Chapter Nine #4
She took her own chair, poured her tea with the unhurried precision of long habit, and looked at James across the short table with the direct, assessing gaze he remembered from the assembly—the gaze of a woman who has already formed her opinion and is now confirming it against the evidence before her.
Whatever she found appeared to satisfy her.
“I am glad you came promptly,” Lady Catherine said.
“I have a dislike of men who are not punctual when punctuality has been requested. It suggests a want of seriousness.” She set down the pot.
“You are serious, I think, which I find sound.” She paused.
“I mention this not as flattery, but because it is relevant to what I am about to say.”
“I understand,” James Bennet said.
“Good.” She looked at him steadily. “Then I shall proceed without ceremony, because ceremony in a matter of this kind is a waste of time that neither of us has in abundance.”
Lady Catherine glanced briefly at Collins, who had set down his fork and was now sitting with his hands folded, his expression arranged between reverence and apprehension.
“Mr. Collins. You are here as a man I trust, and as someone known to Mr. Bennet. I shall ask you to attend carefully, and to speak when spoken to.”
“Of course, your ladyship,” Collins said, with the fervency of a man who has been given a role in a great occasion and intends to fulfil it to the last syllable.
Lady Catherine returned her attention to James and regarded him for a moment with the frank attention of a woman accustomed to forming rapid judgements of character. Whatever she found appeared to confirm a conclusion she had already reached.
“You have seen Miss Eliot,” she said. It was not a question.
“Briefly,” James replied. “In the hall, as she and Lady Caroline were departing.”
“And your impression?”
“Favourable,” he said.
Lady Catherine received this with a small inclination of her head. Collins, beside her, nodded with vigorous agreement, as though he too had formed a favourable impression and was glad to have it confirmed.
“She is,” Lady Catherine said, “everything that a young woman of her station ought to be. She is accomplished, well-read, and possessed of a temper that is neither insipid nor ungovernable. Her mother has attended to her education with great care, and the result is a young woman who would do credit to any establishment.”
She paused, and then added, with the air of one offering a final and conclusive piece of evidence:
“She plays very well. Not brilliantly—I do not say brilliantly—but with feeling and with accuracy, which is, in my opinion, a considerably more useful combination.”
“I have heard Miss Eliot play on several occasions,” Mr. Collins offered, with the enthusiasm of a man who has been waiting for a moment to contribute and has found one.
“And I can confirm, with the greatest sincerity, that her performance is everything her ladyship describes. The feeling she brings to the instrument is—I may say—quite remarkable indeed.”
Lady Catherine did not look at Collins, but neither did she discourage him, which James understood as a form of endorsement. Her ladyship had brought Collins here for a reason, and the reason was not merely to supply support.
“I will speak plainly, Mr. Bennet,” Lady Catherine said, returning her full attention to him.
“I am not a woman who wastes time in circumlocution when directness will serve better. You have been brought here because I believe you to be precisely the sort of gentleman required for a particular purpose, and I intend to tell you what that purpose is.”
“I am grateful for it,” James said.
“You are the eldest son of Longbourn,” she continued, settling her hands upon the arms of her chair.
“You will inherit a respectable property. You are a man of sound character and good sense—qualities which I esteem above all others in a gentleman, and which I have had to observe in your conduct on a previous matter.”
James was quiet, waiting.
“You will recall,” Lady Catherine said, “that some months ago, a circumstance arose concerning my niece, Miss Georgiana Darcy, which required the intervention of a person of discretion and honour. You and your brother acted in that matter with a propriety that reflected very well upon your character. I have not forgotten it.”
“I did very little,” James said.
“You did what was necessary,” Lady Catherine replied firmly. “And you did it without drawing attention to yourself, without seeking credit, and without speaking of it afterwards. These are not common qualities, Mr. Bennet.”
She allowed a pause.
“They are, in fact, precisely the qualities I require at present.”
Mr. Collins leaned forward slightly, his expression one of earnest corroboration.
“I have always said—have I not, Lady Catherine?—that Mr. Bennet is a gentleman of the most exemplary character. From the earliest days of our acquaintance, I have observed in him a steadiness and a sense of duty that is —”
“Quite,” said Lady Catherine.
The rector of Hunsford subsided, satisfied.
“Miss Eliot,” Lady Catherine said, “is the only daughter of Lord Eliot of Port Eliot in Cornwall. The family is old, and the name perfectly respectable. Lord Eliot is a baron of long standing, and it is generally understood that he will soon be raised to the earldom of St Germans. The estate itself is extensive, and the family has long been considered among the most consequential in that part of the kingdom. Lady Caroline, whom you have met, is a woman of sense, of connexion, and of character. I have known her for more than twenty years and hold her in high regard.”
Her ladyship paused, and her voice, when she continued, was measured and deliberate.
The room was quiet. Outside, a wood pigeon called once and was still.
James Bennet said nothing. He set his cup down on the saucer with a steadiness that was not indifference but its more useful cousin, and waited.
“Miss Eliot,” Lady Catherine continued, “is a young woman whose situation requires the assistance of a gentleman of exactly your description. As I have said, the family is one of the most distinguished in England. Lord Eliot—whom you have not yet met, as he is presently in London on business connected with the peerage—is a man of great consequence, and it is widely expected that he will shortly be advanced to the rank of Earl.”
“And the match you are proposing,” James said carefully, “is between Miss Eliot and me.”
“It is, Mr. Bennet.”
“If I understand well, you are proposing a marriage, your ladyship.”
“I am proposing that you consider one,” Lady Catherine said precisely.
“I am not in the habit of compelling people into arrangements that are not in their interest. I am, however, in the habit of presenting the facts of a situation plainly, and trusting a man of sense to draw his own conclusions from them.”
She folded her hands on the table.
“Allow me to present the facts.”
Lady de Bourgh did so with the brisk efficiency of a woman who had prepared her arguments and intended to deliver them in order.
“Miss Eliot brings with her, upon marriage, a settlement of forty thousand pounds, secured by her father and confirmed in writing. This is not a negligible sum for a man in your position, and I say so not as an insult but as a statement of arithmetic. You have a father, a mother and four brothers. Your estate at Longbourn is sound but not large. The settlement would provide material security for your family that your present income does not.” She paused.
“I mention this first because I think you are a man who considers his family before he considers himself, and I wish you to consider them now before anything else.”
James said nothing, but something in his expression shifted—a slight tightening, not of resistance but of recognition.
“Secondly,” Lady Catherine continued, “the connexion itself. Lord Eliot is expected to receive his earldom before the year is out. Lady Caroline moves in circles that are not without influence. A man who marries well, and who conducts himself with the sense and discretion that I believe you possess, may find that a connexion of this kind opens doors that would otherwise remain closed to the son of a Hertfordshire gentleman, however estimable.” She said this without condescension—as a fact.
“I do not say this to flatter you with prospects. I say it because it is true, and because you deserve to know it.”
Mr. Collins, who had been listening with the rapt attention of a man watching a master at work, gave a small, emphatic nod that Lady Catherine did not acknowledge.
“Thirdly,” Lady Catherine said, “Miss Eliot herself. You have seen her. You have spoken with her, briefly, and I observed the exchange. I shall not tell you what to think of her—that is not my province, and it would be impertinent besides. I will tell you what I know of her, which is this: she is intelligent, well read, accomplished without vanity about her accomplishments, and she has, in circumstances that would have broken a weaker character, maintained a dignity and warmth that I find remarkable.”
James looked at her for a moment.
“Does Miss Eliot know that a gentleman has been approached for this marriage?”