Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
COLLINS
The moment Mr Darcy walked away, Collins began to tremble.
For several minutes there, he had been certain the man was going to challenge him to a duel or cut him down where he stood.
Having been given a reprieve, he was so grateful to be alive, he forgot about the friendly competition he and Mr Hurst had begun, and he also forgot, for the moment at least, that he had meant to warn Lady Catherine about her wayward nephew.
Mr Hurst, however, had apparently not forgotten their rivalry. “You were doing well there, shirr. I am poshitive you would have won but for Darshy’s interr—interr—”
“Interrupting us?” Collins suggested.
“Exshackly.”
“You, sir, need some coffee.” Collins scurried off to fetch a cup of black coffee. He sat with Mr Hurst and urged him to drink it. Then he went back to the coffee station, and he plaintively asked the maid how he could get an entire pot of coffee, or at least more than just a cup at a time.
“Oh! I came to help from Netherfield. I….” The maid looked about, obviously not certain how to provide more than a single cup per guest.
“I can bring you a pot of coffee,” a woman’s voice offered.
Collins turned to see a young woman who—from her clothing—Collins knew to be a guest, not a maid.
He hesitated, uncertain of the propriety of the situation, and the young woman spoke again: “My name is Miss Charlotte Lucas, and I am a neighbour of the Bennet family. I do not know Mrs Darcy very well, for she is very often in Town, but I have come here to Longbourn to help Mrs Bennet several times when Miss Bennet was ill, and I know my way around their kitchen.”
“Thank you very much!” Collins said.
“Where shall I bring the coffee, when it has perked?”
Collins pointed to where Mr Hurst sat, looking just as sodden as ever. “I am attempting to help one of the gentlemen from Netherfield Park, and I believe he will require a copious amount of coffee to feel well again.”
Miss Lucas smiled, and she looked quite… pretty. She said, “That is very kind of you, a newcomer to Meryton, attempting to help someone you have only met today.”
Collins preened a bit, accepted the single refill that the Netherfield maid offered, and trotted back to Mr Hurst.
Miss Lucas was as good as her word, and Collins thanked her several times when she brought a large pot of coffee. He remained with his new friend, urging more and more coffee consumption, until the man seemed entirely sober.
Sober—and quite embarrassed. “Thank you so much for helping me recover,” Mr Hurst said. “I am in your debt, and for now, at least please drop my title and call me Hurst.”
Collins bobbed his head multiple times. “Glad to, so very glad to. And of course, you must do the same with me. I mean with my name. Call me Collins.”
Hurst offered his hand, and they shook.
“I find it difficult to believe—and pitiable, really—how much food is still uneaten,” Collins said. “This seems like a disaster; I feel certain that Mrs Bennet will feel very hurt by the lacklustre appetites found here.”
“On the contrary,” Hurst protested, “I have seen people with laden plates. I even saw both the bride and the groom eat a surprising amount—I have attended many wedding breakfasts when the wedded couple were so busy greeting and farewelling their guests, they had no time to eat. But this party—well, there is a great deal of food on offer, I must say!”
Collins rubbed his hands together. “I could do another go-round of the buffet.”
“As could I!” Hurst added, “To be honest, now that I am sober, I am convinced that I drank most of my breakfast, and thus I actually need more food.”
“But no eating races, and no competition,” Collins said.
“Of course not! Who would compete in who can eat the most, or fastest?” Hurst laughed heartily, apparently aware that his inebriated self had attempted to do so, and he continued, “I suppose I should write a note of apology for my unseemly display. I seem to remember some guests, and Mr and Mrs Darcy themselves, looking quite shocked at our speedy dispatch of this lovely food.”
Collins had not felt ashamed of that particular behaviour until Hurst said that, and his face fell. “I do not suppose that I know where to send a letter of apology. But if you will help me with the direction….” Collins took a deep breath and said, “I shall write an apology, as well.”
Feeling better at Hurst’s smiling approbation, he followed Hurst to every food-laden table, taking only a small helping of each dish, but of course amassing huge piles of delectable foods.
The two sat down together to eat, and in between bites, Hurst bragged about how much food his brother, a man named Charles Bingley, could eat.
At intervals, Collins said, “I am astonished!” or “Very impressive!” He felt quite deeply connected to this Bingley fellow, who seemed to have the same relationship with food that he had.
Hurst finished his soliloquy with the words, “Damnedest thing—my brother eats more than me, but he always stays slim.”
“Slim?” Collins scoffed. “How could that be?”
“I do not know,” Hurst said, “but it is true. He is quite the buck, too. According to my wife, all the ladies in London think him handsome. Mrs Darcy never looked at him that way, but of course, what woman could look at a Bingley if there was a Darcy nearby?”
“Because of money,” Collins suggested. He had noticed that women seemed to find rich men far more handsome than the poor ones.
That was one reason he was thrilled to receive the position of vicar in Lady Catherine’s parish—he made quite a tidy sum, and as the heir to a prosperous estate, his income was certain to increase.
He had explained all that to Mrs Bennet, and he was satisfied that she was duly impressed.
But Hurst flicked his hand as if brushing away Collins’s theories. “Money must be part of it, but there are not many who are as intelligent, or principled, or handsome as Darcy.”
Collins had been leaning over his plate, because the most delectable candied carrots he had ever tasted were busy skittering down a slope made of some truly excellent boiled potatoes.
He was able to stop one carrot’s plunge by popping it into his mouth, and as he enjoyed the sweet taste, he built a sort of crinkle-crankle wall using slices of beef tongue.
It would not do to lose his carrots to the tablecloth!
Once his food was safe, Collins felt the perspiration of relief on his face, and he used his handkerchief to dab his forehead up to his crown. “What were we speaking of?” he asked Hurst.
“Darcy. Attractive. I have heard that the ladies flocked to him even more than to my brother.”
Collins felt confused. “Well, but he is out of their reach now, is he not? He was married today, correct?”
Hurst gave a barking sort of laugh. “You are correct, sir,” he responded. And then he dedicated himself most readily to his plate of food, as did Collins to his own.
“Damned fine wedding breakfast,” Hurst mumbled a minute later.
“Indeed it is!” Collins agreed.