Chapter 10 #2
Was this true? I had so looked forward to changing from the drab greys of mourning into colour; to escape the strictures forced upon women to publicly display their grief, as if all the world wished to exult in their sorrow.
But, having taken that first step, I found there was a restlessness within me.
Meryton, which once had been horizon enough, now seemed constricting.
* * *
The following week was filled with visits from the ladies of the neighbourhood, which Mama, I, and often together with Jane, returned. Life had become normal—so it seemed.
The following week, Mr. Denny kept his promise, and both he and his friend, Mr. Wickham, were announced by Mrs. Hill as we sat in the parlour. We were expecting calls, for this was our day at home; but gentlemen callers were unexpected.
“Mr. Denny, ma’am,” said Mrs. Hill, announcing the gentleman. Denny entered with a bow. “Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, what a pleasure to see you this morning. If I may, might I introduce my friend, Mr. Wickham, who has accepted a commission in our corps?”
The gentleman followed Mr. Denny into the room, his eyes lingering, perhaps a little too long, on Mrs. Bennet.
She looked particularly fine in a sky-blue muslin dress, a few curls of fair hair escaping from beneath her lace cap.
Mr. Wickham’s own appearance was greatly in his favour; he had all the best parts of beauty—a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address; the man wanted only his regimentals to make him completely charming.
The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation—a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming.
He spoke with a ready civility, and his words soon set us at ease.
He offered his condolences, then moved on with pleasing delicacy, making several remarks on the pleasantness of Meryton and its inhabitants.
We did not call for tea, for it would be improper on first acquaintance to have the visit last over half an hour, but the conversation was pleasant and free-flowing.
“Is the regiment to Brighton?” I enquired, for the officers had taken lodgings in town and seemed ready for a longer occupancy than usual.
“In good time, Miss Bennet,” replied Mr. Denny. “But I confess that Meryton holds more allure for me than Brighton, for all that the Prince Regent and his sisters are in residence there.”
“Is that so? Why, we have nothing of such grandeur and elegance as the Pavilion. I’m sure the assembly hall is but a fraction of the Pavilion’s size.”
Denny laughed, but his reply was interrupted by Mr. Wickham. “Indeed, Miss Bennet. But I understand that the return of certain ladies to society has quite altered the landscape hereabouts.”
Mama raised her brows. “I daresay you will find plenty of lively company in Brighton, Mr. Wickham. The young ladies of Sussex are much admired.”
He laughed lightly. “None could compare, I assure you.”
I caught Mama’s eye, and she pressed her lips together; though whether she smiled or pouted at his obvious flattery, I could not say.
The gentlemen departed soon after, and Mama and I settled back to our embroidery.
“How did you find Mr. Wickham?” asked Mama, after a while. “I thought him a pleasant young man; though, a little too willing to please.”
“Certainly, he is handsome; and accustomed, I believe, to expecting and accepting the admiration of others. It is strange, however, that he has just accepted a commission into the militia, yet by all measures he cannot be less than eight and twenty. Surely, that is a little old to take only a lieutenancy—I would have expected him to hold a more senior rank.”
“He might have taken up the commission in place of another gentleman, a common practice among those who do not wish to serve,” said Mama. “To purchase a captaincy or majority is likely beyond his or their means. Did you notice that his coat was worn, and the weave, perhaps, a little coarse?”
“Oh, Mama, whenever did you bother about such things—there are many men in our neighbourhood who sport similar clothing.”
“But we know their characters, Lizzy. Whereas, for all Mr. Wickham’s congeniality, we know nothing further than that he is a friend of Mr. Denny, who himself is scarcely known to us, except that he prefers Vingt-un better than Commerce.”
I laughed. “Of course, I had not thought of it.”
“You and I both, Lizzy, are women whom any man might wish to marry. My income, which one day will be yours, exceeds fifteen hundred pounds a year—equivalent to a fortune of forty thousand pounds at the four percents. A prize indeed for any fortune-hunter.”
Mama had the right of it. And even a man of eight and twenty would find Mama an extremely attractive woman—more so with a fortune of forty thousand pounds.
At that moment, another suitor arrived, even less welcome than the two officers. A commotion in the hall interrupted us. Mrs. Hill reappeared, looking distinctly vexed. “Mr. Collins, ma’am.”
My brows shot up in surprise. Mama looked at me in concern. “I am not sure we are prepared to receive him, Mrs. Hill. I would wish Mr. Philips to be present. Could you please inform him that we are not at home.”
“No, it is not to be borne! Certainly you shall see me—I am your cousin, the head of the family!” Mr. Collins pushed past Mrs. Hill.
“Mr. Collins,” Mama said, rising to greet him. “You must forgive us, sir, but Miss Elizabeth and I are a little fatigued. Perhaps you could call on the morrow, when we would be most happy to receive you.”
Oh, the effrontery of the man. He would not be dissuaded and crossed the parlour and sat, after pulling a chair as close as possible to Mama.
“My dear cousin,” he began, “perhaps you are unaware, but I warned you that the servants of Hertfordshire were not to be trusted.”
“Whatever do you mean?” I replied, deeply puzzled by his comment.
“The house, Longbourn House! It is empty—why, there is no furniture, no carpets, nothing in the kitchen, nor any servants. They have run away with the lot! I immediately called upon Sir William Lucas, the magistrate, but he told me that I should speak to you or Mr. Philips.”
“Perhaps you should speak to Mr. Philips, for he is the estate’s attorney. But, as you are here, cousin, will you take tea?” Mama glanced at me, and I left to ask Mrs. Hill to bring tea and biscuits.
Mr. Collins glared at me as I returned, still very much perturbed. “But surely, it is the magistrate’s duty to investigate theft.”
“There is no theft, Mr. Collins,” Mama said. “As you are aware, only the estate lands and house are entailed. Mr. Bennet’s personal possessions have been sold, the receipts thereof added to my jointure.”
“B—but how am I to furnish the house? There are matters of livestock, of horses, a carriage; am I to cook my own meals? Where am I to sleep? There are neither linens, mattresses, nor beds!”
“Have you come from Hunsford? Surely, the house there contained adequate furniture—you should have it brought up from Kent.” I smiled innocently at him. I guessed that the parsonage was furnished when he took up the position.
He stared at me blankly. It was certain he had never considered that the furniture of a house, and all the utensils, were not part of the property.
Mama folded her hands with a composure that was only partly genuine.
“Mr. Collins, you must understand that the practicalities of owning property often require significant expenditure. Longbourn is indeed yours, but you must find the means to outfit the house and the farm yourself. I’m sure that Mr. Philips can advise you on the matter. ”
He looked unconvinced. “But, Mrs. Bennet, my patroness, Lady Catherine herself, maintains that a man of the cloth should find his establishment ready and welcoming. It is a most unfortunate inconvenience—most unfortunate indeed.”
“Surely, sir, with the tithe income from Hunsford, you can afford at the very least to furnish the house,” I said. “Farm implements and horses can be purchased in the neighbourhood.”
Mr. Collins gave me an injured look—I had touched upon an issue which upset him exceedingly. “There is no glebe income; the church lands were disposed of many years ago. The living depends entirely on the benefice of Lady Catherine, for it is she who pays the tithes.”
“And the lesser tithes—eggs, poultry and the like—I suppose it is too far from Kent to Hertfordshire for you to collect those?”
Mama shot me a look, half warning, half indulgent. “Lizzy, do not tease your cousin. Mr. Collins, there is no theft, I assure you—merely the ordinary business of settling an estate.”
Tea arrived and Mrs. Hill’s scowl softened as she set the tray before us. For a moment, it seemed the danger had passed.
But Mr. Collins, his dignity sorely wounded, sipped his tea in silence, casting resentful glances at the hearth. The only sound was his chewing a biscuit.