Chapter 6
Mary sat in her room after dinner, fuming—her sister Kitty the source of her ire.
Throughout the evening, Kitty had flirted shamelessly with Mr. Yarby.
At least, that is how it appeared to Mary.
But now she reflected on the possibility that she was overreacting and tried to give her sister the benefit of any doubt.
As the reverend Mr. Dudley often said, “It behooves us all to think most carefully before pronouncing an adverse judgment upon our neighbor.” Perhaps Kitty was just being friendly. Oh, but the smiles Kitty sent his way. And the smiles returned to her!
On one hand, Mary felt anger over the attention her sister paid Mr. Yarby and jealousy as he seemed to welcome her comments.
On the other hand, Mary found it implausible that Kitty would truly ever wish to set her cap for a rector.
Being a preacher’s wife would certainly not give Kitty the lifestyle to which she aspired.
She was far too interested in fine clothing, ribbons, and dancing at assemblies.
Try as she might, Mary could not imagine Kitty making the rounds of the parish families, offering solace and comfort when needed, much less making do with the same gowns year after year.
Mary knew precisely how much the living at Longbourn paid, and it was not a handsome sum.
I could be happy with it, though. I have never wished to spend my pocket money on ribbons, lace, and new bonnets. Buying books to educate myself is a far better use of my shillings.
Mary gasped softly. Of course! That is how she would win over Mr. Yarby—with her mind.
Her thoughts flew back to Mr. Collins’s arrival at Longbourn that first time.
He had made it clear that, in order to make up to Mrs. Bennet that he would one day be the cause of their eviction, he was agreeable to selecting a wife from among the five Bennet sisters.
His first choice had been Jane, of course, as the eldest—and the most beautiful; he was mindful of the necessary respect to choose her.
However, Mama had firmly but gently quashed that idea, telling Mr. Collins that Jane was likely soon to be engaged.
Then his eyes had fallen on Lizzy, another beauty, but whose personality, Mary knew, would never have been in harmony with that of Mr. Collins.
In addition, Mary recalled that Lizzy had developed an attraction to George Wickham, and he had seemed to respond in kind.
But as nothing was official between them, Mr. Collins had begun his dogged pursuit of Lizzy to be his wife, monopolizing her in lengthy conversations.
Mary also recalled how Jane—in order to discourage Mr. Collins from interfering with the budding romance between Lizzy and Mr. Wickham—had devised a plan to help.
She had asked Mary to pretend to be confused over a passage in Fordyce’s Sermons to distract Mr. Collins from Lizzy’s side and entice him to help Mary.
Little did Jane know that I agreed to do that not to help Lizzy, but to help myself.
I was alone among my sisters who found Mr. Collins a good potential match, and I even now recall his admiring look towards me after our discussion.
But then he went and proposed to Lizzy anyway, only to have her reject him so soundly that he flew into the arms of Charlotte Lucas without even a thought to me!
But this may yet be the way to Mr. Yarby’s heart.
I shall go to him and ask for his opinion on one or two scripture passages.
Then he will know, as Mrs. Withers so kindly put it, that I am not a “flibbertigibbet” but a serious young woman who would quite clearly be his perfect romantic match.
After all, I am two-and-twenty—the very same age Jane was when she accepted Mr. Bingley.
Feeling much happier now that she had a plan, Mary began to ready herself for bed.
***
Mr. and Mrs. Collins arrived home, weary in mind and body from the long journey back to Hunsford Parsonage.
Charlotte was especially tired as she had rushed to Meryton to attend Mrs. Bennet’s funeral as soon as her husband sent word of it.
Although she would have liked to stay at Lucas Lodge longer to have a good visit with her parents and her sister, Maria, Charlotte had to admit that Mr. Collins was right: they must return at once.
The curate from a neighboring parish had been tasked with conducting the Sunday services while they were away.
Young Mr. Manson had been most grateful to substitute, but Charlotte knew Mr. Collins was nervous about how Lady Catherine would react.
“I do hope Mr. Manson’s first sermon was satisfactory,” Charlotte said as the two entered the cottage. “I confess I did worry his inexperience might set Lady Catherine off on another tirade.”
Her husband nodded. “My dear, that is precisely why I directed him not to attempt to write his own homily as I often do but, rather, to read one from my favorite book of printed sermons. It cannot have been too horrible if he followed my instructions.”
The two were greeted by their maid, Betsy, who, after welcoming them home, handed them an envelope.
“I was instructed to give this to you directly, Mr. Collins, the moment you returned.” She bobbed her head and left the room.
Turning it over, Mr. Collins saw the wax seal bore the imprint of de Bourgh.
“From Lady Catherine? What could this be?” he muttered as he broke the seal. He quickly scanned the page filled with her ladyship’s familiar, spidery handwriting.
“Oh no. Oh no!” he exclaimed.
“My dear, what is it?” Charlotte asked.
He passed her the pages, then stumbled to a chair and sat heavily, his head in his hands.
“We are dismissed!” he cried. “Banished! How could she? How shall I bear the humiliation of losing her patronage? Oh, the scandal!”
Charlotte carefully read the pages, hoping her husband had somehow misread or misunderstood. But it was clear that he was correct: they were being sent away from Hunsford.
Mr. Collins,
For some time now, I have found myself ill at ease with your handling of Hunsford Parish.
Your sermons are flat and uninspired, and I have observed many a dreary face in the congregation depart the church week after week.
Clearly, you are not lifting any of the parish members towards a higher awareness of God.
On the other hand, this most recent Sunday, the curate, Mr. Manson, gave a spectacular and stirring sermon—one that members in the community still speak of and continues to ring in my memory. So erudite and enlightening.
In addition, you have failed in one of your more important duties of the parish—managing the maintenance of the roads.
Last week, a wheel of my second-favorite carriage fell into a large hole in the road, breaking the axle.
I was lucky not to have been killed. I have spoken to the local surveyors of our highways and learned that you have paid scant attention to this duty over the past two years—no doubt, the reason for the dreadful conditions that led to my accident.
Such negligence and dereliction of duty cannot stand. I have spoken to the bishop, and he agrees that you are to be released from your post as rector of Hunsford at once. The curate, Mr. Manson, will assume your role beginning this Sunday.
I shall make my third-best carriage available to you and your wife to transport you and your personal belongings to wherever you wish to go—within limits, of course. Please vacate the parish cottage by Tuesday next.
Enclosed is a cheque to assist you and Mrs. Collins in the coming days.
Thank you for your service.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
There was one additional page—the letter from the bishop with the official notification of Mr. Collins’s dismissal.
No hope then, thought Charlotte. A wave of anxiety and sorrow washed over her.
To have to leave her lovely home where she had been so happy these past few years!
Where might they end up? How could Mr. Collins even find another living, much less one as well-off as Lady Catherine’s?
If she were perfectly honest with herself, Charlotte would have to admit that the security Mr. Collins offered her at Hunsford was the primary reason she wed him. Now what?
Charlotte pulled out the cheque. Thirty pounds. More generous than she would have expected from the old skinflint. She tucked it into her pocket and turned to her still-moaning husband. Dismayed as she was, Charlotte forced herself to swallow her grief and assume an optimistic attitude.
“Let us eat something and go to bed, dearest. Tomorrow things will look brighter.”
“But where are we to go?”
“Well…back to Meryton, of course,” she replied. “We shall stay with my parents for the time being.”
“And then…?” Mr. Collins heaved himself to his feet.
Charlotte gave him a kiss on the cheek and attempted a smile. “We shall see what the good Lord sends to us.”
***
Despite grieving his wife (and he was somewhat surprised to find that, despite her annoying ways, he truly did miss her presence), Mr. Bennet did not forget his promise to refurbish the parsonage at Longbourn.
Eight days after the funeral, he presented himself at the cottage to speak with his new rector.
However, he found only Mrs. Withers present. She invited him into the front parlor.
“My brother has returned to Dorset to see to all the details of moving our possessions,” she said as she took her seat. “I offered to do it, but he insisted it would be too much for me, so off he went. In truth, I suspect he wanted to handle the packing of his library himself.”
“He enjoys reading?” asked Mr. Bennet.