Chapter 9 #2
“If you please, Mr. Darcy.” Mr. Philips stepped forward, interposing himself between Collins and the gentleman.
“It appears that Mr. Collins has not read the detail of the entail. It clearly states that a period of one year and one day must elapse before the tenancy of the estate passes to the heir. Until that time, Mrs. Bennet remains mistress, and all leasehold rents and proceeds of the home farm are hers. Should a son be born to her, then such child will inherit. Now, good day to you, Mr. Collins. James, please see the clergyman to the door.”
* * *
Mrs. Hill and I served the gentlemen tea, coffee, and spirits to their liking.
It was a respectful affair, for Mr. Bennet had been well-liked, and his passing would be keenly felt in the neighbourhood.
They held particular contempt for Mr. Collins, and he would find it difficult to assimilate into their company, particularly as he had not been born a gentleman’s son and had little idea of how gentle folk comported themselves.
He was also to be disappointed in his inheritance, it having been revealed that the Longbourn estate—the part that was entailed—consisted not of two thousand acres, but of just six hundred, containing three leasehold farms of one hundred and fifty acres each, with one hundred acres of woodland near the River Ver—the trees too young to harvest, the mature trees having already been cut by the Crown to build ships of the line.
Mr. Collins’s rents from the estate would secure him some five hundred pounds a year.
The remainder, derived from the old Hathaway estate, would be fifteen hundred—Mama would gladly have given it all away to secure a little more time with Mr. Bennet, her dear, dear husband.
I found the drawing room increasingly oppressive, and sought relief from the conversation and condolences of the gentlemen.
I excused myself, took my pelisse and bonnet from the shelf, and stepped out into the clear, fresh air, intent on walking through the oak forests adjoining the Longbourn woods, which I had now discovered were a part of Papa’s legacy that could not be disposed of by the entail.
“Miss Bennet, pardon the intrusion, but I would like a word, if I may. Perhaps I could accompany you, for I, too, am in desperate need of fresh air.” Mr. Darcy stepped up beside me and offered his arm.
I hesitated just a moment before accepting.
The day was bright, the air fragrant with the scent of new leaves, and I could not, in all honesty, deny his company.
I had read his letters to Papa, and had penned the replies.
I knew his mind perhaps as well as any who was not a member of his family.
We set off into the oak woods, the hush of the forest a balm after so many heavy, sorrowful days.
For a time, we walked in silence, the only sound our footsteps crackling over last year’s fallen leaves. At length, Mr. Darcy spoke, his voice a little agitated.
“Miss Bennet, you have been corresponding, I believe, with my daughter, Georgiana?”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” I replied, unable to keep the smile from my voice at the recollection of Georgiana’s gentle, earnest letters. “We have exchanged many letters since Christmas. She writes with great affection of you and of her brother. She is a most devoted daughter.”
His expression softened, though concern furrowed his brow.
“I am glad you think so. It is partly on her account that I wished to speak with you—if you will forgive the intrusion. You see, I have observed of late… a change in her. My previous letter spoke of her improper behaviour—there is none of that. To the contrary, she has grown reserved, almost secretive. Even with me.”
“I am sorry to hear it, sir. Georgiana is a sensitive girl. Perhaps—” I paused, unsure how to finish.
He pressed on, almost as if he had not heard me.
“Her companion, Mrs. Younge, has reported that they walk in Hyde Park for hours each day. Formerly, half an hour sufficed for Georgiana. Now she is often absent for two hours or more. I would think nothing of it, but she returns subdued and silent. Her conversation with me is brief, and she avoids speaking of her walks. More so, she avoids my son, Fitzwilliam, when before she was his closest companion.”
Oh dear. I knew something of the reason for Georgiana’s distraction, but her confidences to me were not mine to reveal. I bit my lip, uncertain how much I might say without betraying her trust.
“Mr. Darcy, may I ask—where is Georgiana now?”
“She is at Ramsgate, with Mrs. Younge,” he replied. “She begged me to let her go, for she said the London air did not agree with her, and she wished for sea-breezes. I thought it might do her good, and so allowed it—though Fitzwilliam was against it. My son is ever cautious, and I…”
He shook his head, a faint smile playing about his lips. “I wished only for Georgiana to be happy.”
I hesitated, torn between my loyalty to Georgiana and my duty to her father. I could not betray her outright, yet I could not pretend to be unconcerned. “Sir, if I may be so bold—has Georgiana seemed unhappy, besides being reserved?”
He nodded, eyes fixed on the shadowed path ahead.
“She has been restless; but she will not confide in me. Mrs. Younge assures me that all is well, but I am not so sanguine. I thought,” he paused, and I saw him struggling for the right words.
“I thought perhaps, as her friend, you might have some insight.”
I searched for the words that would neither betray Georgiana nor leave Mr. Darcy in ignorance.
“I fear, sir, that Georgiana has been troubled of late. In her letters to me, she has hinted that she is—” I stopped, all at once aware of how dangerous this confession might be.
“She is lonely. She wishes for more freedom than she feels she has, perhaps.”
He looked at me sharply, his eyes searching mine. “Has she spoken of any particular acquaintance? Anyone who may have influenced her?”