Chapter 6 #3
“Very fair indeed, sir,” Mr. Collins assured him, with becoming modesty and a quiet satisfaction at the prospect of introducing so eligible a gentleman to the neighborhood. “And only three miles from Meryton, which renders it particularly convenient for society.”
Mr. Darcy regarded his friend with a faint, indulgent curve of the lips, while Lady Catherine’s eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of having so expeditiously resolved a difficulty that had evidently vexed her.
“Excellent,” she pronounced. “Then it is settled. You shall accompany Mr. Bingley thither, Mr. Collins, and see the business properly concluded.”
Mr. Darcy, who had been listening in thoughtful silence, now spoke with quiet decision, his posture unchanging yet his tone admitting no doubt.
“I shall convey them in my carriage, Aunt. It will be no inconvenience.”
Lady Catherine regarded her nephew for a moment, as though weighing the advantages of having him thus employed beyond her immediate sphere, her expression betraying a mixture of approval and calculation.
Mr. Bingley looked gratified, and Mr. Collins—ever observant—felt a quiet thrill at the thought of these two gentlemen of such evident worth entering the circle of his cousins, where Jane’s sweetness and Elizabeth’s wit might find worthy appreciation.
“Very proper,” Lady Catherine pronounced at last. “When do you propose to set out?”
“I shall write to Mr. Bennet this very evening,” Mr. Collins replied with eager alacrity. “We might depart the morning after tomorrow. The letter will reach him in good time, and he will prepare accordingly.”
“Capital,” declared her ladyship, with an air of complete triumph. “The arrangement is complete.”
The tea proceeded thereafter in comparative tranquility, the conversation turning to lighter topics, until the cups were removed.
When the servants had withdrawn, Lady Catherine permitted Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley to withdraw with a gracious nod, expressing her hope that they would find the evening air restorative after so much discussion.
The two gentlemen rose at once, bowed with proper deference, and quitted the room—Mr. Bingley with his customary cheerfulness, Mr. Darcy with silent composure—leaving Mr. Collins alone with his patroness.
She motioned him to approach her chair, her manner indicating that a matter of particular confidence was to follow.
“I have considered your scheme for the parish poor-relief,” she began, in a tone that brooked no interruption yet conveyed unmistakable approbation.
“Regular distributions—twice weekly in winter—vouchers issued by the parish, strict eligibility confined to widows, the aged, and the infirm. It is orderly, it is efficient, and it reflects a proper understanding of charity. I approve it fully, and I shall bear the chief expense myself.”
Mr. Collins bowed low, his countenance radiant with heartfelt gratitude, his eyes shining with the emotion of one who had scarcely dared hope for such generous patronage.
“Your ladyship’s generosity overwhelms me,” he said softly.
She waved the compliment aside with majestic indifference, though a faint softening of her features betrayed her pleasure in his deference.
“It is no more than proper management requires. But I have observed something else, Mr. Collins, which gives me no small concern. You three gentlemen—yourself, my nephew Darcy, and Mr. Bingley—are all, in one degree or another, bereft of parental guidance. Orphans of both father and mother, with no steady hand to direct your establishments. Such a situation cannot be suffered to continue indefinitely. A man of consequence requires a wife—not merely for domestic comfort, but for the proper ordering of his house and the continuation of his line. For Mr. Bingley I shall not be idle; I have connexions enough, and influence sufficient, to ensure that a lady of amiable disposition and tolerable fortune is found. For my nephew—let there be no misunderstanding on that head. Mr. Darcy has been destined for my daughter Anne since their infancy. The union of Pemberley and Rosings was settled between his mother and myself long ago, and nothing—neither caprice nor delay—shall prevent its accomplishment. It is his duty, and he knows it. As for yourself, Mr. Collins, a clergyman in your position would do well to secure a prudent helpmeet, and I may yet direct my thoughts toward a suitable candidate. But mark me well—on the journey you will take occasion to speak seriously with Darcy. A man in possession of Pemberley cannot postpone matrimony indefinitely. Remind him that duty, consequence, the continuation of an ancient name—all demand it. You should find the proper words as mine as no longer of due interest to him. Duty, consequence, the continuation of an ancient name—all demand it.”
Mr. Collins inclined his head with solemn attention, though the admonition was directed at one no longer present.
Lady Catherine continued, undeterred, her voice rising with conviction.
“As for Mr. Bingley, if Hertfordshire should indeed provide him a suitable estate, I shall be greatly obliged to you. It will keep him agreeably occupied—and at a proper distance. I have never altogether approved the closeness of their friendship, when Darcy’s lineage is so ancient and elevated, while Mr. Bingley’s father was, as you must be aware, engaged in trade. ”
Mr. Collins—absorbing every nuance—felt his interest in the gentlemen deepen, perceiving in Mr. Bingley’s good nature a perfect complement to Jane’s serenity, and in Mr. Darcy’s reserved dignity a challenge that Elizabeth’s spirited mind might admirably meet.
Lady Catherine rose at last, signaling that the audience was concluded, her posture erect and commanding.
“Everything is arranged,” she declared, with the serene confidence of one whose plans admit no possibility of failure. “You have your instructions, Mr. Collins. I trust you will execute them with your usual diligence.”
And with that declaration, she advanced at once to the plans she had already formed in her mind, treating their execution as inevitable, and the concurrence of all present as a foregone conclusion.
***
Mr. Collins had scarcely quitted the parlor at Rosings when, upon the spacious landing of the great staircase, he encountered Mr. Bingley, who appeared to have been lingering there with some design.
The gentleman stepped forward at once, intercepting his path with an ease that bespoke anticipation rather than accident, and leaned a little nearer, addressing him in a lowered voice with an air of confidential good humor that invited openness rather than reserve.
“So,” Mr. Bingley began, smiling with unaffected anticipation, “we are very nearly fellow travelers, Mr. Collins. I have been hoping for a word with you in private, if I may be allowed. You must prepare yourself to be questioned without mercy, for I am heartily tired of hearing only general praises for properties in Kent. Tell me plainly—what sort of country do you propose to introduce me to?”
Mr. Collins brightened at once, pleased alike by the inquiry and the manner of it—and quietly gratified at the opportunity to speak of the neighborhood where his cousins resided, whose merits he could not but consider with partial affection.
“Hertfordshire, sir, is not a county that dazzles at first glance,” he replied with earnest warmth, “but it improves upon acquaintance—which, I am persuaded, is the soundest recommendation any place may possess. Its villages are well ordered, its society respectable without pretension, and its inhabitants—particularly those of the middle and clerical ranks—are disposed toward civility, improvement, and mutual consideration.”
“That already sounds promising,” Mr. Bingley replied cheerfully, his eyes lighting with genuine interest. “I ask for very little, you know. A house that feels my own, air that does not reproach one for breathing it, and neighbors who will dine with me without examining my pedigree too closely. And a garden fit for walking. Anything beyond that I consider a luxury.”
“You would find yourself very comfortably situated, I believe,” Mr. Collins assured him, his tone conveying quiet confidence.
“Longbourn itself is a handsome property, though not to be let; but Netherfield Park—should you approve it—is admirably placed, with sufficient distance to ensure privacy, yet near enough to society to prevent stagnation. The walks are pleasant, the grounds well kept, and the house of a size to accommodate hospitality without encouraging ostentation.”
Mr. Bingley laughed lightly, his amiability undimmed.
“Ostentation is exactly what I wish to avoid. I have two sisters in London who would gladly manage my household for me, should I allow it—but I confess the prospect alarms me more than solitude ever could. A little peace, Mr. Collins, is all I ask; peace, and the liberty to invite whom I please.”
Mr. Collins nodded with understanding that was perhaps a shade too earnest—his thoughts turning inevitably to the serene gentleness of his cousin Jane, whose disposition seemed so admirably suited to afford just such peace to a gentleman of Mr. Bingley’s open temper.
“Domestic harmony is a blessing too often undervalued, sir,” he observed gravely. “I have observed that when a gentleman’s establishment is governed by his own principles, rather than the anxieties of others, he is far more likely to enjoy both comfort and independence.”
“Well said,” Mr. Bingley replied, with a nod of appreciative agreement. “And independence is exactly what I hope to purchase with a lease.”
There was a moment’s pause, in which Mr. Collins, encouraged by Mr. Bingley’s openness, ventured upon a question of his own—prompted not merely by curiosity, but by a growing conviction that the reserved dignity of Mr. Darcy might find its counterpart in Elizabeth’s lively discernment.