Chapter Eight Cold Calls and Dark Eyes #2
Mr Collins recoiled, the plate tilting violently. Two cakes slid into Mrs Hurst’s lap, another fell onto the carpet, and a fourth struck Miss Bingley’s shoe before coming to rest under her chair.
Mrs Hurst became perfectly still.
Mr Collins stared at his own hand. His face had lost its self-important colour, and he rubbed his fingers against his palm as though attempting to restore sensation.
Kitty gasped, Lydia began laughing, and Mrs Bennet called for Hill, who was still there, apologised to the visitors and reprimanded Mr Collins within the same breath.
“My dear sir, what possessed you?”
“I do not know.” Mr Collins continued staring at Mrs Hurst. “I experienced a sudden...”
Mrs Hurst slowly removed the cakes from her gown and returned them to the plate. Her expression revealed nothing, but her gaze had sharpened on him.
“A sudden what?” Charlotte asked.
Mr Collins glanced at her. Charlotte had risen from the sofa and was studying him with concern rather than amusement.
“A chill,” he admitted. His gaze returned to Mrs Hurst’s hand. “Or perhaps a pain. It was nothing. Nothing at all.”
Charlotte stared at the closed windows and the vigorous fire. “Are you certain?”
“Entirely.” He stepped backwards and collided with the edge of Elizabeth’s sofa. “I merely lost my footing.”
“You were standing still, sir,” Lydia observed.
“That can be a hazardous position,” Mr Bennet said. “A man has no momentum with which to escape.”
Miss Bingley placed her untouched cup on the table. “We have imposed on Miss Bennet long enough.”
Mrs Hurst rose, abandoning her tea and the cake which had survived both selection and collision without being eaten, and drawing on her gloves with great care.
Jane thanked them for calling and repeated her gratitude for the ball.
Miss Bingley assured her that her brother would be delighted by the date.
Mrs Bennet delivered three messages for him, two concerning Jane’s health and one concerning the number of musicians required. Lydia reminded them about the officers.
At the door, Miss Bingley turned to Charlotte. “Please pass my greetings to Sir William.”
Charlotte inclined her head. “Thank you.”
Mrs Hurst passed Mr Collins without touching him. He flattened himself against the back of a chair to ensure that no accident repeated itself.
When the visitors had gone, Mrs Bennet examined the abandoned refreshments with rising offence.
“Neither of them touched a thing. Not one bite. Mrs Hurst took a perfectly good cake and carried it about the room as decoration.”
“They may not have been hungry,” Jane suggested.
“They came at the hour when civilised people are expected to be hungry.”
Elizabeth watched Mr Collins. He remained near the chair, flexing the fingers Mrs Hurst had touched. The cheerful certainty with which he generally occupied a room had deserted him.
Charlotte approached him and spoke low enough that Mrs Bennet’s complaints nearly concealed the words. “Did she hurt you?”
“No, no.” Mr Collins shook his head with excessive vigour. “Mrs Hurst did nothing. Her hand was merely...”
Charlotte waited.
He glanced at the door through which the visitors had departed. “It was nothing.”
His refusal did not satisfy her, but Charlotte understood the value of leaving a question alone until the answer became less frightening. She announced that she must return to Lucas Lodge and collected her bonnet.
Mr Collins recovered enough gallantry to offer his escort. Mrs Bennet prevented the sacrifice by declaring that the girls intended to walk into Meryton after luncheon and would be delighted by his company.
Mr Collins turned towards Elizabeth. “In that case, I shall reserve my services for my cousins.”
Elizabeth raised one eyebrow.
Charlotte saw it, smiled, and took her leave.
Jane returned upstairs to rest, while Lydia and Kitty rushed away to prepare for Meryton. Mary followed more slowly, carrying the sermons she was perpetually reading. Mr Collins sat and began describing the scenic walks around Hunsford.
Elizabeth listened with the growing certainty that, once they left the house, he intended to attach himself to her side with all the determination of an oyster and none of its discretion.
After an early luncheon, Elizabeth left Longbourn with Mary and Mr Collins so close to her other side that their sleeves brushed whenever the road narrowed.
Kitty and Lydia walked several feet ahead, surveying the fields with little interest and every approaching bend with great hope.
The countryside had never improved through the sudden appearance of a red coat, but they remained willing to see it attempt the transformation.
Jane had returned to bed, not because she felt unwell, but because Mrs Bennet insisted that her recovery must be preserved until Mr Bingley arrived to admire it.
Elizabeth had promised they would not remain long in Meryton.
Lydia had made no such promise and regarded Elizabeth’s as a private arrangement which did not concern her.
“The walks around Hunsford are exceptionally fine,” Mr Collins returned to his favourite subject as they passed through the Longbourn gates. “Lady Catherine frequently takes the air in her phaeton and has indicated which paths ought to be widened for the benefit of the neighbourhood.”
“How fortunate for the paths,” Elizabeth replied.
Mr Collins inclined his head. “Her ladyship’s improvements are always undertaken with the greatest discernment. She considers regular exercise essential for young ladies, provided they neither walk too quickly nor expose themselves to unsuitable weather. Sun, especially. She always avoids it.”
Mary turned to him with genuine interest. “Moderate exercise has long been considered beneficial to contemplation. The mind may achieve clarity when the body is usefully occupied.”
Mr Collins glanced across Elizabeth to acknowledge her. “Very true, Cousin. Lady Catherine has expressed a similar principle, although with greater precision.”
Mary’s mouth tightened. She had offered him contemplation and received Lady Catherine in return, which was enough to offend any woman with a mind and several unread sermons.
Elizabeth attempted a second rescue. “Mary is interested in the responsibilities of a clergyman’s household. Perhaps you might tell her about your parish.”
“I should be delighted.” Mr Collins smiled at Mary before directing his answer to Elizabeth.
“The wife of a rector must be active, economical, and attentive to the poor without encouraging dependence. The Hunsford parsonage is suited to such a woman. The stillroom is modest but adequate, and the poultry shed may be observed from an upper window.”
Mary walked faster.
Mr Collins matched Elizabeth’s pace and continued describing the parsonage.
Its rooms were sufficient, its garden required a tasteful feminine hand, and its proximity to Rosings ensured that Lady Catherine could provide advice before errors became permanent.
He spoke of these advantages while gazing at Elizabeth with such benevolent expectation that no proposal was necessary to make his intentions alarming.
Ahead of them, Lydia stopped at the crest of the road and shaded her eyes.
“I can see Meryton, but no officers.”
Kitty joined her survey. “There may be officers inside the shops.”
“There had better be. We have walked all this way.”
Mary passed them without slowing. “The purpose of walking is not invalidated by an absence of uniforms.”
Lydia hurried after her. “You would not say that if officers wore black coats and carried sermons.”
By the time they reached the High Street, Kitty had identified three red coats in the distance, Lydia had identified five, and Mr Collins had reached the subject of Lady Catherine’s preferred arrangement for preserving fruit.
Mrs Philips emerged from a draper’s shop before Elizabeth could steer the party home. She embraced Lydia and Kitty, kissed Mary, exclaimed over Elizabeth’s stay at Netherfield, and received Mr Collins with such delight that his comfortable living appeared to have been bestowed on the entire family.
“Our cousin from Kent,” Lydia announced. “He is to inherit Longbourn, but Papa has not died yet.”
Mrs Philips’s smile faltered only briefly. “How pleasant to meet you, Mr Collins.”
“The pleasure is mine, I assure you.” He bowed over her hand. “I have already been gratified by the warmth with which Mrs Bennet and her family have received me, despite the unfortunate legal arrangement which will one day place their home in my possession.”
Mrs Philips stared at him.
“He means the entail,” Elizabeth explained.
“Yes, indeed.” Her aunt recovered and took Mr Collins’s arm as though preventing him from explaining it further. “You must all come home with me for tea. I shall send word to your mother.”
“We cannot remain long,” Elizabeth began. “Jane is still recovering, and I promised...”
“We should be delighted,” Lydia answered, walking beside her aunt.
Kitty followed with equal speed. Mr Collins expressed gratitude on behalf of the whole party, leaving Elizabeth and Mary to accept an invitation which had acquired the force of an abduction.
Mrs Philips ushered them into her drawing room and ordered tea, cakes, and enough bread, and butter to sustain a regiment. Mr Collins examined the room with approval before his obligations to Rosings overcame him.
“A most comfortable apartment,” he pronounced, turning slowly under the central chandelier. “It resembles one of Lady Catherine’s smaller breakfast parlours, although her ladyship’s windows are taller.”
Mrs Philips sat forward. “You are often received at Rosings, then?”
“At least twice every week. Lady Catherine values my conversation and summons me when she wishes to impart guidance concerning the parish.”