement, but I can assert that you are far from the mark right now.”
“I have been a fool before. I shall no doubt be a fool directly after we have done, so you need only be patient. Your amusement at my foolishness will commence soon enough.”
Lydia laughed. “He has you there!”
“So, are you to be added to my list of tormenters?”
Lydia walked straight up to his desk and leaned over, her fists on his blotter.
“I am trying to learn to be a lady, Papa. That means I may no longer torment Kitty. I suggest you not become my next target, as my lessons have only just begun, my progress is minimal, and you are not all that hard to find.”
Much to everyone’s surprise, Bennet leaned back in his chair and laughed.
Everyone stared in confusion.
At last, he spoke. “Well, well, well… Perhaps… May I ask you a question, girls, or is this to be an interrogation or torture?”
Mary said, “Of course, Papa. We are not here to vex you.”
“I will not claim to be a good father, nor even an adequate one, but you could do worse. Suppose I could only pass on a single trait to my offspring. What would it be? Wealth? Beauty? Manners? Clothing? Jewels? Intelligence? Accomplishments? All this dowry blather? What?”
Everyone stared in confusion, and he sat as if he had all day for them to work it out.
At last, Elizabeth said, “I would vote for resilience.”
Bennet slapped his hand on the desk with a great crack. “Exactly! I cannot pretend it was by design, or even what I wanted, but here and now, I will take Lizzy’s assessment as truth. Dare anyone contradict her?”
Everyone shook their heads in confusion, so he continued.
“Now, I have apparently shamed the very foundations of the Bennet family by not saving money to bribe suitors, and you are all here to take me to task, so I may assume some resilience has accidentally crept into your characters.
May I also take it that Jane would be leading this charge if she were present? “
“Probably.”
“So, it is all working out as it should. My daughters, even the most sheeplike, are ready to do battle with their father like lionesses. I am satisfied.”
Elizabeth snapped, “Parents are usually not so stingy as to only impart a single trait.”
“What do you suggest, Elizabeth? Should I sell my treasures to give you some funds? Will that make your marital prospects better, or just attract the Wickhams of the world? Shall I retroactively hire a governess for you a decade ago or hire one right now for my two youngest? Will any of that bring back that blond puppy or his growling friend, who ran from our family so precipitously—though, through their actions, I would say Jane avoided something unpleasant rather than lost an opportunity. Perhaps a hair shirt would satisfy you, or maybe I could eat mud or worms.”
“None of that is necessary,” she snapped. “I do have a suggested course of action which will leave me entirely satisfied, and I shall ask no more.”
A tense silence lasted half a minute before Bennet said, “Out with it!”
Elizabeth replied with preternatural calm, as she often did when furious.
“Do nothing! Do absolutely nothing, as you have always done! Sit here and enjoy your treasures like a dragon in his cave, drooling over his gold and jewels. As you said, more by accident than design, your daughters are becoming resilient. We have learnt the things you should have taught us, and that is all we need. Jane and I will go to town with the Gardiners. We will marry tradesmen or minor landholders and be happy, something we could perfectly have done years ago without Mama’s interference and your indifference.
We will help our two youngest sisters when they become old enough.
We will quit wasting our time on men that require dowries, since we have none.
We will be fine, and content that at least now we can see all the pieces on the chessboard and understand the state of play! ”
She turned and stomped towards the door, expecting her father to say something cruel, and prepared to ignore it. She was not ready for the voice that stopped her.
“A moment, if you please, Elizabeth.”
She turned to Mr Collins, who still stood straight and surprisingly formidable. The contrast between his present demeanour and his original manner was startling but welcome. For Mary’s sake, Elizabeth was glad of the change, and no longer worried about Longbourn’s fate in the next generation.
Mr Collins stood before the desk and indicated a chair. “Pray, sit and hear me out.”
She crossed to it and sat, her earlier anger largely spent, though resentment remained.
To believe her parents had negligently let their future go up in smoke in fine gowns and entertainments, with no thought for the future was bad enough.
Indolence and ignorance were terrible, but at least better than avarice.
To know her father had a future for them sitting in his library and had not even told them of its existence was startling and distressing.
Mr Collins faced his future father-in-law.
“Let us lay down boundaries. These books are your possession, and it is nobody’s business whether you sell them, keep them, give them away, burn them—whatever you choose. Are we in agreement, sir?”
Bennet replied petulantly, “We agree for once. They are my books, and I will do with them as I choose.”
To the surprise of everyone, Mr Collins pulled a battered but serviceable copy of Don Quixote from a shelf and set it on the desk.
He examined it carefully, went to the hidden closet, and brought out the even older, far more valuable edition, setting it beside the first. Pointing to the battered version, he asked, “Where did you get this?”
“My grandfather bought it. Lizzy is the only one who learnt enough Spanish to read it, though I think it was even beyond her. She only has the basics.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I can speak like a 10-year-old at best, and the language is archaic Spanish. I had to resort to an English translation to get through it.”
Mr Collins said, “So, it is part of the estate, and therefore part of the entail. Nobody would ever do it, of course, but it is possible that if you disposed of a significant part of the books you inherited, I could take you to the courts for recompense—just as if you sold some of the land. You could sell the books you purchased yourself, but not those you inherited.”
Bennet grumbled, but looked thoughtful for a moment.
“I suppose so, though it is not an exact science. The contents of the manor are not well documented; it might depend on the judge, the connections of the supplicant, and the accuracy of the inventory. Nobody but the biggest fool in the world would do such a thing, but it is remotely possible.”
“So, what happens if you fall over dead a minute from now? Or in a year or a decade?”
Bennet looked confused. Collins pointed to the cabinet. “What happens to those books? Would they not become part of the estate and fall into my possession?”
Bennet very reluctantly nodded. “I suppose so. I never thought about it very much.”
“Pray, think about it now! If I sold the books when I arrived, then had a very disagreeable heir, he could take me to the courts. I should have to prove they are not part of the estate, and winning would be a throw of the dice. Is that correct? If you take no action, they become either ambiguous or part of the entail. The entail is not broken for one more generation, so you lock those books into that cabinet, most likely until all your direct heirs are very old or dead, and both you and I lose all control over their disposition—or take our chances with the ambiguity.”