Page 87 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
When she had recovered herself, she said soberly, ‘I am grateful for the letter, but I do not understand what it means. How can Longbourn be mine when it is entailed down the male line?’
Mr Noakes adjusted his glasses. ‘Yes. Well, put simply, your husband was able to bar the entail.’ Charlotte looked at him, entirely dissatisfied with that response.
‘I do not wish to overwhelm you with details’, he continued. ‘You only need be assured that—’
‘Pray, indulge me, Mr Noakes, in explaining further. I am keen to go forth with a better understanding of my own affairs.’
With a resigned sigh, he said, ‘The estateisentailed but was also under a strict settlement; it is that—’, he took out an age-worn document from his satchel and handed it to her, ‘—it isthiswhich rendered MrBennet’s position so immovable – he was only ever a life tenant of Longbourn and, as I told him several times, when he applied to me, “there is nothing to be done!”’
Mr Noakes was warming to his task and now delivering the information with some aplomb.
‘But,’ he continued, ‘the strict settlement was binding for four generations and your husband was…’
He paused, relishing the theatre of the moment. Charlotte imagined such opportunities were rare in his profession. But she was impatient.
‘The fourth?’ she proffered.
‘Indeed,’ replied Noakes, slightly crestfallen. ‘And so your husband became tenant in tail and was in a far stronger position to…’ he paused again, choosing words he thought she would understand, ‘to change his fate.’ He smiled here, relieved to have reached an elegant conclusion.
Charlotte blinked. ‘When did he do this?’
‘Oh, he first enquired about the matter quite some time ago. Before Mr Bennet’s death.’ The attorney stiffened a little, before adding, ‘I rarely say this, but it was a pleasure to be of service to your husband; I found him very agreeable, and unusually well prepared. He took to it all with an academic rigour. He rarely required…’ he looked dolefully at her, ‘explanation.’
Charlotte was undaunted by his disapprobation, her thoughts more gladly occupied by his former statements.
‘Thank you, Mr Noakes. Is there anything for me to do?’
He shook his head a little wearily, gathering his papers.
‘And… I can stay?’
Mr Noakes nodded, wiped his brow with his handkerchief and prepared to take his leave.
Charlotte lowered the letters to her lap, then let a breath escape her that was so large, she thought she must have been holding it for six weeks. Longbourn was hers. Her house. Her home.
After Mrs Brooke had shown out Mr Noakes, she turned to find Charlotte standing in the hall, her face ruddy with joy.
‘I can stay, Mrs Brooke!Wecan stay here!’
Mrs Brooke, overjoyed to see her mistress so elated, took both Charlotte’s hands in hers. ‘Oh, madam! May I fetch some champagne?’
‘Only if you will join me.’
With a wink, Brooke bustled away to the cellar.
Charlotte began walking around the house, admiring each room and all her belongings. In Mr Collins’s study, she stroked his brown leather chair, which had come to mean so much to her in recent days. With great pleasure, she untied the ribbon from one of its arms, removing it with a satisfied flourish, before starting on the rest of the house.
In the weeks that followed, Charlotte kept busy; it was time for her to start learning how to run an estate – a daunting undertaking, certainly, but she was very glad to reflect on the example Lady Catherine had set when this felt difficult. She had help from the steward; Mr Thacker offered to run the estate almost entirely himself, without her involvement, but she declined – she wanted to be useful. While this was a change for him, and a surprise, he was glad to have a mistress who cared about the estate, and they found they worked well together. She became known to her tenant farmers, as well as those in the village of Longbourn and many in Meryton. She enjoyed the sociability it afforded her; she was meeting and befriending more people than ever, at a time when that was just what she needed.
To all outward appearance, Charlotte seemed very well. She was cheerful and talkative, singing out in church and inviting friends to dine. She walked a great deal – and fast. Considering how much her home meant to her, she was out of it a great deal. Someone who knew Charlotte very well might have noticed that she did not make room for solitude as she used to; the peace of sitting and reading a book in the quietness of her home was no longer attractive to her. When she went to assemblies and card parties, she was the last to leave. Instead of gardening by herself, she spent her time arranging flowers at the church. Instead of reading poetry in the parlour, she sat in the study and wrote letters. To all who met her, she would have seemed a contented, even buoyant, woman: always busy, often smiling, her recovery remarkable and complete.
But in truth, Charlotte was not herself. She felt very alone. The solitude that she had always thought she longed for was no longer her friend, and that unsettled her.
As she sat in the study one December morning, reading a newspaper, the black gown across her shoulders to ward off the chill, Mrs Brooke entered with the post.
‘A bundle, here, madam,’ she said, handing Charlotte a stack of envelopes tied together with string.
Charlotte looked at the bundle quizzically, and untied the string. It was unusual to receive so many letters at once. The top one stood out – crisp, clean, addressed in elegant handwriting. The rest were rather crumpled and dirty, clearly written by another hand. They were all unopened.
