Chapter 6
Longbourn
It was a long walk, the trail still muddy as the ground thawed, and my petticoat was six inches deep in mud when I returned to the house. I entered by the kitchen, changed my half-Hessians for my day shoes, and walked directly to the parlour to warm myself by the fire.
“Harrumph!”
Startled, I turned to see that the room was occupied, not by Mrs. Bennet, but by a gentleman whom I had never seen before.
“Whatever are you at?” the man exclaimed peremptorily. “To come to the parlour in such a state. I shall speak to Mrs. Bennet of this; it is not to be borne.”
He was a tall, heavy looking man of about five and twenty, with a broad, stout figure, wearing a pastor’s frock. His cheeks were florid, and his brow bore a faint sheen. For a moment, I was too astonished to reply and simply stared at him. But he was not finished—
“While you are here, build up the fire with more coal—for Corinthians says: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously.”
I smirked. “And does not Proverbs say: Precious treasure and oil are in a wise man's dwelling, but a foolish man devours it? I find, sir, that coal is a treasure to be used sparingly—the room is warm enough. Indeed, you appear to be overheated.” And—as though in a pantomime—I took my handkerchief from my sleeve and wiped my forehead.
Who was this man, to have thought I was a servant?
And to quote the scriptures with a misplaced authority that he clearly felt was his due!
Now it was his turn to be astonished. That a woman should respond so, to disdain the respect and authority which his clerical garb should naturally bestow, was, I suspected, a circumstance quite beyond him.
He blinked twice, as if uncertain whether to be offended or merely confounded. “You—woman—are not the housemaid?” he stammered, his gaze flickering from my muddied hem to my face and then hastily away.
I could not help but laugh, though I tried to temper my amusement with a polite smile. “No, sir, I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of the house.”
His complexion deepened from florid to nearly scarlet. He tugged at the cuffs of his frock with a certain injured dignity. “Indeed. My name is Mr. Collins. I am lately come from Hunsford, in Kent. I expected to be treated with civility at the very least. Are you not aware of who I am?”
Collins? Ah, the heir presumptive to Longbourn.
He drew himself up, deciding to ignore my impudence, and seated himself with a ponderous sigh. “I had not expected,” he said, “to find the daughters of Longbourn quite so vulgar in appearance and behaviour.”
“Then I shall relieve you of any discomfort, Mr. Collins,” I said, sweeping from the room, just then meeting Mama in the hall.
“Oh, Lizzy,” she said softly, aware that the door to the parlour was still open. “Mr. Collins has arrived, and without an invitation. I have just come from Mr. Bennet; he has taken quite a turn, and is very much in pain.”
“Mama, I will go to him. But what shall we do with Mr. Collins? To arrive without so much as a by-your-leave. I just now left him—indeed, a rude and overbearing man. Why, he thought me a servant and quoted the scriptures to me!”
“Lizzy, I trust you did not respond? That you were polite?”
I blushed. “I am sorry, Mama. I did reply with a verse in return. But what are we to do? It would be improper for him to stay upstairs near our bed-chambers, with Papa downstairs in his room. Surely he cannot expect to reside in the house overnight.”
I took Mama’s hand. I could not leave her alone with such an unwelcome guest. Together we returned to the parlour, where Mr. Collins was standing by the mantel, examining the silver candelabras. I noticed the fire blazing. It was heaped with a generous measure of coal from the scuttle.
“Mr. Collins, my apologies, but Mr. Bennet has taken a turn, and his arthritis is causing him great pain. It often flares up, as it has now, but on the morrow he is likely to be recovered. If you are staying at the inn in Meryton, perhaps you could come to Longbourn for breakfast, and then, I am sure, he might receive you.”
“The inn? No, Mrs. Bennet, as the heir to Longbourn, I will stay here!” Mr. Collins stared belligerently at Mama, who looked at him with some confusion.
“Mr. Collins,” she said at last, finding her voice, “we are, of course, always pleased to welcome family to Longbourn, but we have no chamber made up for a gentleman.”
He regarded her with lofty disapproval. “It is only fitting, Madam, that I should become acquainted with the property which, in the due course of time, I am to inherit. Lady Catherine herself encouraged me to take an active interest in my future estate. If it is merely a question of inconvenience, I shall make do with whatever accommodations are available. I am not fastidious.”
There was an awkward silence. I could feel my mother’s mortification. The prospect of Mr. Collins blundering through the private rooms, his heavy tread echoing above the sickroom, seemed intolerable. I braced myself, but Mama rallied, smoothing her skirts and summoning a brittle graciousness.
“If you are certain you do not mind, Mr. Collins, we will see that you are comfortable.”
He bowed, a smug smile wreathing his face. “I am most obliged to you, Mrs. Bennet. I am, after all, practically family.”
I glanced at Mama, who pressed her lips together and offered him a shallow curtsey.
“Lizzy, would you show Mr. Collins to Mr. Duncan’s old room?” she murmured. “And—” her voice dropped to a whisper as she drew close— “be careful not to leave him unattended in the hall. The silver is not yet locked away.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Of course, Mama.”
“This way, Mr. Collins,” I said, gesturing toward the corridor that ran past the kitchen. A tidy, though small room—Mr. Duncan had been our butler, until he had passed, some five years ago.
Mr. Collins gathered his hat and valise. While I waited, I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the glass in the hall: muddy, harried, and more than a little vexed—certainly, the appearance of a busy housemaid—more likely, with my muddied hems, a maid from the dairy!
* * *
Dinner that evening was only one course, though the table was set with all the formality that Mrs. Bennet could muster, given that the silver had indeed been locked away and the best china hidden from view.
The fare was plain—cold beef and pigeon pie, with a syllabub to follow.
Mr. Collins was all admiration of the room, and all its furniture was examined and praised; and his commendation would have been pleasing but for the mortification that he assumed all was likely to be his future property.
Did he not realise that entailment strictly applied only to real property?
Personal property, like money, livestock, or furniture, could not be entailed.
A thought crossed my mind: perhaps he did, which would necessitate his marrying into the family—the only way he could inherit the chattels and furniture of the house.
Jane was engaged. Oh dear, the days ahead could bring further embarrassment.
If he set his eyes on me, any proposal would be singularly unwelcome.
The gentleman, seated at Mama’s right hand, surveyed the table with an approving nod.
“Mrs. Bennet, you are most attentive to the duties of your station. I trust you will not think me remiss in remarking that the table at Hunsford Parsonage is, of necessity, far more modest. My own cook—though an excellent woman who also sees to the house—cannot approach your hand with pastry.” He helped himself to a generous slice of pie.
“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” replied Mama. “But we are very well able to keep a cook ourselves. While my daughters and I govern the household, we leave it to the servants to know and carry out their responsibilities.”
He inclined his head gravely. “But surely you practice economy—which requires close attention to servants who, in my experience, often take advantage of their position.”
“I can assure you, sir, that in Hertfordshire most servants are trustworthy. Does your experience come from Kent—is that where you were raised?”
“Certainly not, madam. The standards in Kent are set by none other than her ladyship, Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself, and are above reproach. I have the honour of being patronised by the lady—a circumstance which, I assure you, is the envy of every clergyman in the county. Her ladyship visits Hunsford Parsonage frequently—for she is most attentive to her spiritual obligations and to the comfort of her tenants. In fact, it was only last Michaelmas that she condescended to enter my humble abode, and remarked, with her usual discernment, on the admirable neatness of my pantry shelves.”
He paused, as if expecting us all to express our wonder, and Jane obliged him with a small, encouraging smile.
“Lady Catherine must be an exceptional woman,” I said, attempting to hide my amusement.
“Oh, Miss Elizabeth, you do not exaggerate. Her ladyship is a woman of the highest rank and discernment, possessed of a most generous disposition. Why, only last week, she advised me upon the arrangement of my parlour chairs, recommending that the sofa should be placed directly opposite the fire, so that any guest, however humble, might enjoy its warmth. Such consideration! Such attention to the comfort of even the least among us! I am persuaded that no other noblewoman in England could equal her.” He paused to take a bite of pie.