Chapter Fifteen
When Elizabeth’s father returned and joined her in the parlor, she recounted the details of her meeting with Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy, including Lady Catherine’s order for Mr. Bennet to be present the following morning.
As her father didn’t appear surprised that a property was involved and the allocation of funds must be addressed, Elizabeth ended her story by asking, “You knew about the house, didn’t you? ”
“I knew there was once a house but had no idea what happened to it after Mr. Collins’ father died,” Mr. Bennet admitted.
“I saw no reason to bring up the possibility when we thought both copies of the will were lost, or until the executor informed you, as I have no detailed knowledge of the content of the will, only a few chance remarks from your uncle. There was no cause to fill your head with ideas of wealth until we could be certain you have it.”
“I will not have it. Not really. Lady Catherine will invest the funds and allow me the interest.” Elizabeth felt something halfway between amusement and anger at Lady Catherine’s highhandedness.
If Elizabeth didn’t agree with the decisions the lady had made, the scale would definitely tip to anger, but Lady Catherine’s choices seemed wise.
Still, the presumption rankled. She could see that Mr. Darcy was not the only member of that extended family to display arrogance.
“You are nearly of age,” Mr. Bennet observed. “You could have the principle soon, if you wish.” Watching her keenly, he added, “Spending the principle is what Mrs. Bennet would do.”
Was that why he hadn’t mentioned the possibility of a property?
He worried the chance of wealth would change Elizabeth from reasonable to silly, as it seemed to do to her mother?
“Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy both seemed to think that taking the income is a better idea than using the principal. Do you agree?”
Her father nodded. “Very much so.”
“Then that is what I will do.”
Appearing pleased, he nodded again and opened his book.
Elizabeth returned her attention to her sewing, working on one of her father’s shirts with less speed than usual, due to her hand.
As she stitched, she reflected that money might make her a bit silly, because if she had it to spare, she’d definitely hire someone to do the sewing.
When her mother and youngest sisters returned, they brought Mary with them, as Lucas Lodge was Mrs. Bennet’s final stop of the afternoon.
Elizabeth listened to her sisters’ tale of Mary’s improved playing and Gavin Murphy sitting off to the side of the room that held the pianoforte, drawing up designs for Sir William, while Charlotte took one of the other Murphy brothers from room to room, asking about possible improvements.
“And Gavin kept looking over at the pianoforte,” Kitty said.
Lydia giggled. “Kitty and I think he was drawing Maria Lucas, not shelving.”
“They’d make a good match,” Kitty said.
“He’s only a carpenter.” Lydia wrinkled her nose. “Still, Maria should flirt with him. He’s a very handsome carpenter. If he were drawing me, I’d flirt with him.”
Seeing Mary flush and angle her face to her lap, hands tightly twined, Elizabeth deemed it time to change the subject.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh from Rosings, in Kent, called today,” she said, and launched into the story of Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy’s visit.
She made every attempt to downplay the idea of a property being sold, emphasizing that Lady Catherine didn’t feel she could expect a fair price for the house and land, and wouldn’t give Elizabeth the funds regardless, but invest them instead.
As she did so, Elizabeth realized that while she may not transform from reasonable to silly at the first sign of an income, her mother was bound to.
“That’s not fair,” Lydia wailed when Elizabeth stopped speaking. “Lizzy didn’t even marry Mr. Collins and she gets all his money?”
“Show me the list?” Mrs. Bennet asked eagerly.
Elizabeth handed over the folded page. She’d read it several times, finding mention of the picture, various articles of clothing and personal effects, books and a small number of household goods, as most of what her cousin had used would belong to the rectory.
Lydia, who sat on the sofa with their father and mother, crowded close to Mrs. Bennet to read that page.
“We could use these,” Elizabeth’s mother said, pointing to two brass candlesticks. She turned the page over, but the back side was blank. “Most of this is not worth the cost of bringing it here.” She looked up. “Mr. Bennet, how many of his books are worth shipping?”
“That’s not my decision,” Elizabeth’s father said. “They aren’t my books. They belong to Elizabeth.”
Seeming not to hear him, Mrs. Bennet looked about the little parlor with a wide smile. “The money can be used to rebuild the house.”
“And for my dowry, so Wickham and I can have money,” Lydia added.
Seated in the two chairs near the window, across from Elizabeth, Mary and Kitty exchanged a worried look.
“The money cannot be used for either of those things,” Mr. Bennet said firmly. “It isn’t ours. It’s Elizabeth’s.”
Mrs. Bennet turned an incredulous look on him. “You’re not going to hand Elizabeth all that money.”
“Certainly not. As Elizabeth already told you, Lady Catherine is only allowing Elizabeth to have the income.”
“We are her parents. It is our money,” Mrs. Bennet cried, voice edging up several octaves.
“We are her parents and that would permit me to take her money, if I were so inclined, but I am not. If the income is large enough, I will take some and reinvest it, for Elizabeth. It isn’t my money. I will not allow you to take what is hers.”
Elizabeth’s mother let out a sound very near a snarl, while Lydia set to caterwauling about needing money to make sure Mr. Wickham married her.
Mary and Kitty slipped from the room. As soon as she found a break in her mother’s haranguing, Elizabeth fled, too.
Unfortunately, the only available escape was a windy December evening, and she couldn’t remain outdoors forever, avoid dinner, or find a way not to listen to Lydia berate her for half the night, until her youngest sister fell into her usual snoring.
By midway through the next morning, Elizabeth was almost ready to hand over part of her inheritance to help rebuild, especially since the money somehow didn’t seem real to her.
The only thing that stayed her was the realization that a portion would never satisfy her mother.
Once rebuilt, the house would need to be furnished.
Once furnished, her mother would need new dishes, linens, gowns, and anything else she deemed necessary for entertaining.
The list would never stop until Elizabeth’s funds were completely gone.
Her father supported her view, but as the morning wore on, his protests lost vehemence until he took to simply ignoring her mother.
Elizabeth, with a lifetime of seeing her mother wear Mr. Bennet down in the management of Longbourn, which had resulted in a distinct lack of savings, worried that soon he would waiver.
If he pressed her for the money, what would she do then?
Seated in the parlor with her family, watching the tabby cat try to displace Mary’s mending and capture her lap for napping, Elizabeth tried not to hear Lydia and Mrs. Bennet’s endless haranguing.
She did hear a carriage, and suspected it might be Lady Catherine’s, but made no move to announce her prematurely.
Finally, the others spotted the conveyance through the window, prompting Mrs. Bennet to speculate about who it was, listing three rather distant families who had not yet called on them.
A moment later, their maid, Sarah, announced Lady Catherine and everyone stood, which effectively ended the tabby cat’s burgeoning nap.
After introductions, Lady Catherine said, “Miss Mary, Miss Kitty, and Miss Lydia must leave. This conversation is not intended for them.” She walked over to the sofa Mrs. Bennet had been sharing with Lydia and sat down in the center.
Mrs. Bennet’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline at the presumption but, fortunately, she seemed awed enough to have a lady in her house not to comment.
Lady Catherine removed her shawl and placed it to her left, then set the folder of papers she carried to her right.
Her hands, she folded atop her lion headed cane.
Clearly, she did not wish anyone to join her on the sofa.
Mary looked between Lady Catherine and their mother, shrugged, and left. Lydia had a mulish expression on her face and Kitty looked torn.
“Kitty, Lydia, go,” Mr. Bennet said. “In fact, get Mary to chaperone you and go to Meryton to buy salt. Your mother claims we are low.”
“It doesn’t take three of us to buy salt,” Lydia said.
“Go,” Mr. Bennet snapped.
Scowling, Lydia stormed from the room, her voice echoing back to them as she called for Mary. Wide eyed, Kitty followed. The parlor remained silent until Elizabeth heard her younger sisters depart.
“Would you care for tea, Lady Catherine?” Elizabeth asked, voice neutral even though she enjoyed showing up her mother, who glowered at being made to sit on one of the chairs and hadn’t yet remembered to offer refreshment.
“No, thank you, Miss Bennet.”
Before Lady Catherine could continue, Mrs. Bennet leaned forward.
“Lady Catherine, it seems to me that a mistake has been made. The money from Mr. Collins’ estate cannot be invested.
It’s required here, to rebuild the house he burned down.
If he’d lived, that’s the purpose to which his funds would have been put.
” She glared at Elizabeth. “I’ve attempted to persuade my daughter to do her duty and pay for rebuilding, but she refuses. Perhaps she will listen to you.”
Lady Catherine nodded. “She will listen to me, and I will tell her not to give a penny over to you.”
Mrs. Bennet’s jaw hinged open. “What?”