Rebellion at Longbourn

Collins shrugged irritably, obviously not believing this was a great sacrifice. “I find the sound agitates my nerves. Surely you can quiet him.”

“This is the only time of day that Robert may see his father,” Charlotte observed, hoisting the boy to her shoulder and patting his back. Fortunately, his sobs subsided.

“I visit the nursery on Sunday,” Collins said. “And sometimes on Wednesday.”

“Robert needs to see you more frequently,” Charlotte said. “You are his father.” Elizabeth had the sense they were continuing a conversation from before.

Collins gulped more wine and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Need we see him at every meal? Luncheon and dinner? Surely we might reduce the number of meals.” His tone had grown unpleasantly whiny.

Charlotte glanced over at Kitty, whose eyes were fixed on her plate. “Very well. I will talk to Kitty. Perhaps she might mind him at luncheon sometimes.”

Collins, smiled broadly as if he had won a great victory while Charlotte hugged her son against her chest with a pinched expression. Elizabeth did not blame Charlotte for finding Robert’s company more congenial than her husband’s.

Another uncomfortable silence followed until Jane spoke in a brisk tone of voice. “I do hope this rain will stop by tomorrow.”

Jane’s attempt to ease the tensions could not have been more obvious if she had held up a sign announcing her purpose. But Elizabeth could not stomach the idea of further appeasing her cousin. Collins’s treatment of his wife had compounded her earlier anger about the Wileys. She said the first words that came into her mind—which were not the most diplomatic. “The Thompsons’ roof leaks; they actually have mushrooms growing inside their home!”

Collins sighed and rolled his eyes. This was not the first time Elizabeth had mentioned how the tenants’ cottages needed repairs.

“Why, that is terrible!” her mother exclaimed. “And they have two young ones as well!”

In for a penny, in for a pound. Elizabeth continued, hoping against hope that this time her cousin could be shamed into attending to the tenants’ needs. “And one of the walls in the Smiths’ cottage is crumbling. The Greenes’ chimney is backed up, leaking smoke into the house. Mrs. Greeves says her two youngest are constantly unwell because of the damp in their cottage.”

Collins sighed again, as if even discussing the tenants was a heavy burden. “Longbourn cannot support such repairs, Cousin. We must economize. If the farmers desire repairs to their cottages, they should work harder so Longbourn might show a greater profit.” He took up the newspaper that had been sitting beside his plate and unfolded it to create a barrier separating him from the rest of the table.

Elizabeth glared at the paper as if she could burn a hole in it with her eyes. Collins continued to raise the rents despite two years of lean harvests, allowing him to profit while the tenants suffered. If only he would listen to reason and modernize the farming! But Collins had never been extremely familiar with reason. In fact, Elizabeth doubted they had even been introduced.

“When your father was alive—” Always eager to tell Collins how he could never measure up to her late husband, Mrs. Bennet began her common refrain. The man’s face grew redder by the second.

Jane squeezed her mother’s hand, and miraculously, she immediately subsided. A few days earlier, the two eldest daughters had warned their mother that Collins might revoke their invitation to Longbourn if they were excessively critical. And it appeared she had taken that caution to heart.

An uneasy silence fell over the dining table, broken only by the sounds of forks scraping over plates and the clink of drinking glasses. Eventually Collins lowered the paper and regarded his wife. “There is an article herein about Astley’s Amphitheatre. We should visit it upon our next trip to London.”

Charlotte’s expression was carefully neutral. “If you would like.”

“Perhaps we might visit in May. Lady Catherine will be in residence,” he mused. “But I think perhaps we need a new carriage—something with a bit more style and comfort.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Our current carriage is perfectly adequate.”

“No. No. It is hopelessly outdated. Lady Catherine says our neighbors will laugh if we do not have a barouche box.”

Robert fussed, drawing his mother’s attention. “Perhaps. We can consider it,” Charlotte said hastily as she bounced the baby.

“And you must make plans to redecorate the blue drawing room,” Collins said with the air of someone continuing a previous discussion.

“I will,” Charlotte responded without much enthusiasm. Most new mistresses were eager to update a house’s decorations and make their mark by immediately replacing wallpaper, chairs, curtains, and other furnishings, but Charlotte had not redecorated any part of the house. Elizabeth did not know if it was because she recognized the precarious nature of the estate’s finances, or if she knew how much anguish it would cause Mrs. Bennet. But all the Bennets had been exceedingly grateful for her restraint. It was too much to hope that it might last forever.

Unwilling to look at her cousin, Elizabeth stared fixedly at the bowl of gravy in front of her, fantasizing about pouring the entire mess over his head. If only he would agree to modernize the farming! Elizabeth would even volunteer to pay for the seed drill herself; she had a little money from her mother and could think of few better uses for it.

Taking out her frustration on a potato, she savagely cut it in half and stabbed a piece with her fork. But then she froze with the fork halfway to her mouth as something occurred to her. She turned the idea around in her head, poking it from different angles to see where it was flawed. It was risky, but if it succeeded…! If it succeeded it could solve all Longbourn’s problems.

Elizabeth set down her fork again, suddenly too full of hope to eat any more dinner. She managed, just barely, to keep her excitement from showing on her face. Tonight I will explain the idea to Jane, Mary, and Kitty. If her sisters could find no faults in the scheme, perhaps it had some merit. Perhaps they could save Longbourn.

Chapter Three

Darcy took another sip of coffee, wishing lead weights had not been attached to his eyelids. Every part of his body longed for sleep; really, nine o’clock was dreadfully early for anyone to be awake, let alone him. But it was a reasonable and expected hour to begin his day.

I have grown soft and indolent during my travels, he thought ruefully. Travel, of course, brought its own kind of hardships, but he had become accustomed to following his own whims and taking pleasure in a less regimented schedule. He needed to readjust to his responsibilities, which was why he had pried himself from bed at such an indecent hour.