Chapter III

M r. Bennet's inquiry to the steward revealed little, for the man declaimed all knowledge of the estate's ledgers.

? "Mr. Collins kept that task for himself," stated Mr. Sykes, his offense suggesting more than a little disgruntlement at the former master. "I never so much as opened the ledgers, for Mr. Collins tasked me with being the more visible representative of the estate."

? Disquiet filling him, Mr. Bennet regarded the man. Today was the first time he had seen Mr. Sykes appearing alert, for he seemed to be in his cups as much as he was sober.

? "Then you inspected tenant farms, oversaw the planting, and other such tasks?"

? "I also handled any dealings with the other gentleman," rumbled the other man. "Mr. Collins was not energetic the last years of his life."

? Mr. Bennet nodded. "Then you can tell me nothing of the system Mr. Collins used to keep his books."

? "I have already said I cannot."

? The man's tone all testiness, spoke of resentment, his manner suggesting he believed Bennet questioned his abilities. It was a singular manner for an employee to speak in such a way to his master, for Bennet was certain that most gentlemen would not tolerate such behavior. As his previous profession had been as a man of God, Bennet had some measure of experience in the sovereign importance of maintaining one's patience.

? "Very well," said Bennet, nodding at the steward. "The one other matter of which I wished to ask is your residence in the servant's quarters. My understanding from previous acquaintances is that most stewards prefer a cottage on the estate."

? The steward shrugged in a manner that suggested this question did not bother him. However, it seemed a little too casual, increasing Bennet's suspicions. "I am not married. What need have I for a cottage? In the servant's quarters, I have a room and need not concern myself for my meals."

? "Yes, I understand how that might be desirable," murmured Bennet. "Thank you for your time. As I shall start inspecting the estate to learn what I must, I shall require your knowledge in the coming days. You should also know a friend of mine will stay with us for a time to be of some assistance. Until I need you, please continue your duties as you have been performing them."

? Whatever Bennet expected of the man, it was not the hint of alarm that came over him. "A friend is to stay with you?"

? "A man known to me for many years," confirmed Bennet, though he wondered at Sykes's behavior. "He is the master of an estate in Derbyshire."

? Mr. Sykes nodded and excused himself, appearing thoughtful. Bennet regarded him as he departed, wondering what to make of him. Since coming, Bennet had observed Sykes, trying to learn how he conducted himself, and his scrutiny had not revealed any sterling qualities. On the contrary, he seemed to be a man who enjoyed his spirits, his attention to his duties perfunctory, his effort nothing beyond ridding himself of what he must do with all haste so he may return to his interests, whatever they were.

? As he turned his attention back to the ledgers he was still trying to understand, Bennet made a mental note to watch Sykes carefully. While he did not know what he suspected of the steward, he did not trust the man.

? In those days, as the girls planned for the upgrades in the house and Bennet tried to understand their financial situation, they all began to accustom themselves to their new home. The parsonage in which the girls had lived all their lives had been a handsome building, quite new in the parish in which he had served, but a parson's home, no matter how well appointed, could not compare to the abode of a gentleman. The girls went through the house from end to end and tagged those items they could give away to the poor while tasking the servants to remove other articles fit for nothing more than a discard heap. As a pressing matter, they discussed hiring additional servants to improve Longbourn's inadequate stable of workers.

? "Mrs. Hill suggests at least two more upstairs maids," said Jane as they were speaking on the subject the day of Bennet's meeting with the steward. "While we might wish for a maid to assist us, in the interest of economy, we do not intend to hire ladies' maids, for Sarah, the maid already in our employment, also has some skill in that area."

? "That would be for the best," said Bennet. "While I would shower you with gifts and ensure your comfort with maids for you all, I doubt this estate would support such expenditures."

? "We do not need such things, Papa," said Mary. "We had one maid in Woodborough, after all."

? "I am happy to see this sudden prosperity has not rendered you proud," said Bennet, acknowledging his youngest daughter with a smile.

? "Not at all!" said Elizabeth. "Pride is, after all, the original sin."

? "So it is," chuckled Bennet. "Besides the maids, we will need a gardener, perhaps a gamekeeper, and a manservant."

? "Besides John?" asked Elizabeth.

? John was the manservant from Woodborough who was to join them in a few days, bringing the wagon of their belongings.

? "I think I would feel better if there was an additional manservant," said Bennet. "I suppose I should also hire a valet at some point, though at present I think it may be an unnecessary expense. I have been dressing myself all my adult life, after all."

? Talk then moved on to how they were to hire suitable servants, the obvious solution being to ask for Mrs. Hill's insight as the long-term housekeeper and resident of the neighborhood—she must know who might be available to work for them, their characters, and who to avoid. Having discussed that matter, they turned to their other plans, such as the refreshment of the sitting-room, which was first on the girls' list of renovations they wished to make to the house. As their suggestions were lovely, Bennet approved of them, confident that if his examination of the ledgers revealed a less advantageous picture of their financial health, the sitting-room at least would not be beyond their means. They also confirmed their intention to endure the outdated décor in their rooms until they better understood how much they could accomplish now and how much must wait.

? It could not be supposed that a new family in the district would escape the notice of their neighbors. As was the custom in such cases, the neighborhood's gentlemen soon began calling, introducing themselves, and welcoming Bennet to the neighborhood. How it played out was of some surprise to Bennet, for he might not have thought these men would wait as long as they had to assuage their curiosity, their restraint something he had not expected.

? They were, he supposed, a creditable enough lot, the thought of terming those who inhabited the higher echelons of society in such a manner amusing to Bennet. Of education, he thought they were intelligent enough, though there were men among them that were dull, or even a little coarse. Most had attended university, he thought, though not Cambridge or Oxford because of the expense. While most of them were nondescript and not especially memorable, the first man to arrive was not one he would forget soon.

? "Ah, Mr. Bennet, I presume," said the heavy-set, jovial gentleman who entered his study the fourth day after their arrival.

? "I am," replied Bennet, wondering with idle amusement what the man would do if he pronounced himself to be someone different.

? "Then please allow me to welcome you to the neighborhood. I am Sir William Lucas, your neighbor to the south and east."

? Bennet rose and shook the man's hand, inviting him to sit. Sir William gave him the impression of a man friendly and civil, but one for whom polite behavior did not come naturally. He suspected that Sir William was not long of the gentle class and that his knighthood was the result of some service rendered. What it could be Bennet could not say, for the man was not the sort to win great acclaim or perform heroic deeds in battle. For all that, however, he was not a bad sort, though he appeared quite fond of the sound of his own voice.

? "I hope," said Sir William after their initial exchange of pleasantries and information, "to have excellent relations. As are a man of the church, I expect you already understand, but life as a gentleman is easier when one has neighbors he can esteem."

? That begged a specific question, of course, and after a moment of thinking better of it, Bennet asked the obvious. "Your relations with Mr. Collins were not amicable?"

? "Mr. Collins was reclusive for the last years of his life in particular, and not much given to maintaining good relations before." Sir William shook his head. "While I would not speak ill of the deceased, I know of no one in the district that thought well of him, though the older generation may contradict me. Regardless, I do not think anyone outside of the servants of Longbourn and myself so much as laid eyes on him in the last decade."

? That confirmed what Bennet had heard of the man. "And what of the steward? I understand you conducted your business with him instead of Mr. Collins."

? The look of distaste with which Sir William responded confirmed Bennet's opinion of the steward too. "Mr. Sykes's reputation among those with properties bordering Longbourn is even poorer than his former master's. While I know nothing of any specific sins, I think little of the man myself."

? Bennet nodded and changed the subject, the conversation turning to more general matters of interest. Bennet learned a particular stretch of fence between the two estates had been replaced of late, and that there was an issue of drainage common to their adjacent lands. As the matter was beyond his expertise at the moment, Bennet mentioned the coming of his friend and informed Sir William that they would discuss the matter in greater detail once he came. To this, Sir William agreed with an ease that suggested the problem was not urgent.

? "Most of the estates in the vicinity are small," said Sir William as their discussion turned to the other properties. "Longbourn is the largest in the neighborhood but one, and that one lies on your eastern border."

? "Netherfield Park," said Bennet with interest, having heard something of it.

? "That is correct," replied Sir William. "Netherfield would generate as much as five thousand a year if managed properly. Unfortunately, it has been empty for some years, and as the owner does not visit often, its productivity has declined."

? "Has the owner given any thought of leasing it?" asked Bennet.

? "It has been on the rental market for at least three years now," said Sir William. He shrugged and added: "For whatever reason it has received no purchase offers, though I think it a fine estate. It would benefit the neighborhood should someone live there."

? Bennet, though he made a note to mention it to his friend, said nothing for the moment. Therefore, he turned his attention to other matters.

? "Now," said Sir William after they had discussed such matters for some few minutes, "I come on a special commission from my family, for I heard that you have several daughters."

? Unable to help his laughter, Bennet nodded and said: "Three lovely girls, though my spouse has passed on. I dare say the ladies are eager to meet others intending to gossip, discussions we would not find interesting, and a determination to conspire to dispense with as much of our income as they can manage."

? Sir William sported a grin and nodded. "Aye, I observed as much in my wife and daughters, though they are good women. My eldest, Charlotte, has been eager to become acquainted with your daughters, and I agreed to state her case hoping yours will find mine agreeable."

? "Elizabeth is the most open of my girls," said Bennet. "I should think given the chance they will become excellent friends in no time at all. Jane and Mary, her elder and younger sisters respectively, are not so lively, but I think they will also eagerly anticipate their introduction into your circles."

? "That is all the ladies in our community could hope," said Sir William. "To that end, our neighbors are to gather at my home on Tuesday next. Might I hope for your attendance?"

? "I shall speak with my daughters, but I cannot imagine they will object."

? "Excellent," said Sir William. He rose and extended his hand, Bennet accepting. "I hope we shall be pleasant friends and neighbors, Mr. Bennet. Until Tuesday."

? With that, the gentleman departed, leaving Bennet to his thoughts. Thereafter the other gentleman graced his study, some eager, some indifferent, but all offering the civility required of those of their station. Bennet tried not to make hasty judgments of them, for he knew that such was often the path to folly. He welcomed each in the manner they showed themselves and returned their kindness in his acceptance of their efforts.

? That was until the last man showed himself in Bennet's home, for this man was not pleasant, nor was he a gentleman. Mrs. Hill showed him into the study, her nervous looks at Bennet showing her uncertainty, for having lived at Longbourn so long as she had, she must know something of the situation between them. Bennet had not given her any instructions concerning this man's coming, as he had never thought he would possess the audacity to appear at Longbourn given his family's betrayal. Thus, Bennet nodded at the housekeeper, allowing her to retreat, and turned his full attention to his guest.

? Despite never having laid eyes on him before that moment, Bennet knew who he was. Mr. Arthur Philips was a tall and lean man, possessing piercing blue eyes set into a long, pinched face, his cheeks shrunken as if the skin stretched too tight over his cheekbones and jaw. His hair was black with a liberal sprinkling of gray throughout, especially at the temples that had lost all pigment. He held himself tall and erect, as proud as an aristocrat, though the Philipses had never been closer to being gentlemen than being cousins of the late Mr. Collins. The way Philips stared at him through eyes swimming in contempt, an observer might almost think the Bennets had betrayed the Philipses, rather than the reverse.

? "So," said Philips, his gravelly rasp giving something away of his perturbation, despite his calm demeanor, "I see you invaded these walls at the first available moment, not unlike a jackal worrying over a carcass."

? "Do you suppose I would not come at once and take what was mine?" Bennet leaned back in his chair and regarded the objectionable man; Philips, it appeared, did not appreciate the visual evidence of their different stations. "Would any man not come at once to see to the state of his inheritance?"

? "Your inheritance," spat Philips, the continued scraping of his voice that of a chair dragged over a wooden floor, suggesting it was not emotion, but his natural voice.

? "Yes, my inheritance," returned Bennet, keeping his composure with what he considered admirable control. "After all, Philips, do you not recall who held the estate for generations?"

? Philips's jaw worked but he said nothing, and well he might stay silent, for there was no defense against the truth. Bennet wondered what sophism he used to justify his father's actions before deciding he did not care to know.

? "I wonder why you would come, Philips," said Bennet. "It is shocking you do not seem to understand, but I will not associate with you. I intend to use the solicitor in Stevenage for my legal needs, for I do not trust you."

? "Do you suppose I concern myself with your opinion?"

? "No, it is clear you do not," replied Bennet. "Then again, given your lack of decency and willingness to improve your lot by taking what is not yours, I cannot suppose there is any depravity to which you might descend that would shock me."

? If anything, Philips's inferno gaze became more heated. "You are fortunate I could not convince Collins to leave the estate to his cousin, or even to me. You should have stayed in that hovel in Nottingham and preached your message to the witless sheep in your parish."

? "If I had continued as a parson," rejoined Bennet, "I would not repine it, for it was a noble calling. The law might be the same if the man possessing the education combined it with a sense of what is right."

? "What do you know of right?"

? "As much as the next man," said Bennet. "I will own to some curiosity, though I expect you will not answer my question. After Collins's actions to take the estate from my father, I cannot imagine why he was determined to leave it to me. Can you account for it?"

? "I cannot," replied Philips, though he appeared unwilling to answer. "When his son died, he secluded himself for a time, and when he emerged, he insisted the estate was to devolve to your father, then to you when he passed on. Nothing my father said changed his mind."

? "Then it appears he developed a hint of morality," replied Bennet. "That must also be why he approached Mr. Hanson in Stevenage, for he must have known you would not follow his directives."

? For a long moment, it appeared Philips was too angry to speak. The Bennets' connection to the Philipses, Bennet knew, existed if one traced their ancestries back far enough. They could be as close as cousins and Bennet would never trust or associate with this man, for he had known what he was before he had come to Meryton. Everything he had heard, the use of Mr. Hanson in the matter of Mr. Collins's will, and his apparent resemblance to his late father all confirmed Bennet's conjecture.

? "I cannot say why Collins acted the way he did," rasped Philips at length. "It is unfortunate. I tried to inform him of the situation, and how you would be the unworthy beneficiary of his son's passing if he maintained his course. He would not listen, though I presented information I had gathered as to the true culprit in his son's death."

? Bennet rose to his feet, meeting him tall and proud, showing the likes of a degenerate solicitor did not cow him.

? "Get out, Philips. I will not listen to you hurl insinuations you know have no basis in fact. Leave at once or I shall remove you."

? Philips sneered and gave a mocking bow. "The stench that now pervades this place is such that it will keep me away forever. I hope you enjoy your ill-gotten gain."

? "Do not return, Philips," said Bennet as he turned away, ignoring the insult. "If you presume to show yourself in my home again, I shall turn you over to the magistrate for trespassing."

? Philips snorted his disdain, but he said nothing, exiting the study, his stride quick, but calculated to inform Bennet he left of his own volition. The confrontation at an end, Bennet sank into his chair, considering what had just occurred.

? As a parson and a man of God, Bennet had always held fast to the word of the Lord and tried to live its precepts. In particular, he recalled several well-known passages, from the commandment to love those that despise you, among instructions to turn the other cheek and forgive those who trespass against you. Bennet knew they were among the most difficult commandments to live by, especially when confronted by one such as Arthur Philips, a man whose family had stolen from the Bennets their very livelihood and means of supporting themselves. In some respects, given what he had learned of what his father uncovered after the fact, the Philipses were even more to blame than the Collinses.

? Sighing, Bennet turned his thoughts away from Philips, the confrontation, and old grievances and betrayals that still vexed his family. There was no reason to concern himself with Philips; every instinct urged him to consider the matter no more and look to the future. To always resent that which had happened before was a quick and straight path to a life of bitterness.

? "Papa?" asked Elizabeth, drawing his attention as she looked around the door jamb into his study. Belated though his insight was, Bennet noted the open door and realized that Philips had not closed it when he had stormed from the room.

? "Is aught amiss?" asked she when he did not respond at once. "I heard raised voices and saw a man leaving—he appeared to be in high dudgeon."

? "As well he might be," replied Bennet with a mirthless chuckle. "Nothing is the matter, Lizzy, for I do not suppose he shall come again. Please leave me for the moment. I shall explain all at dinner tonight."

? Uncertain though she appeared, Elizabeth nodded and excused herself, pulling the door closed behind her. Left in solitude, Bennet sighed again and leaned back in his chair to consider the experience. Certainly, Bennet needed to make some warning to his daughters, for he would not put it past Philips to accost them on the streets of Meryton. It would be best if they avoided him altogether, for he could not predict the man's actions.

? Again, Bennet turned his thoughts to the surprising return of Longbourn to his family's control. Philips's account filled some gaps in his understanding, but it opened others. A man possessing the wherewithal to conspire to steal another's inheritance would not change his ways enough to repent of his actions. Could he?

? At present, Bennet had little other notion upon which to obtain an understanding of the reasons for his residence in the home of his forefathers rather than toiling away in Woodborough as its parson. The Good Book informed Bennet that repentance was possible, and that the penitent sinner would attain forgiveness. How it had come about he could not be certain, but Collins had experienced a change of heart unless there was something else at play that Bennet could not understand.

? Sighing, and knowing this line of thinking would not end in any illumination of life's mysteries, Bennet pushed it away, to immerse himself again in his work. He would not solve the mystery of Mr. Collins that day, and the activity pushed his preoccupation to the side.