Chapter 7 #3
Outside, somewhere beyond the windows, the ordinary sounds of Longbourn continued—the clatter of pails in the yard, a groom’s voice, the distant call to dinner from the kitchen region.
Yet for James Bennet the day had altered entirely from what it had been that morning.
He had gone to Meryton to buy meat and tea and household necessaries.
He had returned with the first outline of a future not yet secured, but vividly possible.
And in his mind, even while he spoke of books and figures and water-rights, the wheel had already begun to turn.
Mr. Bennet, however, had not entirely finished. He shifted slightly in his chair, drawing his dressing-gown closer about his shoulders, and let out a breath that sounded distinctly less like paternal indulgence and more like the weary exhalation of an estate master facing a ledger.
“There is, however, a huge difficulty, James,” his father said quietly, the dry amusement fading from his voice. “One of a rather unromantic and highly mathematical nature.”
James pulled his attention back from the prospect of the mill-stream. “Sir?”
“You spoke of nineteen hundred pounds,” Mr. Bennet continued, his gaze fixing upon the cold hearth. “A bold price, as I said. A fair one, perhaps, if the books prove Mr. Henley an honest man. But it is a price that Longbourn cannot presently meet.”
James’s brow furrowed slightly. He knew the estate was not wealthy, but he had always understood it to be comfortable, free from the kind of crippling debt that plagued some of their neighbours. “Cannot meet it, sir? Even with a mortgage upon the unentailed land?”
“I would rather not mortgage the little unentailed land we possess unless we are facing starvation or a scandal we cannot otherwise suppress,” Mr. Bennet replied, a hint of his usual irony returning, though it lacked its customary bite.
“But even without resorting to the moneylenders, our reserves are currently... exhausted.”
James waited, his posture rigid. He did not press, knowing his father would explain in his own time.
“You are aware, of course, of the taxes and fees required for Miles and Kit to continue their studies at Oxford,” Mr. Bennet said, ticking the items off on his fingers. “Those were paid last month. They were not insignificant. Then there was the matter of Laurence.”
James’s jaw tightened at the mention of his youngest brother.
“Your Uncle Phillips was very accommodating in advancing more than half the sum required to purchase Laurence’s commission and settle his more immediate.
.. indiscretions,” Mr. Bennet continued, his voice hardening slightly.
“But a debt to a brother-in-law is still a debt, and I will not have it said that Longbourn trades upon the good nature of an attorney. I repaid him in full last week.”
“I see,” James murmured.
“And then, naturally, there was the small matter of my own heart attempting to cease its function,” Mr. Bennet added, gesturing vaguely to his chest. “The physician did not come cheaply, James. Between the apothecary, the specialist, and the various restorative tonics your mother has insisted upon purchasing by the gallon, the estate’s ready capital has been entirely depleted. ”
James sat in silence, digesting the information.
The wheel in his mind slowed, the rushing water of ambition dammed by the cold stones of reality.
He did not feel anger toward his father; Mr. Bennet had acted exactly as a responsible gentleman should, prioritizing the education of his sons, the honour of his family, and the preservation of his own life.
Yet the disappointment was a heavy, physical weight in his chest.
“Then the mill must go to the Hertford man,” James said at last, his voice perfectly level, betraying none of the frustration he felt. “I shall write to Mr. Henley this afternoon and spare him the trouble of laying out his books.”
“I did not say that,” Mr. Bennet corrected mildly. “I said Longbourn cannot presently meet the price. I did not say the price could not be met.”
James looked up, his eyes narrowing. “I do not understand, sir.”
“You are going to London next week, are you not?” Mr. Bennet asked. “To arrange the transport of the timber for the stable repairs?”
“That was my intention, yes.”
“And while in London, you will naturally call upon your Uncle Gardiner,” Mr. Bennet suggested, a faint, calculating gleam appearing in his eye.
“Edward Gardiner is a man of business. A very successful man of business. He understands investments, he understands returns, and, more importantly, he understands the value of a steady, industrious nephew.”
James stared at his father, the implication settling over him. “You suggest I ask Uncle Gardiner for a loan of nineteen hundred pounds?”
“I suggest nothing so vulgar as asking for a loan,” Mr. Bennet replied smoothly.
“I suggest you present him with a business proposition. Show him the figures. Explain the potential of the mill. If it is as sound as you believe it to be, Edward will see the merit in it. He may choose to advance the capital, or he may choose to enter into a partnership with you. Either way, the money is far more likely to be found in Gracechurch Street than in the Longbourn strongbox.”
The prospect opened before James like a door suddenly unbolted. It was a risk, certainly. Uncle Gardiner was a shrewd merchant who did not part with his money for mere sentiment. But he was also a fair man, and if the mill were truly a sound investment, he would recognize it.
“It would mean postponing my answer to Mr. Henley,” James considered aloud, his mind already reorganizing his schedule. “I cannot promise him anything until I have spoken with my uncle.”
“Tell Henley the truth,” Mr. Bennet advised.
“Tell him you require time to consult with your financial advisors in town. If he is as desperate to keep the mill out of the hands of the Hertford brewer as he claims, he will wait a fortnight. If he will not wait, then he is not the man you wish to deal with.”
James nodded slowly. “It is a sound plan, sir. I shall go to Meryton tomorrow, inspect the books, and if they satisfy me, I shall ask Henley for a fortnight’s grace. Then, to London.”
“Excellent,” Mr. Bennet said, looking thoroughly pleased to have delegated the financial anxiety to his brother-in-law.
“Now, before you begin calculating interest rates in my library, I believe there is a letter for you on the mantelpiece. It arrived by the morning post, while you were battling the butcher.”
James rose and crossed to the fireplace. A single letter lay upon the marble shelf, sealed with a heavy, ostentatious crest that he recognized immediately. He picked it up, breaking the seal with a quick snap of his thumb.
He read the contents in silence, his expression growing steadily more rigid.
“Well?” Mr. Bennet inquired, watching his son’s face with mild curiosity. “Is it from the Hertford brewer, challenging you to a duel for the mill-stream?”
“No. It is from Cousin Collins,” James replied, his voice flat.
Mr. Bennet let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Good God. Has he discovered a new variety of cabbage at Hunsford, or is he merely writing to remind us of his eventual right to throw us all into the hedgerows?”
“Neither, sir,” James said, folding the letter with sharp, precise movements. “He writes to invite me to Hunsford. An urgent matter, he claims.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows rose. “To Hunsford? Whatever for? Does he require you to admire his patroness in person, or has he finally realized that he needs a sensible man to explain his own sermons to him?”
“He states that it is a matter of ‘the utmost urgency and familial consequence,’” James quoted, his tone conveying his profound scepticism regarding Mr. Collins’s definition of urgency.
“He claims that Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself has expressed a desire that a representative of the Bennet family should attend upon them without delay, concerning a matter that touches upon our mutual honour.”
Mr. Bennet laughed, a short, dry sound. “Mutual honour? Between Longbourn and Rosings Park? I was not aware we shared any, beyond the unfortunate biological connection to Mr. Collins himself. You will decline, of course. You have timber to buy and a mill to finance.”
James looked down at the folded letter, tapping it thoughtfully against his other hand. “I am not so certain I should decline, sir.”
“The man is a fool, James, and his patroness is a tyrant. Why would you subject yourself to either when you have actual, profitable work to do?”
“Because,” James said slowly, “Cousin Collins is many things, but he is rarely brief when he can be expansive. For him to write a letter of only three paragraphs, demanding immediate attendance and citing Lady Catherine’s direct involvement, suggests something has genuinely unsettled him. Something beyond the usual sycophancy.”
“And you believe it is your duty to discover what has unsettled him?”
“I believe,” James corrected, “that when Cousin Collins begins speaking of ‘familial consequence’ and ‘mutual honour’ in conjunction with Lady Catherine de Bourgh, it is prudent to know exactly what he is plotting before he has the chance to execute it.”
Mr. Bennet considered this, his amusement fading into a reluctant, grudging respect. “You have a distressingly practical mind, James. It makes you a very tedious companion for a lazy man, but an excellent defender of the house. Very well. What is your plan?”
James did not hesitate; his mind, trained by years of managing Longbourn’s erratic crises, had already mapped the necessary route.
“I must alter my schedule,” James said, crossing back to his chair.
“I will still go to Meryton tomorrow to inspect Mr. Henley’s books.
If the figures are sound, I will explain that my father’s illness has complicated our immediate capital, and that I must travel to London to secure the funds.
I will ask for three weeks’ grace rather than a fortnight. ”
“And then?”
“Then, instead of travelling directly to London next week, I will take the coach to Kent,” James continued.
“I will endure Cousin Collins and discover whatever ‘urgent matter’ Lady Catherine has invented. Once I have dealt with Hunsford, I will proceed to London, arrange the timber transport for the stables, and present the mill’s ledgers to Uncle Gardiner. ”
Mr. Bennet nodded slowly, a look of profound satisfaction settling over his features. “Meryton, Kent, and London. A very comprehensive itinerary. You shall be managing the entire southern half of England before Michaelmas.”
“I only mean to manage our own affairs, sir, Father,” James replied, tucking the letter into his coat pocket.
“See that you do,” Mr. Bennet said, reaching for his volume of Pliny once more. “And James?”
“Sir?”
“If Lady Catherine de Bourgh attempts to dictate the management of Longbourn to you, you have my express permission to tell her to mind her own park.”
James permitted himself a small, rare smile. “I shall endeavour to be diplomatic, sir. But I make no promises.”
He bowed slightly and left the library, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him.
The morning had been long, the complications sudden, and the prospect of dealing with Mr. Collins was a profound irritant.
Yet, as James walked down the hall, his step was purposeful.
He had a mill to inspect, a cousin to interrogate, and an uncle to convince.
The wheel was turning, and James Bennet was finally ready to put his hands to the machinery.