Chapter Seventy-Five
When Mr. Collins received an official letter from a Court of Chancery in London, he eyed the parchment with considerable suspicion. What on earth could the Court of Chancery have to do with him? It could be nothing good.
He turned it this way and that, peering at it closely, but he finally decided that nothing could be learnt of the matter until the letter was opened.
He sat at his desk with a cup of tea nearby and, heart beating a little too fast, opened it.
The Court of Chancery, office of Judge Jarndyce, informed him that the legality of the entail on the Longbourn estate in Hertfordshire was now in question; it would be decided on the tenth of December.
Mr. Collins had the right to be present and hear the evidence; if he was not present, the case would immediately be decided in favour of the person who had brought the case to the Court, one Mr. Thomas Bennet.
Mr. Collins could not understand what he was reading. He read it again, and still could make no sense of it. He was the heir to Longbourn; of that, there could be no doubt. Could there?
Then he recalled that he had gotten a letter from Mr. Bennet, one which he had never opened.
He searched frantically through the papers littering his desk, and finally found it.
He ripped it open. As he read it, his eyes became wider and wider, his heart beat faster and faster, and he immediately did the only thing he could think of.
He ran to Rosings Park, and arrived quite out of breath, his hair and clothing in considerable disarray.
Fenworth stared at him in disapproval as Mr. Collins gasped out his request to see her ladyship at once, but finally led the man into the drawing room.
Lady Catherine started in surprise at Mr. Collins’ appearance, but immediately understood the situation when she saw the official seal of the Court of Chancery.
“I just received – I just read –“ he panted, and handed her the letters.
“Quiet!” Lady Catherine ordered. She did not ask him to sit, and so he stood before her, dripping sweat and breathing hard, while she read the letters.
“Is there truth to this?” she demanded, looking at him.
“Truth?”
“Was your father adopted?”
“He never said anything to make me think so!” Mr. Collins said. “I never imagined, never thought –“ He sank down on the rug, his face in his hands.
Lady Catherine pitied the man. It was not his fault that he was a fool, and not his fault that his claim to an estate had turned out to be false.
It was, however, Lady Catherine’s fault that he was here at Rosings. “You must appear in court,” she told him.
He looked first baffled and then terrified. “Lady Catherine,” he began, looking at his patroness with pleading eyes.
“I will accompany you,” she assured him. “But that will not change the facts of the case.”
His gratitude was overwhelming and expressed in great detail; she finally ordered him home.
She thought about the situation for a long while.
Should she hire a solicitor to look out for Mr. Collins’ interests?
It seemed rather pointless; she knew her nephew well enough to be certain that he would not have taken such an action if the facts of the matter were not incontrovertible.
‘We will have to leave the day before,’ she thought. It seemed awkward to stay at Darcy House, given his involvement in the situation, so she resolved to stay at Matlock House instead. There was plenty of room there, so she saw no need to send a message in advance of her arrival.