Chapter 16

Mr. Hill opened the door to the sitting room and announced, "Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Phillips has arrived. Shall I bring him to you, or would you prefer to meet elsewhere?"

"Bring him in here, Mr. Hill."

She heaved a self-pitying sigh. Her brother by marriage was a decent enough fellow, but she had not been expecting him, and that likely meant some sort of issue had arisen and Elizabeth was not in the house currently. Well, he could wait for her to return if he must.

Mr. Hill ushered Phillips in and departed. "Good morning, Mrs. Bennet. It is good to see you. May I sit?"

She nodded, and he took a seat by the door as she declared, "If you wish to speak with Elizabeth, she is currently out but should return before long."

"Actually, I would like to speak with Mr. Bennet," Phillips stated firmly.

She was surprised to hear that and said as much, "You know he's not much use these days. You are better off waiting to speak with Elizabeth."

"No, this is a matter only for your husband. I came early hoping to avoid most of his inebriation. May I try to speak with him?

"Yes, and good luck to you, Mr. Hill!"

/

"Good morning, Brother."

Mr. Bennet, who was drowsing in his favorite chair by the library fire, lifted his head to gaze in some surprise at Mr. Phillips, husband to Mrs. Bennet's sister.

"May I sit down?" the solicitor inquired.

"Certainly," Bennet replied with an apathetic wave of his hand. "Would you care for a drink?"

"No," the other man returned firmly. "Furthermore, I would appreciate it if you did not drink any more right now, Bennet. I have an important matter to discuss."

"And why should I stop what I am doing just to please an uninvited guest?" he inquired with a hint of a smile. Phillips shook his head and chuckled, pleased to see the man cheerful enough to make a joke.

"I have business to discuss with you, and I think it best that you be no less sober than you already are."

Mr. Bennet sighed irritably but Phillips had always been a good man; he would forego his third glass of the day for at least a few minutes.

"What is of such great importance?" he inquired wearily.

Phillips opened his leather satchel and carefully drew out a set of papers.

"These are the documents pertaining to the entail on Longbourn," he explained. "I took the liberty of studying them carefully yesterday, and my memory served me well; with the death of Mr. Collins, the entail is at an end, and you now may bequeath Longbourn to whomever you wish."

Mr. Bennet had been stiffening throughout the speech, and now he was on his feet, "What?!"

"The entail is effectively at an end," the other man repeated, "with some limitations. You may not sell the estate to another because you are under the entail, but it was written such that the entail would end with the death of the third male heir. Your father was the first, you are the second, and Mr. Collins was the third. I studied the wording carefully and there is no requirement within the document that you predecease your heir."

Bennet shook his head in bewilderment, "When Matthew died, you told me that Mr. Collins was the heir, but my son was the third generation of Bennets."

"Matthew was underage when he passed on," Phillips explained gently. "The entail was written to require a male heir of at least one and twenty years so that a string of infant deaths would not end the entail too quickly."

Bennet found himself upright, his feet striding back and forth across the floor with more energy than he had felt in months, "You are certain this will stand up legally?"

Phillips nodded, "I am certain. I do not know who the next male relative is after Collins, but I am confident that we can defeat any attempt he makes to overturn my interpretation."

Bennet wrinkled his brow, "Elizabeth mentioned that Mr. Collins spoke of a younger brother who went to sea some years ago, never to be heard from again."

"That is even better," Phillips enthused. "With the next hypothetical male heir missing but not declared dead, it is even less likely anyone will cause legal difficulties."

His brother by marriage stared into the snapping fire, and was surprised to find tears running down his face."

"You are certain, Brother?" he croaked. "Absolutely certain?"

"I am, Bennet. The entail is broken."

/

"Well, this is looking much better, Mr. Darcy," the apothecary remarked, his skilled hands gently shifting the gentleman's left ankle. "The swelling is down a good deal. Does it hurt you at all?"

"Very little," Darcy replied. "Occasionally I jolt it on something and then yes, it twinges, but it is far less painful than it was."

"I believe that it was never broken, merely badly sprained."

"That is wonderful news, Mr. Jones."

"That does not mean you should begin walking normally on it," the other man cautioned. "You must keep it well wrapped, and you may try putting a little weight on it while you walk with the crutches. If it hurts, stop putting any strain on it. I will call again in two days to see how you are doing."

"I suppose riding is out of the question?" Darcy asked rather forlornly. He missed riding more than he thought possible.

"Entirely out of the question, sir. I promise you that a fall from a horse, while it would not probably kill you as it did poor Mr. Collins, could cause major damage. You will need to restrict yourself to the carriage."

"You know best. Thank you for your assistance."

/

"We need only stay home for the rest of the week, girls," Mrs. Bennet declared reassuringly. "Next week we will wear half mourning, but there is no reason we cannot enjoy society."

"I do not mind staying home," Lydia commented, lowering her book. "Elizabeth, have you read Belinda by Miss Maria Edgeworth?"

"I have. What think you of it?"

"It is …," the youngest Bennet began, and then trailed off as her father stepped into the parlor.

All six women turned to stare in astonishment, and Kitty even darted an incredulous look at her watch. It was late, the sky was dark, and Mr. Bennet was always drunk at this hour and certainly not wandering about the house. What was he doing here? And what was that look on his face?

"Father!" Jane exclaimed, recovering from her surprise. "Do sit down. It is wonderful to see you."

"And it is wonderful to see you as well, all of you," Mr. Bennet proclaimed, settling into the chair farthest from the fire. He looked at his wife and each of his daughters in turn. No one spoke; it was a strange moment as Mr. Bennet was clearly gathering his thoughts to speak. At last he said, "I have momentous news."

Mrs. Bennet sat up and the girls laid aside their books, knitting, and needlework. It must be something remarkable to pull Mr. Bennet from his library and his wine.

"I spoke to your uncle Phillips earlier today," Mr. Bennet declared solemnly. "He has carefully studied the documents concerning the entail on Longbourn. The entail was written to continue until the death of the third male heir; Mr. Collins was that third heir. Thus, with the death of Mr. Collins, the entail effectively is at an end."

There was a frozen moment of amazement, and then many voices cried out in surprise and confusion including, to Elizabeth's vague embarrassment, her own.

Mrs. Bennet's strident voice rose above those of her daughters, and eventually her questions prevailed.

"How can that be? You told me that the entail could not be broken! Surely Longbourn will go to some other tiresome cousin of yours, will it not?"

The patriarch of the family lifted a protesting hand, "Come now, my dear, you must stop speaking if I am to answer! The truth is that your brother Phillips visited me today and tells me that according to the details of the original document, the entail expires upon the death of all three generations of men who have reached their majority. I am the only one remaining now, and while I cannot sell the land, I can will it to anyone I like."

There was a shriek of joy from Mrs. Bennet and softer cries of delight and wonder from the girls.

"Who will be your heir, Papa?" Lydia asked innocently.

Everyone's eyes turned to Jane, who blushed uncomfortably and shook her head, "It need not be me."

"Of course you must inherit Longbourn," Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. "You are the eldest, so should succeed by right of birth. And you are the loveliest of all my daughters, Jane. Oh my dear, I am so ecstatic! With Longbourn as your inheritance, you will easily find a husband even if Mr. Bingley does not come up to scratch. Mr. Bennet, such wonderful news you have brought us! How kind of Mr. Collins to fall off Daisy in such a fatal manner!"

Jane and Elizabeth exclaimed at such an attitude, and Mr. Bennet, weary of the ecstasies of his wife, retreated to the library. But for the first time in many a month, he did not instantly reach for a bottle.

/

Author note re the entail: I am not a lawyer and I confess to finding entails very bewildering. I found a wonderfully complex description of entails and strict settlements and the like, which talked about the importance of the detail in P & P that a son of age would have been able to "cut off the entail". There was also discussion about how most entails in that day were three generation entails. If you are a lawyer and I'm wrong, I am sorry. Just go with the idea that the Longbourn entail was as written above – with the death of Mr. Collins, the entail effectively ends because Mr. Bennet, while he cannot sell off pieces of Longbourn, is able to will it in entirety to one of his daughters.