Chapter 11
“How fortunate you are in your patroness, Mr Collins,” Mr Bennet told his cousin.
The author of the curious letter they had received had, upon his arrival, proved to be a rather strained-looking young man in a clerical collar and ill-fitting suit, his face always damp with nervous sweat.
“It seems there is nothing in which Lady Catherine does not take an interest. The storage of clothing, the ordering of meat, the emptying of chamber pots…”
Kitty giggled and then turned this into a cough, under a warning glance from Jane.
“Chamber pots? I do not think I mentioned…”
“Oh? I thought you did, Mr Collins,” said Mr Bennet innocently. “Never mind. Lady Catherine’s curiosity and gifts of organisation are evidently so ample and wide-reaching that I have over-extended myself in trying to encompass them.”
Despite herself, Elizabeth smiled as she met her father’s eye.
It was a little cruel of him to tease Mr Collins so, but the pompous young clergyman made himself so absurd that he seemed to invite ridicule.
After seven days of his company, the Bennet family’s tolerance and politeness had been stretched as far as they might be before breaking.
“Indeed, her Ladyship is most accomplished, most condescending,” marvelled Mr Collins, mopping at his brow with a handkerchief as he returned to familiar territory.
“Never could I praise her enough for the interest she has shown in my humble rectory and personal affairs! The shelves in the second spare bedroom are a case in point…”
Lydia yawned and laid her head down on her hands at the parlour table, as if to go to sleep.
Mrs Bennet was already snoring lightly on the sofa, having nodded off half an hour ago when Mr Collins had insisted on reading Fordyce’s Sermons after luncheon.
With such an example from their mother, Elizabeth felt she could scarcely reprimand Lydia’s attitude.
After a week in Hertfordshire, Mr Collins had found little favour with anyone but Mary, and perhaps to some extent Mr Bennet, if only as an object of amusement.
“Yes, do tell us more about the shelves, Mr Collins. We can never hear enough of shelves, can we, Lizzy?” her father urged, only too willing to encourage their guest into ever greater heights of absurdity.
Elizabeth did not reply and smothered a sigh. This teasing of Mr Collins was not as bad as teasing their mother, for he seemed to feel it less. Still, there was always something diminishing and undignified in the spectacle of a greater mind tormenting a lesser.
“There are four shelves fitted, all at differing heights and spacing to accommodate the greatest variety and order of clothing, whether for male or female guests…”
With a kind of abject eagerness, Mr Collins was on his feet, illustrating the shelves he described with movements of his hands while Mr Bennet feigned deep interest.
While tempted to invite Jane to go for a walk, Elizabeth knew this would run the risk of Mr Collins deciding to join them. They would then likely be exposed to the same ridiculous conversation, but less diluted by the presence of others.
“How fascinating, Mr Collins,” Mr Bennet goaded him on again. “Do tell us more. My wife and daughters are all agog.”
Did Mr Collins really not notice that Mrs Bennet was asleep, Lydia close to following her, Kitty staring out of the window, and Jane and Elizabeth only listening with forced politeness? Apparently not.
“The shelves themselves are constructed of oak and laced with oil of cedar to repel moths…”
Not for the first time, Elizabeth regarded him with veiled bafflement.
If Mr Collins really had come to Longbourn hoping to win a wife, he had a peculiar way of going about it with such dull, one-sided conversation and lack of attention to his audience.
He ran the risk of even alienating Mary, who suffered from similar conversational complaints to Mr Collins, although to a lesser extent.
Mrs Bennet’s attempts to push the clergyman toward her younger daughters had not met with any real success so far.
Lydia and Kitty’s exuberant and undisciplined tempers seemed rather to frighten than attract Mr Collins, although he had pronounced both girls very pretty on his arrival, much to their disgust.
From Elizabeth’s perspective, Mary still seemed the best and most willing match, but Mr Collins seemed not to perceive it.
Despite Jane’s engagement and Mrs Bennet’s insinuations about Elizabeth’s prospects with a rich gentleman from London (which she made less effort to rebut when in Mr Collins’ presence), Mr Collins seemed to prefer their company to that of their younger sisters.
Elizabeth supposed Mary’s deliberate plainness might put him off, rejecting as she did all means of dressing, hair arrangement or adornment that might have made her as charming as her sisters.
Still, Mr Collins must be foolish indeed if he could not perceive the fundamental compatibility of Mary’s character.
Charlotte Lucas sometimes declared that all men were fools before beauty, and her cousin’s obliviousness made Elizabeth wonder if it might be true.
With an abrupt snort, Mrs Bennet came awake again, sitting bolt upright on the sofa and rubbing her bleary eyes.
“Dear me,” she said, her loud yawn cutting across Mr Collins’ endless monologue on Lady Catherine and the shelves in the rectory’s second spare bedroom.
“I must have dropped off for a moment. What were we talking about?”
After a moment’s astonishment at such peculiar behaviour, Mr Collins stepped forward with a slight bow to his hostess. “I was just telling Mr Bennet of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s unparalleled kindnesses and excellent judgement in the matter of cupboard shelving…”
“No, no, Mr Collins,” objected Mrs Bennet, more disoriented by sleep than intending to be rude, but managing nonetheless. “Jane, you said that you’d received another letter from Lord Grantchester. I remember now. I meant to ask whether there was any news of his next visit to Hertfordshire.”
“No, Mother,” Jane answered. “Lord Grantchester sends you his best wishes, however, and looks forward to seeing you again soon. He says they will host a supper party at Belton Manor next time he is in the country and welcomes your advice on guests.”
At this, Mrs Bennet smiled gleefully.
“A supper party to plan for the Earl of Grantchester! Yes, I shall certainly be happy to advise him. How sensible of him to ask for guidance, for he does not know the neighbourhood at all, and there are some that like to think themselves more important than they are…”
“Lady Catherine always says that…” Mr Collins began, trying unsuccessfully to break back into a conversation that he must sense would be neither relevant nor sympathetic to him.
Mrs Bennet continued speaking over him, appearing deaf to her guest’s comments. “What of Lord Keeble, Jane? Will he return with Lord Grantchester? I dare say Mr Bingley might come back too if the other gentlemen are here, and that would be a very good thing for a certain young lady.”
At this mild innuendo, Elizabeth declined to catch her mother’s eye. “I hope that if Mr Bingley does return, he does not bring Mr Darcy again,” she said simply. “Mr Darcy has never taken great pleasure in Hertfordshire, and perhaps his remaining in London would be a relief to all.”
A restless impatience ran through her veins as soon as the memory of this infuriating man was recalled.
Elizabeth had tried hard to banish Mr Darcy from her thoughts now that he was no longer at Netherfield Park, but she had so far failed.
Against her will, her mind regularly revisited their past meetings and disagreements, coming up with improvements to her words or delivery.
Oh, how Elizabeth longed to tell Mr Darcy exactly what she thought of him, in even starker terms than she had used already!
Yet propriety would always demand a certain amount of good manners, at least from her side.
He seemed to feel no such obligation, and she had never met a man who riled her so much with a mere glance of his deep-blue eyes.
“Lord Keeble will certainly accompany Lord Grantchester, I believe,” Jane confirmed. “I cannot say what Mr Bingley might do. Lord Grantchester writes little of him, although he did say he has seen Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley at various events in London.”
“We must all go to the Meryton assembly again!”
News of Lord Keeble had revived the spirits of Lydia, who leapt up from the table and waltzed Kitty about the room in imitation of that merry gentleman, trying to get Mary to her feet so that she could have two dancing partners at once.
Having his toes trodden on by both careless dancers, Mr Collins beat a retreat to the sofa beside Mrs Bennet.
His hostess acknowledged his presence no more than her youngest daughters, however.
“What else does Lord Grantchester say, Jane?” Mrs Bennet demanded, leaning towards Jane.
Jane smiled gently and took the letter from her pocket. “Why don’t I just read it to you, Mother? It is not too long, and I cannot think that Lord Grantchester would mind. In fact, he writes so many messages for my family that I can only suppose he intends it.”
“Oh, yes, do read it to us all!” Mrs Bennet enthused. “Lord Grantchester writes so well.”
As Jane unfolded the pages, Mr Collins made some further fatuous remark on the power of love letters in winning the hearts of ladies, but his words received no acknowledgement beyond vague smiles from Elizabeth and Mary.
While not wishing to encourage Mr Collins, Elizabeth had begun to feel that perhaps her mother ought to pay more attention to their guest. Before Jane’s engagement, and the visits of so many well-monied young bachelors to the neighbourhood, Elizabeth could imagine Mrs Bennet dancing attendance on Mr Collins and working far harder for an alliance that would secure Longbourn in the direct family line.