Chapter 10 #3
After a long pause, he spoke again, his voice a little softer.
“I suppose, then, that I must make do. Then we should set the date for our wedding. I had supposed to marry Cousin Elizabeth, but I am aware that I would do more honour to the estate and to my fairest cousin, to reinstall Mrs. Bennet to her rightful place as Mistress of Longbourn. We shall have the banns read here in the Longbourn chapel now that I am resident in the parish—let us set the day for the fifteenth of next month.”
Did I truly spit out my tea? Yes, droplets and a smattering of damp biscuit crumbs were spread across the tablecloth. Too late, I placed my hand to my mouth. Both Mama and I stared at the man, unable to speak.
We both sat immobilised for some minutes. Mr. Collins appeared quite unperturbed by our silence, or by his presumption.
“Mr. Collins,” I said, with all the formality I could muster, “I do not understand you.”
Collins bristled. “Surely, as the nearest male relative of the same blood as Mr. Bennet, it is Mrs. Bennet’s duty to marry me. A woman running her own household? She cannot negotiate with tradesmen, or oversee tenants, or defend her interests against the unscrupulous.”
Mama had gone exceedingly pale, her distress visible as she twisted her handkerchief in her hands. She stared at him, coloured, but remained silent.
“Perhaps, now that I am a landed clergyman, I could seek higher than Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Collins continued, taking the silence as sufficient encouragement to continue.
“Though she married a gentleman, as a widow she has not the same position in society. Was not her father a solicitor? Certainly not a gentleman.” He spoke as though Mrs. Bennet were not in the room; and, I suspect, if she arose and left he would continue unabated.
“I have forgiven Miss Elizabeth’s temerity in contradicting my guidance in warming the Longbourn parlour to an acceptable level.
But, when she becomes the daughter of a clergyman, she must learn restraint, lest her behaviour reflect badly on myself and my station.
Lady Catherine would certainly instruct her in more becoming behaviour. ”
I felt myself growing more angry with every moment. Certainly, I was about to abandon every attempt to speak with composure. Before I could speak, Mama interrupted Mr. Collins’s address.
“Cease, sir! You have said quite enough. I perfectly comprehend your feelings but they are misdirected. I have just come out of mourning a very dear man, and have no desire to remarry. I am quite content with my life, apart from repining Mr. Bennet’s absence.
You, Mr. Collins, could never be the man that he was.
Shall I describe him to you? What he meant to me and my daughters?
A man possessing honour, a strong sense of duty; who comforted me in the loss of our babies Mary, Catherine and little Lydia; who held my hand when I needed gentle companionship; who listened attentively when I read to him of an evening; who was everything I have ever desired. ”
Mama’s tears overwhelmed her. She stood, clasped my hand, then fled the room. Mr. Collins regarded her with an expression of mingled incredulity and self-satisfaction. He went on.
“A woman of such sensitivity!” he exclaimed. “So overcome with my proposal, that she seeks to refresh herself, to save my embarrassment at her diverted appearance.”
“Mr. Collins, you are grievously mistaken. I assure you, Mrs. Bennet harbours no desire whatsoever for your declaration—indeed, she would as soon wish for it as an infant would welcome the affliction of a boil.”
I saw him start at this—perhaps my metaphor was overdone. He appeared confused, bewildered that his proposal had been dismissed.
“Believe me, sir, that you could not have made Mrs. Bennet an offer in any possible way that would have tempted her to accept it. She has no desire to marry; she has fortune enough with Hathaway House. Her daughter Mrs. Bingley is married to a kind, honourable man. What could you possibly offer her which she does not already possess?”
To this he made no reply, undoubtedly believing that the superiority of his suit was self-evident.
I arose and left the room. If he wished for accommodation at Hathaway House then he would be disappointed.
I left instructions with James that he should remain in the room with the man, and with Mrs. Hill that he should be shown no further courtesy.
When he tired of sitting alone, he should be encouraged to leave the house.
He had come without any luggage, which suited me perfectly, for he could not suggest he should stay.
The inn at Meryton was perfectly agreeable—yet, I had no concern whatsoever for his comfort.
I hurried away to Mama’s room, and found her sitting calmly on her chair by the window, looking out over the garden.
We sat quietly together, until Mrs. Hill came to inform us that Mr. Collins had departed.
Supper was a subdued affair, but once retired to the parlour, I sat at the piano-forte, and sang some of Mama’s favourite arias.
The evening lightened—occasionally, we would catch the other’s eye, both diverted by Mr. Collins’s absurdity, and the naivety of Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham.
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