Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent
March 16, 1812
My dearest Jane,
I have now been a se’nnight in Kent. I must apologise for being so long in sending news of Charlotte and our cousin, Mr Collins. The parsonage is a charming home, and Charlotte assures me she is quite comfortable here. I have seen the famed gardens and can expect to be invited to dine with Lady Catherine de Bourgh while I am here. I am all anticipation to see the great lady herself.
Pray excuse my thoughts I shall share forthwith, for I do seem to have much time to think here in Kent…I have long promised you that a certain gentleman once of Netherfield and now of London would no longer cause me worries or anxieties as they relate to you, but dearest sister, I cannot help bu t continue to be utterly vexed. Of course, I know you are endeavouring to banish all painful thoughts as it pertains to this particular man and his deceiving sisters (and, no doubt, a deceiving gentleman from Derbyshire as well), but I will not be silent today.
I cannot believe a partnership with Miss D was instrumental in his departure. Perhaps that scheming sister of his should make more efforts to finally achieve her own matrimonial goals and thus eliminate his obligation to join the two great families?
I do wonder about Mr D’s part in this business of separating such a beautiful couple. It is rather a mystery. I know you would tell me to quit my study of the situation and let your heart be—but I do lay this before their feet, whether or not you agree.
What more shall I tell you of Kent? Mr Collins does spend much time in the garden, but he is often summoned by Lady Catherine to visit the estate for various reasons. Should she bid him to bring her a silk shawl from India, I am certain he would be found aboard a great ship bound east within a fortnight, as he is ever her loyal subject.
I can say this with certainty after my first week in Hunsford—though our situation in life is not enviable nor ideal, we neither of us can accept a marriage without love, my dearest sister.
Yours affectionately,
Elizabet h
E lizabeth’s second week in Kent passed much the same as the first until one afternoon when, while the ladies were having tea, Mr Collins burst into Charlotte’s parlour in high dudgeon. He appeared to have run there; perspiration was beaded on his forehead, and the smell of him filled the room. He rested his hand on the mantel, bending over to catch his breath—papers crumpled in his hands, his face beet red—while the two ladies awaited some explanation for his precipitous arrival.
Once he had caught his breath, he turned on the ladies and thundered, “How have you allowed me to present this sermon to her ladyship today?”
Charlotte’s mouth dropped agape for a moment before she quickly repressed any shock, but Elizabeth permitted herself the full display of her incredulity.
“My dear,” Charlotte began but was quickly silenced.
“Have I not afforded you the privilege of hearing me speak? In my own parlour, I have condescended to provide you with my words, my thoughts, yet you cannot prevent me from provoking the displeasure of Lady Catherine?”
Without the ability to know her ladyship, Elizabeth had not a guess at her complaints. She knew what she herself disliked about Mr Collins’ sermons—they were all arrogant and dull—but could not guess if her ladyship felt likewise.
It was a Palm Sunday sermon, was it not? Elizabeth mused . Jesus entered Jerusalem. They waved the palm branches. What could Mr Collins possibly have altered to cause such distress? Perhaps it was his weaving the subject of female virtue into the story of Jesus’s victorious entry into Jerusalem? Elizabeth was required to cough in order to cover an obstinate snicker.
Elizabeth glanced at her friend curiously. Charlotte’s eyes were lowered, and she was apologising, rather abjectly, for her error, but Mr Collins was not mollified. He scolded her like a child, and Charlotte’s countenance went from an embarrassed pink to a mortified pallor while he went on about how her negligence had likely cost them her ladyship’s favour. Sadly, Elizabeth watched her dear friend relent, nod, and assure her husband she would be more perceptive in the future.
Ridiculous, presumptuous man! Elizabeth fumed, wanting to defend her friend, but beginning to understand that any action she took against her cousin would no doubt also affect Charlotte. Her current practice of nodding along to her cousin’s manifold long-winded speeches was keeping an escalation at bay, but it would not do. Mr Collins was a fragile creature whose ego required constant soothing, and who was nearly always on the precipice of a fit. Elizabeth’s disdain of him grew daily, and the act of subduing her annoyance was beginning to grate upon her nerves.
Before Mr Collins left them, he delivered one last bit of news given with the air of someone conferring a grand consolation. “Do not fear,” he said. “She has not withdrawn her invitation to dine on Sunday.”
“That is very good of her,” Charlotte said; but though her words were enthusiastic, her aspect was not. Elizabeth echoed some syllables of agreement though she could not imagine that any lady who inspired such terror and subjection would be a pleasure to dine with.
Elizabeth excused herself soon after her cousin and made her way down into the kitchens. Mrs Montgomery slipped her a slice of cake, and Elizabeth pulled up a stool to the table where the cook was cutting vegetables.
Mrs Montgomery reminded her of Longbourn’s housekeeper, Mrs Hill. She was astute about the goings on of the home and the village, but perceptive enough to keep her thoughts to herself when Mr Collins was about.
“What is the matter with the master today?” Mrs Montgomery asked with a knowing gleam in her eye.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and sighed. “Mrs Collins and I are unable to read minds, madam.”
“Aye, miss. Mr Collins would find that unsatisfactory indeed,” Mrs Montgomery responded. She lowered her voice to continue on, “I do worry about Mrs Collins. I hope she will find more friends like yourself, miss. It will be hard for her here. Most folks ’round here do not take lightly having the great lady at Rosings in their affairs.”
“I cannot imagine they would.”
“I heard the mistress was snubbed at the last assembly, poor thing. Her husband’s duties require he call on parishioners, and he overheard details about a local quarrel while attending an ill neighbour. Took that information straight to her ladyship, he did.”
Horrified, Elizabeth replied quietly, “I hope he did not create trouble for the family?”
“Aye, miss, he did. It were a squabble over a flooded field of apple trees. He caused a great deal of trouble by getting Lady Catherine involved. Would have been best to let them that was affected sort it out amongst themselves.”
“But what can be done? I should speak to Charlotte. I cannot leave her here with no friends to attend her…maybe I shall encourage her to do some shopping with me, in hopes we might meet the villagers. Or we could make calls to her neighbours? I could help encourage a new friendship along. If they could meet her, they would know her acquaintance to be valuable! She is far more trustworthy than her husband.”
Mrs Montgomery smiled and nodded her approval to such a scheme, but her eyes betrayed her doubt. Elizabeth was not certain it would help, but she did not like the idea of leaving Kent without knowing her friend enjoyed an alliance of some sort.
Mr Collins delivered a predictably dull sermon on Sunday morning. Elizabeth spent most of the service trying to study Lady Catherine without overtly staring—all while appearing attentive to the droning on of her cousin from the pulpit.
Charlotte visited Elizabeth’s room while she was dressing for dinner and immediately complimented her gown. Elizabeth knew the simple muslin would be nothing to what Lady Catherine was used to seeing her visitors wear, but it was the finest she had brought—indeed, among the finest she owned.
Charlotte smoothed imaginary wrinkles in Elizabeth’s skirts, appearing to be assembling her courage to say something.
“Thank you, Charlotte. I am eager to meet her ladyship,” Elizabeth said, wanting to bolster her friend with a welcoming response.
“As you should be, Elizabeth. It is undeniably a great honour for you to meet Lady Catherine. Did you know she is the daughter of the late Earl of Matlock? The sister of the present earl, of course.”
“Indeed?”
“Lady Catherine moves in the highest circles of society and thus has exceedingly elevated standards of etiquette, as you can imagine. I want to be sure you are aware of the expectation that you be punctual in your preparations to depart and also...” Here Charlotte paused, and Elizabeth watched her expectantly.
With a weak smile, Charlotte said, “I am sure your natural wit and vivacity will be...will be tempered in her ladyship’s presence? Her ladyship bestowed upon my husband the living at Hunsford, and we want to be sure you have only your best qualities on display. As our guest and a member of our family, your actions reflect on our character as well.”
Elizabeth gaped at her friend—a playful retort was at the ready, but she hesitated. Charlotte appeared quite serious. In fact, she looked pleased to have finished her speech in such a concise manner. Elizabeth closed her mouth and simply nodded, never breaking eye contact. To have responded in contrition was unimaginable.
For not the first time, she wondered what had become of the friend she once knew.
At first glance, Rosings Park was just as Elizabeth expected—ostentatious and gilded, from the floors covered in exceptionally fine carpets to the painted, ornate ceilings. The opulent furnishings included elaborate mouldings, luxurious wall hangings, and furniture in velvet and silk, announcing that the house’s rank, privilege, and wealth was valued over any indication of comfort. This place was an estate but could not be called a home. Liveried footmen attended the walls and doorways, and not one dared to raise their eyes to the visitors.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh was much like her house. She was a tall, large woman with strongly marked features. The lady was covered in lace—much like Elizabeth would imagine her mother would attire herself, could she afford it. She was not an appeasing woman—whatever she said was spoken in so authoritative a tone as marked her self- importance. It could be no surprise that this woman was one of Mr Darcy’s relations.
Lady Catherine’s daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, had a demeanour in opposition to her mother’s. She was a tiny, frail lady—possibly in her late twenties. There was a quiet astuteness Elizabeth observed in her, though it was smothered by the many layers of shawls laid across her shoulders. With no wish to embarrass her friend, or to provoke her cousin, Elizabeth said as little as possible, and quietly observed the room. Miss de Bourgh was closely attended by her quiet but dutiful companion, an older woman called Mrs Jenkinson.
Lady Catherine had no scruple in questioning Elizabeth thoroughly about various aspects of her family and her upbringing; though none of it met with her ladyship’s approval. The rest of the group said very little. Mr Collins was—for once—quiet, allowing Lady Catherine to hold court and entertain herself with Elizabeth’s discomfort. Miss de Bourgh only nodded, and Charlotte appeared attentive but numb to the entire experience. The only people seeming to enjoy themselves appeared to be her cousin and the great lady herself.
At length, Charlotte was prevailed upon to exhibit. While Charlotte played the pianoforte, Elizabeth was finally free to let her mind wander, revisiting her friend’s earlier admonitions about tempering her customary vivacity. She could not like that Charlotte had spoken to her so, but within the great parlour of Rosings, one could see the reverence—and yes, call it fear—that had inspired Charlotte to address her. She was so lost in her thoughts that she failed to hear Lady Catherine’s address.
“Cousin!” Mr Collins scolded. “Her ladyship has just asked you a question! ”
“Pardon me, Lady Catherine, I was distracted by the lovely performance.”
Lady Catherine pursed her lips and nodded, “I always tell Mrs Collins that she must be dedicated to her practising. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. I do believe Mrs Collins has improved since arriving in Kent.”
“Yes, my lady,” Elizabeth responded.
Lady Catherine looked appeased by her submissive words and attitude. “I was just telling Mr Collins to expect my two nephews to arrive this week for their annual visit. They are my late sister’s son, Mr Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, and the Earl of Matlock’s son, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth stifled a gasp behind her teacup. Mr Darcy! Here? She ought to have done better to remain at Longbourn. Charlotte was an anxious and disinterested host, Mr Collins and his patroness appeared to be equally intolerable...and now she would suffer the company of Mr Darcy too? Likely not, Elizabeth decided. After all, Mr Darcy was no great friend of hers. She imagined he would keep to Rosings and pay no mind to the little group across the lane.
Was Miss Anne de Bourgh to be the primary beneficiary of his visit? Mr Wickham had mentioned that Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh were rumoured to be betrothed.
She glanced over to where Miss de Bourgh sat, her companion fussing over her shawl. Lady Catherine’s daughter was as wan and disinterested as she had been all night with no evident excitement over the mention of Mr Darcy.
The evening was rather a disappointment overall. But later, after Elizabeth had prepared for bed, she began penning a letter to her father and found reason to be thankful that the evening had provided some interesting musings she could share with him. He had told her to write, though a response was unlikely.
She giggled in the candlelight as she described Lady Catherine’s idea of entertainment and fell asleep later imagining her father’s puckered lips and twitching eyebrows as he read her descriptions of Rosings Park. Her favourite part of the letter was the part about Miss Anne de Bourgh seeming bored by the notion of her visiting cousins, ‘ Perhaps she is as loath to see Mr Darcy as I am,’ she wrote. She did not finish the letter, assuming there would be many more reflections to add when the lady’s nephews arrived.