Chapter I

T here are few situations as disagreeable to the inhabitants of small communities as an estate not populated with those who will take part in their society. Such absences leave gaping wounds in the bosom of those nearby, rendering them breathless in anticipation of a purchaser or leaser who might eventually call the place home, and if those who deign to join the community should prove young and available, so much the better. In such instances, those with young daughters or sons of age to marry look on those new arrivals with covetous eyes, even so far as to believe they are theirs by right.

? In the small community of Meryton in Hertfordshire, the situation was grim, for two of the estates in the area were devoid of those who took part in local society, though the situation of each was different. Netherfield Park, the larger of the two properties, had stood empty for more than five years, its owner; a Mr. Mason, having inherited a larger property in Hampshire, had moved his family there upon learning of the inheritance. It was said the inheritance had been unexpected, though no one in the neighborhood knew anything of the circumstances. Whatever the truth of the story, for a time the man had seemed intent on managing both estates and when that proved difficult, had put it up for lease. Unfortunately, there had been no purchase offers in all the time of its availability, and as it was the only property of any size in the vicinity, its vacant state provoked much lamentation among the denizens of the neighborhood.

? The other estate, though much smaller, had the audacity to abut Netherfield Park to the west, though its situation differed from its larger neighbor. Those in the community had spoken of Longbourn as a smaller, but pleasant property, though none of the gentlefolk nearby had seen anything of it in many years. The property was owned by an elderly man, one who had grown reclusive in his old age. That age was said to be great, though no one had any notion of the exact figure, such that the man had passed elderly and even decrepit and had settled into the realm of ancient in the minds of his neighbors. No one had seen anything of him in many years, and even the gentlemen living on adjacent estates did not visit, their business with Longbourn conducted with the steward, a slovenly and indifferent man who negotiated with little attention to preserving his master's interests, possessing no more attention than the desire to complete what business came his way in as expeditious a manner as possible. The only member of the community who had any access was Mr. Philips, the solicitor of Meryton, and a distant relation of some degree, though no one knew the exact nature of the connection.

? The situation continued until, in the spring of the year 1811, a rumor wended its way about Meryton of the ancient man's death. The news made its way through the community like wildfire, the subject of the gossips' discussions, more on the man's heir than the fact that he had just exited his mortal existence to meet his maker. This was, of course, a subject of much conjecture but little information in keeping with the mystery surrounding the man's very existence at the estate. There was an heir, of course, one of whom the townsfolk had heard not even a whisper, though when the name came to the ears of the most elderly, they claimed to recognize it.

? Of this excited talk, Elizabeth Bennet could know nothing, though had she considered the matter, she might have expected it. As her father's carriage rolled through the little town she knew was near her new home, she gazed out the window with interest, wishing to understand something of the character of the place. What she saw differed from what she knew and loved, to be certain.

? "What say you, Lizzy?" asked her father, pulling Elizabeth away from the window. "Shall you love Hertfordshire as well as you ever loved Nottingham?"

? "At present, I do not think I can say," replied Elizabeth. "Give me perhaps four weeks in this place and I may muster more of a reply."

? "Yes, I suppose you must take your measure of Hertfordshire first," said her father, offering a sage nod. "As the most inclined to enjoy the outdoors, I suspect you will know more of our new home in less time than even I, who must see to the property."

? "That is our Lizzy," said Mary, her younger sister. "Perhaps we should hire a guide for Elizabeth's first few weeks in the neighborhood, for surely she will become lost, given the distance she often ranges from home."

? "I shall have you know," said Elizabeth with mock severity, even as Mary laughed with Jane, Elizabeth's elder sibling, "that my sense of direction has never failed me."

? "I suppose it has not," said Mr. Bennet, "though I do remember an incident involving a rather fine tree in the woods near the parsonage."

? "Papa!" exclaimed Elizabeth, much to her sisters' diversion. "How dare you raise that incident! Besides, that was a problem of ascending too high coupled with a childish fear of heights and not a lack of ability to know where I was."

? By this time her family was in stitches, and Elizabeth, feigning affront, turned her attention back to the window. There was, she noted, a certain level of interest generated by the carriage's passage through the village, likely because it was not recognizable to any of those looking on. Of the town, Elizabeth could say little, for nothing she saw suggested any difference between it and many other market towns in the kingdom, not that Elizabeth had much experience with any of them other than the dear place she and her family had called home her entire life.

? "It looks much like grandfather always told us," said she softly, as she looked out on the town, trying to take its full measure in a single glance.

? "Not much has changed since then, I should say," replied Mr. Bennet. He too had turned to his window, his eager eyes taking in the place of which he had heard so much. "I only wish your mother was with us to see Longbourn, a place of which she might have been mistress had matters been a little different."

? "I miss Mama too," said Elizabeth, thinking of the woman who had birthed her, gone these last two years. "If you had been the master of Longbourn, you might never have met Mama, for the distance between Nottingham and Hertfordshire is not insignificant."

? "No, I suppose it is not," said Mr. Bennet, his melancholy pushed aside as he considered what Elizabeth said. "Given the blessings I have received, I cannot curse my life in Nottingham, for it brought me all of you. Regardless of Collins's actions, I can be thankful for the life I have lived."

? "The good book teaches us not to be covetous, Papa," said Mary, the sternness of her statement belied by the grin she directed at her sire. "I do not think you were unhappy as a parson."

? "No, I was not," replied Mr. Bennet, squeezing his youngest daughter's hand. "And you know I was not covetous, for the event occurred before my birth. I could not miss what I never possessed, after all. Yet, I always felt my father's pain, for I understood his suffering, though he made an admirable life for himself in the north from the ashes of what he had expected of his future."

? "That he did," said Jane. "I remember grandfather speaking of the matter, but it was always with affection for the place of his birth. He did not covet, but he regretted the inheritance he was cheated."

? Mr. Bennet nodded, but changed the subject, likely for the best. "I dare say we shall get on tolerably at Longbourn, and there will be much with which to occupy yourselves. Even Lizzy may find she does not have so much time for walking as she supposed."

? "There will be much to learn and much to which we must accustom ourselves," said Elizabeth. "None of us has ever managed an estate house or cared for tenants."

? "We busied ourselves in Woodborough with the people of the parish," replied Mary. "Caring for tenants cannot be so different from that."

? "I dare say you are correct, Mary," replied Mr. Bennet. "The house will not be an obstacle, for you managed my home these past two years with aplomb. I dare say the most significant changes will be mine to bear, for my focus will change from the spiritual wellbeing of those who live on the estate to their physical needs."

? "There was an element of the temporal in Woodborough too, Papa," said Mary. "A parson must also succor the poor in their parish."

? "That is true, Mary," said Mr. Bennet to the daughter most concerned with matters of a spiritual and moral nature. "I shall simply take the lessons I learned in my years as a parson and apply them to my new position. There is also a reasonable expectation of support if you recall."

? "I am certain you will have little trouble, Papa," said Elizabeth.

? The rolling landscape outside the window caught Elizabeth's attention again, and she looked out, noting they had proceeded beyond the town to a country lane leading them again to the north. What she saw before her, the lands coming to new life with the onset of spring did not displease.

? "It differs from Nottinghamshire," mused she. "The land is tamed, a patchwork of rolling hills and pleasant groves, with little of the bare rock so often characterized by the north."

? "Yes, it is at that," said Mr. Bennet. "Several of the landowners in the neighborhood suggested Longbourn would vary from their properties."

? "And yet, naught but one hundred miles separates them," said Elizabeth. "It cannot be that much different."

? "I shall trust you to bring me a report of your findings, Lizzy. When I have that information in hand, I shall be better prepared to see to the property."

? "No doubt Lizzy will find much to see and many paths to walk," said Jane.

? "I am certain I shall," said Elizabeth to forestall any teasing. "Now, if you cease sporting with me, I will direct your attention out the window, for I suspect we are nearing the end of our journey."

? As Elizabeth had stated, several sturdy structures had appeared on either side of the street. There was a parish church, a plain but solid building gleaming white and standing like some proud beacon in a stormy sea. About it were several more structures, including a few houses, perhaps a shop or two, and over it all the sound of a blacksmith's hammer ringing on an anvil. The community was not much more than this, however, indicating it was a small village attached to an estate manor house. Then, proving Elizabeth's supposition, the carriage rumbled through a gate onto a gravel driveway set before a manor. It seemed they had arrived.

? "Well, I cannot say this is what I expected," said Elizabeth, certain they all espoused her thoughts.

? The house was not lacking appeal, but neglect marred the appearance it had suffered, for nothing before them testified of a conscientious master displaying the pride of his possession. The house was on two levels fashioned of red brick. There were several windows set into the wall overlooking the drive, most of which appeared clean at the very least. The gravel of the drive was choked with weeds, still low to the ground given the early season, while the creepers on the walls and the park around the sides of the house, itself appearing unkempt and overgrown, gave them little notion the rear of the house would be any more appealing.

? "This is... not unexpected," said Mr. Bennet, his tone betraying the diplomatic nature of his statement. "My distant cousin was elderly and was the only resident of the estate since his son's passing many years ago. As he aged, I cannot imagine the upkeep of the property was his priority."

? "Regardless of any age or distraction," said Mary, her tone everything disapproving, "he should employ good men to see to his property. I cannot imagine any man of pride in his possessions taking so little thought for what was his."

? "I dare say you are correct," said Mr. Bennet as he surveyed his new domain. "But the man is now beyond my reproach, and as such, I believe I shall refrain from useless disapproval. This is to be our home, so it would behoove us to look upon the place and see the potential that lies beneath the neglect."

? Mary nodded, and they turned as one to the front door, that opened to allow a matronly sort of woman to exit the house. She was plump, with an honest, plain face looking at them from underneath a cap, an apron covering her dress, the cut of which proclaimed her a servant. The woman approached them and offered a curtsey, to which the Bennet family nodded in response.

? "Mr. Bennet, I presume?" When Mr. Bennet confirmed his identity, the woman introduced herself. "I am Clara Hill the housekeeper of Longbourn. Welcome to your home, sir."

? "Thank you, Mrs. Hill. I am happy to come the place of my inheritance and to see that it is in excellent hands."

? The woman colored as if she suspected him of derision. "I apologize for the state of the house, Mr. Bennet. Mr. Collins did not concern himself with the exterior, and as he rarely left the house in his later years, he saw little of the disrepair. I kept the house as clean as I was able, but as there is only one maid and no footman, there is only so much that I can do."

? "That is understandable," said Mr. Bennet. "Do not take my comment as a criticism, Mrs. Hill, for I can see a steadying hand on the house, though perhaps limited by circumstance. Shall you not show us inside?"

? The woman assented and led them into the building, where the servants, such as they were, had assembled for the family's inspection. As Mrs. Hill had suggested, there was only one maid, a cook, a pair of stable hands, and no manservant for the house proper. While there was a gamekeeper, there was no sign of a gardener or anyone else responsible for the exterior of the building, unsurprising given the housekeeper's words and the shabby nature of what they had seen. The last person present was the estate's steward, a pudgy man who reeked of spirits and swayed a little as he peered at them from behind bloodshot eyes. This last did not escape her father's attention, prompting a frown—Mr. Bennet was not a man who approved of excessive indulgence in strong drink, especially so early in the day.

? After greeting them all, Mr. Bennet dismissed them to their duties, drafting the stable hands to bring their trunks into the house and deposit them above stairs. As the staff departed, the steward's shuffling gait catching Mr. Bennet's eye, he turned to Mrs. Hill.

? "I see Longbourn is woefully understaffed."

? Mrs. Hill sighed and nodded. "I informed the master several times it would be best to hire another maid or two and a footman at the very least. Mr. Collins was stubborn and would not hear of it, saying the estate could not support such expenditures."

? "Could not afford it?" asked Mr. Bennet, his eyes narrowing. "From what I recall, the estate produces two thousand pounds per annum."

? "I am no steward," said Mrs. Hill, "but that is correct to the best of my knowledge. Mr. Collins did not release any servants, but when they left for other positions or for other reasons, he left the positions vacant."

? "And his manservant?" asked Mr. Bennet. "He must have had someone to assist him."

? "He did," confirmed Mrs. Hill. "When he passed, the master left Mr. McStravick, his man, an annuity. The man retired as soon as they laid Mr. Collins to rest and left the area, leaving no forwarding address."

? Mr. Bennet nodded. "Then I suppose we must hire some extra help, for the estate cannot persist in this condition. Before we determine what we must do, however, I must inspect the books, for I must know what funds are available."

? "Very good, Mr. Bennet," said the woman with a nod. "Then if you will follow me, I will provide a with tour if you are not too fatigued."

? "For my part," said Elizabeth, "I believe rest can wait until later. I have a great curiosity to see my new home for the first time."

? To the chorus of her sisters' agreement, Elizabeth followed the housekeeper deeper into the house, where she explained the purpose of each room and the uses to which the previous master had put them. In short, this last consumed very little of the woman's discourse, for it seemed Mr. Collins had kept to his study and his bedchamber, eschewing most of the other rooms in the house.

? "In the last few months of his life," said Mrs. Hill as she showed them the study, "he did not even venture above stairs, instead sleeping on a cot in this very room. For many years before, he took his meals here. I do not think he so much as set foot in the sitting-room in many years."

? "That must have been most inconvenient for his manservant," said Mr. Bennet, peering around with appreciation at what he was seeing. The study was spacious, dominated by a large oak desk situated before a bank of windows allowing bright sunlight into the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, though the man had not used even half of the space with his collection. Before a generous fireplace stood a pair of matching chairs, seeming comfortable and in good condition. Whatever neglect had overtaken the rest of the house, it was clear he had kept his personal chambers in excellent order.

? Mrs. Hill nodded but said: "Mr. McStravick was a most conscientious manservant. He did not seem put out with his master's eccentric ways, and as the master was not a demanding man, he did not consider it an imposition."

? Mr. Bennet nodded, though what he thought of this portrayal of his predecessor was not immediately evident. His father had spoken often of the man who had usurped his place, such that no one in the family could think of him as anything other than an ogre, a miserly and selfish man who thought of nothing but himself. That did not explain the reason for the Bennets' current position as the owners of the property, but Elizabeth supposed that was a question for which there would never be an answer.

? Thereafter, Mrs. Hill guided them to the other principal rooms in the house, including the main sitting-room, a smaller back parlor, the dining-room, a mistress's study, and the bedchambers above stairs. In all these places, the family found signs of neglect, though the rooms were clean and free of dust. Of more importance was the almost sterile looks of rooms that had not seen human occupancy for years, if not decades, the décor worn and likely out of date when Mr. Collins had been a young man. Whatever sort of master Mr. Collins had been, it was clear he had taken no thought for any rooms he did not himself use. Even the master's bedchambers, the one room he used other than the study, displayed faded and worn furnishings and wallpaper, adding to the sense of decay that permeated the place. Longbourn had not been a living, functioning home for more years than Elizabeth had been alive.

"Well, I suppose it is not unexpected," said Elizabeth, echoing Bennet's earlier comment when they all gathered in the sitting-room later that afternoon.

? After Mrs. Hill's tour, they had chosen bedchambers for themselves, the ladies assisting each other in changing their dusty travel clothes for something more appropriate for an evening. Bennet, accustomed to dressing himself, had also changed, his garb dated like much of the house surrounding them. In truth, Bennet felt a little uncomfortable in them, for while he had not been a stranger to the dress of a gentleman, he had been more often content with the black suit and white collar of a parson that had been his calling these past twenty years. Now that he was a gentleman in truth, perhaps it was time to update his wardrobe to the current styles.

? "Your rooms are at least comfortable, I trust," said Bennet, looking at them all with some concern.

? "If the wallpaper does not induce nightmares," muttered Mary, provoking the mirth of them all.

? "On the contrary," said Elizabeth, fixing her sister with a look filled with all the warmth due close siblings, "I believe the opportunity before us does not present itself often. With so much of the house in desperate need of refreshment, it is a perfect opportunity to alter the decor to suit our family."

? "If only Mama were here," said Jane, the second reference to their mother that day. "You recall when she redecorated the parlor in the parsonage."

? "Oh, aye!" said Elizabeth with a laugh. "She was in her element, was she not?"

? "And drove us all to distraction!" rejoined Bennet.

? "She would have loved the opportunity to redecorate Longbourn," said Mary, echoing the wistful note that had beset them all.

? "Then we must do it to pay homage to her," asserted Elizabeth, the most resilient of his daughters.

? Her sisters chorused their agreement, and they fell into conversation about what they might do to improve their new home. Bennet listened to their banter, marveling at the blessing of three such beautiful daughters. He allowed them their conversation, but after a time, he felt it incumbent upon him to rein in their more outlandish notions, though he knew much of what they said was in jest.

? "While I have every confidence in your good taste," said he when there was a lull in their conversation, "I shall remind you that funds will be at a premium. I share your distaste for our current surroundings, but I shall remind you of prudence."

? Bennet's daughters shared glances and burst into gay laughter. When the response came, Elizabeth provided it, unsurprising as she was the usual ringleader in their mischief.

? "Of course, we shall, Papa. I believe Mary owes me a new ribbon, for I was certain you would protest before we adjourned to the dining-room."

? At that moment, as if on cue, Mrs. Hill entered, announcing dinner, provoking further merriment from his girls. Bennet grinned and rose, offering his arm to Mary and allowing her elder sisters to follow them to their dinner.

? When they were all seated, Bennet offered a prayer over their meal and fixed his daughters with all the love he felt for them. "No man could be prouder than I am, my dears, for I am blessed to have you all in my life. Let us make this place a home where we may live in comfort."

? The girls chorused their agreement, and they set to their dinner.

? Later, when they had all retired, Bennet entered his study and sat at the desk, looking about with no little amazement at being in this room, never having suspected such a thing was possible. While he had been at home in Nottinghamshire and content with his life as a parson, Longbourn was his home, the legacy of his family, their hiatus as masters of the estate notwithstanding. What a miracle it was to be returned here, many years after his father had lost hope of ever regaining his inheritance. With those thoughts in mind, Bennet let himself from the room, eager to seek his bed and discover what the following day would bring.