On Friday, the twentieth day of January 1804, the carriage conveying Louisa and Harold Hurst and Charles Bingley arrived at the Bingleys’ house at 148 Princess Street in Scarborough.
Even though it had been almost ten days since the death of Mavis and Arthur Bingley, given the cold of the season, there had been no imperative to inter them before the Hursts and Charles arrived. The Hursts were aware that the bodies had been recovered by men in boats, but given the nature of the accident, the coffins were firmly secured and would not be opened for viewing.
When they entered the house, there was no missing Caroline’s screaming emanating from upstairs. Charles Bingley, who as far as he knew was the head of the family, was rooted to the spot, not knowing what to do because he hated conflict.
Harold approached his Uncle John in the front drawing room. “What has caused Caroline’s screaming now? I assume it is not grief?” he asked his uncle.
“She is screeching at Hildebrand, who will not give in to her histrionics. No, it has naught to do with grief; she insists that Arthur promised to send her to that seminary in London,” John Bingley revealed. “She is claiming that she must leave as soon as may be and deep mourning be damned. I know this is not true, as, like you, I have a copy of the will. She will not be happy with what her late father planned.”
“But if Father promised Caroline…” Bingley began to say when Louisa placed a restraining hand on his arm.
“Charles, no decisions can be made until the will is read, and that will not be until after the funerals. Now is the time to mourn, not worry about Caroline’s demands,” Louisa stated gently.
“I suppose,” Bingley responded. How he hated the sounds of arguing.
“Louisa, will you speak to the household staff and servants while I go see our caterwauling sister?” Harold requested.
“Of course,” Louisa agreed.
Following the noise, Harold climbed the stairs to the family floor. He pushed the door to Caroline’s bedchamber open with such force that it hit the wall and made a loud bang. It had the intended effect, as his sister-in-law closed her mouth with a clack, her eyes wide with surprise. He did not miss the look of relief on Aunt Hildebrand’s face.
“Why is it that Louisa, Charles, and I arrived at a house in supposed mourning to hear you shrieking like a shrill fishmonger?” Harold demanded. “You want to raise yourself in society, yet you have none of the graces which are required of a gentlelady.” Harold looked Caroline up and down with disdain.
“You have no authority over me, you drunken, indolent lout!” Miss Bingley screeched.
“In fact, I do,” Harold shot back. “I am one of your late father’s executors. Your Uncle John is your primary guardian, and I am designated after him if something should befall him before you reach your majority. This is supposed to be a time to honour your late mother and father, not desecrate their memories, as you are by the way you are behaving.”
“Father promised…” Miss Bingley tried in a calmer fashion.
“We both know he did not. However, that is neither here nor there. Until his Last Will and Testament is read after the funeral, nothing is official. Perhaps your father changed his mind, but you will never know unless you remain calm and wait for the reading of the will.” Harold waited for Caroline to assimilate his words.
“I am sure Mother convinced him to change his mind, and it will be in the will,” Miss Bingley crowed. “In that case, I will wait for the reading.”
“You know Arthur did nothing of the sort,” Hildebrand said insotto voceonce she and her nephew left the chamber and were on the landing at the stairs. “In fact, I believe he made his desires very clear.”
“Yes, we know that, but Caroline does not, and that means that until after the funeral, we will have some peace and quiet in the house,” Harold returned.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
The church service and interment of Arthur and Mavis Bingley had been very well attended. Men from each branch of the Bingley Carriage Works had been present. As would be expected, while the men were busy, Louisa and her aunt accepted condolence calls from the ladies of the area.
It was no surprise to any of them that Caroline kept to her own chambers, preferring not to rub shoulders with so many women whose husbands were all active in trade. She had been hoping that the man she intended to have as her husband, MrFitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, would arrive to condole with her. To her disappointment, he had not.
What she was unaware of was that her brother-in-law had written letters to the Fitzwilliam brothers and Darcy advising them against coming to Scarborough because he was sure his sister-in-law would see it as confirmation of the hopes she harboured towards two of them. All three men had heeded his advice.
That afternoon once it was just the Hursts and Bingleys—Charles, Caroline, Aunt Hildebrand, and Uncle John—Mr Potter, the Bingley family solicitor in Scarborough, read the will.
It was a great surprise to Charles and Caroline Bingley. Not so for the rest of those present, as they knew what the will contained.
Bingley was reeling. Uncle John was now the owner of the carriage works. He had a large share for himself, but his uncle had the controlling stake in the concern. Until he was five and twenty, he would need permission from one of the executors, Hurst, or his uncle, to touch anything other than a portion of the interest on the Bingley fortune.
He could see from the way his father had written this new will and never consulted him beforehand that his late sire had not trusted him. The knowledge stung. It seemed Father had relied on Hurst, even with his tendency to be foxed and asleep for hours, rather than himself. Unlike Bingley’s mother’s assertion that the will would command him to purchase an estate, his father had told him it was his decision. Bingley could purchase an estate—after he turned five and twenty—or he could chuse not to.
The shocks for Caroline Bingley were far greater. Her father made no allowance for her to study at Miss Hathaway’s, or any other seminary not in Scarborough. Any money to go to her was at the discretion of her Uncle John or her sot of a brother-in-law, Harold Hurst. They would control her allowance, and if she overspent, Charles was forbidden from paying any overages for her. She had been handed a letter from her father. She stared at it in her hand as she decided what to do with it. Her first inclination was to consign it to the roaring fire in the room, but she decided against that course of action in case there was some way within that would allow her to circumvent the draconian measures in the will.
She broke the seal and began to read.
10 November 1803
