Chapter 5
Chapter Five
That night, well, morning, really, as the girls readied themselves for bed, Jane was aflutter, and Elizabeth did her best to listen and be merry, but her mind returned again and again to the cruel expression on Mr Darcy’s face and the sickness it had brought forth within her.
At first, she had laughed and told the story with great spirit among her friends; for she delighted in anything ridiculous.
But as time passed, the slight had begun to fester.
Charlotte had said, “Lizzy, think on it. He is a fine young man with everything in his favour. Heavens! His family name and fortune give him every reason to feel superior. He has a right to be proud.”
“That is very true,” Elizabeth had replied, “and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”
Hours later, she stood by this sentiment.
Yes, he had all the gifts a young man might own, but that did not excuse his cruelty.
And had they not gotten on well during their walk?
Had he not seemed at ease with her? What did it matter, really?
He was of such fortune and background that he would never desire one such as her.
Mr Bingley’s family were in trade, so he might choose to link himself to Jane, whose family lineage would give him legitimacy.
Mr Darcy had no need of her inferior rank and fortune.
Another gentleman would have to come along, though it felt more and more unlikely as each year passed.
In truth, like Charlotte, she feared a future alone.
As if all were not grim enough, later that day, the family received a letter from a Mr Collins, the very relative to whom Longbourn had been entailed. He would be coming to visit.
Mrs Bennet slipped into a melancholy and took to her bed, a most unhelpful action, as the household needed to be prepared for a guest. Additionally, Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy had departed Netherfield just after the assembly with no word about when, or if, they might return, and only Elizabeth was left to console poor Jane.
Elizabeth suspected the leave-taking had been Mr Darcy’s doing, for he could not have demonstrated a more detestable character if he had tried.
Mr Collins’s arrival a month later was punctual, and all stood at the ready to greet his carriage, wondering what he might be like.
He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty.
His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal.
He bowed quite deeply to each member of the family, and offered several compliments before even entering the house.
The facade was perfection. The columns the perfect height.
The trees framed the path in a most pleasing manner.
Inside, the cushions were the right softness, the chairs set just so, the biscuits baked perfectly, the tea the right temperature.
Elizabeth was exhausted by the kindness, even when he praised Mama on having so fine a family of daughters, saying he had heard much of their beauty, but that, in this instance, fame had fallen short of the truth. Mrs Bennet was won over immediately.
Mr Bennet was less so. Elizabeth caught him rolling his eyes on more than one occasion.
Perhaps as a method to cease the compliment-giving, he suggested Mr Collins read to the ladies, as he had business to attend to in his study.
Mr Collins readily assented, and a book was produced; but on beholding it, begging pardon, he protested that he never read novels.
Kitty’s jaw dropped, and she and Lydia exchanged horrified glances.
He rose, studied a stack of books on a side table, and chose Fordyce’s Sermons.
“I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of her parish.”
Elizabeth sat frozen as he went on at length to describe the great respect he had for “her Ladyship,” and the great honour it was to perform the rights and ceremonies of the church.
“It is imperative, therefore, that I read great sermons for inspiration, which might aide in crafting my words of wisdom.” At this, he finally took a breath, and then, to Elizabeth’s dismay, added, “Not to mention that Fordyce’s lessons would benefit all, particularly young ladies of marriageable age. ”
At last, he opened the tome and read with monotonous solemnity.
Before he had finished three pages, Lydia interrupted with gossip of the town.
Mr Collins’s eyes flew wide, and he began to set aside his book, but Mary said, “Mr Collins, please continue.”
He straightened and read on, this time, directly to her.
This allowed the younger girls to slip away, and Mrs Bennet to fall asleep.
When she woke with a start, she apologised, explaining to her guest that she had been so busy with preparations for his visit that she had not had a moment’s rest since his letter had arrived.
Jane, who loathed sermons more than Elizabeth but was too polite to say so beyond the confines of their bedroom, suggested at the end of one that they all venture to the garden, as the sun had broken through.
While they strolled, Mr Collins complimented the trees, the choice in material for the benches, the placement of the benches, and the style of gravel that made the walkway.
Jane and Elizabeth slowed their steps to put distance between him and their Mama, but Mary kept pace, ending up at his elbow.
He seemed flattered by her attentions, and they spoke at length about which sermon of Fordyce’s was their favourite.
Elizabeth had never seen her middle sister speak so freely to a man. Typically, Mary’s anxiety over saying the wrong words led her to retreat within herself, and her face took on a decidedly sour expression. Now, she was lit as if from within, and it left Elizabeth hopeful.
A pattern emerged in the days that followed, with meals and walks then tea, a gathering that gave Mr Collins time to deliver lectures, which were then followed by stretches of quiet reading and needlework—a tactful and welcome suggestion of Jane’s who proposed the silence as an opportunity to contemplate the true meaning of his impromptu sermons.
Elizabeth attempted to remain polite and to focus on the positive aspect of Mary having potentially found a comfortable match.
However, after a week, she thought she might have to run away.
She began fantasising about a cave she had discovered in the woods just to the north of Netherfield, and on the eighth morning, as Mr Collins droned on at breakfast, she began considering matters of survival and materials needed to live in there.
How much food might she be able to fit into her favourite satchel, and could she return for more unnoticed if Mr Collins remained at Longbourn for longer than a fortnight?
Would one of her own pelisses be enough or should she bring one of her father’s coats for warmth?
Perhaps both. How might she start a fire at her new cave dwelling without attracting attention?
Mr Collins’s words broke through her thoughts.
“I protest that I have never in my life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank—such affability and condescension, as I have experienced from Lady Catherine.” He was much amazed at having been asked to dine at Rosing, which seemed appropriate to Elizabeth, given that he was the clergyman of her parish, and to be invited for the playing of cards, which might have been a necessity if the party’s numbers were uneven.
Though perhaps she truly did esteem him.
He went on to say, “Lady Catherine is reckoned proud by many people, but I have never seen anything but affability in her.”
Elizabeth suspected that Mr Collins was not a good judge of character. Or perhaps he was so indebted to her for his position in her parish that he was blind to her slights and impositions. It seemed impossible that a grand lady would suffer his prattle without comment.
Elizabeth was brought up short when he said that Lady Catherine visited the parsonage and complimented the alterations he had been making.
What business was it of hers? While she did pay his wages, had she any right to approve or disapprove of the doings within his personal abode?
When Mr Collins added with glee that Lady Catherine had suggested shelves in the upstairs closets, Elizabeth fought for self-control.
The great lady had not only gone upstairs to the private rooms, but had intruded by opening the doors to every cupboard!
This was insupportable. Yet he was pleased for it!
Mary said, “She sounds like a woman of taste.”
Mr Collins smiled upon her. “She is! She is magnificent. She even condescended to advise me to marry as soon as I can, provided I choose with discretion.” He turned to her mother and said, “May I hope, madam, for the honour of a private audience with Elizabeth in the course of this morning?”
Before Elizabeth had time for anything but a gasp, Mrs Bennet instantly answered, “Certainly! Oh my! Oh yes! I am sure Lizzy can have no objection. Come, girls. We shall go upstairs.” When Elizabeth began to argue, her Mama said, “Lizzy, I insist upon your staying.”
Elizabeth locked eyes with Mary, who was frozen, her face filled with longing and despair. Elizabeth would do all she could to right this moment and the course of both their lives.
Mrs Bennet dragged Mary by the elbow, and once all was quiet, Mr Collins said, “Almost as soon as I arrived at Longbourn, I singled you out as the companion I desired to accompany me through this earthly life. But I have let my thoughts get ahead of me. I ought to state my reasons for marrying—and, moreover, for coming here to choose a wife.”