The Shadow of Loss #2
Mr Collins glanced up at the facade of Longbourn, his eyes widening with proprietorial satisfaction.
“It is a most respectable house,” he observed, with the air of discovering it for the first time.
“Solidly built. Well-situated. I confess, I did not expect…” He stopped, colouring slightly.
“That is, I am humbled by the trust placed in me as its guardian.”
Jane’s arm tightened around her mother again. Mrs Bennet’s breath came short and uneven.
Mr Phillips cleared his throat sharply. “Perhaps we might move indoors, sir. The air is still quite sharp.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Mr Collins said, and mounted the steps with ponderous ceremony. “I should be honoured to enter, and to pay my respects within.”
Elizabeth stepped aside to allow him to pass, her stomach knotting as he crossed the threshold.
Behind her, Mrs Bennet’s soft sob broke the silence, and Jane’s gentle voice followed, trembling but brave. Mr Collins allowed himself to be led into the entry hall, though his gaze wandered ceaselessly along the bannister, up the staircase, toward the parlour doors.
“How well proportioned,” he exclaimed. “How admirably arranged. One sees immediately that the late Mr Bennet maintained a most respectable establishment.”
Mrs Bennet dabbed at her eyes. “We have tried to keep everything… as it was.”
Mr Collins clasped his hands piously. “A touching tribute, ma’am. Truly touching.”
He stepped further into the hall, turning in a slow circle.
“And the east bedchamber,” he murmured. “I recall hearing it has a fine prospect over the garden. I believe it shall answer exceedingly well.”
Mrs Bennet stiffened. Jane whispered a soothing word, guiding her gently toward a chair in the sitting room. Elizabeth followed.
Once they were seated, Mr Collins planted himself near the hearth, cleared his throat deeply, and launched into a lengthy discourse on Providence, duty, and the comforts of religion in times of trial. His voice was earnest, pompous, unrelenting.
“You have borne your affliction with admirable resignation, ma’am,” he concluded. “And in time, I trust you will find peace in whatever arrangements prove necessary for the future of this estate.”
Mrs Bennet’s fingers knotted tightly in her handkerchief. “Arrangements?”
Mr Collins smiled, beaming and oblivious. “Why, my residence here, of course. At least for some months, while matters are settled. A clergyman must live among the souls entrusted to his care.”
He had not arrived merely to pay a call; he meant to remain.
Elizabeth was very grateful for her uncle, who a moment later said, “If you would permit, sir, there are a few matters regarding the estate which require your attention,” before leading Mr Collins from the room.
The moment the study door closed behind Mr Collins and Mr Phillips, Mrs Bennet sagged against Jane, pressing her handkerchief hard to her eyes.
“Oh, Jane,” she whispered, voice frayed, “to think he means to stay. To sleep under this roof. To command…” She broke off with a shudder.
Jane stroked her hand gently. “It is only temporary, Mama. Only until matters are sorted.”
Hill appeared with a quiet curtsy. “Mrs Bennet, ma’am, shall I have tea sent in? Or perhaps a glass of lemonade?”
Mrs Bennet waved a weak hand. “Oh, Hill, I am undone. Do whatever you think best. My nerves, oh, my poor nerves.”
Jane helped her sink onto the settee once more, murmuring soft assurances. Lydia and Kitty hovered near the door, pale and wide-eyed, as if expecting catastrophe to walk back in with Mr Collins.
Mary, rigid and pale, closed her devotional with careful hands. “Affliction,” she said softly, “is sent to refine us.”
Lydia burst into tears. Before Elizabeth could intervene, footsteps sounded in the hall. The study door opened, and Mr Phillips reappeared alone. His expression was drawn.
“He will join you in a moment,” he said quietly. “I have explained the immediate necessities, leases, tenants, inventories. He… understands his position.”
A faint, despairing moan escaped Mrs Bennet. Mr Phillips glanced at Elizabeth, an apologetic, helpless look, then bowed himself out with murmured assurances that he would return on the morrow to assist with arrangements.
They were alone. A heartbeat later, Mr Collins entered. He looked transformed, buoyant, important, flushed with self-satisfaction. His eyes swept the room, pausing with a proprietary gleam on each familiar object.
“Mrs Bennet,” he said, hands clasped behind his back, “I am most obliged to your late husband’s solicitor. He has placed before me several matters requiring my immediate attention. I find myself,” he smiled, with ponderous humility, “charged with serious responsibilities.”
Mrs Bennet gave a little cry, caught between despair and desperate hope. “Responsibilities? Then you mean to, to take care of us?”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. Mr Collins blinked, startled by Mrs Bennet’s intensity. “My dear madam, I shall endeavour to conduct myself with the utmost propriety. In time, when the season permits, certain… family felicities might well be considered.”
Mrs Bennet gasped. Jane paled. Elizabeth felt heat rise to her cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from something colder.
“So the future is not yet decided,” Jane said softly, trying to steady her mother.
“Oh, indeed not,” Mr Collins said, puffing a little with self-importance. “There are many months ahead in which suitable arrangements may be contemplated. When mourning has properly elapsed.”
Mrs Bennet seized upon the words like a drowning woman upon driftwood. “Arrangements,” she breathed. “Yes, yes, of course…”
Elizabeth looked away. Vague promises. Empty reassurances.
Mr Collins, oblivious, turned toward the small sitting room’s writing desk, ran his hand along its edge, and nodded approvingly.
“Excellent workmanship. Serviceable. And the household accounts, how admirably kept.”
He moved on, surveying the mantel, the window frames, the wainscoting, inspecting his own property. Then, without hesitation, he crossed to the wide armchair nearest the hearth, the chair that had been Mr Bennet’s in this room as surely as the one at the dining table.
He lowered himself into it with a contented sigh, smoothing his coat, his expression one of serene entitlement. Jane went rigid. Mrs Bennet let out a soft, wounded gasp. Elizabeth’s hand clenched at her side. He settled back, steepling his fingers.
“Yes,” he said, surveying the room as though passing judgment on his kingdom. “I believe I shall be quite comfortable here.”
They would have to leave.