Rebellion at Longbourn

by Victoria Kincaid

  Elizabeth shuddered. “How many of the cottages need repairs?”

  Mrs. Greeves rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Truth be told…most of them do. But only a handful are so very bad. The others…well, the families make do.”

  Elizabeth’s vision blurred momentarily as she blinked tears from her eyes. All this so her cousin might have embroidered waistcoats. It was no more than what Elizabeth had expected to hear, but the answers were still painful.

  “Why are you asking me these questions, miss?”

  “I am hoping to find a way to help the tenants,” Elizabeth said, choosing her words carefully.

  “Well, bless you, but you’ve already done so much. I can’t imagine there’s much more you can do.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I believe there might be. My sister Mary and I spoke with Mr. Collins about using more modern agricultural methods such as the Norfolk four-field system and a seed drill.”

  Mrs. Greeves eyes widened. “Bert heard about such things from a cousin down that way. He’d sure like to try it.”

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Collins would not allow himself to be persuaded.”

  The other woman’s face fell.

  “However, I was thinking that perhaps the tenants of Longbourn might give it a try anyway.”

  Mrs. Greeves stopped walking, and her mouth dropped open. “You mean do the Norfolk planting and the seed drill without telling Mr. Collins?” Elizabeth nodded. “No, it’s impossible!”

  “I think they can manage it if we help them.”

  Mrs. Greeves’s brows scrunched together. “We?”

  “You and I and the other women at Longbourn—including my sisters.”

  Mrs. Greeves frowned. “What might we do? We’re just women.”

  Elizabeth snorted, an inelegant noise that prompted a smile from the other woman. “How many children do you have, Mrs. Greeves? Six?” The other woman nodded. “You gave birth to six children. You are keeping them alive and raising them to be good people.”

  “I do my best.”

  “Is that not far more difficult than anything Mr. Collins does any day? Could you imagine him doing your job even for one day?”

  Mrs. Greeves laughed and then clapped a hand over her mouth as if her amusement were inappropriate. “True. Even Bert would be hard put to do my job for a day.”

  “I assure you that nothing I ask of you will be as difficult as raising six children.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “My sister Mary has done all the reading and understands how to implement the four-crop system. I have a little money saved that I can use to buy a seed drill. Mary can teach the tenants how the system works.”

  Mrs. Greeves’s eyes were wide with amazement. “I don’t know if this is the most brilliant plan I have ever heard or the most foolish one.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I have the same problem, but I think it is worth trying.”

  “What do you need our help for, then?” she asked, pointing to herself.

  “Mary and I cannot make a regular habit of calling upon the tenants. My cousin will become suspicious very soon.” Not to mention alarmed. Gentlemen’s daughters should not be seen consorting with farmers.

  Mrs. Greeves nodded slowly. “But nobody will blink if you’re talking to us…”

  “Precisely! If we call upon the tenants’ wives, that is nothing so remarkable. You may pass along Mary’s information and whatever equipment we need to share. We must attend a few meetings with the men, but we shall do them at night in an out-of-the-way location.”

  The other woman tugged on her bonnet ribbon. “Aye, that might work. But it’s his land, isn’t it? Mr. Collins?”

  “Technically it is,” Elizabeth agreed. “But your family and the other tenants’ families are the ones who farm it. Mr. Collins has no notion about farming. Why should he tell the farmers what to do? Would it not be more sensible to have the tenants decide what to plant and when to plant it? They buy their own seed and fertilizer. Mr. Collins will never know.”

  Mrs. Greeves laughed. “He might notice when turnips grow instead of wheat.”

  “He pays little attention to the fields. They can plant the new crops at a distance from the lanes where he might walk.”

  Mrs. Greeves started walking again, mulling over Elizabeth’s words. “But the tenants will be earning extra money off Mr. Collins’s land. Isn’t that against the law?”

  This was the part of the scheme Elizabeth had fretted over the most. “I do not believe it would be…if we use the extra money to repair the tenants’ cottages, just as Mr. Collins should be doing. The cottages are his property, so the money will be an investment in his estate.”

  Mrs. Greeves’s mouth formed a perfect “o.” “You have thought of everything.” She paused for a long moment, staring at Elizabeth. Then she resumed walking in silent rumination. “But Bert won’t like it,” she said slowly.

  Elizabeth’s heart sank. Her plan had no hope of succeeding if she failed to convince the Greeveses.

  “He won’t want to listen to me,” she said, her words coming out in a big rush. “You know, I haven’t as much schooling as he has. I…My father believed girls only needed to read and write.”

  Elizabeth suppressed her anger at the woman’s father; his attitude was not uncommon.

  “Bert is always teasing me for how long it takes me just to read one page of the Bible. If I come to him with this, he’ll say, ‘What do you know about farming? What does Miss Mary know about farming?’”

  Elizabeth was a tea kettle, boiling with indignation. “It is scarcely our fault if we have not been educated,” she exploded, throwing her arms into the air. “I have been reading a book by a woman who herself did not have much formal education, but it is a very clever book. She says that women and men are equally capable of learning. However, when women are given an inferior education, it hinders their ability to be good citizens.”

  Mrs. Greeves seemed taken aback by such a radical notion.

  Elizabeth was irritated; she had been on the verge of convincing the other woman. Surely her hopes would not be demolished over a petty thing like a belief in women’s inferiority. “Are we not—both man and woman—created in God’s image with rights and responsibilities given to us by God?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Then we should exercise those rights!”

  “I don’t think Bert will see it that way.”

  “We have valuable ideas. We must find a way to make them listen to us.”

  Mrs. Greeves frowned. Elizabeth was losing to the woman’s own doubts.

  But surely there was some way to overcome the male tenants’ bias against women’s ideas. “Perhaps you might enlist the help of your friends; they might speak with their husbands, too.”

  Intrigued, Mrs. Greeves lifted her head.

  Elizabeth pressed ahead. “You and I can do little on our own, but we can recruit others to our cause. After all, Mr. Collins cannot operate Longbourn alone, can he? If enough people participate, then we might transform the estate.”

  “But…will they listen to you or Miss Mary? You’re only women,” Mrs. Greeves said in hushed tones.

  Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, we are not farmers. Mary has never tried any of the methods in the journals she reads. But if the farmers will just meet with her and listen to her ideas…I think they will be convinced. The first step is persuading the tenants to attend that meeting.”

  Mrs. Greeves nodded. “Very well. I don’t want any more children to fall ill. It’s worth a try. What would you like me to do?”

  Elizabeth had not known it was possible to simultaneously experience so much relief and anxiety. “I pray you, speak with the other wives and explain this to them. Then talk with your husband and ask the other wives to speak with theirs. You know which tenants can be trusted. They might not be convinced, but if they can just attend a meeting with Mary she can explain everything—and together they can figure out how to make it
work at Longbourn…”

  Chapter Four

  Darcy stared down at the streets of Meryton from the inn’s window, hoping against hope that he would see Elizabeth’s form—or any inhabitants of Longbourn. He had endeavored to draw the innkeeper’s wife into a conversation about the manor’s residents, but she—unlike every other innkeeper’s wife he had ever met—seemed disinclined to gossip, saying only that the young ladies from Longbourn were rarely in town. That could mean anything.

  The setting sun cast long shadows on the street, forcing some people to squint as they hurried through the cool, early spring air. He had intended to arrive earlier in the day so he might call on Longbourn immediately, but his departure from Darcy House had been delayed by, among other things, the necessity of finding an acceptable excuse for his absence to Georgiana and Bingley. Fortunately, the former had been put off by vague assertions about needing to see an acquaintance, and the latter had been distracted by the arrival of his own man of business. Still, Darcy could not remain in Hertfordshire very long; there was too much business requiring attention. He had met with Pemberley’s steward briefly, but they would need to spend far more time pouring over the estate’s books.

  I should not be here at all. After an absence of eighteen months, I should be attending to my estate and investments. And yet he must be here; he must see Elizabeth. He could not escape the feeling that he was already dreadfully late in his arrival. The thought made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

  He must be honest with himself. He could have inquired about her circumstances earlier, but he had not because he feared the temptation. Given that he had rushed to Hertfordshire after hearing the first news of Elizabeth, perhaps he had been right. But he had not anticipated such a string of calamities—and he certainly had not expected to be personally responsible.

  No, he must insist on complete honesty, at least within his own mind. Even without the dire news about her family, he would likely have ventured into Hertfordshire to catch a glimpse of her.

  Now her family’s situation rendered her even less desirable as his wife, and yet he knew—even before he saw her—that his fascination with Elizabeth had not abated. I must simply be resolute. I will help her and her family, and then I will leave Hertfordshire immediately, never to see her again. Further entanglement with the Bennet family simply was not possible; he could damage any chances that Georgiana would make an advantageous match.

  “Elizabeth.” Resting his face against the glass of the window, he whispered her name. Somehow just uttering those syllables was comforting.

  The inn’s small garden, with its little shoots of plants pushing up through the earth, was rapidly being swallowed by the shadows of the impending evening. What did Longbourn’s garden look like now? He had never explored it with Elizabeth, one of many things he regretted. Constantly fighting his passion for her, he had wasted untold hours that he could have spent in her company. In his dreams he had walked with her everywhere, but in reality, they had spent precious little time together.

  “Elizabeth,” he murmured into the glass, “why will you not leave me alone?”

  His chest burned with a desperate need to see her…a desperate desire to know how she fared. Even now it was all he could do to prevent himself from mounting his horse and riding to Longbourn despite the late hour. Knowing that she was a mere mile or two away was too great a temptation. Somehow he must find the patience to wait until tomorrow.

  To distract himself, Darcy rehearsed the vague plan he had formulated on the road for how he might help the Bennet family. But any plan depended on what he would discover upon arrival at Longbourn.

  Elizabeth—indeed the whole Bennet family—must be very anxious about Lydia’s well-being. If Timson located her, Darcy would need to help the girl, most likely paying Wickham to marry her. It was distasteful but necessary.

  But it was not enough. He longed to improve the situations of Elizabeth and her sisters since his actions—or inactions—had contributed to their current plight. It would be difficult without risking damage to their reputations. He could not bestow money on an unrelated single woman. But perhaps he might give money to one of their relatives, Mr. Phillips or the one who lived in Cheapside, for it to be conveyed to the Bennets.

  Collins did not seem the type to beat or abuse women under his care, but Darcy had been mistaken in men’s characters before. If the clergyman was mistreating his female relatives… well, Darcy would put an end to it somehow. Darcy and Collins were closer to being social equals than they had been when last they met, but there was no question that Darcy’s fortune dwarfed Collins’s. He could find any number of ways to intimidate the man; if necessary, he could threaten to tell Lady Catherine.

  A knock at the door interrupted his reverie. “Enter.”

  The innkeeper’s wife bustled into the room with a tray of simple fare for his dinner. Darcy thanked her as she put bread and a bowl of stew on the table by the window. “I have visited Meryton before and wonder if any of my old acquaintances are about,” he said, striving to keep his voice casual.

  The woman concentrated on her task as she set a spoon and napkin on the table. “Well, sir, there’s a dance at the assembly rooms tonight. I would imagine most people of quality would be there.”

  Darcy’s heart gave a little flip of either anxiety or excitement. “Ah, excellent. Perhaps I will attend.”

  He gave the woman a coin and watched her slip out the door before seating himself at the table. An assembly dance. How…fitting. The first place he had ever glimpsed Elizabeth. He vividly recalled her dress: white with gold thread embroidered in the fabric. He had insulted her egregiously, and yet she appeared amused, her eyes sparkling with laughter. Her unexpected reaction had struck him most forcefully. How could his heart ache so much for a woman he had not seen in nearly two years?

  Very well. He would attend the dance, where he might encounter Elizabeth without drawing too much attention to his preference for her. He would dance with her and her sisters, nothing remarkable for an old acquaintance.

  Yes. He would see her at the assembly and determine how he could rectify her family’s situation. Then he would leave Elizabeth Bennet’s life once more—this time forever.

  ***

  Elizabeth put another pin in Jane’s hair and stood back to survey her work. “Ah, Jane, you deserve better than my poor efforts,” she said with a small laugh.

  Turning her head, Jane regarded herself in the mirror. “It is quite fine.”

  Elizabeth smiled at her sister’s reflection. “Fortunately, you are so beautiful nobody will notice if your hair is bedraggled.”

  Jane blushed, as Elizabeth expected. “Lizzy, you are too kind to me!”

  She fussed with a curl near Jane’s face. “It is nothing more than the absolute truth.”

  Jane’s reflection grew pensive. “I do wish you were attending the assembly as well.”

  Elizabeth managed a careless shrug. “It does not signify. It is far better that I expend my meager skills helping you appear to best advantage.”

  Jane squeezed one of her sister’s hands. “Your skills are far from meager.”

  “Would that I had Annie’s skill with a brush and curling iron.” The maid whom Collins had dismissed had been quite talented in that area, but their remaining maid, Polly, was not and had too many duties to spare the time.

  Jane touched the artificial rosebuds woven into her hair. “Nobody would guess these rosebuds once adorned Kitty’s dress.”

  Taking her sister’s other hand, Elizabeth pulled her into a standing position and admired her gown, white silk trimmed with gold embroidery. “You will be quite the most beautiful woman at the assembly—as always.”

  Her sister blushed and smiled. “Still, I wish you could accompany us.”

  “We do not have another gown that would suit the occasion.” Elizabeth kept her tone light and matter-of-fact.

  Jane glanced down at her own gown—three years out of fashion but the only go
wn of any elegance that remained to the two sisters. Since they were of a similar size, she and Elizabeth had been wearing it in turn. Although Jane had trimmed it with a few ribbons and lace, the gown would be eminently recognizable to everyone at the assembly. Hopefully, nobody would say anything cutting to Jane.

  At Jane’s long face, Elizabeth added, “It is my own fault I spilled wine on the yellow gown.” She still winced when she recalled the red wine stain on the other silk gown she and Jane had shared.

  “But you deserve—” Jane began.

  “No more talk of what we deserve,” Elizabeth said tartly, straightening the folds in Jane’s skirt. “We agreed that you and Kitty have the best chances of finding husbands, so you shall attend the assemblies. After the meeting with the tenants, our hands are quite full as it is. Mary is not displeased, and neither am I.

  Since Collins had arrived, the four sisters had conducted many quiet, late-night meetings in Elizabeth and Jane’s room. Although she regretted their circumstances, Elizabeth was grateful that adversity had brought the sisters closer to each other as they shared their concerns about the future and a mutual desire to escape from Collins’s authority. They had agreed that their best hope would be to have one sister marry well. As the wife of a man with even a moderate fortune, she would be in a position to help the others marry or provide them with a place to live.

  Mary had little inclination for balls and said she would be just as happy never to wed, so it had been a simple matter to make over her fancy gowns to suit Kitty. Jane had required more convincing to accept Elizabeth’s best dresses; in theory, they shared the garments, but in actuality, Elizabeth had not attended a ball or party in more than six months.

  How things had changed! Before her father’s death, Elizabeth had hoped to marry for love, even though she knew her chances were slim. Not long after Collins had taken possession, however, she realized she had given up these hopes without having made a specific decision. Although she still longed for the gaiety of assemblies and dinner parties, she had ceased hoping for a husband.