Chapter 5: Hamlet

"Now Elizabeth, how long will it be before you come to the real purpose of your questions?" Mr. Bennet asked Elizabeth over the rim of his glasses, before going back to the paper he was reading.

"We were at Netherfield for almost a week, why did you not come to see Jane?" Elizabeth asked her father, deflecting.

"She was getting along fine, according to your mother and Mr. Jones. If there was something imminently dangerous, someone would have let me know, I am assured."

"Father…"

"Do you wish to read your cousin Collins' letter again?" They had received a letter from Mr. Bennet's cousin, a William Collins, who was the presumptive heir to Longbourn due to the entail. Her father had read the letter out loud to them earlier in the day – a rather odd, simultaneously presumptuous and servile piece of writing announcing his arrival at Longbourn for a period of seven days at least. He was expected later that day; her father not intimating of this visit to anyone earlier was unfortunate.

Mr. Bennet indicated to the letter, which was still on his desk. "You are free to take the letter and laugh over it with Jane."

Elizabeth sighed. When their stay at Netherfield had reached a week and their mother had refused to send the carriage to fetch them back home, Elizabeth had endeavoured to borrow Mr. Bingley's so that she and Jane could return, convinced as she was that they had overstayed their welcome. Elizabeth's primary intention was to speak to her father and find out about his history with the Darcys. So far, she was not making much headway in the conversation.

"I understand that Mr. Darcy came to see you while we were at Netherfield."

Mr. Bennet looked at her steadily. "Did he tell you that?"

Elizabeth could not lie. "No, of course not. Sarah did." The housemaid had been giddy with excitement, wanting a more fulsome explanation from Elizabeth and Jane of the gentleman, whom Sarah found to be 'too good-looking to be borne'.

"It is customary to call upon one's neighbours, Elizabeth."

"You are not Mr. Darcy's neighbour, it his friend that has leased Netherfield! Has Mr. Darcy made a habit of calling on all his friend's neighbours?"

Now her father set aside the paper entirely. "You take a curious interest in that gentleman, Lizzy. Your mother did mention a partiality…"

Elizabeth waved her hands about in exasperation. "Mother is seeing things where there is none! I am not interested in Mr. Darcy, I don't even like him!"

"Then perhaps we can stop discussing him."

"Why did he call upon you?"

"Lizzy, if you are not interested in this man as you claim, why are you so…interested in him?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Father, when I was at Netherfield…I accidentally overheard Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley conversing. The…their discussion suggested that Mr. Darcy's family and ours have some history unknown to most of us, including mother. Mr. Darcy expressed some confusion at your not having sought out his family. Father, do we owe his family some debt?"

Mr. Bennet thought for some moments before speaking. "Elizabeth, I thought that we had raised you better than this. You know better than to listen in on conversations, especially strangers, especially young men."

Elizabeth was confused by her father's position; this was not what she had been expecting. "Naturally I knew it was wrong, and would have left, had the conversation not been about us…and Jane! They discussed Jane, and it was all very muddled and confusing and –"

"It was all very muddled because it was a conversation that you had no business listening to."

"But father!"

"You listened to a conversation between two gentlemen without their knowledge or consent. Properly, I should take you to Netherfield and make you apologise to them both."

Elizabeth was horrified. "Father, it was an accident! I do not require punishment, I know it was wrong!"

"To my knowledge, secretly listening to the private conversations of others is not what right-minded folk do, and there's an old adage that eavesdroppers seldom hear anything good of themselves"

"But, this wasn't about me at all! I was just…Jane and our family and…and this mysterious connection with the Darcys and…"

"Lizzy, that is quite enough. I shall not reward your impropriety by answering your questions and satisying your investigation. You were taught better than this. You can retire to your room, the garden, or better still Oakham Mount if you wish. But you shall read again Hamlet wherever you choose to go."

"I have already read Hamlet!"

"You must read it again, as you have clearly forgotten the fate that befalls eavesdroppers. There are many important warnings there that you need to remind yourself of. My child, I am sorry to say that I am disappointed in this conduct from you."

Oakham Mount, located a long walk from Longbourn, was a natural feature with an impressive view. The path there was well-shaded with trees, affording on privacy, in the opposite direction from Netherfield. Usually, this trip made Elizabeth feel cheerful and restful.

Today, however, the walk did little to improve Elizabeth's spirits. She found herself a large enough tree, and found solace in curling up within its roots. Her father's actions were incomprehensible to her. That he would flatly refuse to explain to her the nature of his dealings with Darcys because she had listened in on a conversation was simply unthinkable, until it had actually happened. That she had been summarily dismissed from her father's library, a copy of Hamlet thrust into her hands.

Her father normally discussed any and every thing with her. He spoke to her about the lack of sense in her younger sisters, her mother's constant efforts at overspending, the impropriety between the Lucas' former housemaid and their stable hand. But now, of all things, he would refuse to share with her - his favoured daughter – the obvious history with the Darcys.

He had said that her bad behaviour would not be rewarded by any explanations, but it was hard for Elizabeth to believe that accidentally overhearing a conversation was considered so beyond the pale by her father that she would be thus punished. She considered the possibility that Mr. Darcy had specifically asked for secrecy, but there was nothing really to support that notion except that he seemed a private sort of man, and some explanation was better than none.

So engrossed was Elizabeth in her brooding, that she was lost to her surroundings, lost to the large shadow looming over her until she heard someone clear their throat.

"Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth recognised that she had no manner of luck whatsoever at the sound of Darcy's voice.

She scrambled to her feet, dusting herself. "Mr. Darcy, you seem to have the advantage each time we run into each other."

He shrugged, not commenting on her state. Darcy fussed over his horse, reins in his hand but did not seem inclined to leave her there and move on; Elizabeth reluctantly determined that some conversation would be required. "You are quite a distance from Meryton, and further still from Netherfield," she said.

"Yes, a billiard table can provide only so much entertainment, and one cannot always be indoors. I decided to ride about and explore the area further south of Netherfield."

As Elizabeth tried to think of a reason to make her exit, Darcy spoke again. "That must have been a very dull book, you were not reading it when I chanced upon you, and you have now forgotten it under the tree."

Elizabeth blushed, reaching over to pick up the book; she was discomfited and in no mood for his company or conversation. "It is Hamlet."

"Hamlet!" exclaimed Darcy, "it is one of my favourite plays. You must have been much distracted to be able to ignore the pull of Hamlet."

Elizabeth could not but look surprised. The perversity of her father insisting that she re-read Hamlet, and suggesting that she walk to Oakham Mount, only to stumble upon Mr. Darcy at that very location with her clutching his favourite book was not lost upon her.

"The book is far from dull, I was simply quite distracted. I would not have thought you favoured such a tale, Mr. Darcy, or a hero such as Hamlet."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Well, with such a theme of melancholy, death, and insanity, the sheer inconsistency of Hamlet…the internal conflict almost overwhelms the external."

"Titus Andronicus has far more death and violence. Even Romeo and Juliet, which I am sure you are not fond of, has much death for all its romantic devotion. I certainly do not consider the amount of death in Hamlet a drawback to its greatness."

"Why would you assume that I would not like Romeo and Juliet?" Now this man was presuming to know her tastes.

Darcy smiled in response. "You noted at Netherfield that you did not like sonnets, ergo, you would probably prefer many other of Shakespeare's work over Romeo and Juliet."

It was impossible for Elizabeth to not be drawn in to parry. "You presume much, Mr. Darcy. And which do you suppose I would prefer over Romeo and Juliet?"

Darcy appeared to seriously contemplate her question. "Much Ado About Nothing, or perhaps, despite all the death, King Lear."

That his answer was much too close to fact did not sit well with Elizabeth. "Why would you pick those?"

"You just criticized the internal conflict overwhelming the external in Hamlet, so I assume you to prefer a play with more direct action and modernity. People like to see themselves reflected on page and you would obviously play Beatrice to your sister's Hero, and therefore Much Ado About Nothing is an obvious choice. As for King Lear, you chose to read it at Netherfield, and it is a fair assumption that you would only choose to re-read a story that you liked in the first instance. How accurate are my guesses?"

"Close enough, Mr. Darcy, close enough though not quite there. While this has been an entertaining conversation, I must get back home. We are expecting a visitor, and I will be remiss if I am late."

"I shall walk you to Longbourn then."

Of course he would do that, Elizabeth thought with annoyance. They commenced their journey.

"It is a good thing," Darcy said by and by, "that Miss Bennet recovered well enough to return to Longbourn yesterday, otherwise you and your sister would have missed this important visitor."

"Oh, he is of little consequence as such. My father's cousin, a Mr. Collins, a clergyman from Kent, or somewhere thereabout."

Darcy looked at her curiously. "Hunsford, perhaps?"

"Perhaps, it is somewhere near Westerham. I am not familiar with the area to be certain."

He sounded perturbed. "I have an aunt in Kent, also with a parson named Collins. What a curious coincidence."

Elizabeth did not think the matter nearly as curious as Darcy seemed to think. "The relative coincidence of two parsons named Collins in or about Kent would depend on the size of those towns vis-à-vis the commonality of the name and altogether the amount of parsons to be found; having rarely travelled beyond Hertfordshire, and certainly nowhere south of London, I cannot comment on the topic."

Mr. Darcy seemed surprised. "I would not have thought that you were always at Longbourn."

"My parents are not made for travelling," Elizabeth replied. "I shall satisfy myself by learning about Kent from my cousin. Or perhaps he may be more interested in learning about Hertfordshire, as he will be inheriting his estate here." At Mr. Darcy's expression, Elizabeth elaborated. "I am sure that you have heard my father's estate being entailed away from the female line; Mr. Collins shall inherit Longbourn upon my father's death."

"Or not," Mr. Darcy said simply.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Entails are broken all the time**."

"Entails cannot be broken!" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"Of course they can, this is England, not Scotland," Darcy responded, clearly surprised that he was even being challenged on the matter. "If Longbourn is simply entailed, then your father can bar the entailment through common recovery. It would take time and some expense with an astute lawyer, but it is frequently done. Your father could then leave the estate to whomever he pleases."

Oblivious to Elizabeth's rising astonishment, or perhaps because of it, Darcy explained further. "The only reason an entailment cannot be broken is if it is not an entailment at all. Perhaps Longbourn is under a strict settlement as opposed to an entailment; I would add an unduly harsh settlement if unmarried daughters were not provided for before the estate went to the heir. As a matter of technicality, even a strict settlement can ultimately be set aside and thus 'broken' by Act of Parliament. It would be a very expensive procedure, and usually some exceptional circumstance is required, but it can and has been done, albeit quite rarely. Just look at Sir Robert Strode and that sorry, unfortunate affair. To my knowledge, such mechanisms have been used primarily for members of parliament and their families, but families usually have friends that they seek favours for just as often."

A/N: (Warning Longest Note EVER)

**Issue of the Entail:

Nope, nope nope. I am not rewriting the law to suit my story. Having actually studied English law, and spent a good 5 hours researching this specific issue for the purposes of this story (yes, I am a nerd), the fact of the matter is that even at the time of P&P, breaking an entail was a fairly easy matter.

Getting rid of a strict settlement, as Darcy explains, was not easy, rare, and one needed to be rich and powerful to ensure such a result.

Therefore, did Jane Austen get the law on entails wrong?
a) Yes she did;
b) No she didn't, she purposely made Mr. Bennet an ineffectual father in many more ways than understood by a modern audience; or
c) She used the term 'entail' when she actually meant a 'strict settlement'.

For a full explanation of the applicable law and specifically the ramifications to P&P, see this excellent paper: 'colon' 'two back slashes ' digitalcommons DOT law DOT uga DOT ?article=1958&context=fac_artchop

Or this legal explanation: 'colon' 'two back slashes ' nottingham DOT ac DOT uk/manuscriptsandspecialcollections/researchguidance/deedsindepth/settlements/settlements DOT aspx

Everyone is entitled to pick whichever option they think is more appropriate, but the law was what it was. (Entails were gotten rid of altogether I believe in 1925).

For my part, I like to think that Jane Austen would have been entirely familiar with the law regarding the topic she chose to write about (especially as her brother inherited some of his properties through this manner), and knew that a reader familiar with the nuances of the law would judge Mr. Bennet for this piece of folly: either he knew the law and was too lazy to bar the entail, or he didn't know but took no efforts to explore his options because of his lazy, indolent ways.

I agree with the author of the above paper that Jane Austen did not conflate the terms 'entail' and 'strict settlement' as the Lydia fiasco makes clear.

However, given the two previous Mr. Bennet's I wrote, perhaps I will give this one a small break. Perhaps.

Happy to discuss this piece of curiosity with anyone who wants to indulge :)

***Issue of the dreaded internet anonymous TROLLS: Words are insufficient to describe how touched, supported, and encouraged I feel from all the reviews and PMs I received for the note on the last chapter. THANK YOU! I promise to personally respond to each and every one of you over the next few days. I hear you all, and agree that I should ignore the negativity and persevere and do what I want to do and write what I want to write. Those who don't like it can remove themselves and read something else. It's so good to know that the trolls are a loud minority, and that there is so much support within this community.

****Issue of how to use the word 'incredulous' : To the reviewer who raised this point. First, this IS constructive criticism, and such comments are always appreciated.

I did look up the matter, and it seems that incredulous is not always used as you describe.

Meriam-Webster gives several examples of how the word can be used; it goes on to say that Incredible means "too extraordinary to be believed," whereas incredulous means "skeptical." They come from credible and credulous, respectively, as credible describes something that is believable, while credulous describes someone who readily believes or is not skeptical. Imagine someone tells you a story that is wildly improbable, and you (not being a trusting sort of person) express disbelief — are you incredulous and the story incredible, or is it the other way around? You will be happy to know that in this case there is a fairly simple answer, at least as far as current usage goes; you are incredulous ("skeptical") and the story is incredible ("too extraordinary and improbable to be believed").

Therefore, I think it correct to say that _ was incredulous to Elizabeth; she is skeptical that her father is wishful. It is a description of her feelings.