Chapter 30
When Sir William Lucas appeared at Longbourn that afternoon, his announcement that his eldest daughter was shortly to be united with Mr. Collins was met at first with astonished disbelief.
As Mr. Collins himself had taken pains to ensure, with a combination of tact and apprehension, that he was away from home at this critical moment, he could not be applied to, either to confirm or contradict the report; but at first it seemed impossible to credit.
“Good Lord, Sir William, how can you tell such a story!” exclaimed Lydia. “Do not you know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?”
Sir William admitted he understood this had indeed been so—but that it was no longer the case.
Mr. Collins’s affections were now fixed upon a different object, and there could be no doubt of his intending to marry his daughter as soon as was convenient.
Elizabeth, who could no longer bear to see him so obviously disbelieved, raised her voice above the confusion to agree that all Sir William said was true, for she had heard it from Charlotte’s own mouth just a few hours before.
At the same time, she sought to put a stop to the exclamations of incredulity of her mother and her sisters by offering Sir William congratulations as fulsome as could be justified on such an occasion.
Jane joined in with great good nature, and even Mary managed to wish them well.
But Mrs. Bennet said almost nothing at all until Sir William took his leave.
Then her anger was quite as terrible as Mary had feared.
At first, she refused to believe the story at all; then gradually, her mood shifted from doubting its veracity to abusing those at its heart.
Mr. Collins had been taken in, and by what means she did not like to consider.
Who knew what methods Charlotte Lucas might have employed to ensnare him?
She had always thought her a sly, untrustworthy girl.
She hoped the match might still be broken off, and if it was not, then she wished they might never be happy.
If Elizabeth had done as she ought and accepted him, now it would be she and not Lady Lucas who was planning a daughter’s wedding.
But no-one attended to a word she said; her wishes were always disregarded.
When Mr. Collins eventually returned, an atmosphere of superficial politeness was, for a few painful hours, restored.
Over the dinner table, Mrs. Bennet even managed to offer him a few chilly congratulations; but it could not be said to have been an enjoyable evening.
Everyone except the future bridegroom was subdued.
Only he seemed unconcerned, referring with no discernible embarrassment to his dearest Charlotte, and observing how often it was that an initial setback was eventually revealed to be a blessing in disguise, heralding as it did a prize of even greater value.
“In your case,” observed Mr. Bennet, “the time between the two events was mercifully short, was it not?”
Mr. Collins agreed, quite unembarrassed, that this was indeed so, and he did not count it as the least of his blessings that he had not been obliged to wait too long for his good fortune.
Perhaps more to his listeners’ liking was the information that he did not intend to trouble them much longer with his presence at Longbourn, but would return as soon as possible to Kent and arrange his affairs there.
He hoped, however, that they would not object to his visiting them again in a few weeks’ time?
As he and his amiable Charlotte were to be joined in matrimony at Meryton, it would be of incalculable convenience if he could persuade them to accept him once more as their guest.
It was impossible to say whether gratitude at his going so quickly or disappointment at the speediness of his return was uppermost in the minds of those around the table; but when the meal was over, only Mr. Collins seemed entirely happy with the way events had unfolded, laying down his napkin with every appearance of complete satisfaction.
His departure did nothing to improve Mrs. Bennet’s temper.
She was teased, as it was intended she should be, by frequent visits from Lady Lucas, who, in the first flush of her surprise at Charlotte’s news, seemed to have briefly thrown off her usual deference, missing no opportunity to confide to her friend how delightful was the prospect of having her eldest daughter so respectably and imminently married.
This could not help but remind Mrs. Bennet of the continued and inexplicable absence of Mr. Bingley, who appeared to be in no hurry to return to Netherfield and make Jane the offer which she had so publicly anticipated.
She had even begun to weary of scolding Elizabeth, who could never be brought to show a proper sense of guilt for what had happened, no matter how frequently it was pointed out to her.
Humiliated and resentful, Mrs. Bennet sought a new target with which to occupy herself, and soon it was Mary who felt the lash of her displeasure.
Turning over in her mind every detail of what had taken place in the days before Mr. Collins’s proposal, it did not take Mrs. Bennet long to convince herself that Mary knew more than she had hitherto disclosed about Charlotte’s intentions towards Mr. Collins; and during many an otherwise aimless hour, she sought to extract from her daughter any information that might rebound to Charlotte’s discredit.
“When I told you I was ready to think of you as a possibility for Mr. Collins, I recall you saying it was too late. I wonder, Mary, what you meant by that. Did you know that Charlotte was already scheming to catch him?”
“I really couldn’t say, Mama. I merely observed that she was often in his company and that she paid him a lot of attention. I believe we all thought it was a kindness on her part, to distract him away from Lizzy.”
“She was certainly very successful at that,” declared Mrs. Bennet scornfully. “She distracted him into making her the offer that should have been ours! I can’t imagine why you didn’t mention it to me. I should have put a stop to it very sharply, I can tell you.”
“I think Mr. Collins had already decided that if he couldn’t have Lizzy or Jane, he would look elsewhere. I don’t think it was entirely Charlotte’s doing. It seems very unfair to blame her for her own good fortune.”
“How can you be so foolish! One of you should have snapped him up, as I said on numerous occasions. Lizzy was wilful and wicked and would not have him, and you would not exert yourself enough to try. To have been outmanoeuvred by that cunning little minx Charlotte Lucas is unbearable. You and Lizzy are both to blame, and I cannot forgive either of you for it.”
There seemed no point in reminding Mrs. Bennet of the conversation in which Mary had offered herself up as a prospect for Mr. Collins’s hand, and of her peremptory rejection of it.
Mary knew it would only fan the flames of her mother’s anger.
As it was, her presence, which had always irritated Mrs. Bennet, now provoked her almost beyond endurance.
Her daily practice at the piano was painful to her mother’s ears; her books cluttered up the drawing room.
There was ink on her fingers, had she not noticed it?
She was to scrub it off this minute. This was not a counting house and she was not a clerk.
Was there nothing she could do about her hair?
It made her mother itch to find her scissors.
Could she not put on a more becoming dress?
The colours she wore were as dull as ditchwater.
But nothing roused Mrs. Bennet to anger so much as Mary’s spectacles.
“I warned that no man would marry you if you wore them, and I’m afraid to say I have been proved right.
If I had had my way, perhaps things now would be very different, but that we shall never know. ”
On and on her mother went, the waves of her displeasure breaking over Mary like a rough and unrelenting sea.
There was nothing to be said and nowhere to hide.
When Mr. Collins returned at the end of a fortnight, Mary was almost relieved, for his presence required Mrs. Bennet to rein in her complaints, in public at least.
Mary hoped his arrival might encourage Charlotte to visit Longbourn again.
Once so regular a guest, she had not been seen there since the announcement of her engagement.
Mary believed she absented herself, knowing that her presence was offensive to Mrs. Bennet; but she suspected that she was also avoiding Elizabeth.
Their last interview had been painful for them both; and their attachment had cooled as a result.
Sometimes, Mary thought she missed her more than Lizzy.
She had come to think of Charlotte as her friend and felt the loss of her company very keenly.
But with circumstances as they were, she had not thought it wise to risk her mother’s disapproval by calling at Lucas Lodge herself; and it was some time before they met again, when Mr. Collins brought her on his arm one afternoon to tea.