Chapter 5 Mr. Collins #2
Mr. Collins’s eyes drifted again to Mary. “You are very kind, madam.”
As they entered the house, he bowed at intervals and spoke profusely of the honor of his visit. Mary walked behind him, listening, watching.
His words were laced with humility, his bearing deferential.
Yet his eyes roved across the furnishings with ill-disguised greed, and a faint, self-satisfied smirk tugged at his mouth.
At one point, his hand drifted along the polished wainscoting, and he drew himself up, as though he already possessed the estate.
Whatever he professed, Mary could not trust a man whose expression betrayed such calculation and who regarded her as a hunter regards the fox.
Bennet received letters from his two youngest daughters in the first week of June. He broke the seal on Lydia’s, irritation triggered when he read her name at the bottom of the page.
Dear Papa,
These past fifteen days have been the most difficult of my life.
I spend hours every day working in the laundry, and the laundress is spiteful.
If I report late, she keeps me longer to make up the time I lost. The work is strenuous and hot; I am making penance for all the extra washing I caused our servants over the years.
He did not finish reading the missive. Perhaps hardship would accomplish what lectures had not.
He opened Kitty’s letter next.
Dear Papa,
I am miserable. I miss you all, but especially Lydia. I have not made any friends, and it is humiliating to sit alone at meals.
Bennet sighed. Kitty had always followed where Lydia led. Without her sister, she was adrift.
He carried both letters to the small parlor, where Mrs. Bennet and Mary labored refitting one of Lydia’s gowns.
“Mrs. Bennet, your daughters have written.”
He handed her the letters and left without waiting for a reply.
The next morning, Mr. Collins entered the breakfast parlor well past ten and found Mary finishing her tea. He bowed deeply.
“Miss Mary, might I persuade you to walk in the gardens?”
She longed to refuse, but as she intended to marry him, she forced a smile and agreed.
Mary remained in the breakfast parlor to keep him company, but quickly regretted her decision. His table manners were appalling. He chewed loudly, smacked his lips, and mumbled to himself between bites. Disgusted, Mary stood.
“Mr. Collins, I will fetch my bonnet and gloves.”
She lingered twenty minutes in her room to allow him time to finish his meal. When she returned, he was still eating, grunting with each mouthful. The sound reminded her of pigs at the trough.
She turned to the window and said nothing.
Longbourn was never more charming than in the full bloom of Spring.
A walk on the arm of an eligible gentleman held the promise of romance; however, in this case, Mary could barely endure the stench of the man beside her.
He reeked of garlic, stale sweat, and something worse.
She could not walk fast enough to preserve a reasonable distance between herself and her companion.
They set out, Mr. Collins puffing behind her. He was not used to walking. She considered her future and found it bleak. He would grow fatter, hungrier, and more complacent. Still, she forced herself to speak.
“Sir, you appear to be fortunate in your patroness.”
Between breaths, he replied, “Lady Catherine De Bourgh has shown me great condescension. Nothing is beneath her notice. The servant who collects the mail for Rosings also delivers to the parsonage. When I received your father’s letter, it was her ladyship who delivered it.”
He preened. “She was as eager as I to learn its contents and then firmly instructed me to choose a wife from among my cousins.”
He smiled. Mary suppressed a grimace. His teeth were stained and in sore need of attention, but she exerted herself to learn more about the man.
“Sir, have you no concern for your privacy?”
Taking her elbow, he leaned close. “My dear Mary, Lady Catherine pays all the servants’ wages. If she wishes something done, I obey. Her kind attentions have made me a better man.”
Mary thought bitterly that no such care had been extended to his hygiene. His breath was foul.
“Sir, shall we walk on?”
As she turned, he caught her wrist and pulled her hard against his chest. His head bent, aiming for her mouth. She turned away, and his kiss landed on her neck.
Heart pounding, she struggled to pull free. He held her fast, his grip bruising, a cruel smile on his lips. Then, with a mocking laugh, he released her.
Mary fled.
A sharp knock broke the stillness. Bennet looked up.
“Enter.”
Mary stepped inside, her cheeks flushed, her expression stricken. Dressed in one of Lydia’s altered gowns, her hair styled differently, she bore a striking resemblance to Elizabeth.
“What is it, Mary? What has happened?”
“Papa, I cannot like Mr. Collins. He is a wicked man, and he smells dreadful.”
She shuddered.
“We were walking in the garden when he seized my wrist and pulled me against him. He tried to kiss me.”
She paused, searching his face. He was silent, but she saw anger flare in his eyes.
“I struggled to free myself, but he held fast and laughed.”
She raised her wrist to reveal the faint bruise that had begun to form.
“He is cruel. He meant to frighten me. Then unexpectedly, he released my wrist. Papa, I cannot marry him.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
Bennet rose and came around the desk, motioning for her to sit.
“Do not distress yourself, child. I am confident your uncle Gardiner will see Jane happily settled with a worthy man. Once she is married, she will help you find a suitable husband. In the meantime, you look fetching in your gowns, though they are hand-me-downs; the colors and styles are flattering. Please continue to use your sister’s gowns instead of your own, and continue to wear your hair in this new, attractive style.
Change may feel awkward at first, but it will pass. Will you agree to this?”
“Yes, Papa, I will. But what of Mr. Collins? It is not safe to be alone with him.”
Bennet frowned. “We must not offend the future master of Longbourn. I cannot send him away just yet. Avoid being alone with him while I determine the best course.”
That afternoon, Mary sat with Charlotte and Maria in the shade of a yew tree, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as they spoke of Mr. Collins.
Charlotte, ever practical, offered reassurance.
“My dear girl, Mr. Collins is a highly eligible match. You ought to be at home, charming him out of his senses. Your figure shows to advantage in that gown. I dare say you would have no difficulty securing him.”
Mary suppressed a shudder.
“I have told Papa I will have nothing to do with that lecherous man. His leering gaze makes my skin crawl.”
She pulled back her sleeve. The bruise on her wrist had darkened. Both sisters leaned in. Maria gasped.
“He left marks on your skin.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Charlotte took Mary’s hand, and both did their best to soothe her distress.
Charlotte grew pensive. Enduring the rectors’ attentions might prove more tolerable than the quiet indignity of spinsterhood. When Mary rose to leave, Charlotte offered to accompany her part of the way back to Longbourn.
She kept up a pleasant stream of conversation, and her efforts were so successful that they found themselves in the gardens before Mary realized they had arrived. Invited to stay for tea, Charlotte accepted and immediately turned her attention to pleasing her hostess.
“Mrs. Bennet, how are Lydia and Kitty doing at school? What a remarkable opportunity for them to mingle with genteel society.”
Mrs. Bennet warmed to the subject at once and spoke with cheerful animation until dinner was announced.
“My dear, I had no idea it was so late. Will you join us? I shall send Walter to inform Lady Lucas that you will dine at Longbourn.”
At the table, Mary ignored the parson’s attempts at conversation, while Charlotte made every effort to draw his attention. Charlotte was aware that Mr. Bennet was watching her, but his eyes smiled, and he worked to keep his wife entertained.
By tea time, Mr. Collins was so charmed that he offered to walk her home.
“Miss Lucas assures me her home is nearby, and that the moonlight will suffice to guide our steps.”
Mr. Bennet sent John to accompany them.