Chapter 8 Mr Collins Arrives
CHAPTER EIGHT
MR COLLINS ARRIVES
As expected, Mrs Bennet received poorly the news that the heir to Longbourn would arrive later that afternoon.
All morning she was heard lamenting the matter—first to her daughters, then to the housekeeper, and indeed to anyone within earshot—as she bustled about giving orders for the guest room to be cleaned and the menus adjusted for his stay.
Her complaints centred chiefly on two points.
The first was that Mr Bennet had not troubled himself to inform her of their guest’s arrival until that very morning.
The second, and far greater offence, was that she was expressly forbidden to thrust any of her daughters upon the gentleman—particularly the second.
At first she had been less displeased with the prospect of his visit when her husband explained the expected purpose of his coming, namely to seek a wife among his cousins.
But when Mr Bennet made it plain that his favourite—who was also her least—was not to be considered, her dissatisfaction returned in full force.
“Lizzy is the ideal match for him,” she insisted when Mr Bennet called her into his study to issue his edict regarding his daughters.
“She is the least likely to draw a suitor—though I suppose Mary has even less chance, being so very plain. Still, Lizzy has been the one to assist you, and if she were to marry the man who will inherit Longbourn, she would already have some knowledge of the estate that her sisters lack. She is next to Jane in age, and pretty enough. Since Jane is to marry Mr Bingley, why should I not direct him towards Lizzy?”
But Mr Bennet shook his head. “I will not permit him to marry her,” he retorted.
“If Mary chooses to accept him, I shall not object, but you will not thrust Lizzy upon him. Nor, for that matter, should you push any of our daughters at a man simply because he is a would-be suitor. It has been diverting enough to hear you flutter on about Jane’s impending marriage to Mr Bingley—though the gentleman has yet to pay her a single call—but I fear your efforts will have precisely the opposite effect if you do not restrain yourself.
Men such as he are accustomed to having women paraded before them, and they often prefer the chase to the capture. ”
Mrs Bennet did not wholly comprehend her husband’s dry humour, but she grasped his meaning well enough: her matchmaking must cease, at least until Mr Collins’s visit had concluded, or she would forfeit her pin money for the next quarter.
While Mr Bennet had rarely resorted to such measures in their two decades of marriage, she knew better than to dismiss the threat as idle.
If she disobeyed, he would indeed dock her allowance—and with the weddings she fully expected to prepare for in the near future, she had no wish to see her household funds reduced.
“Very well, Mr Bennet,” she sniffed, seeing herself out of his study. She would do as he bid, but that did not mean that she would not do all she could to ensure that one of her daughters was the next mistress of Longbourn.
When Mr Collins arrived at precisely four o’clock as promised, all seven Bennets met him outside, lined up in order of age.
From the look on his face, he was well pleased with the beauty of the elder daughters; but when Mrs Bennet later hinted that the two eldest were not available, saying something vaguely about a suitor pursuing one or the other, he found himself disappointed in the appearance of the younger ones.
He turned next to the third sister and, for the first time, began to doubt his ability to fulfil his patroness’ command to find a bride amongst his cousins.
Miss Mary was not unattractive, yet neither did she possess the beauty of her elder sisters.
The youngest, Miss Lydia, was tall, buxom, and undeniably pretty, but a few minutes in her company convinced him that such high spirits were wholly unsuitable in a clergyman’s wife.
Finally, he turned towards the fourth daughter.
Miss Catherine seemed more promising—quiet, compliant, and easily guided—but she bore the name of Lady Catherine herself.
Mr Collins was certain his patroness would not approve such a likeness, still less the unfortunate diminutive of “Kitty.” Lady Catherine prized dignity and rank, and she would never tolerate so inauspicious a name attached to one who might share her own.
When the family had retired that night, Mr Collins lay in bed, considering all he had learnt that day. He was determined to cultivate the acquaintance of all his cousin’s daughters; for no opportunity to successfully complete the instructions of his magnificent patroness ought to be overlooked.
As nothing more had been revealed—merely that the eldest two daughters were not at his disposal—he could not decide whether they were already spoken for or whether Mr or Mrs Bennet sought to slight him by denying him the most eligible of the sisters.
Yet if, as Mrs Bennet hinted, one or both of those two were soon to be well settled, he consoled himself with the thought that he might be spared the eventual burden of maintaining the younger girls upon Mr Bennet’s passing.
For the present, he resolved to wait and observe.
Should no suitable suitors present themselves during his visit, he would not scruple to disregard Mr Bennet’s directives and address the young ladies himself.
The eldest, Miss Bennet, was all that was lovely; Miss Elizabeth, by contrast, was of a very different cast—lively, proper, and, upon sufficient reflection, comely enough.
Concluding that either would do nicely as his wife, he comforted himself with the plan of paying his attentions to both until one displayed a proper readiness to accept him.
As the heir to their father’s estate, he considered himself immensely eligible and, with no rival suitor in view, could scarcely imagine either lady declining such an advantageous offer.
He, of course, said none of this to his host or hostess, but during the first morning of his visit, began to do all he could to make himself invaluable to his cousins, seeking to earn their regard through flattery and attention, if their regard was to be won.
“Cousin Jane, Cousin Elizabeth, might one of you be so good as to accompany me through the park this morning that I may view the estate in its entirety?” he enquired at breakfast. “I realise you are but young ladies, and cannot be expected to know every detail of its management, yet I am sure you might point out a few particulars of interest to me.” He delivered this last with such obsequious pomposity that Elizabeth was hard-pressed not to laugh aloud.
“Unfortunately, Mr Collins,” Elizabeth began, the laughter in her voice audible to those who knew her well, “we are both obliged to go into the village this morning. The milliner promised to obtain a ribbon I require to complete a gown, and she assured me it would be ready today.”
At this, both her parents turned sharp looks upon her.
Mr Bennet’s expression held the same amusement Elizabeth felt, while Mrs Bennet’s was openly reproving.
Even she recognised her daughter was mocking the gentleman—and although he might deserve it, Elizabeth ought not to provoke him when he could one day hold some influence over their futures.
“Oh, Lizzy,” Lydia cried, “might Kitty and I accompany you? Mr Bingley has promised to hold a ball at Netherfield soon, and I long to see what new ribbons and lace Mrs Pattison has received. She told me last week she expected a shipment from London any day. If we are in Meryton, perhaps we shall see the officers as well!”
“You should all go,” Mrs Bennet interjected quickly. “Mary, you too. You and Mr Collins can stop at the Allens’ to deliver an invitation for Sunday dinner. We have been remiss in calling on them, and Mrs Allen told me only the other day that they are free this week.”
“Yes, Mama,” Mary replied without enthusiasm.
She could easily imagine herself as a rector’s wife, yet the prospect of marrying this rector was wholly unappealing.
The previous evening she had attempted to discuss passages from Scripture and Fordyce with him, but Mr Collins had talked over her, never truly listening to her questions.
His responses were long, rambling, and beside the point, leaving her both dissatisfied and weary.
She could not picture a future bound to a man who would so often mortify her.
Perhaps, had she possessed Lizzy’s liveliness, she might hope to guide him towards better sense, but she had little desire to spend her life mothering a husband.
When she married, she would prefer a man—one with maturity and judgement—not a child in need of correction.
There was also the manner in which he spoke of his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh—an excess of reverence that Mary found almost improper. Such devotion, she thought, ought to be reserved for the Almighty, not bestowed upon a mere mortal, however elevated her rank.
With these thoughts pressing upon her, Mary pulled her elder sisters aside when they went upstairs to collect their things.
“I cannot marry Mr Collins,” she burst out without preamble, following Jane and Elizabeth into the sitting room they shared.
Elizabeth chuckled. “I cannot blame you in the least, Mary,” she said warmly.
“But Mama has already been told she may not press any of us towards him. If you make your feelings clear to Papa, he will support you when the time comes to refuse him. Besides, Jane is to marry very well, and then there will be no need to worry about what will become of us once Papa is gone.” She had hoped her teasing might soften Jane’s stern mood, but as happened often of late, it fell flat.
“That is not certain, Lizzy, and you ought not to speak so,” Jane returned, her tone sharper than Elizabeth had ever heard from her.
“Mr Bingley may seem interested in me, but surely he will soon follow his sister and quit the neighbourhood. She left without so much as a word, and I fear her brother will do the same. Lydia will be sorely disappointed when she learns there will be no Netherfield ball after all.”
“But you heard Mrs Hurst and her brother speak of it when we were there,” Elizabeth reminded her. “They have already begun planning for it.”
“Even you told me that Mr Bingley admitted he was capricious,” Jane said earnestly. “If he chose to leave, he would do so in a moment—that is what you told me he admitted to himself.”
“Do not worry so much, Jane,” Elizabeth said, attempting once more to soothe her.
“Papa has already spoken to Mama about pressing us too hard towards eligible men, and I believe I have begun to see a slight change in her behaviour. Whether it will last remains to be seen, but I do not think you will have cause for concern. Mr Bingley seemed devoted to you, and with Miss Bingley gone, there is no one left to poison his mind. Without her constant complaints, he will be more inclined to pursue his courtship freely.”
Jane only shook her head. “You cannot understand, Lizzy,” she murmured. “Who is to say that he will not receive a letter from Miss Bingley within a day or two and leave at once to join her?”
“I cannot say for certain,” Elizabeth admitted gently. “But will you not give him time to know you better? He has scarcely been in the neighbourhood two months.”
“I am too tired to go to Meryton, Lizzy,” Jane said suddenly, surprising both her sisters.
“Perhaps he will call, and if he does, I will be more certain of his regard. But until then—” her voice grew softer “—as Papa reminded me earlier today when he spoke to me privately, the only time he has come here was when he returned me from Netherfield. He has made me no promises.”
“Very well,” Elizabeth replied, striving to understand the weight of her sister’s misgivings. “Do you wish me to stay with you?”
“No, Lizzy,” Jane replied, her voice sounding more like her own.
“You must help Mary avoid too much of Mr Collins’s attention, and it will take the both of you to keep Lydia and Kitty from flirting outrageously with the officers.
I am not yet fully myself, and a walk into Meryton would do me more harm than good. We shall talk more later tonight.”
“Then rest while we are gone,” Mary said, patting her sister’s hand. With a sigh, she turned to Elizabeth. “Come, Lizzy. Walk with me—and do not let go of my arm, no matter what happens,” she added, half in earnest, half in plea.