Chapter VII

E arly the following morning, Bennet called for the carriage to be prepared for his journey into London. In one respect, Bennet regretted the necessity of going to town, for he did not like leaving his daughters alone to fend for themselves in a strange neighborhood.

? "Do not concern yourself, Papa," said Jane as he was preparing to depart that morning. "We shall all be well."

? "And you will not recognize the sitting-room when you return," quipped Elizabeth, ever irrepressible.

? "Do you suppose we are helpless without your wise guidance?" asked Mary, a distinct twinkle in her eyes as she spoke.

? Bennet could not help the laughter his daughters' teasing provoked, and he gathered them all in close. "Words cannot express how happy I am to have all of you in my life, for no three ladies could be more precious."

? "You must go to London, Papa," said Elizabeth. "Go with confidence, for we shall weather the storm of your absence."

? "Yes, I suppose you will," said Bennet, still bemused by their witty rejoinders. "Then I shall take your advice and hope to return as soon as may be."

? Before Bennet departed, he had a few words with John, charging him to care for his daughters in his absence. John, the excellent servant that he was, did not comment on the redundancy of Bennet's instructions, instead wishing his master a pleasant journey and a quick return.

? With that and a few last words, Bennet boarded the coach and gave the command, his last glimpse of his daughters filling him with pride. Soon thereafter, the coach made its way through Longbourn village, from thence to Meryton, and the road to London. As the journey was naught but four hours, there was no time to become fatigued, though he had never enjoyed travel. Soon, they reached the outskirts of town, where the roads they traveled changed from the dirt roads of the country to the cobbled lanes of the city. Then before much more time had passed, the carriage stopped in front of a pleasant-looking house on Gracechurch Street.

? "Brother," said Mrs. Gardiner, welcoming him to her home. "I see you made good time from Hertfordshire."

? "You know me, Madeleine," said Bennet, regarding his sister by marriage with affection. "I am an early riser, and as such, it did not seem worthwhile to wait to make the journey."

? "No, I suppose not," replied Madeleine. "Edward will return early from his offices to greet you, but for the moment, I suspect you would like to refresh yourself."

? "Thank you, my dear," said Bennet with a nod, following her up the stairs to his room.

? The Gardiners were, though they were people of trade, as exceptional as any Bennet had ever met. Edward was tall and slender, a hint of gray standing at his temples, pleasant of feature, and possessing the same dark eyes his sister had boasted, eyes that Elizabeth had inherited, that had drawn Bennet like a moth to the flame that had been Margaret Gardiner. While Maggie had not been the most intellectually gifted woman, she had made up for it in good humor and a loving nature. Edward, by contrast, was anything but unintelligent, for Bennet had rarely met a man so quick as he. The business he owned, built from the small annuity left by his father, who had himself been a solicitor in Nottingham, proved Edward's industrious nature and business acumen.

? His wife was a true partner, an intelligent woman who advised her husband, who had told Bennet more than once he would not have been as successful as he was if not for her. Madeleine was four years younger than Edward, still smooth of face, her pretty features enhanced by the maturity her now over thirty years could impart. Their children, of whom there were four, were well-behaved, their manners mirroring their parents'. The family ate dinner together that evening, entertaining their uncle, after which their parents sent them to their rooms while they discussed the situation that had brought Bennet to town.

? "Well, Bennet," observed Gardiner when they were in the sitting-room, the gentlemen with glasses of brandy, while Madeleine held her glass of sherry, "it appears you moved up in the world."

? Bennet made a face. "If you recall, I only resumed the position that would have been mine had others not interfered."

? Gardiner nodded agreeably. "Yes, that is true. Yet it is strange after all this time, that the man who arranged the theft of the estate would return it to your family."

? "That is a question for which I have no answer," replied Bennet with a grimace. "I had expected to live out my life as a parson, never suspecting Collins would return the property to me, regardless of his lack of an heir."

? For a long moment, Gardiner regarded him, his expression inscrutable. "While I know something of what has happened," said he at length, "I do not know the finer details of what occurred to leave your father disinherited. Now that you recovered it, will you not share the specifics?"

? As delayed as Gardiner's question had been, Bennet remained silent even longer. There was a reason his father had never discussed the matter, other than to relate the salient facts of the affair to Bennet himself. Bennet had never wished to discuss the matter himself, for why should he? Bennet had never had the experience of being a gentleman's son, unlike his father who had been raised to expect inclusion in that exclusive fraternity of the landed. His father had in his lifetime found success in pushing the matter to side in favor of his duties as a parson, and yet Bennet had also known his father had harbored some bitterness for the injustice done to him. Other than disapproval of what Collins had done and a measure of curiosity at times to experience the life of a gentleman, Bennet had not concerned himself with his family's past. Now that he was again in possession of his family's inheritance, Gardiner's request was not ill-judged.

? "It happened when my father was a young man," said Bennet at length. "My grandfather married late in life and was already quite elderly by the time my father came of age."

? Bennet sighed, considering what it must have been like for his father, for his birthright to be snatched away while he was in the prime of life. "I do not know the exact sequence of events, and I do not think my father ever pieced them together either. The salient points are no secret.

? "After he graduated from university, my grandfather insisted my father take an abbreviated grand tour." Bennet paused and chuckled. "The Bennets were never wealthy, and such a tour was all he could afford. While my father traveled to Paris, my grandfather's health took a turn for the worse in a manner that affected not only his body but his mind. With the collusion of the solicitor of the time, they convinced my father to create a new will which named Mr. Collins the heir to the estate, disinheriting my father."

? "What connection did these men have to your grandfather?" asked Madeleine.

? "The Collinses are connections of longstanding, though I do not know nor do I care to know the exact degree. Philips, the solicitor who assisted Collins in his larceny is an even more distant connection of both families, though more to the Collinses than the Bennets. They still have landed relations, though by that time, Collins's branch of the family had fallen from the ranks of gentlefolk.

? "By the time my father returned, his father had already passed on, the will executed, and Collins installed as the master of the estate. When he went to Longbourn, Collins had him run off the estate, promising to press charges should he return. It was fortunate that the Darcys assisted, or I do not know what my father might have done."

? "The Darcys are excellent people," observed Madeleine.

? "Ah, yes," said Bennet. "Your connection to the family."

? Madeleine smiled. "To call it a connection is more than a little hyperbole, Brother. I only lived in Lambton for a time as a girl."

? "Yet, we are familiar with Darcy," said Gardiner. "He even invests in my business."

? "Not that you need investors," rejoined Bennet with a grin.

? "The additional capital is welcome," replied Gardiner. "I did not hesitate to take his offer."

? Bennet nodded. "Darcy's grandfather assisted my father, seeing him with the funds to attend the seminary and gain his ordination. He also investigated the matter of the changed will but could find no way to overturn it."

? "You always seemed suitable for the life of a parson," observed Gardiner. "The few times I met him, however, your father always carried a hint of melancholy."

? With a shrug, not wishing to belabor the point, Bennet changed the subject. "Now that I regained the estate, I must give some thought to the future. While I can leave it to any of the girls, I cannot but suppose it would be best to sire an heir."

? "You are considering taking a wife?" asked Gardiner.

? While some men might hesitate at the notion of their sister's widower remarrying again, Gardiner was not such a man. "It would solve a potential problem. It may also be best to institute an entail should I sire a son, for had an entail existed on Longbourn, all Collins and Philips's machinations at the time would have come to naught."

? "That is true," replied Gardiner, "but I should advise against it. Even with an heir, there is no guarantee he would inherit, and should he not live to become an adult, you may put your daughters at risk. What would happen if you had no male heirs of your body when the time came?"

? "This is not something I had not considered," agreed Bennet. "I do not believe an entail is the best option, but it is something I should at least consider. Until I have a son of my own, the point is moot."

? "Then what brings you to London now?" asked Madeleine.

? "A summons from my banker," replied Bennet.

? Bennet explained the state of the ledgers and the letter he received from the bank. When he had done so, Gardiner regarded him, a hint of his shrewd business sense coming to the fore.

? "The books being in such a state suggest possible nefarious deeds."

? Bennet gave him a curt nod. "Yes, I had considered the possibility. The steward is a man I cannot trust, for there is more than a shifty look about him."

? "Did you inspect the previous ledgers?" asked Gardiner.

? "I did," confirmed Bennet. "From what I can see, Collins was not an especially careful man, and perhaps he was not as knowledgeable about estate management as he wished to think. Those ledgers are difficult to read, and they gradually became worse."

? "That would suggest the ledgers were his task, the legibility declining as he aged," acknowledged Gardiner. "But there may be other devilry at work, for an enterprising steward might take advantage of the situation to line his own pockets."

? Gardiner paused and laughed. "If I were so careless with my record keeping, I dare say my foreman would rob me blind!"

? "It is in a man's nature to grasp whatever he can get," agreed Bennet. "I have no liking for the steward and even less trust. At present, however, there is no proof of wrongdoing and every reason to refrain from accusation."

? "If you will pardon me, Bennet," said Gardiner, "you are now a gentleman, and that gives you a certain leverage the average man does not possess. When you return from London, I suggest you act to ensure this man has not defrauded you, and if that entails searching his belongings, you should not hesitate. Relieving him of his duties alone will not provide evidence he has not engaged in activities he should not pursue."

? Bennet gave him a slow nod, accompanied thereafter by a sheepish sort of shrug. "You have the right of it, Gardiner. Sometimes I forget about the position I now hold."

? "Using such power indiscriminately is not laudable," said Madeleine. "In this instance, I cannot but think it is necessary."

? Bennet nodded and turned the subject yet again. "Tomorrow, after I meet with the banker, I shall call at Darcy's townhouse. Darcy was to join me at Longbourn to help me learn to manage it, but he sent me a letter to say he cannot come when he promised."

? "For Darcy to cancel an engagement in such a way, it must be a serious matter," said Gardiner.

? "Your thoughts mirror mine," replied Bennet. "I cannot ask after the business that prevents him from coming to Hertfordshire, but it would be good manners to call on him."

? Gardiner nodded his agreement, and they allowed the conversation to drift to other matters. In time, Bennet retired, citing his need to depart early the following morning. Unbeknownst to him and his relations, there would be no need to return to Longbourn to confront the steward, for his girls handled that bit of business.

Not long after their father's departure, the Bennet sisters welcomed a small company of laborers into Longbourn, showing them to the sitting-room and their tasks for the day. Showing an efficiency borne of long practice, the men set to work at once, producing the tools of their trade. Within a brief time, they had stripped the old paper from the wall and plastered the new paper in its place.

? As they worked, the girls watched them, noting the colors of the paper and the effect it would have on the room, lightening it and making it into a more welcome place. Seeing this, Elizabeth turned to her sisters, showing them a grin.

? "It appears we have done well. I cannot imagine anyone coming into this room will have anything other than praise for the changes we made."

? "It is more pleasing than what it is replacing," said Mary. "Then again, if we allow Jane to make all the choices, we cannot go wrong, for we all know her as a woman without fault."

? "You both had your hand in the decisions," said Jane, taking no notice of Mary's teasing tone.

? "So we did," replied Elizabeth. "But yours was the guiding hand, I should say."

? "Oh, without a doubt," chimed in Mary.

? "Enough of this teasing," said Jane, the affection in her voice unmistakable. "I believe there are some tasks we must complete while the workers handle the paper."

? With a chorus of agreement, Mary and Elizabeth followed their elder sister and set to their tasks. The footmen and stable hands had removed the old furniture from the sitting-room and stacked it on the front drive, and there the ladies went, inspecting the pieces, debating the utility of this chair or that table once more. In a short amount of time, they had inspected everything and separated it into two piles: those they would keep for the upholsterer, who was to arrive the following day, and the rest that they would donate to be used in the houses of those less fortunate.

? That completed, they repaired to the back parlor to engage in some needlework, sewing and stuffing cushions, covers for the new furniture, and doilies to adorn their tables. Needlework was not Elizabeth's favorite activity, but she persevered, knowing these items would combine with their alterations and the new furniture and make the sitting-room welcoming to their visitors.

? "When this is complete," said Mary, her fingers working deftly over the stitching of a cushion, "I shall sew a dress for little Jenny Johnson. That dress she was wearing when we visited was almost threadbare."

? "And the Miller children appeared no better attired," said Elizabeth. "It is unfortunate, but I think Mr. Collins has had little concern for the tenants in many years."

? "It is a wonder that Longbourn has any tenants at all," opined Jane.

? "Not when you consider it," disagreed Elizabeth. "Tenant situations cannot be so plentiful that one can surrender what one has without serious consideration. While they might find it difficult to support themselves without the family's support, it must be better than fending for themselves without a lease."

? Jane regarded Elizabeth for a moment then nodded with a sigh. "Yes, I suppose you must be correct."

? "It is our duty," said Mary, in that tone of voice she often used when making some moralizing comment, "to ensure those under our protection have everything they require."

? "It is, Mary," replied Elizabeth. "Now that we are here, we may attend to it directly. What did you have in mind for little Jenny's dress?"

? The sisters spent some time in agreeable conversation, their thoughts, observations, and plans for their tenants foremost in their discussions. In this pleasant manner, they spent the rest of the morning, until the hour for luncheon was approaching. That was when a disturbance in the hall reached their ears.

? Exchanging a look with her sisters, Elizabeth rose to investigate, when Mrs. Hill stepped into the room. The housekeeper offered a hasty curtsey and spoke at once.

? "Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, John requests your attendance, for a situation has arisen."

? While Elizabeth thought to ask her what she meant, it was clear the summons was urgent. Thus eschewing any useless questioning when she knew they would learn the explanation for the summons, Elizabeth nodded to her sisters, and they trooped from the room. Mrs. Hill directed them to their father's study, where the door stood open, and when they entered a curious sight met their eyes. The steward, Mr. Sykes, sat in a chair before the desk, while Theodore, who was a large and imposing man, stood over him, and John stood next to the desk, returning a few items that were knocked askew to their places. Several of the drawers of their father's desk were open, but John ignored them.

? "Miss Bennet," said he in his grave voice when he caught sight of them, "I caught Mr. Sykes rummaging through your father's desk."

? "Here, there is no reason to hold me," said Mr. Sykes. He attempted to rise, but Theodore glared at him, provoking the steward to sink back into his chair, keeping a wary eye on the burly footman. "When Mr. Collins was the master, I often worked in this room."

? "That I doubt very much," said Elizabeth, eyeing the man with suspicion.

? "He is lying," said Mrs. Hill. "The late master all but lived in this room for the last five years of his life. When Mr. Sykes bothered with his duties, he took his orders from Mr. Collins's man."

? "The question is," said Elizabeth, "why he was here, or what he hoped to find."

? "I tell you I am innocent!" insisted the steward. "Mr. Bennet left me to watch over the estate. I was only looking for a list of his instructions."

? Jane looked to Elizabeth who grimaced and shook her head. "I doubt that very much, Mr. Sykes," said Elizabeth. "My father does not trust you—he informed me of this several times."

? "And warned me to watch him," added John, regarding the steward with some distaste.

? "You should be silent about things you don't understand, Missy," spat Mr. Sykes, a menacing glare accompanied by a sharp tone.

? "Even if I did not have the support of these fine men," said Elizabeth, gesturing to John and Theodore, whose expressions had darkened at Mr. Sykes's tone, "I would not be afraid of the likes of you."

? Elizabeth turned to Jane. "I suppose we must search his room?"

? "Here, there is no call for that!"

? "I shall handle it at once," said Mrs. Hill.

? Mr. Sykes's darting eyes followed Mrs. Hill as she departed from the room, but the two footmen still cowed him for the moment. To Elizabeth's eyes, he appeared fearful of what Mrs. Hill might find, but he was not a large man, such that she was certain the two footmen could control him with little difficulty.

? "It would be best to question him," said Mary.

? Elizabeth agreed with a nod and took the lead as the most forceful of her sisters. As she had suspected, all her efforts were fruitless, for Mr. Sykes held to his innocence, refusing to confess to anything. Before Elizabeth had finished asking her questions, Mrs. Hill returned.

? "Misses," said she, "I discovered a stack of banknotes under Mr. Sykes's mattress."

? That proved too much for the steward, for he attempted to lurch to his feet, bellowing: "Those are my wages, damned woman!"

? Before he could so much as straighten his knees, Theodore placed a fist on his sternum and pushed him back into his chair. "The mistress did not give you permission to rise."

? "How much is there?" asked Elizabeth of Mrs. Hill.

? "I have not counted it," said Mrs. Hill, holding out a small canvas bag. "It appears there is a substantial amount within."

? "More than, perhaps, a man of Mr. Sykes's position could hope to accumulate, even if he were to save for a decade?" asked Elizabeth.

? Mrs. Hill appeared uncomfortable. "To that, I cannot speak, for I know nothing of how much Mr. Collins paid Mr. Sykes for his services."

? Elizabeth smiled at the housekeeper. "Nor would I expect you to know, Mrs. Hill."

? "Perhaps a more thorough search would yield greater results?" asked Mary of no one in particular.

? "He is afraid of our finding something," said John, pointing to the unfortunate man.

? "Then it may be best to call the constable," said Jane.

? Elizabeth gave her sister a slow nod. "That would be prudent. The constable can hold him on the suspicion of attempted theft and our father can deal with him when he returns."

? "I tell you that I did nothing!" cried Mr. Sykes. "You may keep the money if you wish." The man's face contorted into an ugly sneer. "That is what you gentlefolk do, is it not? Let me go, for I am innocent."

? "I think not, Mr. Sykes," said Elizabeth. "You can hold him until the constable arrives?"

? John nodded, fixing the steward with a foul look. "We will truss him up like a goose if we must."

? "Then I shall send a stable hand to Meryton to summon him," said Elizabeth.

? "I shall arrange for Timothy to go at once," said Mrs. Hill.

? "Send him on horseback," replied Elizabeth with a nod. "The sooner the constable comes to take Mr. Sykes away, the better."

? The housekeeper nodded and left to accomplish her tasks, and the men forced Mr. Sykes from the room, leaving the sisters alone in each other's company. When there was no one else in the immediate vicinity, Elizabeth turned to her sisters, eyebrow raised in question.

? "It is clear there is something he does not wish us to discover at the very least," said Mary in answer to Elizabeth's unspoken question.

? "That, as much as anything else, speaks to his guilt," said Jane.

? While Elizabeth looked on her sister with interest, for Jane was more apt to absolve than condemn, Jane shook her head. "It appears there is little to exonerate Mr. Sykes, Lizzy. I am not bereft of sense."

? "No, Jane dear," replied Elizabeth, linking her arm through her sister's and leading the way back to the rear parlor. "I suppose we must take some thought for sending word to Papa of what has happened."

? "This may have something to do with what took him to London," observed Mary as they sat again in the parlor.

? "It may," acknowledged Elizabeth. "We should wait until Mrs. Hill conducts her search before we send anything."

? The sisters agreed and took up their needlework again, returning to the tasks that had occupied them before the interruption. A short time later, Timothy returned with the constable, who took Mr. Sykes into custody after hearing their account of what happened.

? "Inform Mr. Bennet to come to me when he returns," said Mr. Grant, the constable. "I can hold him until Mr. Bennet decides whether to press charges."

? "We shall do so," agreed Elizabeth, watching with satisfaction as a drooping Mr. Sykes exited the house, led by the constable and his watchful deputy.

? When the sisters wrote to their father later that day, it was with information they were certain would prove useful in his attempt to learn the full financial position of the estate he had inherited.