Chapter Eleven #2
“Mr. Darcy!” the parson interrupted, not waiting for his host to finish speaking.
“What a pleasure to make your esteemed acquaintance. I have heard so very much about you, all of it most flattering, no doubt, from my esteemed patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who is your very own aunt! Oh, what a great honour to meet you indeed, sir. You will be very pleased to know that your aunt and cousin Miss Anne de Bourgh were in excellent health when last I saw them only two days ago. Lady Catherine will be most delighted to hear that I have become known to you, for as she so often reminds me—”
“Mr. Collins.” Darcy rose from his chair and offered a curt nod of the head.
To allow the man to continue speaking would be a torture worse than acknowledging him, despite the lack of manners the toad had demonstrated.
Interrupting an introduction! Speaking before being properly introduced, and in such tones, as if he were the superior! Had the man no shame?
Bennet came to his rescue. “Do take some eggs and tea, Mr. Collins. We do not stand upon ceremony here for our morning meal. Mary, help your cousin to some bread and cold meat as well.” Bennet glanced across to Darcy, the trace of a smirk upon his face.
The meaning was clear: If the parson were engaged in eating all the food given him, he could not fill the air with his meaningless words. It seemed a sound strategy.
Miss Elizabeth’s own resigned smile echoed her father’s. Mr. Collins was a man to be tolerated rather than admired. Every gesture of civility must be offered him, of course, but no one would miss his presence when he returned home to—
“...Hunsford, which is the rectory adjacent to the very grand estate where your dear aunt dwells in such elegance, and where she bestows such condescension upon those fortunate enough to enjoy her patronage. Of Hunsford parish, the church itself is very fine, for Lady Catherine would have it no other way, and the parsonage newly built for the previous incumbent who was most particular in arranging the house to Lady Catherine’s exact specifications, which are naturally superior. ..”
There was to be no reprieve from Collins’ words, it seemed.
As the parson droned on, Darcy considered that he was exactly the sort of man his aunt would prefer, filled with toadying servility but little understanding of the words that flew unconsidered from his mouth.
He refrained from rolling his eyes and knew this was a battle he would face often over the next week.
He would, under almost any other set of circumstances, remain well within the grounds of Netherfield for the duration of the man’s visit, or better still, abscond to London; but, he had determined to further pursue his given task, as well as to spend time with Miss Elizabeth.
The latter, he admitted to himself, was both to see what he might learn from her and to enjoy her company.
He had offered her friendship, and she had accepted, and the recollection of it brought him greater joy than was suitable.
Nevertheless, it was as it was, and if furthering his friendship with the unusual young lady meant encountering his aunt’s sycophant of a parson, that was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
***
IT WAS MUCH LATER, after the Bennet carriage had transported him back to Netherfield, after he had recounted the details of the affair to the Bingleys—or rather, those he felt free to mention—and after John had anointed his shoulder once more with the soothing liniment, that he sat down at last to compose his own letter.
He spent a great deal of time composing, editing, and recrafting his letter in his mind before sitting down to paper.
He was very much aware that more seemed to be going on at Longbourn than his friend seemed to know of.
He must discharge his duty to report, but he would be wise, so he considered, to be judicious in what, exactly, he would tell. Eventually he composed his missive.
Dear Stanton,
As I suggested in my previous note, I now feel strong enough to pursue my goal more directly.
I am held in good esteem throughout local society and have befriended B— specifically.
I have been able to determine that there are, indeed, the men we discussed concealed somewhere in the vicinity of M—, although I have been unable to determine exactly where they hide.
There are no rumours or tales in the servants’ quarters or the village smithy of these men, and yet I have seen them in the dead of night.
He paused, his pen hovering over the page. He ought to tell his friend Stanton where, exactly, he had seen these foreigners, and yet some instinct held him back. He continued,
I am, furthermore, now convinced that the object of which you spoke is indeed concealed somewhere within the estate in question.
I have been honoured with fair access to the house, however, and can assert that it is nowhere in the gentleman’s study or library or anywhere else I could imagine to look in the house.
This was not a lie, for he would never have imagined looking in an unused storage room atop an ancient tower, reached by hidden staircase. Such details as the fact that he had been shown the place by another he decided to omit from his report.
B— does not suspect anything, nor do the other gentlemen of the village, and so I shall continue my queries.
Your servant,
D
He read the letter through once and, after calling for some ale and drinking it, once again. Satisfied that it conveyed some sense of progress, yet revealed little that the man did not already know, he sealed it and summoned John to send it by messenger to Lord Stanton directly.
Whether John suspected anything of Darcy’s true purpose here, he knew not, but the correspondence was not unusual, since the two had formed their friendship during the first days of Darcy’s convalescence. John had proven himself discreet and reliable, and that was all he cared for at the moment.