Chapter 9
Following luncheon, Mr. Bennet returned to his library, but only briefly.
Going over the estate accounts held no appeal for him on such a fine summer day.
The warm breeze coming through the open window enticed him to put down his ledger, grab his coat, and go out the back of the house for a brisk walk as had become his custom in the weeks since his wife’s death.
Initially, his strolls were a way to cope with his grief after her accident, but lately he had felt invigorated after his time out of doors and had decided to keep up the habit.
He noticed he no longer fell asleep over a book in the afternoons, and unless he was mistaken, his trousers felt looser in the waist.
Ambling with no particular destination, Mr. Bennet, to his surprise, found himself in the church graveyard.
He walked to his wife’s grave and noted the wilted flowers there.
He studied the new headstone, so clean and pristine compared to the many dirty and moss-covered stones nearby.
Along with his wife’s name, and birth and death dates, were the words:
Beloved Wife and Mother
She Has Soared Away to a Better Land.
That last line had been Kitty and Mary’s touch.
Considering how his wife had died—not soaring at all, but falling down the stairs—Mr. Bennet had thought the quote inappropriate, but he did not have the heart to argue against it.
All he could think now was that Mrs. Bennet would have rolled her eyes at the sentimentality of the wording.
He could almost hear her voice: “A better land, indeed—I was quite content living in this land, thank you very much!”
As he stood now, he felt a deep pang of remorse for some of the unkind jokes he had made at his wife’s expense.
She had been an easy target for his wit, being highly emotional and not of an intellectual nature; indeed, had he ever seen her willingly pick up a book?
But he particularly regretted a time when Mrs. Bennet was once again bemoaning the fact that she would live to see Charlotte take her place at Longbourn.
He had cruelly replied that they should be more optimistic; perhaps he might be the survivor. He shook his head in remorse.
And amazingly, here I am, the widower now.
Inconceivable! At fifteen years her senior, it never seriously occurred to me that she would pass first. We both assumed I should go before her, which is why she was so determined to find good matches for our girls.
Well, credit where credit is due, she did fairly well—three of the five gone off now.
Kitty is likely to find a husband soon. I may take Lizzy up on her offer to give her a Season in London.
But Mary—my poor plain Mary. I must be certain to make provisions for her.
Not enough for a fortune hunter, to be sure, but something to give her a bit of independence.
Although dear Lizzy did mention once that she and Mr. Darcy would be glad to take her in after I go.
She would make a good help in the nursery for the children, or perhaps be their governess one day.
“Never worry, my dear, Mary will not be left on her own if I have anything to say about it,” he spoke aloud.
“I beg your pardon,” a voice replied.
Mr. Bennet spun around. Mrs. Withers was approaching, holding a bouquet of cut roses tied with a bit of twine. She made a small curtsey.
“Forgive me if I intrude on your solitary reverie, Mr. Bennet. I came to put these fresh flowers on your wife’s grave—that is, if you don’t object.
I noticed just yesterday how shriveled the others were and thought to—” She shook her head.
“Oh, but I should not presume. It is not my place. Please understand: I merely wished to brighten the grave a bit. Wilted flowers always…sadden me.”
“Not at all. You are very kind, Mrs. Withers, and quite welcome to do so. I should have brought some flowers from our own garden but did not actually intend to walk here, you see. I found myself in the cemetery quite by accident.” He leaned down, plucked the shriveled blooms from the grave and tossed them aside.
Then he took the bouquet from Mrs. Withers and set it down gently. “That does look better—thank you.”
“I wish I had had the chance to meet her,” Mrs. Withers murmured. “Shall I leave you now?”
“I was going to continue my walk actually. If you would care for a stroll, I should be glad of your company.” He saw her eyes brighten at the invitation.
“With pleasure,” she replied.
The two walked out of the graveyard in a comfortable, easy silence.
***
Mr. Yarby sat in his study, putting the finishing touches on next Sunday’s sermon.
It was a good one, he felt, and likely to generate some thoughtful responses from his congregation.
As much as he enjoyed speaking from the pulpit, he received even more pleasure from conversing with his congregants as they filed out after service.
The many positive comments and smiles were encouraging.
He knew it was unusual for a rector to write his own sermons, but clearly, it was working out well.
I was truthfully quite nervous to take on this position, but everything seems to confirm that it is the right place. Thank you, Lord, for bringing Amelia and me here to Longbourn.
A light tapping on the window broke his concentration, and he looked up to see a plumpish, grave face peering in at him. Good heavens—it was Mr. Collins! Mr. Yarby jumped up and went to the window, opening it to speak to the man.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Collins—what a surprise. How may I help you?”
“I was just taking a pleasant walk and, realizing I was near Longbourn parish, I thought to see whether you were in; I was hoping to have a short chat.”
“Of course. Do come round to the door,” Yarby replied.
Mr. Collins nodded and walked to the front entry where Yarby met him.
“Please make yourself comfortable in the parlor while I find Mrs. Pulson to see about some tea. I shan’t be a moment.”
***
Mr. Collins took the most comfortable seat and studied the furnishings of the parsonage.
He had visited the reverend Mr. Dudley here only once, when he first came to meet the Bennets, although he did not like to dwell upon that trip.
The painful memory of his cousin Elizabeth’s stinging rejection of his marriage proposal still rankled.
He saw a bit smugly that, aside from a new rug, next to nothing had been done to improve the parlor.
Mr. Bennet was either too stingy or too unaware of the need to upgrade the furnishings.
The door opened and in walked Mr. Yarby, bearing the tea tray himself. Mr. Collins’s mouth fell open. Did they not even have a maid? He saw Yarby smile.
“My sister, Mrs. Withers, would be serving us, but she seems to have gone for a walk. Aside from our cook we keep but one other servant in the kitchen, Ellen, but her hands are up to her elbows in sudsy water at the moment. I told her not to worry; I would serve you myself.” He set the tray down and began to arrange the cups.
“We kept four servants at my old parsonage,” said Mr. Collins, smugly. “But I suppose the living here is not as grand.” He saw the rector took no offense at his comment.
“It is a huge step up from my salary as a curate, I assure you,” Yarby said, laughing. “Amelia and I are more than content with our situation.” He poured the tea and handed his guest a cup. “Sugar?”
Mr. Collins put two heaping teaspoons in his cup and stirred it noisily. “Tell me, do you plan to hire a curate? It would put you out only another forty or fifty pounds per annum.”
“Oh no, we have no such plans at this time. If I were to take on another parish nearby, then, yes, I should need a curate to give the sermons at one while I speak at another, but I am unaware of any openings at present to which I could present myself as a candidate.” He took a sip of his own tea before continuing.
“Besides, are you not looking for a new living? With your wife expecting your first child, I can only imagine you would be well pleased to find a position near her family here in Meryton. If I knew of an opening, I should certainly defer to you before taking on another congregation myself.”
Mr. Collins stared coldly at his host. “You seem to be up on all the village gossip, I see.”
Mr. Yarby stammered an apology. “Forgive me, sir, I did not mean to offend. Miss Bennet and I walked together into Meryton the other week, and she did mention your…situation. No details, of course, just that you had departed Hunsford Parish. I did not mean to speak out of turn, and be assured I shall keep my ears open for any suitable living for a man of your vast experience.”
Mr. Collins gave a tight smile. “Indeed, we rectors are all dependent upon the mercy of others, are we not? But I have high connections, be assured. Mr. Bennet’s two oldest daughters are married to wealthy and influential men, you know.
I have no doubt but Mrs. Collins and I shall find a very advantageous situation quite soon. ”
“I shall add you to my prayers, naturally.”
“Naturally.” Mr. Collins took another sip of tea.
“Your cottage is in great need of freshening if you will forgive my saying so. Mr. Bennet is likely unwilling to put out the necessary coin, but if you are still here when I assume Longbourn as my own—I am sure you know I am the heir presumptive—you may be assured of my paying as much as twenty pounds to bring some new life into these dingy rooms.”
“You are so kind, but in fact, Mr. Bennet is being most generous with us. New fabrics and wall papers have already been ordered. I told him he need not bother, but he insisted. My sister is taking tremendous enjoyment in overseeing the improvements. No, Mr. Bennet has been a most accommodating patron, believe me. We dine with him and his daughters once or twice a week, and Amelia has become close friends with Miss Bennet.”
Mr. Collins scowled. “Indeed. How lovely for you.” He cleared his throat. “You are not wed, correct?”
“Yes. Not only have I not yet fallen in love, but I realized it would not be prudent to marry on a curate’s salary.”
“It would behoove you to find a suitable young woman and start a family as soon as possible, now that you have your own parish,” Mr. Collins said, in an unctuous voice. “It sets a good example to your congregants to have their parish priest happily married.”
“Well, I should like to find the right woman and be truly in love with her, not just marry for convenience or appearance’s sake.” Yarby shifted a bit in his seat. “That is—one should be certain it is a good match in every respect, don’t you agree? That takes time.”
“Oh, happiness in marriage is more a matter of chance than anything else, I believe. Why, my Charlotte and I knew each other but a day or two before I decided she was the one. Let me assure you we are quite content with each other. And, as you mentioned, she is going to make me a father—another important example to set in your parish.” He smiled proudly, awaiting the expected congratulations. But Yarby only nodded.
“Indeed,” Yarby finally said, “I am fond of children and hope to become a father myself.”
Bland conversation continued while both men had now finished their tea. Mr. Collins had a vague notion that he had already overstayed his welcome, but he was not eager to depart. He reached over and took the last piece of seed cake.
“Now, I had some thoughts on your last two talks from the pulpit I wish to share with you,” he said, and between bites began to drone on disapprovingly about the shocking nature of Yarby’s uplifting sermons.
So enraptured was he by his own voice, Mr. Collins failed to notice Yarby’s small sigh or that the new rector was only listening with half an ear.