Chapter Nine
Nine
The road from the post-house at Bromley to Hunsford was neither long nor particularly distinguished, but James Bennet had ridden it with more attention than the scenery warranted.
The hedgerows of Kent were not so different from those of Hertfordshire, and the sky above them was the same grey; yet there was something in the character of the country—its ordered neatness, its air of prosperous containment—that suggested a world in which every field knew its purpose and every gate was kept in good repair.
James had passed through the village of Hunsford itself without pausing, having been given directions clear enough to render enquiry unnecessary.
He had turned into the lane leading to the parsonage with the composed deliberation of a man who had made up his mind to arrive without betraying that he was uncertain why he had been summoned there.
The letter from Mr. Collins had reached Longbourn four days earlier.
It had been written in the rector’s characteristic style—elaborate in its expressions of gratitude, earnest in its assurances of the writer’s continued good health and domestic felicity, and almost entirely devoid of the one thing James had required of it: a plain account of why he had been asked to come.
There had been references to a matter of some delicacy, to an opportunity of no common kind, and to the particular wishes of a most distinguished personage whose condescension in this affair was as remarkable as it was gracious.
There had been no mention of what the matter was, what the opportunity consisted of, or why it could not have been communicated by letter.
James had read the thing twice, set it aside, and then read it once more, in the hope that a third reading might produce clarity where two had not. It had not.
He had therefore packed a bag, arranged his affairs at Longbourn for an absence of several days, and ridden south, first visiting the mill and finding it much as the present owner had described.
Then, carrying with him nothing more useful than the knowledge that Collins considered the journey necessary and Lady Catherine de Bourgh considered it desirable, he continued southeast into Kent.
James Bennet dismounted before the parsonage gate, handed his horse to the groom who appeared promptly from the side yard, and surveyed the house with the brief, practical attention of a man accustomed to assessing property.
It was a comfortable house—well-maintained, its garden in the last of its autumn order, the windows bright with the particular cleanliness that suggested a mistress who took her domestic arrangements seriously.
The door opened before he had reached it, and Mr. Collins himself appeared upon the step, his expression arranged into an attitude of welcome so comprehensive that it seemed to have been prepared well in advance.
“My dear Mr. Bennet!” he exclaimed, descending the two shallow steps with a haste that nearly cost him his footing.
“What a distinguished honour—what a most gratifying condescension—that you should have made the journey with such admirable promptness. I confess I had feared the roads might prove an obstacle, but I see that you have arrived in excellent health and spirits, which is a circumstance that cannot but add to the pleasure of the occasion.”
“Mr. Collins,” James replied, shaking the offered hand with the measured cordiality he reserved for those whose company he found more dutiful than agreeable. “I am well, I thank you. The roads were tolerable.”
“Tolerable indeed! Yes—yes, I believe they are generally considered so at this season, though of course the autumn rains can render certain stretches less—but no matter, no matter. You are here, and that is the principal thing. Charlotte!” He turned back toward the house with renewed animation.
“Charlotte, Mr. James Bennet has arrived!”
Mrs. Collins appeared in the hallway with a composure that stood in marked contrast to her husband’s agitation.
She greeted James with a warm and unaffected courtesy, enquired after his journey with genuine interest, and had him seated in the parlour with a cup of tea before him in the time it would have taken Collins to complete a second sentence of welcome.
James accepted the tea with quiet gratitude and allowed himself a moment’s appreciation of the room, which was orderly and pleasant, bearing the unmistakable character of a woman who had made the best of her circumstances with intelligence and without complaint.
“You will wish to know,” Mrs. Collins said, settling herself opposite him with the directness of one who understood that time was better spent than wasted, “why you have been asked to come.”
“I would,” James agreed, with a brevity that conveyed both relief and mild irony.
The rector, who had taken the chair nearest the fireplace and was in the process of arranging himself with the gravity appropriate to a man about to impart information of consequence, cleared his throat.
“The matter is one,” he began, “of the most—I may say, the most extraordinary—nature. It is not one which I am at liberty to disclose in its entirety, for reasons which will become apparent, and which reflect only the most scrupulous regard for the feelings and circumstances of all concerned. But I may say—and indeed I am authorised to say—that it is a matter which has engaged the personal attention of Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself, whose interest in the welfare of those connected, however distantly, with her sphere of influence is well known to all who have the privilege of her acquaintance.”
James set his cup upon the saucer with a patience he did not entirely feel. “What is the nature of the matter, Cousin Collins?”
The clergyman blinked, as though the directness of the question had slightly disarranged his prepared address.
“The nature—yes. “The nature of the matter is—as her ladyship has been pleased to intimate—matrimonial,” he said at last, with the air of a man producing a word he had been saving for the appropriate moment.
“There is a young lady—a young lady of excellent family, of considerable personal attractions, and of a fortune which I am not at liberty to specify precisely, but which I may describe as—substantial. Very substantial.”
“A young lady,” James repeated.
“Of excellent family,” Collins confirmed, nodding with emphasis. “The connection is—distinguished. I may say, very distinguished indeed. The family is known to Lady Catherine personally, which is itself a recommendation of no ordinary kind, as you will readily appreciate.”
James regarded him steadily. “And the urgency?”
Collins shifted in his chair, and for a moment something passed across his face—not quite discomfort, but the shadow of it, the expression of a man who is aware that what he is about to say is less than the whole of the truth, and who has made his peace with that awareness.
“There are—circumstances,” he said carefully, “which render an early resolution of the matter desirable. Lady Catherine has not been most explicit upon that point. But she is not a woman who acts without reason, as you know, and her reasons in this instance are—sound. Very sound. I am not in a position to say more at present, because I do not possess such details, but I may assure you that everything will be made clear in due course, and that the opportunity presented is one which, in Lady Catherine’s considered opinion, and I may say in my own, would be of very material advantage to any gentleman of good character and moderate means. ”
James was quiet for a moment. He looked at Mr. Collins, who met his gaze with the earnest sincerity of a man who believed every word he was saying, and at Mrs. Collins, who was looking at her teacup with the careful neutrality of a woman who knew rather more than her husband and had decided that it was not her place to say so.
“You are asking me,” James said at last, his voice even, “to present myself at Rosings Park, and to consider a proposal of marriage to a young woman I have never encountered—the particulars of which you are not at liberty to disclose, or of which you are ignorant—on the recommendation of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
“In essence, yes, that is correct,” Mr. Collins agreed, with the air of a man who found this summary entirely satisfactory.
“Though I would add that Lady Catherine’s recommendation is not a thing to be received lightly.
Her ladyship has a very superior understanding of these matters, and her judgement in affairs of this nature has never, to my knowledge, been found wanting. ”
“Her ladyship,” James said, with a restraint that cost him something, “is not the one being asked to marry.”
Mrs. Collins raised her eyes from her teacup at this, and for the briefest moment, something that might have been amusement crossed her face before composure reasserted itself.
Her husband, who had not perceived the remark in its full implication, nodded with continued earnestness.
“Quite so, quite so. And that is precisely why Lady Catherine has been at such pains to ensure that the gentleman in question—yourself, Mr. Bennet—should have every opportunity to form his own impression before any formal proposal is made. She is most desirous that you should call at Rosings as soon as you arrive, if you are not too fatigued by the journey. She has expressed herself—I may say—with a degree of warmth on this point which convinces me that the occasion is of genuine importance to her.”