NINE
Longbourn.
Elizabeth
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Collins, drawing himself up with solemn gravity, “I trust you will permit me to address you upon a subject which has occupied my thoughts with increasing seriousness since my arrival at Longbourn.”
Elizabeth sat in the sitting room because her mother arranged for her to sit there.
That much became clear shortly after breakfast, when Mrs. Bennet found her with a book and informed her, in a tone of pleasant firmness, that Mr. Collins wished for a private conversation and that Elizabeth would oblige him.
Against her wishes, Mrs. Bennet then ushered her with every appearance of maternal cheerfulness, into the sitting room and left there with instructions to behave civilly.
Elizabeth was not surprised.
For two days Mr. Collins built steadily toward this moment with all the subtlety of a church bell.
He placed himself beside her whenever possible, solicited her opinions on domestic management, enquired whether she believed a clergyman’s wife required any particular accomplishments beyond economy and piety, and delivered several long reflections upon the happiness to be found in a respectable parsonage.
The previous morning, he even ventured, with an awkward care that defeated itself entirely, to ask whether she admired officers as a general class of husband.
Elizabeth replied that she had formed no decided opinion on the subject.
Mr. Collins received the answer with the thoughtful satisfaction of a man who believed himself encouraged.
She suspected his intentions yesterday. This morning, she felt certain of them.
She set aside her book, nodded to encourage him to continue and waited for the worst.
Mr. Collins began, as he began most things, at a considerable distance from his destination.
He first spoke of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who advised him most particularly upon the importance of marriage among the clergy and considered matrimony equally beneficial to moral character, domestic comfort, and ecclesiastical respectability.
From Lady Catherine he progressed naturally to Longbourn, the entail, and his sincere wish to lessen, by every means in his power, the future inconvenience his inheritance must someday occasion the Bennet family.
Having established his generosity, he proceeded to his income.
It was, he informed her, entirely respectable.
His parsonage possessed several advantages uncommon in a living of its size, particularly since Lady Catherine herself took an active interest in its improvement.
Rosings Park stood at a most convenient distance.
The shelves in the smaller parlour were newly fitted.
The poultry yard answered exceedingly well.
Elizabeth sat very still and allowed the information to pass over her.
“And therefore,” said Mr. Collins at last, arriving triumphantly at the point after so extensive a journey, “it is with the most sincere admiration and the most honourable intentions that I now solicit your hand in marriage, Miss Elizabeth, together with the assurance that your future happiness shall be my first and constant concern.”
He stopped.
He smiled at her with complete expectation of success.
He waited.
Elizabeth knew precisely what was to happen, and her answer had been fixed before Mr. Collins ever began speaking.
“I am sensible of the honour you intend me,” said Elizabeth, “and I thank you sincerely for it. But I must decline.”
Mr. Collins’s expression altered very little. Indeed, he appeared almost pleased. He inclined his head with indulgent composure.
“I am not at all discouraged, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “A refusal upon first application is extremely usual among elegant females. The practice is established by long custom. A young lady often rejects the addresses of the man she secretly means to accept, when he first solicits her favour.”
“I am not one of those young ladies,” said Elizabeth. “I speak with complete seriousness. You could not make me happy, Mr. Collins, nor am I the sort of woman capable of making you happy in return.”
The smile remained another moment before tightening slightly at the corners.
“You cannot mean to persist in refusing me.”
“I do mean it.”
“But your honoured mother—”
“Has no authority to answer for me in this matter.”
“Lady Catherine herself,” continued Mr. Collins with increasing firmness, “has frequently remarked upon the prudence of marriage among persons situated precisely as we are.”
“Lady Catherine’s opinion,” said Elizabeth, “cannot determine mine.”
For the first time since entering the room, Mr. Collins looked genuinely unsettled. He stared at her in silence, as though the possibility of a sincere refusal had only now presented itself to him.
Elizabeth almost pitied him. Almost.
“You must allow me to observe,” he said after a moment, recovering his composure with visible effort, “that your prospects in life are not such as to justify excessive fastidiousness. Your portion is unfortunately small. The world may not always present you with a gentleman of my situation and expectations. An opportunity of this nature is by no means likely to occur twice.”
Elizabeth felt her astonishment overcome even her irritation.
“How very encouraging,” she said.
Mr. Collins inclined his head, apparently satisfied by her answer.
“I speak only from concern for your future welfare.”
“Then permit me to relieve your concern entirely. My answer will not change.”
He regarded her another long moment.
Then he stood, smoothed the front of his coat, and drew himself up again before speaking.
“Very well,” he said. “I shall attribute your present refusal to the natural delicacy of your sex rather than to any settled objection. I will allow you time for reflection. No doubt your respected parents will advise you more prudently than your present feelings permit.”
He adjusted his cuffs with solemn care.
“I shall renew my addresses once more after you have had opportunity to reconsider. Beyond that, Miss Elizabeth, I can do no more.”
He bowed.
Elizabeth returned the bow without the slightest alteration in expression.
Mr. Collins withdrew at last, leaving behind him an atmosphere of self-approval so complete that it lingered in the room even after the door closed.
Elizabeth remained seated and listened to his footsteps crossing the hall. A door opened and closed somewhere. A moment later her mother’s voice reached her faintly from outside.
“Well? What did she say?”
Mr. Collins replied in tones too low for Elizabeth to distinguish.
Then silence.
Elizabeth did not move.
Her thoughts drifted instead toward Mrs. Philips’s parlour two evenings earlier.
Mr. Wickham beside her.
Mr. Collins across the room pretending attention to the whist table while his eyes repeatedly wandered elsewhere.
She saw the whole progression clearly now. The sudden increase of attentiveness the following morning. The observations on the uncertainty of military life compared with the stability of the church. The careful enquiries into her opinion of officers.
He had mistaken conversation for encouragement.
Worse still, he seemed perfectly persuaded that success had only been delayed.
Elizabeth rose at last and took up her book, though she had not the smallest intention of reading it.
She went in search of her mother, whose voice was already sounding through the house in impatient summons.
* * *
Elizabeth found her mother in the passage, already in full possession of the news. Mrs. Bennet did not permit her the comfort of five words of explanation before she was in motion, demanding to know why, and declaring it the greatest piece of foolishness she had ever been called upon to witness.
“Come with me this instant. Your father shall settle it.”
“Mama —”
“Not another word. I will not have such nonsense ruining us all.”
Elizabeth allowed herself to be marched with the resignation of a prisoner already acquainted with the verdict awaiting her. Mrs. Bennet released her only upon reaching the library door, which she opened without ceremony.
“Mr. Bennet,” she said, pushing it open without knocking, “you must speak to Elizabeth immediately. Mr. Collins has made her an offer and she has refused him.”
Mr. Bennet looked up from his book. “Has she indeed.”
“She has. Point blank. Without a moment's consideration. The man was barely out of his speech before she said no.”
“An alarming degree of efficiency.”
“Do not joke about it,” cried Mrs. Bennet impatiently. “You must insist upon her accepting him.”
“Must I?”
“You must. She is behaving with extraordinary selfishness.”
“Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet, “your mother accuses you of selfishness. This is a grave charge. Sit down and defend yourself at once.”
Elizabeth sat. Mrs. Bennet remained standing beside the desk with the fixed determination of a woman prepared to outlast reason itself.
Mr. Bennet set his book aside and looked toward Elizabeth with unmistakable amusement already gathering in his expression.
“Now,” he said, “you have refused Mr. Collins.”
“I have.”
“Good Lord, why?” cried Mrs. Bennet.
“Because I do not wish to marry him.”
“That is not a reason.”
“I find it an extremely sufficient one.”
“Elizabeth.” Mrs. Bennet pressed a hand to her chest. “Mr. Bingley is all but settled on Jane. What is the objection if Mr. Collins is settled on you? Between the two of them we should be very comfortable indeed. Longbourn itself would come back to us in time. Can you not see it?”
“I can see it very clearly,” said Elizabeth. “I simply cannot bring myself to care about it sufficiently to marry a man whose chief qualification is that he will one day inherit the house I already live in.”
“That is an extraordinarily ungrateful way to look at it,” said Mrs. Bennet.
“I thought it rather clear-eyed,” said Elizabeth.
Mr. Bennet made a sound that was not quite a cough.
“And tell me,” he said, “is there any particular reason Mr. Collins chose this moment to apply? He has been here less than a week.”
Elizabeth hesitated only briefly. “I believe he may have been prompted by seeing me in conversation with an officer two evenings ago at Aunt Phillips's. He seemed to take a great deal of notice of it and spent the following morning asking whether I admired officers as a general class of husband.”
“An officer,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Which officer?”
“A Mr. Wickham. He came with Mr. Denny. He arrived recently with the regiment.”
Mr. Bennet regarded her with mild interest. “I did not take you for a woman susceptible to a red coat, Lizzy.”
“I am not susceptible to a red coat,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Wickham is a very agreeable gentleman and we had a perfectly civil conversation. That is the entirety of it. He is a new acquaintance and barely that. I know almost nothing of him.”
“And yet Mr. Collins observed this perfectly civil conversation,” said Mr. Bennet, “and concluded that he must act without delay before the regiment carried off the prize.”
“That appears to be the substance of it, yes.”
“Poor man,” said Mr. Bennet. “He has confused civility with encouragement, a handsome face with serious attachment, and himself as a desirable alternative. Three errors in four days is quite an achievement.”
“Mr. Bennet,” said Mrs. Bennet, “this is not amusing.”
“On the contrary, my dear, it is extremely amusing. I am enjoying myself very much.”
“You will not enjoy yourself when we are turned out of Longbourn and have nowhere to go.”
“I shall be dead, so it will affect me rather less than you imagine.”
“Mr. Bennet!”
“My dear.”
Mrs. Bennet exhaled sharply, as though dismissing Mr. Bennet as altogether hopeless, and fixed Elizabeth with renewed determination.
“At least think about it. Mr. Collins says he will ask again. You have time to reconsider.”
“He said as much to me directly,” said Elizabeth.
“And? Will you reconsider?”
“No.”
“Elizabeth—”
“Mama. My answer will not change. Not today, not after reflection, not upon a second application. It will not change.”
Mrs. Bennet turned from Elizabeth back to her husband with renewed determination. “Well? Will you say nothing? Will you not compel her?”
Mr. Bennet considered this at some length.
“No,” he said at last.
“No?”
“No. Elizabeth is perfectly capable of determining what is best for herself in this matter and I find I have no quarrel with her determination.” He picked up his book. “The question of her marriage is entirely hers. Whatever she decides, she has my full support.”
Mrs. Bennet stared at him.
“You are the most aggravating man in England,” she said.
“Almost certainly,” said Mr. Bennet, opening his book again.
Mrs. Bennet looked at Elizabeth as though waiting for reason to appear. Elizabeth offered none.
“If Mr. Collins asks you again,” said Mrs. Bennet, with the last dignity available to her, “I hope you will at least have the courtesy to consider it properly before you answer.”
“If Mr. Collins asks me again,” said Elizabeth, “my answer will be no.”
Mrs. Bennet shook her head, blinking rapidly as though wounded by the behaviour of everyone around her, and departed in offended silence.
Mr. Bennet waited until her footsteps had receded entirely before he looked up from his book.
“Well done, Lizzy,” he said.
Elizabeth stood, straightened her skirts, and went to find somewhere quieter to sit.