Chapter 17 #2
Finally, Elizabeth knew what was to be done.
She was to wed Mr MacKinnon on whatever terms he laid out before her.
As troubled as she was by the confrontation she had overheard between Mrs Douglas and Mrs Fraser, and as afraid as she now was of Malcolm following his ultimatum, she knew that with Mr Darcy gone, there was no one she could count on to fight for her.
No one remained to ask the questions she could not ask.
The snare had closed, and she stood within it alone.
She stopped outside her father's study and listened carefully at the door. The rustling of paper inside told her Malcolm was there.
“Enter.”
He sat behind the desk, and at her entrance his hand moved quickly, pushing something into the drawer before him. She caught sight of a thick folded packet, its seal broken, before the drawer slammed shut.
Malcolm looked up, his countenance arranged in welcome.
“Elizabeth. I understood you were occupied with the lesson.”
Leaving the door open, Elizabeth approached the desk, curiosity getting the better of her as her eyes lingered on the drawer he had just slammed shut.
“A stableboy came from Lucas Lodge two days since, did he not, Mr MacKinnon?” she asked. “I saw him from my chamber window.”
A strange expression flickered across Malcolm’s face. “Yes. You are correct.”
As Elizabeth looked at her betrothed, she remembered how the boy had seemingly argued with Malcolm in the drive.
She had not heard a word of the confrontation, of course, but the boy had clutched something to his chest. It was not until Malcolm had pressed a coin into his hand that the boy had finally handed Malcolm something she had not quite seen.
Elizabeth had put it out of her mind until now. There had been something too furtive in the way Malcolm had hidden that packet as soon as she had walked in.
“And what did the stableboy want?” she asked, ignoring her manners.
Malcolm's expression did not waver, but something shifted far back in his eyes. “Ah. A note from Sir William, touching on some matters of business we had discussed. Tenant accounts requiring attention. Nothing of moment.”
“Business matters,” she repeated flatly.
“Indeed. Sir William has been generous in explaining local custom. Tedious particulars.” His smile was warm, familiar, everything it ought to be. “Was there something you wished to discuss?”
Elizabeth felt her shoulders drop. For a fleeting moment, she had allowed herself to hope that Darcy had written to her before leaving.
Perhaps Malcolm had somehow intercepted the letter.
But it was mere foolishness, of course. If Darcy had anything to say to her, he would have sent word through his sister, not a random stableboy.
She was too tired to examine the thought further.
Too tired, and too frightened of what she might find if she did.
“Elizabeth?” Malcolm asked again. “Was there something you wished to discuss?”
“I have come to answer you.” Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. “I accept your offer. We shall have a wedding around Christmas.”
She braced for satisfaction, for that cold triumph she had seen when he delivered his ultimatum. Instead, he rose with a regretful expression.
“Elizabeth.” He took her hand. “I must beg your pardon. I spoke to you harshly, more harshly than you merited. The difficulties pressing upon me, the tangles awaiting resolution in Scotland, none of it excuses my conduct. I have been ashamed of myself since.”
She could find no words.
“As I previously mentioned, affairs in Scotland grow more urgent by the week, matters requiring my presence that cannot be postponed.” He sighed, looking haggard.
“An earlier wedding allows us to travel north the sooner. Once business there is settled, I shall have leisure to attend to your happiness as I ought. You have my word.”
She drew her hand back. “I should speak to Mama. There is much to arrange.”
“Of course. My apologies again, Elizabeth.” To his credit, he looked genuinely contrite. “You have my word that I shall treat you with the utmost respect from now on.”
She left before he could speak again.
The corridor stretched before her, dim and chill.
She walked without seeing, feet moving by habit whilst her mind circled the same bleak ground.
Done. She had consented. In a fortnight she would be Mrs Malcolm MacKinnon, bound by vows and law, and nothing she knew or suspected or feared would alter it.
Something had gone from her, some part she had not known she possessed until its loss left her diminished.
She could not name what it was. She knew only the shape of its absence, the cold space where warmth had briefly lived, and the certainty that nothing she encountered hereafter would restore what the winter had carried away.
***
Mr Collins arrived at Longbourn on a Tuesday morning, unannounced and uninvited, driving a hired gig and wearing an expression of smug self-possession that immediately set Elizabeth's teeth on edge.
He was shorter than she remembered, and rounder, with the sort of complexion that suggested a man who took his meals seriously and his exercise not at all.
He bowed so deeply upon Hill admitting him to the entrance hall that his coat strained audibly across the shoulders, and when he straightened, he surveyed the hall of the house he expected to inherit with the proprietary air of a man already measuring for new wallpaper.
“Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth.” He bowed to each in turn with the particular stiffness of a man who had once been refused in that very house and had never entirely forgiven it.
“I come as a man of business and of Christian duty. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my most noble patroness, has conveyed to me that certain irregularities have arisen regarding the present occupancy of this estate, and it is my responsibility — indeed, my Christian obligation — to satisfy myself as to the particulars.”
“The particulars,” Elizabeth repeated, with a composure she did not feel, “of a matter which is currently before your solicitor and ours. I confess I do not see what your presence here accomplishes, sir, beyond causing distress to a household in mourning.”
Collins drew himself up to his full and modest height.
“I am the legitimate heir of Longbourn by legal entail, Miss Elizabeth, and I am perfectly within my rights to inspect the property I shall one day maintain. It is merely prudent management. One wishes to know what repairs may be necessary, what improvements required.” He cast a slow, assessing look around the hall — at the worn edge of the carpet, the need for fresh paint around the window frame.
“I would not wish to find the estate in a state of neglect.”
Before Elizabeth could respond, her mother's voice carried from the upper landing.
“Mr Collins! In my house!” The effect on Mrs Bennet was galvanic.
She descended the stairs with a speed remarkable for a woman so recently prostrate on her nerves, her face a deep and mottled crimson.
“The audacity! The impertinence! My husband is not yet three months in his grave, and you dare to come here to count our carpets and see what you might make off with? Out! Out, this instant, before I have the footman remove you!”
Collins retreated two full steps before Mrs Bennet's advance, his pompous composure cracking visibly. “I assure you, madam, my intentions are entirely proper. Lady Catherine herself has suggested—”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh has no authority in my house, and neither do you, not yet — and God willing, not ever!” Mrs Bennet had reached the foot of the stairs, and she was magnificent in her fury.
“You may tell your solicitors whatever you like. You may write letters until your hand cramps. But you will not set one foot beyond this hall today. Hill, show Mr Collins out.”
He went. His dignity required one final bow and several parting remarks about the law and his rights and the regrettable necessity of such disputes, but he went. Elizabeth heard his hired gig on the gravel, then nothing.
The silence that followed was rather extraordinary.
Elizabeth looked at her mother, who stood in the centre of the entrance hall with her colour beginning to recede and a slightly stunned expression, as though she had surprised herself. Jane caught Elizabeth's eye. Elizabeth pressed her lips together. Jane turned away.
“Well,” said Mrs Bennet at last, somewhat breathlessly. “There is no occasion whatsoever to look at me like that, Elizabeth. I was perfectly civil.”
“You were, Mama,” Elizabeth agreed, meaning it entirely. She took her mother's arm and guided her toward the sitting room. “Perfectly civil.”