Chapter Eight #2
“No, that is not necessary.” He pressed his lips together and looked anxiously at the clock ticking solemnly in the corner of the room. “We do not have time for you to change into attire that is more... befitting your position.”
Befitting her position? Elizabeth nearly scoffed aloud.
What could be more appropriate than fine muslin with hand-worked embroidery?
Were she to dress according to her actual standing, she would parade through Kent adorned in nothing but the finest silks and satins from London’s most fashionable modistes.
Clearly, nothing would ever please her cousin; he seemed determined to find fault at every turn.
The weather proved agreeable for their half-mile stroll across the park to Rosings, and Elizabeth admired the grounds with genuine pleasure.
Mr. Collins, however, dampened her spirits by cataloguing the manor’s windows and reciting, down to the last shilling, what Sir Lewis de Bourgh had paid for each pane before his death.
Inside, a butler led them to Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Miss de Bourgh’s companion, Mrs. Jenkinson.
Her ladyship rose at their entrance, her tall figure adorned in rich silk.
Charlotte made the necessary introductions with perfect composure, presenting Elizabeth as her particular friend, while Mr. Collins bowed so deeply that Elizabeth feared he might topple forward.
Their party of eight exchanged pleasantries until dinner was announced, and they proceeded to the dining room with so much ceremony it seemed that Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine had choreographed the processional between them.
Following the meal, the entire company retired to the drawing room, as custom dictated when gentlemen were few, and Lady Catherine dominated the conversation without pause until coffee arrived.
Her pronouncements on every topic came with such finality that Elizabeth, perched uncomfortably on the edge of a stiff settee, suspected few dared challenge her opinions, lest they face the arctic chill of her ladyship’s disapproval.
She then watched in astonishment as the mistress of Rosings interrogated Charlotte about household matters, offering unsolicited directives on everything from linens to livestock.
Nothing at the parsonage escaped her scrutiny, not even the poultry yard.
Elizabeth silently wagered that Lady Catherine’s closest encounter with a hen was likely the boiled egg served at her breakfast table.
That great lady, having finally exhausted her litany of suggestions, turned her hawkish gaze upon Elizabeth.
“Remind me of your sisters’ number, Miss Bennet,” she demanded, though Elizabeth had already supplied this information several times that evening.
“Four, your ladyship,” Elizabeth replied with practiced patience.
“And their ages in relation to your own?”
“One elder and three younger than myself,” Elizabeth replied, keeping her answers succinct.
“Has your eldest sister secured a husband?”
“Not as yet. She visits relatives in London, where we hope favourable acquaintances might be made.”
“Most prudent,” Lady Catherine nodded approvingly before addressing Charlotte.
“I understand Mr. Collins stands to inherit the Bennet estate. A fortunate arrangement for you, Mrs. Collins, though I generally disapprove of estates passing away from daughters. What provision exists for your mother and sisters when your father is gone, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, mastering the indignation that threatened to colour her cheeks. Such impertinent questioning deserved rebuke, but Charlotte’s situation demanded forbearance.
“My father’s cousin, Arthur Bennet, passed away in November, and his estate was bequeathed to my father.”
“That resolves matters nicely. Entailments are troublesome affairs. Sir Lewis wisely avoided such complications with our estate.”
Mr. Collins leaned forward eagerly. “When might I accompany your father to view this inheritance? I would like to familiarise myself with all aspects of my future holdings.”
“The property will never be yours, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth explained with deliberate calm. “Arthur Bennet’s line descends from Philip Bennet, the elder brother of Timothy, from which our branch follows, and is unaffected by the entail placed on Longbourn.”
“But I am your father’s heir,” he protested.
“To Longbourn only, sir. The entail established by Silas Bennet has no bearing on this inheritance.”
Elizabeth was so very glad for the hours she had spent poring over the family Bible, tracing the lines of lineages with her fingertip across faded pages. That idle curiosity now served as a shield against Mr. Collins’s presumption.
The evening proceeded to cards, with Lady Catherine commanding a quadrille table that included Sir William, Charlotte and Mr. Collins. Miss de Bourgh chose to play at Cassino, so Elizabeth and Maria had the honour of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson to make up her party.
Elizabeth was quietly surprised at how gentle Miss de Bourgh was to not only her companion, but also to poor Maria, whose fingers trembled so violently that she could scarcely hold her cards, revealing a kindness quite at odds with her mother’s character.
After precisely one hour, Lady Catherine pronounced the entertainment concluded, and the carriage was offered to Mrs. Collins, gratefully accepted by Mr. Collins, and immediately ordered.
With many speeches of thankfulness from Mr. Collins and as many bows from Sir William, they departed.
As soon as they had driven from the door, Elizabeth was called upon by her cousin to give her opinion of all that she had seen at Rosings, which, for Charlotte’s sake, she gave a more favourable impression than it deserved.
Her diplomacy proved unnecessary, for not a minute after she had given her opinion, Mr. Collins took up the banner of praising her ladyship’s greatness that persisted until they reached the parsonage gate, a mercy, as it seemed as though her ears would bleed out if she heard another word of Lady Catherine’s condescension.
Her visit with Charlotte stretched before her like an interminable sermon.
If two days had proved this trying, could she possibly endure the full six weeks?
Would her dearest friend forgive an abbreviated stay?
If every evening promised such tedium, Elizabeth resolved to depart by month’s end, even if she had to drag her trunk behind her.
The irony of a similar situation, with relation to the manner her cousin had departed Longbourn last November, was not lost on her. Fate truly had a sense of humour.