Chapter 7
Dining Room
Rosings
Mr. Collins glanced over the table. It was a very large one, and every inch of the white cloth covering the wooden surface was hidden beneath fine china and silver dishes.
A wealth of food, in the purest sense of the word, filled the table.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, in all her pride, would never dream of tolerating less than an abundance of the finest dishes being placed before her.
Every dinner would be fit to be served to royalty, even when it was only Lady Catherine, Miss de Bourgh, Mrs. Jenkinson, who served as Miss de Bourgh’s companion, and Mr. Collins.
While he appreciated the fineness of the dinners placed before him, he privately disapproved of such flamboyant waste.
There was, moreover, a price to be paid for the enjoyment of such delicious meals.
Lady Catherine loved nothing so much as her own importance, and genuinely seemed to believe that she was blessing everyone by providing her opinion on every topic under the sun.
Thus she spoke almost incessantly, save for the occasional pause to eat and drink.
Very little participation from the other diners was permitted, much less required.
It was dull work to sit and listen to Lady Catherine expound on whatever subject had caught her fancy, but it did free up one's mind to focus on dinner.
“Mr. Collins, you must marry, and soon,” Lady Catherine declared, and the clergyman shook himself a trifle. If the conversation was shifting to his own lack of a wife, he had best pay closer attention.
“Yes, indeed, Madame,” he said.
The mistress of Rosings lifted her chin and said, “But naturally you must be wise in selecting the right wife. Choose a gentlewoman for my sake and for your own. Let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a long way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will guide her toward excellence in her duties.”
Lady Catherine actually paused for a moment, and Mr. Collins managed a smile. “That is most kind of you, Madame.”
This brought a regal nod on the part of the older woman, followed by another spate of words.
“To preside over a parsonage is no small thing, Mr. Collins, and given your future as the heir to an estate, it is even more imperative that you find a good woman. After all, she will eventually be mistress of Longbourn, and that is a great responsibility. Indeed, it will be an honor and privilege for her to receive advice from me on how best to serve the tenantry of your future estate. Not, of course, that Longbourn can truly compare to Rosings!”
Again, there was a pause, and Mr. Collins said, “Certainly not, Lady Catherine!”
His patroness nodded complacently and continued, “I do not think I flatter myself in saying that Rosings is one of the greatest estates in all of England. When my nephew Darcy marries Anne, their union will combine Rosings with yet another great estate, Pemberley, which is in Derbyshire. Their heir will be one of the richest men in the country…”
Mr. Collins took a bite of truly excellent beef and glanced at Miss de Bourgh, who was hunched in her chair with a plate of mostly untouched food in front of her.
Poor Miss de Bourgh. She was not a healthy lady, not at all, though Mr. Collins wondered sometimes whether she would feel better if she was not always swathed in shawls and hovered over by her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson.
“… not surprising, given that so many masters of estates are quite foolish about managing their tenant farmers. I, clearly, am entirely capable of managing the absurd complaints of the lower classes. Hard work is vital, and one cannot afford to coddle individuals who…”
Mr. Collins, not certain that he would be able to control his expression of disapproval at this uncharitable speech, lifted his wine glass to take a sip and hide his face.
It would not do for Lady Catherine to realize just how fundamentally her parson disagreed with her on the management of the tenants of Rosings.
He had a good living at Hunsford, with a sturdy parsonage and an excellent income.
Fresh out of seminary with no family to recommend him to a patron, young William Collins had scarcely dared to hope for more than a position as a lowly curate for some years.
Then had come the letter from his friend Mr. Thompson, a year his senior and already in search of a living.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, mistress of Rosings, had an open position and was interviewing parsons for the living at Hunsford.
Mr. Thompson had found the situation intolerable, for the lady was conceited, arrogant, and selfish.
It was nonetheless a golden opportunity for a man of unlimited patience and filled with grace and compassion for a town in need of a kindly shepherd.
Young and desperate and optimistic, William Collins had deemed himself a man of patience, and prayed for grace, and journeyed into Kent to apply for the position.
The interview had been trying, and he had seen how true was his friend Thompson’s assessment of the lady’s character.
Mr. Collins had dissembled his own intelligence, adopted a flattering manner, and to his own considerable astonishment, won himself the position.
Uneasy proverbs about lying tongues and flattering lips had drifted across his mind, but having established himself as the Hunsford parson, he had been determined to be a good one.
Certainly, the position was difficult at times.
Lady Catherine showed no generosity or charity to the many tenant families who depended on the estate.
She expected sycophantic devotion from her parson, and her steward, and all of her dependents.
Mr. Collins could simulate this devotion, to a degree, but his greater concern was for his flock.
If he could win a certain amount of goodwill from Lady Catherine, perhaps he could use his influence to the advantage of his parishioners.
It would do no one any good if he were to make an enemy of his patroness, though at least only his bishop had the power to remove him from the living, and even then, only if he were to act heinously.
But Mr. Collins was no fool; he knew that it would be catastrophic to make an enemy of his patroness.
He knew that Lady Catherine was quite malicious enough to make his life miserable if he incurred her wrath.
Better to cultivate her favorable opinion, to make use of his good income to help such of his parishioners who were struggling, and to encourage the townsfolk and the farmers and their families.
Perhaps in time, he could even flatter Lady Catherine into expending more of her considerable wealth on improving the lives of her people.
Collins had to acknowledge that in one area his patroness was correct.
Now that he was creditably established, he needed to find a wife.
A good rector’s wife would be a great blessing to the parish as well as to her husband, ministering especially to the wives and daughters and children of the tenantry and town.
She would have to be a remarkable lady indeed to endure being mistress of Hunsford, though.
“Now I understand that your cousin, Mr. Bennet, has only daughters, Mr. Collins?”
This called for an actual response, and he said, “Yes, Madame.”
It was a stupid question, for she knew that he stood to inherit the estate of Longbourn, which would go to his cousin Bennet’s son if the man had sired one.
“’Tis very foolish of Mrs. Bennet,” Lady Catherine said haughtily, lifting her nose skyward before lowering it again so that she could take a long swallow of wine.
“If I had had more than one child, I would have had a son!” she continued.
As usual, Lady Catherine grew even more ridiculous when she had drunk a substantial amount of wine.
At least he would not have to endure her blatherings for much longer tonight, because he was leaving for Hertfordshire on the morrow and had told Lady Catherine, with suitable meekness, that he wished to leave directly after dinner so that he could get a good night’s sleep before his departure.
“You should consider marrying one of your Bennet cousins,” Lady Catherine pronounced, “so long as she is suitable.”
“I have considered that,” Mr. Collins agreed truthfully.
It would be a definite kindness for him to marry one of his cousins so that the estate of Longbourn would not be entirely lost to the Bennet family.
On the other hand, his bride must be able to live under the less than benevolent oversight of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
A lively, spirited girl would find the lady intolerable, and Mr. Collins would not wish his wife to be unhappy.
In any case, he had every intention of looking after his Bennet cousins if necessary. That was the godly thing to do. After all, it was not their fault that the estate was entailed away from the female line.
“You must also take copious notes about the estate of Longbourn,” his patroness declared. “We will talk about the situation at length when you return from Hertfordshire.”
Again, Mr. Collins suppressed a grimace of distaste. Why must his patroness poke her long nose into everything?
At least he was departing tomorrow for close to a fortnight, which meant he would have a welcome reprieve from her speeches and pronouncements.