Chapter Nineteen
Mr. Collins was punctual as to the time of his arrival at Longbourn. The family stood on the front steps to welcome him; he doffed his black hat and bowed.
“Welcome to Longbourn, Mr. Collins,” Mr. Bennet said, bowing in return.
“I am grateful that you allow me to visit,” Mr. Collins said, gravely. “I am aware that you and my father – well, perhaps best not to speak of it.”
Mr. Bennet shrugged. “The feud died with him; I do not choose to carry it on.”
“I thank you; that is most gracious.”
Mr. Bennet introduced his wife and his daughters, beginning with Elizabeth and ending with Lydia.
Mr. Collins bowed to each of them, murmuring that he was everything delighted to meet his cousins at last.
“There is one more daughter, Jane, our eldest; she is visiting my brother in London,” Mrs. Bennet informed him, as she led the way into the parlour.
“Ah. I am sorry to miss the opportunity of becoming acquainted with her.”
Tea was served. Mr. Collins surveyed his cousins from under his lashes, and they did the same. He was not a particularly handsome gentleman, as he was already beginning to lose his hair and his complexion was muddy. But he was tall and lean, and he spoke well.
After he finished his tea, he asked if he might be permitted to go to his room in order to make himself more presentable, and he followed Mrs. Bennet up the stairs.
“Well, Mary, what do you think?” Lydia demanded, as soon as he was out of sight.
“I did not see anything objectionable in him,” Mary replied, slowly.
“Ugh! He is not at all handsome!” Lydia declared.
“No, but there is more to a gentleman than his appearance,” Mary said.
Kitty put in, “Very true! After all, he will inherit Longbourn. Just think, Mary, you could have Mama’s room! It is the largest bedroom in the house and has the best furniture.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Of all the things to consider in marriage, Kitty, having a large bedroom must be the most absurd.”
***
Supper that night was a good one, the butcher having been persuaded by the coins given him to provide meat for the table.
The Bennets learned more of Mr. Collins.
His parsonage was a good size, he told them.
Large enough for a wife and a small family, certainly.
He glanced only momentarily at Elizabeth as he spoke, but then was careful to address his hostess.
Indeed, his words could not have had a more receptive audience.
“Do tell us more,” Mrs. Bennet urged him.
“There is little more to tell,” he said. “My patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is a…” Here he hesitated before settling on a word.” “A determined woman, eager to be helpful in the concerns of her dependents.”
Mr. Bennet asked the question in everyone’s mind. “Too much so, I gather?”
“I fear so,” Mr. Collins admitted. “I would never say so in public, of course, but I see no issue with confessing the truth of it in this family circle. She has opinions on everything, and expects those opinions to be treated with the weight of law. She asks me all manner of questions about my parishioners, most of which I refuse to answer.”
“Most?” Mary asked.
He turned to her. “Yes, most, Miss Mary. If it seems to me that her enquiries, though impertinent, might lead to her providing support of some kind, then I will – indeed, I must – answer her. It lies within her power to provide medications for the ill, food for the hungry, clothing for the children, and she often exercises that power to good effect. Indeed, she can be quite generous. So yes, as dreadful as it sounds, I have appointed myself as the judge as to what and when I share details, however intimate, of my parishioners’ lives with her ladyship. ”
“It is not at all dreadful,” Mary declared, “Who is to judge of what you should speak, if not yourself? And surely none of your parishioners would wish it otherwise, if your words prompt her largesse!”
“Thank you, Miss Mary,” Mr. Collins said, looking across the table at her and smiling kindly. “You have eased my conscience considerably.”
Mary reddened and looked down at her plate.
“In fact, it was her prompting that led me to come here,” he went on.
“Indeed?” Mrs. Bennet asked.
“Yes; she believes it is the duty of every clergyman to marry; once she learned that my cousin Bennet had five daughters, she urged me to meet those daughters before looking elsewhere for a wife.”
“I see,” Mrs. Bennet said. “This is her opinion; what of your own?”
“I agree that a married clergyman may better serve his flock than one who remains unmarried. For now, it seems politic that I say no more.” He looked down at his plate as he spoke, careful not to look at any of his female cousins.
***
Mr. Bennet evidently approved of his cousin, for he invited Mr. Collins to join him for a brandy after the ladies had exited the room.
“You understood me, I hope, when I declined to speak more about my female cousins?” Mr. Collins asked at once.
Mr. Bennet considered his cousin. “Marriage is for a lifetime, and it is best to make as well-informed a decision as possible.”
“Exactly. Miss Bennet is very pretty, and I cannot deny that she catches my eye,” Mr. Collins admitted.
“She is all but engaged to a neighbour of ours,” Mr. Bennet said, smoothly.
“Engaged! Very well; that is good to know. The youngest two are too young, of course. Would you object to my getting to know your Miss Mary better while I am here?”
“I do not object at all. If I may be permitted to offer an unsolicited opinion, Mary would make an excellent wife for a parson.”
***
When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the parlour, Mary did not hesitate to demonstrate her talent at the pianoforte, and certainly she had never played better. Mr. Collins was not shy in expressing his delight.
Mr. and Mrs. Bennet exchanged meaningful looks. Mr. Collins’ visit was proving to be more enjoyable – not to mention more important – than either of them had anticipated.