Elizabeth forced a smile. “Some questions cannot wait for fair weather.”
Once the pleasantries were exchanged and she was settled in her uncle’s book-lined study, Elizabeth launched into her carefully crafted tale.
“Uncle Philips,” she began. “I find myself in need of legal advice regarding a novel I am attempting to write.”
Mr. Philips leaned back in his chair. “Writing novels, is it? Your father mentioned you had a lively imagination.”
“Gothic romance,” she explained, settling into the chair he indicated. “Such stories are quite popular, and I thought I might attempt something in that style. My plot involves inheritance disputes and family secrets—quite dramatic, you understand.”
“Indeed?” Uncle Philips appeared entertained. “And what legal questions arise from this fictional inheritance?”
Elizabeth had prepared for this moment, crafting questions that would provide the information she needed without revealing her personal interest. “Suppose a legitimate heir was believed dead but had actually survived in hiding. What documentation would be required to prove their claim after many years?”
“An interesting premise,” Uncle Philips mused. “Such a case would require extensive proof—baptism register, marriage records, and witness testimony from credible sources. The claimant wouldneed to demonstrate not only their identity but also the validity of their parents’ marriage and their own legitimacy.”
“And if the inheritance included specific provisions—say, a fee tail female that bypassed the male line?”
“Ah, now you venture into complex territory indeed!” Uncle Philips looked delighted by the intricacy of her fictional plot. “Such arrangements exist but are quite rare. The original settlement would need to be examined by qualified legal minds, and the courts would require irrefutable evidence of the claimant’s identity and parentage.”
“Why would they need to examine the original settlement?”
“I’m assuming the fee tail female was added later?” Her uncle raised an eyebrow. “It would make a fascinating plot point hindering your heroine’s claim, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose…” Elizabeth’s heart sank as she realized the magnitude of the obstacles she faced.
Her uncle tapped his fingers on his desk. “In your fictional scenario, who currently holds the estate?”
“A cousin,” Elizabeth replied. “The son of the man who may have been responsible for her parents’ deaths.”
“A murder mystery. I see.” Her uncle studied her with sudden intensity. “And this cousin—is he aware of her existence or claim?”
“No,” Elizabeth answered. “He believes she perished with her parents.”
“A most convenient arrangement for him,” Uncle Philips noted. “Your plot has merit, though I must say, inheritance disputes in reality require far more extensive documentation than you suggest. There would be questions of jurisdiction, evidence of fraud, and testimony from multiple witnesses.”
“But it would be possible? For a woman to inherit an entailed estate if the provisions were specifically altered to allow it?”
“Possible but extraordinarily difficult,” her uncle replied. “The courts favor established interests, particularly male heirs. Your fictional heroine would need powerful allies, considerableresources, and irrefutable proof to challenge such a claim successfully. Owners cannot simply change an entail, although if the original settlement did not specify ‘male,’ the courts may interpret it to include female heirs. The fight could take years.” He paused, studying her face. “I don’t suppose the current holder would recognize the changed language.”
“Is there truly no alternate recourse?” Elizabeth asked, despair creeping into her tone.
Her uncle smiled indulgently, as one might at a child playing at adult concerns. “Perhaps a romantic solution would better suit your Gothic tale. The current holder of the estate could fall desperately in love with your heroine and offer marriage, thus resolving the inheritance dispute through more… traditional means.”
“My heroine does not intend to surrender her independence through marriage,” Elizabeth replied with quiet steel in her voice.
“If I may offer some advice,” Uncle Philips said, his tone softening, “stick to your needlework, Lizzy. Novel writing is hardly suitable for young ladies, particularly those stories involving such… controversial subjects as murder and inheritance disputes. Such imaginings could be misconstrued as unhealthy fantasies if shared in the wrong company.”
The dismissal stung more than it should have. Even when she presented her situation as fiction, her uncle saw only a young woman’s improper fancy, not a serious legal inquiry.
“Thank you for your time,” she said, rising to leave.
“A pleasure. Quite the diversion for a gray day.”
As Elizabeth stepped into the hallway, she fought the burning sensation behind her eyes. Every avenue closed before her—Charlotte refused her assistance, her uncle dismissed her inquiry, and time was running perilously short. The only path remaining led back to Longbourn and into Mr. Collins’s waiting arms.
“How delighted to see my dear niece,” Aunt Philips greeted when Elizabeth emerged from the study. “I’ve just had word from Longbourn. Your mother sent a note saying Mr. Collins arrived early andis most distressed to find you absent. She wonders if you might be here.”
Elizabeth’s stomach dropped. She had hoped for at least a few more hours of freedom before the trap closed entirely. “Did you tell her I was?”
