Chapter 4
Four
Precisely at the hour agreed, Father Monro arrived at Longbourn, accompanied by his daughter, Miss Alice Monro. A moment’s pause allowed the soft rustle of silk and the gentle tap of well-appointed boots upon the polished floor to settle into the quietude of the household.
Mr. Bennet received his visitors in the drawing room, whose comfortable proportions were softened by the familiar arrangements of family life and the gentle light filtering through the westward-facing windows.
He motioned them to seats of honour, and a servant, discreet and practiced, began the careful task of arranging the tea service.
The late-afternoon sun, tempered by the gentle haze of an English summer’s end, cast a mellow glow on the patterned carpet and lent a subdued warmth to the mahogany tea table, which had been arranged with Mrs. Bennet’s customary care and exacting attention to propriety.
Mrs. Bennet herself sat quietly, a rare stillness about her, her eyes fixed intently upon Miss Alice, as if committing every detail of her future daughter-in-law to memory.
The silver tea service gleamed faintly, and the delicate porcelain cups bore the faintest blush of pink roses, a testament to the household’s unassuming elegance.
The clink of spoon against cup punctuated the silence as tea was poured with measured grace, and the aroma of freshly steeped leaves filled the room.
Though the occasion might have seemed to an indifferent observer a mere trifle—a polite call, a simple exchange of pleasantries—the assembly possessed, in truth, a quiet gravity that even Mr. Bennet, with his usual air of detached amusement, did not venture to dismiss lightly.
Each participant took a moment to raise their cup, the delicate porcelain warmed by their hands, before allowing the fragrant liquid to soothe the moment’s tension.
There was, in the very atmosphere of the room, a latent tension, as if the gentle rustling of the curtains and the faint clinking of china bore witness to the delicate negotiation about to unfold.
Father Monro’s demeanour was one of calm, thoughtful dignity.
The sort bespoke a man accustomed more to the contemplative exercises of the mind and spirit than to the frivolities of fashionable society.
He accepted the biscuit plate offered by Mr. Bennet with a slight nod.
His countenance, composed and grave, bore the marks of a life devoted to principles rather than to the pursuit of worldly acclaim, and yet there was a warmth in his manner that bespoke a sincere and unaffected kindness.
Miss Alice possessed a manner at once reserved and intelligent, the kind of quiet composure that suggested a mind both disciplined and observant.
She held her cup of tea very gently, her fingers lightly curled about the handle, and took a measured sip, her gaze briefly meeting that of Mrs. Bennet, who returned it with an inscrutable expression.
Mr. Bennet had already remarked upon the young lady’s steadiness of character during previous encounters; she was a young lady of no small understanding, and her presence lent a certain balance to the proceedings that was not without significance.
After the initial civilities had been exchanged with all the customary decorum, and the tea had been poured with an attentive hand, Mr. Bennet inclined his head slightly, his eyes fixed upon Father Monro with a look that was at once direct and measured.
A brief pause followed as the gentlemen allowed their tea to cool, the soft murmur of the servants’ exiting movements filling the space between words.
It was the moment, he knew, to set aside any further circumlocution.
“My dear Mr. Monro,” he began, leaning back in his chair with the ease of a man well accustomed to the management of delicate affairs, “we are, I believe, both sensible of the reason for our meeting. Our children have formed an acquaintance which, if properly conducted, might in due course lead to a deeper understanding. It seemed, therefore, prudent that we should speak plainly with one another, so that no misunderstandings might arise to cloud what is, in the eyes of both our families, a matter of some importance.”
Father Monro inclined his head in assent, his expression grave but composed. He lifted his cup once more, the faintest smile playing about his lips before he set it down with quiet resolve.
“I agree, Mr. Bennet. It is indeed the duty of parents to ensure that any attachments formed by their children are pursued with honour and discretion. Young people, though naturally inclined to the warmth of affection, must be guided by the wisdom and experience of their elders, lest their hopes be raised prematurely or without due consideration.”
Miles, seated somewhat apart beside Miss Monro, felt the colour rise to his cheeks at this candid declaration.
He reached for the biscuit plate, selecting one with careful fingers, and chewed slowly, as if to steady his thoughts.
He cast a glance toward Alice, whose serene composure seemed undisturbed by the gravity of their fathers’ discourse.
Though he remained silent, the earnestness of his gaze bespoke a heart not untouched by the moment.
Mr. Bennet continued, his tone taking on a more businesslike note. “I understand from my son that you possess a small estate of your own, Mr. Monro.” He paused to sip his tea, the warmth of the cup a small comfort amid the seriousness of their talk.
“That is correct,” Father Monro replied with a calm steadiness.
He nodded once, a gesture of quiet affirmation, before taking a deliberate sip.
“Though not extensive in the manner of some landed proprietors, it provides an income of approximately one thousand seven hundred and fifty pounds per annum. My intention has long been that it should pass immediately to my daughter upon her marriage, as a means of ensuring her financial security and independence.”
Miss Alice lowered her eyes modestly at this revelation, though the slight movement of surprise upon Mrs. Bennet’s countenance did not escape Mr. Bennet’s notice.
Mrs. Bennet’s gaze, sharp and unblinking, lingered upon Alice with an intensity that bespoke a mother’s protective calculation rather than her usual voluble excitement. It was, after all, an unusually generous provision, and one that bespoke a father’s sincere care for his daughter’s future.
“That is indeed a most handsome provision,” Mr. Bennet observed, his voice betraying a note of genuine approval. He allowed the silence to deepen, permitting the weight of the statement to settle fully among those present.
“It is also a practical one,” Father Monro replied, inclining his head slightly.
He took a moment to pass the biscuit plate toward Mrs. Bennet, who accepted it with a measured hand, her eyes never leaving Alice.
“My own plans, you see, are soon to take a different direction. I currently serve a small Catholic chapel in this district, a charge which depends greatly upon the voluntary assistance of a few devoted families. I am called ‘Father’ by courtesy rather than by formal ecclesiastical office, as I have yet to receive ordination.” He paused briefly, as if weighing his next words with care.
“Once my daughter is settled in her marriage, I intend to pursue ordination more properly and to offer my services where they are most needed—perhaps in Liverpool, or Lancashire, or even in Ireland, where the Catholic communities are larger and more in need of pastoral care.”
Mr. Bennet nodded thoughtfully, the flicker of a smile touching his lips. “And the question of religion within the marriage itself?” he inquired with deliberate caution.
Father Monro met his gaze without hesitation.
“My daughter will marry an Anglican gentleman,” he said firmly.
“I have no wish to impose difficulties upon her household or to create divisions where none need exist. Should she choose to attend the Anglican church with her husband, I shall not oppose it, nor shall I require that her children be raised otherwise. I hold to a spirit of moderation, one that honours both faith and familial harmony.”
Mr. Bennet allowed himself a faint smile of approval.
The corners of his mouth lifted with a quiet satisfaction, his eyes briefly meeting those of Mrs. Bennet, who remained silent but watchful.
“That is a spirit of moderation which does you considerable credit, Mr. Monro. It is rare to find such temperance in matters so often fraught with discord.”
The conversation then turned naturally to the young couple themselves, the very heart of the matter.
A servant reappeared and quietly replenished the tea, the soft hiss of the kettle a gentle accompaniment to the shifting tones of discourse.
“It would be premature,” Mr. Bennet observed with a measured air, “to speak of an engagement while Miles remains engaged in his studies.”
“Quite so, Mr. Bennet,” Father Monro agreed readily. “He must soon return to Oxford, I understand?”
“Yes,” Miles answered quietly, his voice steady despite the flutter of anticipation within. “For some months yet. I must return to Oxford at Michaelmas, and shall remain there through the coming terms.”
Miss Alice looked up at him, her expression composed but not without a trace of something like hopeful expectation. Her eyes lingered upon his face, as if committing his features to memory before the impending separation.
“In that case,” Father Monro continued, “I see no objection to their becoming better acquainted in the meantime—provided the acquaintance is conducted with proper discretion and with the approval of both our families.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes twinkled with a touch of dry humour. He allowed a moment’s pause, letting the weight of his words settle before adding, “You mean they may meet here, or when you visit, and write occasionally while Miles is away?”