Chapter Text
Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, was largely considered by the community of Meryton as indifferent, indolent and irresponsible. His sarcastic nature, his tendency to seclude himself in his bookroom, and his acerbic retorts to neighbors bringing ‘neighborly’ concerns to him put paid to any respect he might have had.
It was admitted by some of the older families of the neighborhood that it had not always been this way. There were whispers sometimes, especially among Sir William Lucas and Mr. Phillips, that Thomas Bennet had once been much more involved in his position as the preeminent gentleman of the area.
Mr. Bennet had not been intended to inherit Longbourn, and had in fact been a scholar at Oxford until just after the birth of his third daughter. His father and older brother had fallen victim to scarlet fever, leaving Thomas the heir to Longbourn at only 26.
He had taken to being a landed gentleman with great aplomb. Within his first 3 years he managed to increase the yield of Longbourn from 1500 pounds a year to nearly 2000 through improvements to the crop management system. He had even begun planning an expansion to the Longbourn stables to allow for a horse breeding program to further improve the estate’s yield, and capitalize on his estate’s proximity to London.
Shortly before the birth of his youngest daughter, all the improvements came to a crashing halt, along with Mr. Bennet. Thomas had left one February morning to exercise a newly broken stallion and had not been found till hours later, with a badly broken leg and bruising covering most of his body. The best Thomas could remember, the horse had bolted when they startled a covey of birds and Thomas had been thrown into a stone fence beside the road.
The apothecary had done his best work, but the leg had never quite healed right. Bennet had eventually called for his Brother Gardiner’s recommendation of a doctor and bonesetter from Town; it had been too late for the physician to offer anything other than to re-break and re-set the bone, a risky maneuver, which Thomas declined.
His wife had spent the long months he had been recovering shrilly crying to her sister Phillips how ill-used she was, and how Thomas would surely die and she would be put out the house for the odious Cousin Collins before he was cold. The octave at which she spoke, as well as the frequency with which her exclamations had shattered the fragile peace of his sickroom, all robbed a pained Thomas of his respite.
Combined with his already well established disposition which despised those who sought comforts for disappointment brought on by their own imprudence, her ‘nerves’ prevented him from confiding in her just how bad the situation appeared- and to studiously hide how bad it became in the coming years.
His respect and affection had long since died; it had been soon into his marriage that he realized his wife had only the good sense and intelligence that youth appeared to grant, and not a pinch more. But when he became aware of how little he could trust Fanny to properly present herself, yet alone their daughters, in their little community with credibility, he became just aware of how perilous his daughters’ futures really were. Just how much he had failed his wife. His father. Everyone who had come before.
This bleak outlook had been reinforced by a visit from a distant cousin 6 months after his accident when he was barely regaining the ability to intermittently move about his home, and had been far from understanding just how damaged his body had been by his ill-fated February ride.
The cousin who would inherit Longbourn if he were unable to produce an heir and raise him to his majority, to break the entail. The aforementioned and dreadful Mr. Charles Collins had entered their home with a disdainful, yet covetous eye. The man had told Thomas it was evident his illness would prevent him from serving Longbourn as its master should, and his wife was obviously unable to produce the male heir, after 5 attempts. Thus Mr. Collins needed to prevent his own inheritance from ruin as he was a little younger than Thomas himself and far healthier.
‘Rather than myself inheriting in a year or so, I flatter myself cousin, you will agree it is to the spirit, if not the letter of Grandfather Bennet’s establishing of the entail, that I should take possession now and assist your family in moving into the steward house whilst you train me in the particulars. As much as your health allows for, of course.’
Thomas had held onto his temper just enough, and civilly, if coldly told the man that he had best leave and give Thomas time to consider. He had then quietly called the local magistrate, Sir William Lucas, and old Mr. Gibbons, the owner of Netherfield as he was the highest gentleman of the local gentry in matters of importance and connections. He had confided in both of them the bulk of the meeting, while concealing his darkest concerns about his own health. He had assured them that he was healing as well as could be expected, that they could rely on him to hold onto his responsibilities as a local gentry, and finally that they could not trust his illiterate, and small-minded cousin to do much good as the gentleman of the second largest estate in the community.
With the help of Mr. Gibbons’ strapping steward, the magistrate Sir William Lucas had escorted Charles Collins politely but firmly out of town with a letter detailing Thomas’ refusal of the offer. If Thomas had taken the opportunity to have the gentleman deliver his dictate of banning Charles from stepping foot in Longbourn’s properties until he inherited if at all, that was just of him to do.
If Sir William Lucas, out of concern for his friend, Mr. Bennet, with all the grave manner and demanding mien that had made him a very successful businessman before his endowment, and his mayoralty, had further added he would be severely displeased if he saw the Mr. Collins anywhere near Meryton, or even added that he would be mentioning his abominable behavior when next in St. James, well that too was justice, not slightly improper behavior itself.