Page 86 of Ashes and Understanding
In the stillness of the nursery, she could hear the faint hum of female voices rising and falling from the parlor. She knew, without needing to be present, that Mrs. Bennet would be alternating between exclaiming over Jane’s good fortune in securing a courtship and lamenting that Bingley had not asked for an engagement.
“We are saved, Jane!” she could just imagine her mother exclaiming. “Saved from the hedgerows!”
She frowned at that, suddenly remembering that her father’s unknown cousin, Mr. Collins, had died in the London fire.Who is the new heir now?
The question lodged itself in her chest with a weight that surprised her.
It was not as though she mourned Mr. Collins—she had, in fact, never met the man. But her parents often spoke of the late man’s father, also deceased, who was miserly and disdainful. She could only help but feel a bit of relief that no one from that line would inherit Longbourn.
But what if the new heir is worse?
A stranger. A man they had never met. A man who might not feel even the feeble pull of duty Mr. Collins might have pretended to observe, for at least her father had met him in person once.
Would he evict them the moment their father passed? Raise rents on the tenants? Sell the land altogether?
Her fingers tightened against the windowsill.
She had been so consumed by the revelation of Benjamin’s identity, by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s secrets, by Smithson’s dying words and the danger that hovered in every corner… she had entirely forgotten the practical, very real uncertainty that had shadowed their lives since her girlhood.
Perhaps she had thought that Mr. Gardiner’s fortune might shield them. But now even that felt precarious—subject to suspicion, investigation, scandal.
And what of her father? He had received the letter, had spoken with her uncle Philips in Meryton, but since then…nothing.
She needed to speak to him.
Tonight.
Before the relief of Jane’s courtship lulled him into complacency. Before Mrs. Bennet began planning wedding breakfasts and floral arrangements and forgot altogether that their future was still uncertain.
Before another secret could drop from the sky like a spark and set the world alight again.
Elizabeth rose to her feet, one hand brushing absently over the back of the cradle as she moved toward the door and closed it softly behind her. The corridor was dim, lit only by a single candle flickering near the stairwell. Elizabeth descended slowly, her slippers making no sound on the worn steps.
She knew her father would be in his study; he always retired there after dinner, under the pretense of answering correspondence and attending to estate matters, but often with a glass of port, a good book, and a stack of old correspondence he never answered.
Knocking softly on the door, she waited until she heard him say, “Come in” in muffled but alert voice.
Pushing open the door, she stepped inside. The familiar comforting scent of tobacco and parchment eased some of her tension. Mr. Bennet looked up from behind his desk, his spectacles perched low on his nose.
“Well, Lizzy,” he said, setting aside a volume of Pope’s essays. “Have you come to scold me for not weeping with joy over your sister’s courtship?”
She smiled faintly but shook her head. “Not tonight, Papa.”
He gestured to the armchair opposite his. “Then sit, my dear. Let us be grim and serious together.”
Elizabeth crossed the room and took the seat, smoothing her skirt over her knees. She hesitated, then said quietly, “I wanted to ask you about Mr. Collins.”
Mr. Bennet blinked. “Ah.”
There was a long pause. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “Yes. That was rather a shock, was it not?”
“I suppose,” Elizabeth said. “But it is not just his death that troubles me—it is what it means. The entail. Longbourn.”
Her father gave a noncommittal grunt. “Indeed.”
“Do we know who the new heir is?”
He reached into a drawer and drew out a folded paper. “Mr. Phillips is looking into it. The original entail was drawn up by his predecessor. Apparently, it is… quite old. There may be distant cousins, though none we have ever met.”
