Chapter 13
It was nine o’clock in the morning, and Mr. Bennet was well into his second cup of wine; thus, he was most displeased when there was a timid knock on the door of his library.
“Come in,” he ordered irritably, and then stared in surprise before rising unsteadily to his feet, “Mr. Collins, I presume?”
“Yes, Cousin Bennet, it is I myself, Mr. Collins, clergyman of Hunsford by the munificent grace of Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” the clergyman recited as he scanned the library for anything of value. A great many books filled the shelves which lined the walls, provoking a sly smile of satisfaction. He was not himself a great reader, but a well-stocked library was a precious commodity.
“I hope you are feeling better, Mr. Bennet?” he asked with a courteous bob of the head. “Mrs. Bennet tells me that you have been unwell, but I feel I really must talk to you about my mission here to your fine estate which is, I flatter myself, a most worthy desire on the part of a man of God, which I am.”
The master of Longbourn frowned. He was not in the mood to talk to this tiresome man who would inherit Longbourn instead of his dear son Matthew. On the other hand, he was too apathetic to actually throw the man from the room.
“Please sit down, Mr. Collins,” he ordered, pouring himself another cup of wine and taking a long drink.
“Thank you, sir. It is my honor and pleasure to finally meet you and your fine family of daughters, Mr. Bennet, though it is regrettable from your perspective, though a blessing to mine, that they are all women. Indeed, I never imagined that I would be blessed to be heir to Longbourn, but the ways of God are strange indeed as I am sure you would agree ...”
Mr. Bennet sucked in a deep breath of air and considered his options. He already felt a little unsteady and Collins was tall and well fed; he could not hurl him from the room alone. On the other hand, his servants would come if he called. Well, he would reserve judgment for now, but he could already tell that he and Mr. Collins would not be bosom friends.
“What did you say?” he demanded suddenly, aware that his cousin’s words had continued to wash over him like so much corrosive lime.
“I said, Mr. Bennet, that I wish to marry one of your daughters to mitigate their pain when you pass on to your heavenly reward, though I hope, of course, that the time of your passing is in the far future. We never know, however, when ...”
“That is very gracious of you,” Bennet interrupted sarcastically. “Which of my daughters do you consider worthy of the position at Hunsford as your wife, Mr. Collins?”
The clergyman frowned at the odd tone in Mr. Bennet’s voice. Was not his offer a gracious and generous one?
“Well, I initially thought that I should offer for Miss Bennet since she is the eldest, but your good lady tells me that she is close to being engaged to a certain Mr. Bingley?”
Bennet did not keep a particularly close eye on the doings of the household, but he was vaguely aware that his dear Jane was quite fond of Netherfield’s master.
“Yes, I believe there is some hope in that direction,” he agreed, lifting his goblet for another sip.
“So the obvious solution is for me is to take Miss Elizabeth as my wife.”
Bennet was so startled that he actually spit the wine out of his mouth and onto his desk. That was annoying on two counts – firstly, he had lost a pleasant mouthful of alcohol and secondly, his desk was now even messier than usual.
“What?!”
The rector forced his spine to straighten at this incredible response from the current master of Longbourn, “She is the second in birth and beauty, Mr. Bennet, and thus, given the circumstances, most worthy to become my wife.”
“Did Mrs. Bennet suggest such a thing to you?” Bennet asked angrily. Surely even his wife was not idiot enough to think Elizabeth should leave Longbourn tied to thismoron?
“Er, no, that is, Mrs. Bennet told me that your second daughter is, um, quite independent and even impertinent and would not treat Lady Catherine with sufficient respect, but I consider that quite unlikely. Anyone who is privileged to live under the beneficent auspices of Lady Catherine de Bourgh cannot fail to submit to her authority and wisdom. Thus …”
“My fool of a wife says something sensible and this dolt ignores her,” Mr. Bennet mumbled to himself.
“Excuse me? I’m afraid I couldn’t quite hear you.”
Mr. Bennet sighed deeply and leaned back in this chair, “Are you much of a reader, Mr. Collins?”
The man blinked, “A reader? I can read, of course.”
“No, do you read books for pleasure or instruction on a regular basis, Mr. Collins.”
“Erm, no. My duties as parson do not permit much time …”
“Do you speak Latin or Greek?”
“At Cambridge, of course I memorized some Latin …”
“How about mathematics, Mr. Collins? Are you skilled in mathematics?”
A bead of sweat slithered down the rector’s brow and he shook his head, “No.”
“Then trust me when I say this, sir, that you and my Lizzy are not well suited. She can translate at least some Greek and Latin passages, and she has a remarkable head for figures. I assure you that she would find you exceptionally dull, and you in turn would find her offensively intelligent. Besides, I need her here.”
His guest was red with outrage at his host’s words, but the last sentence caught his attention, “You need her here, Cousin? Why?”
“Why?” Mr. Bennet inquired with an indelicate snort. “Why? Because she oversees Longbourn, that is why! My health is too indifferent to permit me to administer the estate properly, and my wife has not the intelligence to do so. No, we cannot do without Elizabeth.”
Mr. Collins gaped at him with abject horror, “She? You are saying my young cousin is running the estate? Surely not! Do you not have a steward?”
“Mr. Gregory? Yes, we do, but I assure you that while he is a good man, it is Elizabeth who provides true leadershiphere at Longbourn. I will not permit her to leave, Mr. Collins, and since she is not of age, you had best turn your eyes elsewhere. What of Mary? She has always been a serious soul and might enjoy being a parson’s wife.”
“She is not …” Collins began impulsively, before trailing away in embarrassment.
“Beautiful?” the other man demanded cynically. “Take my advice, Mr. Collins. Do not marry based on outward appearance. I did that and have regretted it these twenty odd years. Now go away. I am ill and need rest.”
Collins opened his mouth, closed it, eyed the nearly empty wine bottle with suspicion, and left the room with a huff.
It was absurd to think that his cousin, Elizabeth, a woman who was not yet of age, could possibly run this estate with any skill whatsoever.
/
“Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth, who was huddled with the housekeeper discussing the food expenses of the last quarter, looked up in surprise. Mr. Collins usually slept late and kept to the parlor and sitting rooms. It was peculiar to find him penetrating into the kitchen.
“Yes, Mr. Collins?”
“Might I have a few words with you?”
Elizabeth blew out a slow breath and pasted a smile on her lips, “Of course, Mr. Collins. Let me finish speaking to Mrs. Hill, and I will join you in the west sitting room.”
The man nodded, though his face was creased in an irritable frown, and left the room.
Elizabeth finished her discussion with Hill and stepped into the sitting room. She carefully left the door open and halted a few feet from the entrance, just in case she felt a strong need to leave the room promptly.
Mr. Collins was standing portentously in front of the window and he looked down on her with clear disapproval on his face.
“Miss Elizabeth, I spoke to your father a few minutes ago.”
Elizabeth eyed him uneasily. At this hour, her father was likely not too drunk, but he was rarely completely sober.
“Yes?”
“He informed me that you, not yet one and twenty years of age, are overseeing the Longbourn estate. Is that true?”
Elizabeth hesitated and shook her head slowly, “That is not entirely correct, no. Mr. Gregory is a fine steward and oversees the day to day administration of the estate. My father and I discuss all legal papers and he, naturally, signs all documents. I assist with various tasks which are ill suited for my mother and which my father finds impossible due to his precarious health, but I am, of course, not the mistress of the estate.”
The man’s plump face relaxed and he nodded, “That is all true enough, Cousin. I am relieved that you realize your own place. You are far too young, and too female, to administer Longbourn with any ability.”
For a moment, Elizabeth was tempted to lash out verbally, but her ready sense of humor came to her rescue. Really, Mr. Collins was an imbecile!
“But is not Rosings well administered by Lady Catherine, also a female?” she inquired innocently.
The man’s face paled in horror at these words, and he nodded rather frantically, “Yes, of course! Of course! But you cannot possibly be comparing yourself to Lady Catherine herself!”
“Naturally not.”
“She is the daughter of an earl, Miss Elizabeth, and far older and more experienced than you are. Her noble antecedents give her the authority and ability to manage an estate far greater than this humble place.”
Elizabeth contented herself with a tight nod. Mr. Collins was fast shifting from unknowingly amusing to annoying.
“I wish to tour the estate,” Mr. Collins announced. “It seems only right given that I will be master when your father dies.”
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, but this was rational enough. It would be better for everyone if Mr. Collins had some prior experience with the tenants and lands.
“Of course, sir. The weather seems uncertain today and tonight we are attending the dinner at my Aunt Philips. Perhaps we can tour the estate on horseback tomorrow morning?”
The man frowned hideously at these words, “I do not need for you to come, Miss Elizabeth. I will go with Mr. Gregory, who must know far more about Longbourn than a mere female.”
Elizabeth suppressed a roll of her eyes, inhaled and then slowly let out a long breath, “As you wish, Mr. Collins.”
/
Mr. Wickham was even more handsome and charming than reported. He was tall but not excessively so, dark blond with sky blue eyes, graced with a charming figure which set off his military coat to admiration, and was light on his feet. To her surprise, Elizabeth was the focus of his attention within five minutes of his arrival at her Aunt Philips’ house, and ten minutes later they were conversing pleasantly about the society of Meryton and its environs.
“I am indeed very happy in Meryton, Miss Elizabeth,” the man declared in answer to her query. “I have known many people to crow about the pleasures and glories of London, but here we have been welcomed in a most generous way, far more warmly than anything I ever experienced in the Metropolis. I foretell a most delightful sojourn here for the entire regiment.”
“I hope so, Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth replied. “We always enjoy new acquaintances in our somewhat circumscribed society.”
“I have no doubt we will have a marvelous experience,” the gentleman returned warmly. “I grew up far north of here in Derbyshire and while I will always miss it, I must not repine when I have the pleasure of meeting charming ladies like you.”
“Derbyshire, Mr. Wickham? I recently met a man who also hails from Derbyshire. Have you ever visited an estate called Pemberley?”
There was a flash of some strong emotion which crossed Mr. Wickham’s face, to be replaced by resolute calm. What had she seen in his expression? Wariness? Surprise?
“Yes,” the man responded after a long moment. “I actually grew up on the Pemberley estate.”
Elizabeth sat up straighter in amazement, “Did you indeed? Then you must know Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully now, her curiosity excited. Mr. Wickham’s face, formerly so gentle and welcoming, was now blank and his eyes were watchful.
“I knew of him, of course,” the man replied carefully. “He was the son of the owner of the estate, Mr. George Darcy, while I was but the son of Mr. Darcy’s steward.”
“Oh, I see,” Elizabeth said with some disappointment. Mr. Wickham seemed a charming young man, but she supposed that the Darcys were too proud to permit their son to spend much time with a servant’s progeny.
“So you say that Mr. Darcy is living nearby?” asked her companion.
“Yes,” Elizabeth declared, glancing absently towards Jane, who was seated next to Lydia talking with Mr. Denny. “He is staying with a friend of his named Mr. Bingley, who is leasing Netherfield Estate not far from here.”
“And what do you think of Mr. Darcy?” Wickham inquired intently.
“Well, initially I confess that my opinion was not favorable as he seemed arrogant, but of late I have found him far more agreeable.”
“He does have a reputation for being very proud,” the man concurred. “The very rich often are, especially when they are connected to the nobility as Darcy is.”
Elizabeth considered her companion thoughtfully, “Yes, I suppose perhaps he can be accused of pride; nonetheless, I find him an admirable person in many ways. I gather he is a good master of Pemberley.”
“Oh yes, he is,” the man responded warmly. “He greatly esteems the Darcy name and Pemberley is a fine estate, with 10,000 pounds per annum in income. He would not neglect his duties for fear of what people might say if he were careless of his responsibilities.”
Elizabeth hesitated briefly, uneasy at the man’s words. It seemed clear that the handsome military man did not like Mr. Darcy in the least, which seemed a pity. She was tempted to ask a direct question, but she hardly knew this man; it would be indelicate.
“I daresay,” she said playfully, “that many a rich man has put on haughty airs to fend off young ladies in search of a fortune. But come, Mr. Wickham, please do tell me of Pemberley. I have rarely left home, but my father has a number of books about travel. Is Derbyshire similar to Hertfordshire in its landscapes?”
/
“It seems you enjoyed Mr. Wickham’s conversation very much,” Jane commented as the Bennet daughters gathered in Lydia’s room before retiring to their beds. “You spent much of the evening talking together.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her brow doubtfully, “In some ways, yes, it was very pleasant.”
“Only some ways?” Mary asked.
“Mr. Wickham is obviously very handsome,” Elizabeth mused, “along with being exceptionally charming. However, he clearly dislikes Mr. Darcy and kept making subtly negative remarks about the master of Pemberley.”
“Perhaps at one point Mr. Darcy said that Mr. Wickham was not handsome enough to talk to,” Kitty interjected, provoking a communal laugh from the Bennet sisters. Elizabeth was glad that Kitty had forgiven Mr. Darcy sufficiently that she could laugh about his insult now.
“Perhaps it was something like that,” she agreed. “Mr. Wickham was the son of Pemberley’s steward when he was a boy, and he and Mr. Darcy must be roughly the same age. Based on Mr. Wickham’s comments, it seems that as boys, they spent little time together.”
“It is not common for a gentleman’s son to spend much time with the children of servants,” Lydia remarked.
“True enough,” Elizabeth concurred. “Indeed, if that is what angers Mr. Wickham, he should not resent Mr. Darcy; it would have been his father’s decision, and no doubt Mr. Darcy spent many hours at his studies. He is a great reader and obviously well versed in administering a vast estate, both of which take time and effort.”