Chapter Six Departures and Arrivals #2
The bowl knocked against his coat again. Mr Darcy caught it before it could twist free, while Elizabeth stepped backwards to Jane’s chamber.
“I should finish preparing my sister.”
“Miss Elizabeth.”
She paused, waiting. He seemed hesitant, in the most adorable way. Have I gone mad? she thought, although with everything she had witnessed lately, madness was a very distinct possibility.
His hands stilled around the bowl. “You will be missed.”
There was no humour in the words. Elizabeth’s heartbeat stumbled, then recovered with enough force to betray her to anyone standing nearby.
“I shall miss our conversations,” she admitted.
Mr Darcy held her gaze. “Then I hope we shall continue them.”
Elizabeth inclined her head and returned along the corridor. She entered Jane’s chamber smiling inexplicably, which was unfortunate because Jane noticed at once. But before her sister could enquire, the sound of a carriage reached them from below.
Mr Bennet had arrived.
Mrs Nicholls helped Jane into her pelisse and accompanied them downstairs. Their father waited in the entrance hall with Mr Bingley, Miss Bingley, Mrs Hurst, and Mr Darcy. Mr Hurst stood near the drawing room door, keeping a prudent distance from every Bennet.
Mr Bennet’s dry expression softened when Jane reached the final step. He took her hand, examined her complexion, and offered his arm.
“You appear remarkably well for a young woman whose mother assured me not three days ago that she hovered between life and death.”
“Mamma was anxious.”
“Your mother considers moderation dangerous to the nerves.”
He placed Jane’s hand on his arm, then turned to their hosts. His gratitude contained neither Mrs Bennet’s effusions, nor any suggestion that Netherfield had done less than its duty.
“You have taken excellent care of my daughters,” he told Mr Bingley. “I sent one to dine and received word that you intended to retain two. I am relieved to discover that both have survived your hospitality.”
Mr Bingley stood close enough to Jane to assist her, but not close enough to touch. “Miss Bennet must continue to rest, sir. Mr Jones was very clear on that point.”
“I shall attempt to prevent her from ploughing the eastern field this afternoon, you may rest assured.”
Jane lowered her face, while Elizabeth pressed her lips together.
Mr Bingley followed them to the front door. “You will permit me to call at Longbourn and enquire after her?”
“Certainly.” Mr Bennet paused while a footman opened the door.
“This afternoon, perhaps?” Mr Bingley’s gaze remained on Jane. “At two?”
Mr Bennet consulted the hall clock. “We expect to reach Longbourn shortly before noon. You may find that her condition has altered very little during so considerable an interval.”
Mr Bingley absorbed this warning. “Would three be more convenient?”
“I would not demand such heroic restraint.”
Jane’s cheeks coloured. Mr Bennet led her outside before Mr Bingley could rethink the interval further.
Elizabeth followed, proud of her father’s dignity, gratitude, and ability to discourage a man without diminishing his welcome.
She turned to thank their hosts once more.
Mr Darcy stood under the portico holding neither bowl nor book, but the intensity of his regard followed her until she entered the carriage.
Mr Bennet settled opposite his daughters as they moved away from Netherfield, Jane watching the house through the window until the trees concealed it.
Their father adjusted one glove. “I should warn you that Longbourn will soon acquire a visitor.”
Jane turned from the glass. “My aunt, Papa?”
“My cousin, Mr Collins. He is expected today.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “The pompous gentleman who wrote to you?”
“The very same. He supplied the day and the hour in his letter, and has honoured neither” Mr Bennet rested his head against the squabs. “Your mother has spent the morning preparing to welcome the man who will dispossess her. I anticipate uncommon warmth on both sides.”
The carriage turned through the gates. Longbourn came into view, peaceful and familiar, with no outward indication that a clergyman was approaching to inherit it. They stopped and the front door opened before the footman could descend from the box.
Mrs Bennet hurried down the steps with Hill behind her, bewailing Jane’s pallor before she had come near enough to inspect it.
Mr Bennet handed Jane from the carriage and surrendered her to their mother, who embraced her, accused Netherfield of nearly killing her, forgetting that she was the one who sent her daughter on horseback in the rain.
She then enquired whether Mr Bingley had appeared distressed when she left.
“He was very attentive, Mamma.” Jane accepted Elizabeth’s arm as they entered the house. “Everyone was exceedingly kind.”
“I am sure Mr Bingley was. Such a charming young man, and five thousand a year, although no one can say how much more. You must sit by the fire at once. Hill, tell Cook that Miss Bennet has returned. We shall require broth.”
“Mamma, I am not hungry,” Jane protested.
“Nonsense. You have been ill for ten days. You must be famished.”
After their stay at Netherfield, Elizabeth considered hunger a subject best approached with caution.
She guided Jane through the entrance hall, where Lydia appeared and attempted to embrace her without reducing her speed.
Kitty followed with more restraint, while Mary greeted Jane solemnly and informed her that illness offered valuable opportunities for reflection.
Only when they reached the drawing room door did Elizabeth notice the visitor awaiting them.
Mr Collins had arrived and had made himself comfortable.
He occupied the largest chair, with a plate of biscuits balanced on his knee, one halfway into his mouth. Crumbs covered the front of his coat. Another had settled on his neckcloth, where it rested securely within one of the folds.
Kitty and Lydia returned to their places on the sofa and resumed watching him with the fixed horror usually inspired by public executions. Mary went to sit near the window with a book open on her lap, but even she had ceased pretending to read.
After Netherfield, the sight of a gentleman eating with gusto ought to have reassured Elizabeth.
It did not.
Mr Collins noticed the new arrivals and attempted to rise without first setting down his plate. Two biscuits slid onto the carpet. He caught a third mid-air, pushed the remainder of the one in his hand into his mouth and stood chewing before them.
“My dear cousins.”
The words emerged through biscuit.
Mrs Bennet drew Jane farther into the room. “Jane, Lizzy, this is your cousin, Mr Collins. He arrived almost an hour ago. Mr Collins, my eldest daughters, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth.”
Mr Collins swallowed with visible effort. His eyes travelled over Jane, paused, and then continued to Elizabeth. He placed the rescued biscuit on his plate before executing a bow of sufficient depth to endanger the remainder.
“I am enchanted to make the acquaintance of two more of my fair cousins. Your mother has already informed me of the great beauty for which Miss Bennet is celebrated throughout the neighbourhood. I perceive that no exaggeration was employed.”
Jane inclined her head. Fatigue had removed enough colour from her complexion to make the compliment particularly ill-timed.
“You are very kind, sir.”
“And Miss Elizabeth.” Mr Collins turned towards her, retaining his smile. “I am equally gratified.”
Elizabeth waited for him to elaborate, but his gratification apparently offered no details.
Mr Bennet entered behind them and closed the door. “Welcome, Mr Collins. It is fortunate that you arrived before the biscuits were exhausted. An introduction without refreshment might have proved unequal to the occasion.”
Mr Collins glanced at the plate as though surprised to find it in his hand. “Your excellent cook is deserving of the highest praise, sir. These biscuits have a lightness I have rarely encountered.”
“You have encountered seven of them,” Lydia muttered.
Kitty covered her mouth. Mary lowered her book, regarding Lydia with disapproval that lost some of its power when her own lips twitched.
Mrs Bennet directed Jane to a chair close to the hearth and tucked a cushion at her back. Elizabeth took the seat next to her. Once satisfied that her eldest daughter could remain upright, Mrs Bennet returned her eyes to Mr Collins.
“You were telling us about your situation in Kent, sir. A clergyman’s living, I believe?”
Mr Collins sensibly abandoned his previous seat near the fireplace, sat heavily on the sofa opposite the one occupied by Lydia and Kitty, and placed the plate on the table, although his hand stayed near it.
“The rectory of Hunsford, madam, bestowed on me through the gracious condescension of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh. Her ladyship’s discernment in recognising merit is equalled only by her generosity in rewarding it. ”
“How very fortunate.” Mrs Bennet sat at the opposite side of the same sofa, her expression composed into maternal interest. “And is the living a comfortable one?”
Elizabeth recognised the tone; her mother had used it when asking the price of Netherfield’s curtains.
Mr Collins folded his hands over his stomach. “It is sufficient for every reasonable need. The tithes are respectable, and the parsonage, though modest when compared with Rosings Park, is most agreeably situated.”
“A parsonage of your own.” Mrs Bennet glanced briefly at her daughters. “How pleasant. Does it have many rooms?”
“Lady Catherine herself has observed that the west-facing sitting room is of an appropriate size. She was also gracious enough to recommend shelves in the smaller closet upstairs.”
Mr Bennet took his usual chair and stretched one leg to the fire. “Her ladyship concerns herself with your closets?”
“She concerns herself with every matter deserving her attention,” Mr Collins said.
“What an alarming amount of attention she must possess.”