Rebellion at Longbourn

by Victoria Kincaid

  No doubt Weston noted fields cultivated with clover and turnips, but apparently he did not think to mention it to Collins. Nor had he ventured off the well-trodden roads within Longbourn, so he had not discovered the Wiley family. Not having a need of the seed drill at present, the tenants had hidden it in a shed.

  Of course, nearly everyone on the estate, even children as young as ten, knew that some things must be concealed from Mr. Collins and Mr. Weston. The latter’s reception from the tenants was civil but cool. Nobody exerted great effort or volunteered information, only encouraging his natural laziness. He was oblivious to signs of his unpopularity.

  Given Mr. Weston’s behavior upon their introduction, Elizabeth had cautioned her sisters and the female servants. All the women avoided being alone with him if they could. So far, he had confined his lewdness to stares and occasional comments, but they could not trust him.

  Elizabeth laid lemon biscuits on a plate which would be added to the tea tray. In the drawing room she would view them as if she had never seen them before. Collins preferred to maintain that illusion, even in front of Sir William, who undoubtedly knew the truth.

  Just as Hill was placing the hot teapot on the tray, Kitty came flying down the steps, her face red and her eyes wet with tears. Elizabeth’s stomach clenched; her sister had been in the drawing room with the men. “What is wrong?”

  Kitty fell weeping into her sister’s arms. “M-Mr. W-Weston! The b-blackguard! I stood to adjust the curtains against the afternoon light. And he-he patted my bottom!”

  Hill and Elizabeth gasped. It might seem like a small thing, Elizabeth mused to herself, but I can easily imagine how violated Kitty felt—someone else’s hand on such an intimate part of her body! She could picture the shock and shame, freezing and not knowing how to respond.

  “I was so ashamed. What should I do? I seated myself immediately, but my chair was right beside his. He laughed and talked with Mr. Collins and Sir William as if nothing had happened. No doubt my face was bright red. The longer I sat there, the more humiliated I became. What does he think of me? Does he think I am the kind of girl he can—can—” Kitty burst into a fresh bout of tears.

  Elizabeth hugged her weeping sister to her chest and stroked her hair. “This is not of your doing, dearest.”

  “But perhaps he believed I was flirting with him. I did smile at him and tried to speak pleasantly—”

  “A smile is hardly an invitation, Kitty. Nothing can justify laying his hands on your person. It is your body.”

  Hill put her hands on her hips. “Your sister has the right of it, Miss Kitty. Some men is just born pigs. You can’t help it if they insist on wallowing in the mud. All you can do is stay away so you don’t get splashed.”

  Elizabeth laughed at Hill’s imagery. Kitty’s tentative smile was a good sign. “Listen to Hill,” Elizabeth admonished her sister. “You cannot prevent a pig from behaving like a pig, can you?”

  Kitty shook her head. “But what if it happens again?” she said in a thin voice.

  Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest. “Yes, the problem is that someone keeps inviting pigs into our drawing room.”

  Kitty laughed outright.

  “Very well. I will take up the subject with Mr. Collins.” When Weston had confined his bad behavior to inappropriate stares, Collins would not have believed any of Elizabeth’s objections. Now it was a different matter.

  Fortuitously, at that moment, the master of the house himself hurried down the steps. “Hill, what is keeping the tea service? Everyone is quite hungry! And, Kitty, why did you flee from the room in such haste? It was most unseemly. You must return at once.”

  Kitty visibly paled.

  Elizabeth nodded to the housekeeper. “I pray you, Hill, take up the tea things. We will be there directly.” As Hill departed, she spoke to Kitty. “I think you should retire to your room.”

  “No,” Collins said. Kitty halted with her foot on the bottom step. “Mr. Weston asked specifically after Kitty. He enjoys her lively presence.”

  “I bet he does,” Elizabeth muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Elizabeth stalked toward her cousin, surprised that fire was not shooting from her eyes. “Mr. Weston patted Kitty on the bottom just now! In our drawing room! Distress at his actions prompted her to flee the room.”

  Collins drew himself up, blinking bloodshot eyes, the consequence of heavy drinking with Weston the night before. “Nonsense. Weston is a gentleman! His father was Lady Catherine’s steward. He came with excellent references.”

  Elizabeth inched closer to her cousin, not allowing him to avoid her scrutiny. “Are you accusing Kitty of lying? Or perhaps she hallucinated the incident?”

  Collins stumbled backward, fidgeting nervously with the cuff of his jacket. “Surely it is all a misunderstanding. Perhaps his hand slipped.”

  “Slipped?” Elizabeth’s voice rose in pitch and volume. “Where, pray tell, did he intend to touch her? Her waist? Her bosom?”

  Collins blanched at that word and withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his perspiring brow. “P-Perhaps he intended to kiss her hand.”

  “He wished to kiss her hand and instead touched her bottom?” Elizabeth echoed incredulously. “Is his knowledge of anatomy so deficient?”

  Collins colored a deeper red, but his lip jutted out defiantly. “Certainly if he had patted her…there, I would have noticed—as would Sir William.”

  Men who performed such disgusting actions were adept at concealing them, Elizabeth knew—performing them when others were distracted. They relied on their reputations and the trust of other men to quash any rumors of impropriety. Even her own father, as dear as he had been to Elizabeth, rarely credited his daughters’ words over another man’s.

  She tried again, without much hope of success. “Mr. Collins, I do not believe Mr. Weston is proper company for young, unmarried women.”

  Collins’s eyes widened at this blasphemy. “He is a gentleman. Lady Catherine has vouched for him.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. Just like Mr. Darcy, he believed good breeding somehow ensured good behavior. “Gentlemen exhibit gentlemen-like behavior,” she said. “Mr. Weston most decidedly does not.”

  Collins’s face darkened. She was calling his judgment into question; perhaps such a reaction was inevitable. “You are young; I will excuse your impertinence this time,” he said with the air of someone bestowing a favor. “But I expect you to treat Mr. Weston with all the courtesy he is due.”

  Having returned from delivering the tea, Hill was observing their dispute from the steps. Her pale face suggested she feared Elizabeth was about to be banished from Longbourn.

  Collins glared at her, demanding a response. “Very well.” Elizabeth bit off the words.

  Their cousin lifted his chin and puffed out his chest as he glared at both Bennet sisters. “I expect you both to join us in the drawing room immediately.”

  Kitty trembled and nodded miserably. “We will be there directly,” Elizabeth told him.

  The minute Collins had departed, Kitty regarded Elizabeth with tears in her eyes. “I cannot face that man! I just know he will attempt to touch me again.”

  Elizabeth smiled at her sister. “I have a plan to ensure he will not essay that maneuver again.” Kitty’s brows drew together doubtfully. “We will enter the drawing room together. You must serve the tea…” Elizabeth explained.

  By the time she finished, Kitty’s expression had transformed from nervous to resolved. “Can you manage it, my dear?” Elizabeth asked.

  Kitty took a deep breath. “I believe I can.”

  The two women ventured up the stairs and into the drawing room with stony faces, refusing to smile lest Weston take the merest hint as an invitation. Collins was engaged in an animated conversation with Sir William about horse racing. Jane and Mary had recently arrived and were huddled together on a loveseat, talking in low tones. Charlotte occupied a corner where she tended baby Robert in a
basket.

  As Elizabeth entered the room, Weston’s eyes followed her in a most insulting manner. He even winked when he noticed her attention. She refused to react but knew her face was heating. Naturally, Collins had not noticed Weston’s behavior. Just as well I never expected that we could rely on Collins for protection. The Bennet women only had themselves to rely upon.

  No sooner had Elizabeth and Kitty seated themselves when Weston held up an empty teacup. “I would care for more tea,” he drawled with a grin.

  Traditionally, women poured tea for the men; Kitty sat closest to the tea service, and Weston obviously took pleasure in drawing her near enough for groping. Elizabeth wanted to smack that smirk off his face. But this was Kitty’s battle to fight. Elizabeth gave her sister an encouraging nod as Kitty rose rather shakily to her feet.

  She lifted the teapot, touching its side with her fingertips while her lips curved in a slight smile. The water would be hot but not boiling, Elizabeth guessed.

  Taking a step toward Weston, Kitty reached out a hand for his teacup—maintaining a studiously neutral expression on her face. He lifted it up to her with a grin that suggested gloating at his victory in their battle of wills. His other hand was hidden, but Elizabeth guessed he was positioning it for a grope the others could not see.

  Kitty started pouring the tea but then allowed her hand to slip on the handle of the teapot so that the hot liquid splashed Weston—directly onto his lap.

  He jumped up from the chaise with a string of oaths, nearly knocking Kitty over. A large stain spread over the top part of his breeches. He tried to stand straight but doubled over with a moan of pain.

  “Oh dear! I am so sorry. How clumsy of me!” Kitty cried. “My hand slipped!”

  Weston continued to spew oaths. Sir William shot to his feet in alarm, grabbing the other man’s arm. “I say, we are in mixed company!”

  Weston’s oaths transformed into moans of pain, but he still did not appear to be capable of standing.

  Sir William beckoned to Collins who was frozen in his chair. “Perhaps it is best if we remove him.” He tugged Weston toward the door. “Perhaps you have another pair of trousers he might borrow?”

  “Yes! Yes!” Weston wailed.

  Collins finally took the stricken man’s other arm and helped maneuver him from the room. Charlotte, bearing the baby, hurried after them.

  Only when the door swung closed behind the men did Kitty set the teapot carefully down on the table. Elizabeth perused Jane and Mary, the most proper of the Bennet sisters, and wondered at their reaction.

  Mary stared wide-eyed at Kitty while Jane regarded Elizabeth with a stunned expression suggesting that she guessed Kitty’s “slip” had been planned. Would the other sisters censure such behavior?

  For a long moment the women merely regarded each other apprehensively—and then simultaneously all four burst into laughter.

  ***

  Elizabeth had feared retribution for the event, but Kitty received nothing but a sternly worded lecture from Collins about the importance of grace and decorum in a woman. Apparently, he had no suspicion that the action was premeditated. In the days that followed, Weston gave Kitty a wide berth and glared balefully at her, but she decided this was much to her benefit.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Weston continued to present other threats. Every day Elizabeth worried that he would discover sacks of gypsum fertilizer, an excessive number of lambs, turnips in fields that should have wheat, or repairs to cottages that were supposed to be tumbling down. A careless word could spur investigations that would reveal everything.

  A halfway competent steward would already have guessed something was amiss. Weston spent hours riding about Longbourn, speaking to the tenants with the air of a man who possessed great authority and knowledge. But Mr. Greeves related that his instructions usually amounted to, “Very good. Carry on.” Organizing the estate’s activities still fell to the tenants.

  When he was not riding about the estate, Weston could be found smoking his pipe in the drawing room, drinking Collins’s brandy (with or without Collins), and reading the racing reports. Elizabeth found this behavior quite curious; most stewards she had encountered were industrious and knowledgeable gentlemen. But then she recalled that this steward had arrived with the endorsement of the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Perhaps that explained his ineptitude.

  Apparently, Lady Catherine was acquainted with Weston because his father had been Rosings Park’s steward for many years. But after a week’s residence at Longbourn, Weston had demonstrated that he had little experience as a steward himself. Mr. Greeves reported that the man had a basic knowledge of farming but knew little of the specifics, so he was pleased to leave most of the work to the tenants.

  Indeed, Weston’s past was a bit of a mystery. He had been in the regulars, but his exit from the army had been rather abrupt. Lady Catherine had vouched for him, but Elizabeth was beginning to suspect the woman had wanted to keep her steward happy—short of employing Weston herself. Collins had been pleased the man was willing to accept low wages—perhaps without realizing he was receiving a commensurate amount of labor in exchange.

  Elizabeth most feared discovery of the seed drill. Covered with a tarpaulin, the device was currently stored in a shed near the west field—hardly a secure location.

  Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, tenants with no children, had volunteered to store the device in a corner of their cottage, where the steward was unlikely to venture. But moving it would require the cover of darkness, the help of several men, and the use of a wagon. Mr. Greeves had not yet managed the feat. Once it was better concealed, Elizabeth would rest a little easier.

  Often when Elizabeth was endeavoring to forget her anxieties, she tried to direct her thoughts toward other subjects. Surprisingly, nothing so thoroughly distracted her as Mr. Darcy.

  At first she tried to put aside such musings. He would come and go as he pleased, she told herself, and they might never again see him in Hertfordshire. He was nothing to her, and she should forget him.

  And yet she often found herself wondering what he was doing and where he was. Did he think of her? And if he did, was it with fondness or frustration? She regretted the nature of their parting and wished she had used less intemperate language. Although she believed in the righteousness of her actions, Mr. Darcy’s condemnation returned to haunt her again and again.

  At other times she found herself indulging in foolish flights of fancy. Perhaps he was, at that moment, gazing out of a very grand window at Pemberley. But while his eyes were fixed on an elegant formal garden, he could only think of her. I am being silly; no doubt he forgot me the moment he quitted Hertfordshire.

  Although he was constantly in her thoughts, nothing prepared Elizabeth for Mr. Darcy’s sudden appearance ten days after Mr. Weston’s arrival at Longbourn.

  She was in front of the manor, tending to some flowering shrubs, when he rode up on his horse. Without any time to prepare, she was forced to greet him with a soiled apron over her dress. It is fortunate indeed that I do not seek his good opinion.

  He dismounted and bowed. “Miss Elizabeth.”

  Her heart was leaping inside her chest like an enthusiastic puppy. Goodness, am I that starved for company outside my family? But she managed to curtsey gracefully. “Mr. Darcy.”

  There was a long pause while Elizabeth waited for him to declare the purpose of his visit. Was this merely a social call? Did he have some manner of business with Collins? Had he located Lydia? Was he planning to reveal her schemes to Collins?

  Mr. Darcy glanced away and then back, moistening his lips. “I must…apologize…for the way we parted when last I was in Hertfordshire.”

  This was the last thing she expected to hear from him. She never imagined that her esteem was of sufficient importance that he would seek her forgiveness. Her heart was flooded with warmth for a man who was willing to make such a declaration.

  Now he was staring at the toes of his boots. “I said some ill-considered
things without entertaining the slightest notion of your perspective. I am, as my cousin and sister have recently reminded me, too apt to see the world from the viewpoint of a landowner. Upon further reflection, I realize that you must be in a very difficult position at Longbourn and face impossible choices. I should not have cast judgment.”

  Elizabeth had barely recovered her powers of speech, but he seemed to expect a response—which occasioned a jolt of anxiety. How could any words of hers equal such an unexpected and nakedly sincere declaration? “I…thank you for that very pretty apology, Mr. Darcy. I do not believe you have as much to apologize for as you seem to believe, but I am pleased to accept. I very much appreciate your efforts to understand my perspective.”

  A tightness in his shoulders seemed to loosen. Did her approval mean so much to him? She could not fathom why.

  “We are still friends?” he asked with a deeply furrowed brow.

  Was “friendship” the most apt word to describe their previous acquaintance? But Elizabeth could not deny her positive feelings toward him. “Of course. A single disagreement could hardly cause much damage.”

  Mr. Darcy’s whole body sagged as if he had won a reprieve from the gallows.

  “Surely you did not travel all the way from Derbyshire simply to beg my pardon?” she said.

  His eyes examined the shrubbery, the house, the front entrance…everything except Elizabeth herself. “Er…no, of course not. I was hoping I might offer you my assistance…in any small way I might.”

  “Your…assistance?”

  “As I said before, I would like to help your family since the present situation is partially of my making. The operation of an estate is an area with which I have some experience.”

  Was the man who abhorred deceit offering to help her fool her cousin? The man never ceased to amaze her.

  As he continued, his expression was far more uncertain than she would expect for the master of Pemberley. “Should you have the need of any advice about agriculture or management…”