Chapter 25
Two weeks later, Kitty was at least on speaking terms again with her father, even as she still firmly disapproved of his finding new love so soon after the death of Mrs. Bennet.
Life returned somewhat to normal, and after Mr. Bennet related to Amelia that his daughters knew of their attachments, they made even more of an effort to keep their distance in public places.
Invitations to dine at Longbourn were reduced from the usual two times a week to just once, and on one occasion, when Phillip and Amelia stopped in for a visit, Mr. Bennet stayed firmly in his library and let Mary and Kitty entertain them.
But behind all this, both he and Amelia were counting the weeks and days until they could make their affections known.
Mary had also briefly discussed the matter with Amelia, assuring her that their friendship need not alter from this news. “Indeed, I quite look forward to turning the household management over to you, Amelia, so that I may have more time for reading and practicing my music.”
Now, on a sunny but brisk January day, Mary walked towards Lucas Lodge to see the Collins’s new baby.
She had knit a small blanket as a gift, although she would be the first to admit it was being given more with obligation than with love.
Still, Mary knew it was what her mother would have wanted her to do, and as the lady of Longbourn now, she was always conscious of her duty.
Lady Lucas warmly welcomed Mary and escorted her upstairs to see Charlotte, sharing her enthusiasm for being a grandmother along the way.
“It was a long labor,” she confided, “and at one point, we feared things would not go well, but the little one finally made his appearance—a healthy boy and a Christmas baby! What a delight! My husband had to go to town this week, but he can hardly wait to return to his grandson, I am certain. He has become quite the doting grandpapa!” She knocked at her daughter’s door and did not even wait for a reply before she opened the door, and announced Mary’s arrival.
Then with a quick, loving glance at the bassinet, she left to return downstairs.
“You look very well, Charlotte,” Mary said, when they were alone.
She moved to the bed and handed her the bundle she had brought.
“I made this for the baby. Pray do not look too closely at my stitches. I fear knitting has never been the greatest of my accomplishments. But I did use some very fine quality wool and it will keep your son warm.”
“Thank you, Mary, you are so kind,” Charlotte replied, unwrapping it. “Oh! It is lovely and shall be of great use, I am sure.”
Mary moved to the bassinet where the baby lay sleeping. “Goodness, what a head of hair for a newborn!” she exclaimed.
Charlotte laughed. “That is what everyone says. It would appear I have given birth to a miniature Mr. Collins.”
“And what name have you chosen?”
“Since it is his first son, I deferred to my husband in this regard, and he has decided upon Alexander—with William as a second. Rather a grand name for such a small thing, but he will grow into it, I have no doubt.”
“And, someday, be the master of Longbourn,” Mary said softly.
She felt an inexplicable sorrow at the thought, followed by a pang of annoyance at her sentimental emotions.
Gracious, what was wrong with her? It is not as if she had not spent most of her life knowing the estate was entailed away from the Bennet line because she had no brother; her mother had spoken of it often enough, goodness knows.
With a firm nod, she turned away from the sleeping baby and took a chair facing Charlotte.
“May he be worthy of it,” Charlotte said softly.
She paused before continuing, “You know I have always been so fond of your family, Mary. Your sister Eliza and I were the best of friends growing up, and some of my happiest childhood times were spent at Longbourn with her and her sisters. Believe me, I intend to temper any inclination I might see of arrogance in Alexander. Just because Longbourn will fall to him one day, he shall not think himself better than others—you may depend upon it.”
Mary gave Charlotte a studious look. “Well. That is good of you, Charlotte. Of course, such a transfer is not likely to occur for some time.”
“God willing,” Charlotte hastily added.
After another few minutes of polite, banal conversation, Mary took her leave. As she reached the front hallway, Mr. Collins entered Lucas Lodge and, seeing Mary, greeted her.
“Mary, how good of you to come visit on such a brisk day. I am just returned from my rented rooms in Meryton where I do my work for the parish. You have been to see Charlotte? What do you think of my son, eh? He is a handsome boy—now, admit it!”
“I have always been of the opinion that it is very hard to discern the true beauty of a newborn, Mr. Collins. To me they all look like little old men. However, I think I may state with confidence that there is every indication he will become pleasant looking in due time.”
“And pray tell, how is your father? We were all so distressed to hear of the dreadful accident.”
“He is very well, thank you. Quite himself, in fact. I assure you he expects to make a full recovery.”
Mr. Collins gave an oily smile. “Yes…of course, he has something delightful to live for now, does he not?”
Mary blinked. “I…do not have the pleasure of understanding you, sir. Something to live for? What is your meaning?”
“Why, the charming Mrs. Withers, of course.”
Mary caught her breath. “Oh—I did not know you were aware of their…affection for each other. How did you—”
“Well, I am curate and co-rector to her brother, am I not? And he has quite taken me into his confidence. Oh yes, completely. He views me as rather an…older brother, you see.” He gave a bit of a chuckle that ended in a snort.
This was news to Mary. Why had Amelia not mentioned this development to her when they last spoke? “Oh” was all she could think to reply.
“So, when shall we be free to wish them joy?” Mr. Collins pressed her.
“Um…well, once Papa’s mourning is over, I suppose they will make their intentions known to the general populace.”
“So sweet. And, how old is Mrs. Withers, again?”
“Nearly thirty-four—why?”
“And your dear father is what—fifty-nine?”
Mary frowned. “This month, yes. To what end do these questions lead, Mr. Collins? What concern are their ages to you?”
“Nothing, nothing. I note just a bit of an age difference between the two, but it should not be insurmountable. True love should see that as no impediment, to be sure.” He glanced at the clock standing in the hall.
“Gracious, is that the time? I must bid you adieu, Cousin Mary. Do give your father my best wishes, and—perhaps do not mention that I am aware of his relationship with Mrs. Withers—in case he thinks I spoke out of turn in bringing it up. I should hate to offend him. Mr. Yarby took me into his confidence, you see.”
“You may be assured of my discretion,” Mary said earnestly. “Good day.”
***
After Mary left, Mr. Collins went into his father-in-law’s library to think.
Thirty-three, eh? The same age as my dear Charlotte.
And if she was able to bear me a son, Mrs. Withers might well be able to do the same for Mr. Bennet once they marry.
Of course, Mr. Bennet has only managed to produce girls, but I can’t take a chance of losing Longbourn if he gets a son.
I must find a way to sever this relationship.
He thought about spreading the gossip of Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Withers’s early and improper relationship throughout Meryton, but he knew that might not be enough to force Mr. Bennet to release Mrs. Withers and fire Yarby.
He had often seen how little his cousin cared for the good opinion of others.
Money allowed one to do that. And what did it matter if the romance was a bit hasty?
Once he married her and installed her as the mistress of Longbourn…
the speed of it would likely soon be forgotten.
No, I must find some other way. Perhaps I need to focus on my co-rector.
What do we know about Yarby anyway? Perhaps there is some scandalous behavior that led his rector to encourage him to move on.
Yes. Mr. Bennet might well have been taken in by a deceitful parson, unaware of his true character.
Indeed, it is my obligation to Longbourn to source out any disreputable behavior of Yarby’s past. I shall write a letter at once to his former rector in Dorset and see what may be learned that I could turn to my advantage.
Unwilling to walk back to his rented rooms in Meryton for this task, Mr. Collins sat at Sir William’s broad mahogany desk, pulled out a sheet of paper, dipped a pen in the inkwell, and began to compose.