Chapter 67
Three days to go, and the ball became the entire world. Every waking moment in Pemberley was devoted to it. Plans, both overt and covert, were made and revised a thousand-and-one times.
How had all of their fortunes come to depend on a single night?
Mrs. Bennet was thinking much the same thing as she sat before her looking glass on the second day. Her curls had not quite come out right, and she was fussing at the frizzy locks with an annoyed purse to her lips.
Since the awful night before at the dinner table, Mrs. Bennet’s rabid assault upon her daughters’ prospects had been curtailed.
It was not quite a tamed beast, and she was just as likely to kick and rear than she was to be reasonable, but there was finally a hint that she wanted to move in the same direction as her children.
Mrs. Bennet’s small rebellion was partly a selfish, humiliated thing which squirmed unpleasantly beneath her skin.
She had been pleased to find herself seated at such a grand table and at first felt only the respect that a matron deserved.
She had begun to feel warmly towards her daughters for the first time since her arrival, and was even prepared to be cordial to Elizabeth, if she had the opportunity.
All of her softness had been dashed to pieces by William Collins.
He had sounded reasonable and mature in the letters they had long exchanged and their conversations at Longbourn.
He had felt like an ally to a lady in need: sympathetic to her plight and genuinely remorseful for his part in it.
He also flattered her ceaselessly, which was a balm to her aging ego.
When Mr. Bennet suffered the first in what turned out to be a long series of strokes, Mr. Collins was immediately at hand.
He declared himself wholly at the family’s disposal - which also, of course, meant that they were required to be at his.
His solution to the family’s looming downfall had been so simple, so perfect, that Jane’s refusal had shocked Mrs. Bennet to the core.
It was as if somebody had told her that water was dry. It made no sense!
It was easier for Mrs. Bennet to convince herself that Jane was ignorant than for the woman to reconcile herself to the facts of their predicament.
Mr. Bennet was becoming both physically and mentally incapable of managing his family.
He had periods of lucidity and even appeared normal at times.
He had managed to walk Elizabeth to her wedding with no ill effects and never allowed his growing confusion to stop him from reading the morning papers.
The inevitable prognosis, however, was grim. Mary was an excellent nurse, and the doctor was both capable and expensive, but they were unable to stop the tide.
Mrs. Bennet was terrified. They were adrift and still had no real connection to the house they held so dear. Faced with her eldest daughter’s refusal, Mrs. Bennet doubled down.
Her petrified plan was dependent on her trust in Mr. Collins.
Mrs. Bennet firmly believed that he was the only hope that her family had.
She was vaguely conscious of her own role in ostracising Elizabeth, but blamed her daughter in equal measure for her desertion.
No help could come from that quarter, Mrs. Bennet was sure.
Mr. Collins agreed with her, reminding the respectable lady that her son-in-law was anything but. He was debauched and untrustworthy, according to his own aunt, and would no more help a woman in need than he would dance barefoot on horseback.
As soon as he knew that Mr. Bennet’s deterioration was irreversible, Mr. Collins became Mrs. Bennet’s rock.
Everything, from the confusing household accounts to the stocks which supported them, fell into the rector’s capable hands.
He had a skill with investments, being more careful and focused than Mr. Bennet, and increased their income comfortably.
He even added to the ladies’ pin money, no doubt to ease their minds during this difficult time.
Mrs. Bennet was eternally grateful and could not understand her daughters’ avid dislike of the man.
Mr. Collins had indeed become the master of Longbourn earlier than the entail allowed, and he had made himself irreplaceable. Sometimes even Mrs. Bennet forgot that he had no right to the authority he demanded. She slowly fell under his spell.
Elizabeth’s marriage was a blip; Jane’s stubbornness was a minor hurdle.
In fact, separating the two sisters was one of the best things that could have happened.
Without the older girls protesting about their father’s gradual confinement, Mr. Collins had more freedom than ever before.
In a few months his power over the family was unchallenged.
If only the distant voices could be silenced!
The younger girls were coaxed away, and Mrs. Bennet realised that she must make a stand.
Encouraged by the dreadful Elizabeth, they treated the goodly man like some kind of monster.
Mrs. Bennet could not even think of her daughters without feeling sour.
They were trying to spoil everything out of pure selfishness.
In short, she believed her delusions completely.
That was, until they all sat down together at Pemberley’s vast dining table.
There, sipping exquisite wine from a beautiful glass, Mrs. Bennet was forced to watch in silence as Mr. Collins undermined and humiliated her.
He was pompous and arrogant, demanding and snide, and gave the girls orders as if they too were part of the entail.
A woman has few things in her life that she can truly call her own.
The raising of daughters was sacrosanct.
In the past, Mr. Collins had respected this.
He managed their behaviour via the mother.
He made suggestions; Mrs. Bennet turned them into orders.
Now, he had cast her aside. He spoke to his cousins as if he had complete power over them.
Mrs. Bennet was sickened to discover that he did.
Of course he did. She had given it to him.
Mrs. Bennet was horrified by this revelation. She managed to protest, weakly, by overruling him. His rude retorts suddenly became clear to her, and she could see the disgust in everyone’s eyes. Was this the person that she had been defending for over a year?
Was this the man who she thought was good enough to shelter her in her dotage?
“How much are you willing to gamble on his good will, mother?”
Elizabeth’s words burned. Jane’s were worse. They stuck in her mother’s throat like gristle, choking tears from her eyes that she quickly dashed away. Mrs. Bennet would recall parts of it on her deathbed, she was sure.
“You have brought my poor dear mama down to this wretched remove, where even her youngest, dearest child cannot look her in the eye without fear. You have made a good woman lose her daughters’ love, which is a terrible thing, for the sake of your greed.”
Mrs. Bennet stared wildly around the table.
She bid Lydia leave with her, tempting her with pretty gowns and praise. Lydia was her favourite, her treasure, and they had always adored each other.
They had.
Mrs. Bennet beckoned Lydia with treats, for she knew that love would not be enough. There was none left in her lovely daughter’s accusing eyes.
Why would there be, when her own mother’s heart had been empty for so long?