Chapter 9 Journey To Kent
Mary was charmed by the countryside that would be her home for the next several years and took particular pleasure in the gently undulating hills, dotted here and there with grazing sheep.
The farmland was carefully cultivated, divided into neat fields by hedgerows and stone fences.
From time to time, a farmhouse or a cluster of cottages came into view.
They were pleasing in appearance, for though modest, they were well kept, and she wondered whether Hunsford Parsonage would resemble the homes they passed.
“Is it much farther, do you think?”
“We are but eight or nine miles away now, Mary. No more than ten, for we are very near to Westerham.”
“It is a beautiful country. I believe I shall be very happy living here.”
“I hope so, my dear. Mr. Collins must be a decent sort of man if he chose the church for his profession. I believe you have a fair prospect of happiness in marriage with your cousin.”
“You need not fret for me, sir. I can see what you are feeling. I ask only a comfortable home, and, considering Mr. Collins’s character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most may claim upon entering the marriage state.”
Thomas Bennet took his daughter’s hand in his. “Mary, I believe you may shape your marriage as you wish. A man may amend his ways for the woman he loves. But if you discover your cousin is a vicious man, you will write to me, and I shall come for you.”
Mary’s face tightened. “Vicious? What do you mean, Papa?”
“My dear, if you find Mr. Collins drinks to excess and treats you ill when he is in his cups, or if he gambles away his income so you lack for necessities, or if he frequents brothels so you fear he may bring disease upon you, then you will write to me, and I shall come for you.”
She pressed his hand in return. “Thank you, Papa. That is a comfort to me.”
He straightened and, with a faint smile, said, “It is unlikely any of those things will be true of Mr. Collins, for he has served in the Hunsford parish for several months, and his patroness is pressing him to marry. That speaks in his favor, my dear. She would not urge him to begin a family if she found him unworthy or unstable. Instead, she would have dismissed him.”
She settled back against the cushions. “I am comforted to know you would receive me again should he prove a vicious man.”
They continued in silence, each looking from their own window, until Mary saw a large manor rise before her. The carriage turned into a narrow lane and proceeded toward the imposing residence, set beyond a graceful grove of beech trees.
“Oh, Papa, what a mansion. If that is Rosings Park, I am truly blessed. Lizzy will take delight walking within that grove.”
As they drew nearer, they entered a lane lined with horse chestnut. The trees were full and heavy with leaf. “In May, I shall walk here and admire the blossoms, and perhaps catch the faint sweetness of their fragrance. I believe I shall be very happy living here.”
The carriage slowed, turned into a drive, and came to a halt before a charming cottage, shaded on either side by linden trees. The dense green leaves cast a deep shade, and she could pick out the faint remnants of the clusters that had flowered in midsummer.
“I can almost imagine the honeyed scent of the linden blossoms. I look forward to the beauty and joys of spring and summer in my new home.”
Mr. Bennet gave a quiet laugh. “My dear, I had no notion you took pleasure in gardens. I expect such sentiments from Jane, but I have not observed you walking in the gardens or the park at Longbourn.”
“No, sir. I have occupied myself by cultivating my accomplishments, but now I may relax and enjoy the outdoors, for I shall soon be a married woman, with no need to distinguish myself in order to secure an offer.”
Her practical speech held him silent, and he regarded her for a moment.
She smiled again. “I am not romantic, you know. I never was. Surrounded by such beauty, in a new place, I am free to discover and to make my own way, far removed from Mamma, who has never held me in affection. I am grateful for this opportunity. I am grateful Mr. Collins sent for a Bennet daughter, and I have had the good fortune to be chosen.”
When the carriage came to a complete stop, a servant hurried from the cottage and opened the door. Mr. Collins drew near to greet them.
Mary studied her future husband. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five and twenty.
His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal.
His dark, straight hair was thick upon his head and worn neatly parted to one side.
He was dressed in the proper attire of a rector, which suited him and gave him the appearance of a learned man.
And she thought happily, he was very attractive.
Bennet saw his daughter smile, apparently satisfied with the gentleman. As for Mr. Collins, if his countenance revealed his thoughts, Thomas Bennet need not fear that he would reject his daughter. His face was red, and he stood as if fixed to the spot, staring.
Mr. Bennet coughed, and Mr. Collins hastened to offer a proper greeting. “My dear Cousin Bennet, I am pleased to meet you at last, sir, and delighted to be introduced to my fair cousin.” He clasped the elder man’s hand and then gestured toward the entrance of the parsonage.
Mr. Bennet made the introductions, and then the rector took Mary’s hand and bowed low over it. When he rose, he smiled at her and then offered his arm to conduct her into the parsonage, with Bennet following behind.
The servant received their outer garments, and Mr. Collins asked, “Cousin Mary, would you wish to refresh yourself while we await the tea tray?”
“Yes, sir.”
He indicated an older woman. “This is Mrs. Barnes, who keeps house for me. She will show you to your rooms, that you may refresh yourself while Cook prepares the tea.”
Mary curtsied and followed the housekeeper up the serviceable stairs and along the corridor. When she was shown into the bedchamber, she found much to admire in the window dressings, the coverlet, the elegant little desk with its matching chair, and the brightness of the room.
“Miss Bennet, the water closet is at the end of the hall. I have filled the pitcher so you may cleanse your hands. Is there anything further I may bring you?”
Mary met the woman’s gaze, a question in her eyes.
“Mrs. Barnes, did you say the house is fitted with a water closet?”
The woman drew herself up with evident satisfaction.
“The Rector will tell you the parsonage was lately fitted with a water closet, a modern convenience installed at Lady Catherine’s direction, at the same time she had five installed at Rosings Park.
It was much discussed in the parish, for many considered it an indulgence not to be contemplated, but her Ladyship declared she possessed sufficient means and was entitled to spend her money as she pleased. ”
Mary was so struck by this account that she found no reply, but thanked the woman and went in search of the closet, reflecting she had indeed made a fortunate alliance.
The following day, at nine o’clock in the morning, Mr. Bennet stood up with his cousin, and Miss Anne de Bourgh stood with Mary. With a common license in hand, they were married by a neighboring clergyman.
Lady Catherine was the only guest. She had offered her opinion of her rector when Mr. Bennet called upon her for that purpose.
He was satisfied with her account and advised his daughter that she need not concern herself with his industry.
Lady Catherine said he lacked only direction, but she had every confidence that he would grow into his duties and do well.
The great Lady sat in her box, at the front of the church, and looked on with satisfaction as the rector fulfilled her wish that he be married. She then invited the newlyweds and Mr. Bennet to join her at Rosings Park for the wedding breakfast she had prepared.
“Mr. Bennet, I understand your estate is entailed.”
“Yes, my lady. Mr. Collins is my only living male relative.”
“Then it is necessary that the matter be rectified as soon as may be. What of the entail? Are you and Mr. Collins able to break it?”
Bennet was struck by the notion. “I do not know, my lady.”
Mr. Collins colored deeply.
She addressed her rector. “You must see to it as soon as you possibly can, for if the entail may be broken, you and your father-in-law must begin proceedings directly, or your wife and children will remain in the same precarious situation as Mr. Bennet and his family find themselves now. What if you should have only daughters, Mr. Collins? What have you to say to that?”
Mr. Collins stood silent, unable to form a reply. Mr. Bennet spoke instead. “I shall consult my solicitor and write to Mr. Collins when I learn whether anything may be done. I was informed by my own father that the entail is unbreakable.”
“No, sir. My late husband, Sir Lewis de Bourgh, and his father agreed the entail must be set aside when, after ten years, our only surviving child was a daughter. They engaged a London solicitor skilled in such matters and were informed that the entail binds future inheritance, but does not prevent the present holder, together with the next in line, from converting the estate into a fee simple, granting full ownership without restriction. Father and son agreed, and after the proper legal steps were taken, it was accomplished. My daughter Anne is now the heir of Rosings Park.”
Mr. Bennet was astonished.
Lady Catherine addressed her rector. “You will certainly agree, Mr. Collins, there can be no other opinion on the matter. You have married into the family, and you must wish to leave matters in such a state that your wife and children will not be left without provision.”
Mr. Collins could only yield to his patroness.
“Yes, my lady. I would not think of acting otherwise than in accordance with your guidance.” He said, “Cousin Bennet, if you will be so good as to begin the necessary legal proceedings with your solicitor, I shall sign whatever documents are required, that my wife may never suffer anxiety for her future should I be taken prematurely.”
Thus, it was settled, and when Mr. Bennet had embraced his daughter and taken leave of his son-in-law, he returned to Hertfordshire a contented man.