Mrs Bennet blushed again, though this time from mixed emotions.
“I have here a small contribution towards the expenses of the household, though I am certain my nephew would refuse to accept it.”
“Uncle Thomas,” she said with considerable effort, still shocked, “I cannot accept it either.”
“Yes, you can, my dear.”
“But I shall have to inform my husband.”
“You may do as you please, but take it and use it for what you do best: appearing elegantly beside your dear daughters and placing an excellent meal upon your table.”
He rose, but not before kissing her hand in a gesture that revealed how sincerely he appreciated her.
Mrs Bennet remained seated for a long time, staring at the curious object and turning it over in her hands. It was fashioned from folded paper, flat and rectangular, with one side neatly sealed. Nothing could be seen of its contents, though something lay concealed within. From his words, it must contain money. Never before had she seen such a thing.
“It is an envelope, my dear,” Uncle Thomas had explained only moments earlier. “It keeps papers or money safe. Things cannot fall out of an envelope.”
Every day brought some new marvel from Uncle Thomas.
An envelope, Mrs Bennet reflected, admiring the ingenuity of it. Then she drew out the banknotes and her heart nearly stopped. For one dreadful moment, she was certain Uncle Thomas had made some terrible mistake. She had never seen such a sum in her life. It was the sort of amount they generally spent in years. Immediately, she went in search of him, but Tom informed her that his master was resting, and so instead she made her way to the library.
Mr Bennet looked up in surprise. She rarely sought him there at that hour, but her face alone told him something unusual had occurred.
“I do not know how to tell you this,” his wife began, though ordinarily she never struggled to say precisely what she thought. Still, her nerves were nowhere in sight, so plainly the matter was not an unpleasant one.
Mr Bennet merely smiled and waited for her to continue.
“Uncle Thomas…” she began hesitantly. Then she handed him the gift.
“It is an envelope,” she explained. “A sort of folder for papers and money.”
“I know what an envelope is, my dear. The contents interest me far more. May I?”
His wife nodded, relieved. He stared at the money for a moment, then at her.
“What shall I do?” she asked anxiously.
“Perhaps thank him?”
“You are always making a jest of everything,” she replied irritably. “This is no joke. Have we given him reason to believe he must reward us in some manner?”
“No. At least, I have said nothing of the kind.”
“Neither have I!” Mrs Bennet declared with conviction. She was happy to have Uncle Thomas at Longbourn, proud of the admiration her friends showed for the perfect gentleman staying beneath her roof, and delighted with the remarkable presents they had already received. But even when she had opposed his arrival, she had never thought of him as a tenant. He was family.
“Perhaps he has mistaken the value of the banknotes.”
“Madam, I assure you Uncle Thomas understands the value of banknotes perfectly well.”
“Then what are we to think? You told me he was not a rich man. Perhaps he has given us all the money he possesses.”
“Yes, it is possible, but that remains his own decision.”
“So you believe we may accept it?”
“Notwe, my dear. You and the girls,” Mr Bennet answered with conviction and much affection.
“But you spent a fortune upon his apartment.”
