Chapter 5 Mr. Collins
I have reason to expect an addition to our family party. –Mr. Bennet, Pride and Prejudice
The morning was sunny and unseasonably warm. Thomas Bennet entered the parlor, where his wife and daughters sat with their embroidery.
“Mrs. Bennet, Jane will depart for London on Monday next. Madeline has invited her to stay for the Season and wishes to begin shopping for gowns.” He turned to his eldest with a flicker of warmth in his eyes.
“My girl, I hope that you will be married by next spring.”
Jane glanced at Elizabeth, then back to her father. “Yes, Papa. I will do my best.”
“I know you will. You have always been a dutiful daughter. I have spoken with your uncle Gardiner. He will escort you to balls and gatherings and introduce you to his acquaintances. Should no gentleman offer, there are respectable merchants among his circle. Three in particular are known to him, well-looking men, each with a fortune, and eager to marry before the end of the Season. With your beauty and good nature, I have no doubt you will make a fine match.”
Mrs. Bennet set her needlework aside.
“A London Season! Oh, my dear Jane, you are so lovely, I am certain you will marry a wealthy, titled gentleman who will buy you a carriage and the finest gowns, a house in town, and a great estate in the country. I can see it all. Mr. Bennet, I should like to order a few new gowns for myself as well. Shopping will be a consolation to me, seeing as my favorite girl has been ripped from my bosom and sent to the far regions in the north.”
Bennet scowled at his wife.
“You repine without cause, Mrs. Bennet. Your daughters have been favored by their uncle and are now receiving the education befitting gentlewomen. I must insist you cease these complaints at once. I shall not hear another word on the matter.”
Bennet directed his gaze to include his daughters.
“We must retrench. The harvest income was not as strong as in years past. There will be no new gowns this year.”
He turned to Jane. “You will leave all your gowns with Elizabeth for her use as you will have an entirely new wardrobe for your season.”
To Mary, he said, “You are no longer out. You will make do with the day dresses and gowns Catherine and Lydia left behind, as both now wear school uniforms.”
His attention returned to his wife.
“There will be no entertaining this year. You may continue to visit your sister Phillips, but we shall not receive guests at Longbourn. I must ask you to simplify our meals. If I am to provide for Jane’s wedding breakfast and trousseau, I must cut costs elsewhere.”
Mrs. Bennet stared at him, silent for the first time in recent memory. Her usual fluttering manner fell away, and she regarded him with quiet alarm.
“This is the first I have heard of financial loss. Are we, are we destitute?”
Thomas Bennet turned away, eyes lowered, while his family murmured behind him. The weight of Lydia’s disgrace and the threat to his daughters’ futures pressed heavily on his mind. He turned to face them, lifted his eyes, and addressed his family.
“Mrs. Bennet, we will not go hungry. Longbourn carries no debt, and I intend to keep it so.
But we must curb our expenses. After Jane is married, we will turn our attention to Elizabeth.
In that spirit, I have invited the heir to Longbourn for a visit.
I expect him by four o'clock this coming Monday.”
He turned to Elizabeth.
“Lizzy, I had hoped you would make a match with my heir. You are capable of managing this estate when I am gone, and your son would inherit. But I do not believe the man will suit you. However, you will judge for yourself.”
He handed her the rector’s letter and gave a brief nod. “Mary,” her father said, turning to his third daughter, “if Lizzy refuses him, you are next in line.”
Then he withdrew to his study, where the ledgers waited. A hush fell over the women.
Elizabeth sat motionless, the folded letter resting in her lap.
She had never seen her father so changed.
His face was drawn, his manner grave. If he were dying, it would explain the sudden push for Jane to marry and the invented tale of a failed harvest. She had worked the accounts herself. Nothing unusual had occurred.
She blinked hard, forcing back unwanted tears. He was the parent she had always relied on, the one who teased, who listened. If he were preparing for death, she was not ready.
Elizabeth looked down at the letter, her fingers curling around the edge. The man who had written it might someday very soon be her husband.
Mrs. Bennet broke the silence first, her voice taut with concern.
“Lizzy, read the letter. I think it is the hardest thing in the world that Longbourn should be entailed away from the female line. If I had been your father, I would have dissolved it years ago.”
Elizabeth unfolded the letter and read it aloud, then scanned it again, brow furrowed. She handed it to Mary and rose without a word.
In the study, her father looked up from his papers as she entered.
“Papa, can he be a sensible man?”
Bennet sighed. “I am afraid not, Lizzy. Ordinarily, I would find great amusement in such a man, but as he is my heir and I had hoped you might marry him, I cannot bring myself to laugh. It would have resolved the entail so neatly. Still, I do not despair. Perhaps Mary will have him.”
Elizabeth stepped forward and embraced him, her voice low with gratitude.
“Thank you for giving me a choice.”
He kissed her cheek. “Do not worry, child. We will find another way.”
She returned to the parlor, shoulders squared.
“Mamma, I will not marry Mr. Collins. He cannot possibly be a sensible man. I have spoken to Papa, and he will not force me.”
Before her mother could respond, Elizabeth handed the letter to Mary, then turned and left the room.
Mary read through the letter twice, then went to the study, knocked softly, and waited. When invited in, she placed the folded letter on the desk.
“Papa,” she said, eyes lowered, “if Mr. Collins will have me, it would please me to marry him. I am nineteen and no longer out. He is an educated man who seeks a wife from our family. Why should I not welcome the chance to be well married within a month or two? Will you arrange it?”
“I will,” he replied. “Mary, please let your mother know I wish to speak with her.” “Yes, Papa,”
As she left the room, Bennet watched her go, struck by the quiet courage it had taken her to speak. Perhaps she would suit the man. A wife blind to her husband’s faults might be the only kind to endure Mr. Collins with any measure of contentment.
A short time later, his wife entered and seated herself with uncharacteristic composure.
“Mr. Bennet, you wished to speak to me?”
Her calm puzzled him. In twenty-three years, he could not recall her entering a room without flurry or complaint. She alone had felt the loss of their youngest daughter and had grieved in silence, but that only partly explained the striking change in her manner, which continued to baffle him.
“Mrs. Bennet, Mary has expressed a wish to marry the rector.”
She shook her head slowly. “It will come to nothing. What man would choose Mary when he might have Jane? Mary is well enough, but she fades into the wallpaper beside her sisters.”
The words struck him. She was right. Mr. Collins, faced with Jane’s beauty, or for that matter, Elizabeth’s, would never look at Mary.
Men often found Lizzy more attractive than Jane, drawn to her lighter figure and livelier manner.
If Mary were to stand a chance, her rivals must be removed.
“Mrs. Bennet, perhaps you can refit Lydia’s gowns for Mary’s use?
I will send an express to Edward and ask him to host our two eldest for six weeks, to give Mary time to attach the rector. ”
On Friday morning, Joseph Phillips sent for Thomas. After seeing Jane and Elizabeth safely aboard the post coach to London, Bennet walked to his brother-in-law’s office. The two men spoke privately of George Wickham.
“Thomas,” Phillips said, “I do not know how you managed it, but you have uncovered the militia’s bad apple.”
Bennet winced inwardly, grateful that no one knew the source of his knowledge.
“He is in debt to nearly every tradesman in town,” Phillips continued. “The total comes to just over one hundred pounds, not including debts of honor.”
The two men discussed the blackguard for a good half hour, and then Bennet stood and clasped the attorney’s hand with a firm shake.
“This calls for a drink. You have spared my daughters from a scoundrel and the merchants from further loss. Let us go to the tavern and toast the town’s good fortune.”
“I have a meeting with Colonel Forster at two this afternoon,” Phillips said.
“We will collect the man’s wages and whatever coin he has saved.
It will cover precious little, but we are also petitioning for his transport to Australia.
He has left one merchant’s daughter with child. Forced labor will be his recompense.”
Relief swept through Bennet like a tide. If fortune held, Wickham would soon be bound for another continent, far from Hertfordshire. With luck, the man would not name Lydia in some drunken stupor before his departure.
On Monday afternoon, as the shadows lengthened across the lawn, Mary stood beside her parents, watching a stout young man descend awkwardly from his equipage. He was said to be five-and-twenty, but his heavy jowls made him look nearer to thirty.
Mr. Collins bowed deeply before greeting her father and mother, then turned to her. His expression changed at once. Mary saw the flicker of lust in his eyes, and as he bent over her hand, he paused to stare rather too long at her bodice. Her cheeks burned.
Her father stepped forward. “Mr. Collins, you are very welcome to Longbourn. I see that you admire my daughter, Mary.” His tone was sardonic.
Mrs. Bennet offered a smile, ever the polite hostess. “Sir, allow me to show you to your room. Your trunk and hot water will be sent up at once.”