Chapter Thirty
Longbourn
Elizabeth
“Welcome, sir,” said Mr Bennet politely as their guest approached. The footmen made haste to remove Mr Collins’s trunks from the carriage, while the gentleman bowed before straightening to return his host’s greeting.
“Thank you, Cousin,” he replied warmly. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be here.”
Mr Collins proved an unremarkable specimen of the male sex; he was tall and somewhat stout, with brown hair and eyes. He struck her as all affability and good nature.
“Well, let us go inside,” Mrs Bennet urged.
“It is November, after all. I should hate for anyone to catch a chill by standing in the breeze.” With characteristic briskness, she turned and led the way into the house, not pausing for her husband.
Elizabeth suspected that their guest’s arrival had discomposed her mother more than she cared to show.
The entail had been a source of anxiety to Mrs Bennet for as long as anyone could remember, and even the comfort of knowing it had been dissolved was not enough to wholly dispel her unease.
As they entered the house, Jane and Elizabeth exchanged a look—part curiosity, part apprehension. The man had spoken but two sentences, hardly enough to form a fair judgement of his character; yet Elizabeth was inclined to believe him sensible.
Suzanne and Arthur were away in Stevenage for several days, visiting one of the dowager countess’s acquaintances. She had promised to return before the week was out, and already Elizabeth missed her friend’s company.
The younger Bennets soon joined their elder sisters in the drawing room for tea.
Kitty and Lydia had been invited so that they might be introduced to their cousin and had been sternly reminded to behave with propriety.
Elizabeth felt gratified when they seated themselves decorously on the settee, their governess close by to restrain any lapse in conduct.
“Now that we are within and warm, perhaps you will perform the introductions, Mr Bennet.” Mrs Bennet turned expectantly towards her husband, one brow arched and her lips pressed into a thin line. Though her composure remained, Elizabeth noted the handkerchief twisting nervously between her fingers.
“Certainly, Mrs Bennet. Mr Collins, may I present my dear wife, Mrs Fanny Bennet? Beside her is our second daughter, Mrs Elizabeth Fiennes. She and our granddaughter have resided with us since her husband’s passing.
Next is Miss Jane Bennet, our eldest; Miss Mary is our third; and these two young ladies are Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia, who are not yet out. ”
Each daughter inclined her head as their father presented them to Mr Collins.
He appeared a little taken aback on learning that Elizabeth was widowed with a young child, though he soon recovered his composure as Mr Bennet continued through his line of daughters.
His admiration when it settled upon Jane was unmistakable.
That was no surprise; few gentlemen could remain unmoved by the beauty of the eldest Miss Bennet.
The others were favoured with polite glances as well. Mary blushed becomingly when their cousin smiled at her; being the most oft overlooked of the sisters, she seldom received such notice, and the attention clearly gratified her.
“I must say, Cousin, that you and your good lady have been singularly blessed with a most handsome family,” Mr Collins declared when the introductions were concluded at last.
Mrs Bennet murmured her thanks as she busied herself with the tea service.
“Never,” he continued with solemn admiration, “have I beheld such beauty collected within one household!”
Mr Bennet cleared his throat. “Well, credit must be given where it is due. As you can plainly see, it is my wife who bestowed her charms upon our daughters; my own share of comeliness is trifling by comparison.”
“Nonsense, Mr Bennet!” Mrs Bennet cried, clearly affronted. “You are by far the handsomest man I have ever beheld! From the very first moment I saw you, I told my sister so—and you may ask her if you doubt me—”
“My dear wife, I meant only to tease.” Mr Bennet caught her hand and kissed it with mock gallantry before turning to their guest. You must forgive my sense of humour, sir. As you see, even after more than twenty years, I continue to perplex my wife on occasion.”
Pacified, she handed a cup of tea to Mr Collins, who accepted it with gratitude and took a cautious sip. “What an excellent blend!” He peered curiously into the cup before raising it to his nose for another appreciative sniff. “Is this of local making?”
“It is prepared here at Longbourn.” Jane replied, speaking for the first time.
Her voice was gentle, as soothing as the tea itself.
“I am pleased you find it agreeable. The blend is the result of much experiment. Mary kept careful notes of each variation as she crafted it, adjusting until the flavour was perfected.”
Mr Collins turned to Mary with solemn approbation. “It is indeed perfection,” he assured her. “Not even at the table of my patroness have I tasted anything so delightful.
“I do not believe you mentioned in your letter who conferred the Hunsford living,” observed Mr Bennet. He smiled congenially, lifting his cup to his lips.
Their guest brightened. “No, I believe I did not. I am blessed beyond measure to have been granted a benefice so early in my vocation. My patroness is Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park. She is a most…condescending and attentive lady, deeply concerned with the welfare of her parish. I am invited to dine at Rosings once a week, after which she is pleased to discourse with me upon my duties.”
Elizabeth thought she discerned more in his cautious phrasing than his words declared. He meant, perhaps, that Lady Catherine was officious and overbearing, and far too involved in her clergyman’s affairs. I wonder how many decisions she directs, and how often she interferes in his work. Poor man.
“Will you tell us of your parish?” Mary asked with polite interest. There was genuine enthusiasm in her manner.
Despite having been urged to diversify her reading, Mary’s inclination towards religious study had never diminished.
Her compassionate nature had deepened, too, since their family’s change of fortune.
She oversaw the preparation of tenant baskets, with Jane’s assistance, and personally delivered them.
She even lent her aid to Netherfield’s tenants, a kindness Elizabeth had noted with gratitude.
Mr Collins launched into an earnest description: his parsonage, his parishioners, the little church where he preached, and the village of Hunsford itself. Mary listened with close attention, asking intelligent questions and offering murmurs of approbation as he spoke.
Mr and Mrs Bennet, meanwhile, appeared otherwise engaged. She spoke in low tones to her husband, who leaned nearer with attentive good humour.
The sight warmed Elizabeth’s heart. She turned back to Mr Collins’s recital, only for the peaceful atmosphere to be broken by Lydia’s loud sigh. Miss Morris gave a discreet cough, prompting the girl to straighten and compose herself. “Papa,” Lydia said with forced politeness, “may I be excused?”
Mr Bennet inclined his head. “Kitty, you may also go if you wish.”
Kitty glanced towards her younger sister, uncertainty written in her countenance. Elizabeth understood her hesitation—her wish to remain and be included as though she were already out. Yet, at length she followed Lydia from the room, proof enough of her own ennui.
Later, when the tea and cakes had been consumed, Mr Collins turned to their father. “May I speak to you privately, sir?”
Mary had occupied him in conversation for much of the visit, while Jane and Elizabeth had taken up their needlework and their parents continued their quiet discourse. Mr Bennet rose as the tea things were cleared.
“Of course, sir. Perhaps you might join me in my study. I have matters of business there which cannot wait.” Mr Collins followed him from the room.
Mrs Bennet gave an audible sigh of relief once the door closed. “Goodness, but my heart is all spasms and flutterings,” she moaned, sinking back in her chair. “I thought I had conquered this irrational fear, but I am as great a ninny as ever.”
Elizabeth rose and crossed to her mother’s side.
“’Tis no small thing to receive the man who might once have cast you from your home,” she said soothingly, pressing a kiss to her mother’s cheek.
“You acquitted yourself beautifully, Mama.
Indeed, I doubt anyone not so well acquainted with you could have guessed your unease.
Her mother dabbed her eyes. “Thank you, Lizzy. He seems a kind and amiable gentleman. Perhaps it will not be such a trial to have him here. Now that the first meeting is over, I may face him with more equanimity. But ’tis good he will be here only for a fortnight.”
“I like him very much.”
Mary’s soft declaration drew all eyes on her. Surprise mingled with pleasure on the faces of her mother and sisters, and the poor girl flushed scarlet. “I know ’tis too soon to form an opinion, but he appears everything I could wish in a clergyman and a gentleman.”
Jane laughed lightly. “Have you formed a tendre so soon, dear sister? Then make the best use of his visit to come to know him better, and perhaps you will both find reason to be pleased.”
“Oh, another daughter married!” Mrs Bennet clapped her hands in delight. “Three in all! I shall go distracted! And Kitty will be able to come out! ’Tis wonderful!” She fairly quivered with joy, though Jane sought to calm her enthusiasm.
“Mr Bingley has not proposed, Mama, and we have only just met Mr Collins.” She did not lift her eyes from her needlework, the fine thread passing steadily through the muslin. But the soft bloom on her cheeks betrayed her thoughts. Elizabeth stifled a laugh.