Chapter 15
Though not entirely unfamiliar to Elizabeth from former journeys, the road to Kent presented itself with a different aspect when one half-anticipated and half-dreaded the end of the journey.
The season, now advancing with more determination than it had shown only a fortnight before, had softened the edges of the landscape.
The fields no longer lay in the rigid stillness of winter, and though spring had not yet declared itself fully, there were signs enough of its approach to give the journey a pleasantness which might otherwise have been wanting.
Within the carriage, however, the scene was less tranquil.
Sir William Lucas, who had taken upon himself the agreeable duty of ensuring that no subject of general interest should be allowed to pass without proper acknowledgment, had already introduced the topic which must inevitably occupy them all.
“My dear Miss Bennet,” he said, leaning forward slightly as the carriage turned onto a narrower stretch of road, “I cannot express how exceedingly gratified I am that this unfortunate business in Meryton has been brought to a conclusion so entirely satisfactory. Such things, when allowed to proceed unchecked, reflect very ill upon a neighbourhood.”
Elizabeth, who had expected no less, received this with composure. “It is certainly better that it should be understood,” she said, careful to give the observation no greater weight than it required.
“Understood, yes,” Sir William continued, with increasing animation.
“And properly examined. That is the essential point. There must be an examination. There must be authority. Without such measures, we are all at the mercy of appearances, and appearances, as we have lately seen, are not to be trusted.”
Maria, who sat beside him and had been following her father’s remarks with earnest attention, turned quickly to Elizabeth. “It is all over the neighbourhood,” she said. “Everyone is speaking of it. I do not believe there has been anything so talked of in Meryton for years.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “Meryton is rarely at a loss for subjects of conversation.”
“But this is quite different,” Maria insisted. “It is not merely talk. It is known. That is what makes it so remarkable.”
Sir William nodded approvingly. “Exactly so. Known and established. It is not every day that such a character is so thoroughly exposed. One must admire the firmness with which the matter has been pursued.”
Elizabeth inclined her head slightly, though she did not immediately answer.
The conversation might have ended there, but Sir William, whose inclination toward agreeable reflection was not easily exhausted, continued for some time in the same strain, enlarging on the dangers of an imprudent man and the necessity of proper judgement, while Maria listened with evident satisfaction and occasionally added some remark of her own.
Elizabeth allowed them to proceed without interruption.
She had no wish to contradict what was said, nor to encourage it further.
The subject, though settled in fact, remained unsettled in her own mind in a way she could not entirely explain.
That justice had been done was beyond question.
That it had been done through means not her own was equally certain.
She had neither claimed the credit nor desired it, yet she was not insensible to the manner in which it had been accomplished.
She did not speak his name. That, too, was part of the discretion Mr Darcy would expect.
The carriage continued steadily on, the motion of it lending a rhythm to the conversation which gradually softened its earlier animation. As the miles passed, the discussion turned from what had been done to what might follow from it, and from there to subjects of a more ordinary nature.
At length, the parsonage at Hunsford came into view. As the carriage drew nearer, Sir William leaned forward to observe the approach with an expression of increasing approval, as though the appearance of the parsonage reflected not only on its inhabitants, but on himself as well.
“My dear Miss Bennet,” he said, gesturing lightly toward the house as it came fully into view, “you will perceive at once how very comfortably my daughter is situated. It is a most eligible residence. My daughter is well placed indeed.”
Elizabeth followed his glance. The parsonage stood tidily within a small yard, its situation neither lovely nor unpleasant, but possessing that air of order which suggests careful management rather than natural advantage.
There was nothing in it to excite admiration, yet neither was there anything to provoke discontent.
It was a neat, comfortable establishment, in which Charlotte would likely be perfectly satisfied.
“It appears very comfortable,” she said.
“Very comfortable indeed,” Sir William repeated, settling back with satisfaction. “I have always said that my daughter would know how to make the best of any situation. She has a mind for such things.”
Maria, who had been leaning forward to catch the first glimpse of the house, turned eagerly toward Elizabeth. “Charlotte writes that she is quite happy,” she said. “She says the house suits her perfectly.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I have no doubt it does.”
She spoke without hesitation, and yet even as she did so, she felt the distinction between what Charlotte had written and what Charlotte must feel.
With Charlotte, happiness had never been a matter of romance or expectations, but of arrangement, of comfort, of securing for herself the best that could be had.
That she had succeeded in doing so was not to be questioned.
That it was worth the price she had paid for it, Elizabeth could not determine so easily.
The carriage came to a stop before the house.
Almost at once, the door opened and Mr Collins appeared on the threshold.
His expression, already animated, turned to one of self-importance at the sight of their party, and he advanced with a degree of ceremony which suggested that the moment had long been anticipated.
“My dear Cousin Elizabeth!” he exclaimed, bowing deeply as she descended. “What a most distinguished pleasure this is. I cannot express the gratification I feel in welcoming you to Hunsford. Such an honour that you have come to accept the humble offerings of my house.”
Elizabeth, who had prepared herself for something of this kind, received his address with as much composure as she could command. “You are very kind, sir.”
“And Sir William, Miss Maria, how happy I am to see you all,” he continued, extending his attentions in turn, though never for long enough to diminish his focus on Elizabeth.
“My dear Charlotte has been in the greatest expectation of your arrival. Indeed, we have spoken of little else for several days.”
At this moment, Charlotte herself appeared behind him. Though her manner was calm, her smile was warm. “My dear Lizzy,” she said, stepping forward with unaffected pleasure. “I am very glad to see you.”
Elizabeth smiled and held out her hand, relieved at a greeting she need not pretend anything she did not feel. “My dear Charlotte.”
For a moment, all else receded. Charlotte’s manner had not changed.
There was the same steadiness, the same quiet self-possession, the same absence of display which had always distinguished her from those around her.
If there was any difference, it lay not in her, but in the situation she now occupied.
“I hope you are not fatigued,” Charlotte said as she led them inside. “The journey is not a short one.”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth replied.
Mr Collins, however, was not inclined to allow any interval of quiet reflection.
“You will find the house, I trust, in a state worthy of your inspection,” he said, following closely behind.
“Though it can make no pretensions to grandeur, it possesses advantages which, I believe, are not always to be met with in residences of this description. The situation, in particular, is much to be admired, in being so very near to Rosings Park, the seat of my noble patroness.”
Charlotte cast Elizabeth a brief look, in which there was the smallest hint of amusement, before turning again to her husband with composed attention. “We are very fortunate in our situation,” she agreed.
“Extremely so,” Mr Collins agreed, with renewed enthusiasm. “And you will have the advantage, my dear Miss Elizabeth, of observing for yourself the condescension and affability of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whose attentions to your humble cousin are such as cannot be too highly valued.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, fearing that she could not answer aloud without laughing and insulting her cousin’s dignity.
Perhaps seeing her difficulty, Charlotte intervened and persuaded her husband to allow their guests fully into the house.
But they had scarcely been shown into the sitting room when the sound of wheels on the gravel reached them.
Mr Collins started visibly. “A carriage!” he exclaimed, and hurried to the window to peer out. “Why, yes! I had thought it must be. Indeed, it could be no other. Such an honour we are to receive!”
“Who is it, my dear?” Charlotte inquired mildly.
“Why, my dearest wife! It is none other than Lady Catherine herself. Make haste, make haste!”
As Elizabeth wondered what Mr Collins wished them to do in haste, Charlotte looked toward the window without alarm. “Lady Catherine did mention that she might call,” she remarked.
“And now we must not lose a moment,” Mr Collins urged. “It is proper, indeed it is necessary, that we receive her ladyship at the door.”