Chapter Ten The Clergyman Raises the Alarm #2
Collins glanced at Mrs Bennet, then at Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty. His eyes lingered on Miss Elizabeth’s hand before moving to Hurst. The effort of deciding where the greatest danger lay appeared to exceed his experience.
“I am uncertain.”
Collins neither elaborated nor invoked Lady Catherine.
He stood before Darcy in silence, frightened and aware that the truth would sound deranged if presented to the people around him.
Unknown terror had accomplished what education, society, and exposure to Mr Bennet’s wit had failed to achieve. It had made Mr Collins almost sensible.
Mrs Bennet rose before Collins had finished being uncertain.
“My dear Mr Collins, you must sit down at once. Hill, bring another cup of tea. Perhaps the fire is too low, although I have repeatedly instructed the servants that a gentleman of Mr Collins’s constitution cannot be expected to survive on the same quantity of coal as the rest of us. ”
“No, madam, I require neither tea nor additional heat.” Collins retreated from her concern and nearly collided with Darcy’s chair.
He recovered his balance without taking his eyes from Hurst. “The difficulty is not precisely physical, although it manifested itself through physical sensation and may bring consequences which extend considerably beyond the body.”
Hurst settled farther into his seat. “Most difficulties do, if encouraged.”
Mrs Bennet waved Hill to the tea table, unwilling to allow either medical uncertainty or a guest’s refusal to interfere with treatment.
“You have been walking too much. I warned you that the road to Meryton is damp, and gentlemen are very susceptible to damp when they have not been raised in the country.”
“Mr Collins was raised in the country,” Mr Bennet observed. “His survival until this morning may therefore be considered encouraging.”
Collins drew a breath and turned to Darcy. “Might I request a few minutes of your time before you leave, sir? I believe you may have knowledge which is unavailable to me.”
The room quietened by degrees. Mrs Bennet abandoned the tea long enough to consider why her cousin required knowledge from Darcy, while Miss Lydia lifted her head and appeared willing to supply information on any subject for which Darcy proved inadequate.
Collins noticed the growing interest and made a desperate appeal to the one person capable of extinguishing it. “The matter may have some remote connection to Lady Catherine’s neighbourhood.”
Mrs Bennet’s curiosity expired. Miss Lydia returned to her list, Miss Kitty followed her example, and Mr Bennet resumed the inspection of his quill.
“By all means, consult Mr Darcy,” Mr Bennet said. “Any difficulty which can be transferred to Lady Catherine should be sent without delay.”
Darcy inclined his head to Collins. “I shall speak with you before we depart.”
Miss Elizabeth had taken the empty place next to Miss Kitty, yet her right hand was enclosed in her left, and Wickham’s scent continued to disturb Darcy.
He needed to know what had occurred at Mrs Philips’s, and Collins’s frightened silence suggested that he had witnessed far more than an exchange of civilities.
The conversation returned to the ball, although it had lost some of its ease. Miss Bennet concealed a yawn behind her fingers, a movement so slight that Mrs Bennet failed to detect it. Bingley detected it at once and rose reluctantly, his devotion overcoming his selfishness.
“We have stayed too long.” He stepped back, though his eyes stayed on Miss Bennet. “You are recovering, and Caroline instructed me not to exhaust you with questions about the ball.”
“Miss Bingley was quite right.” Miss Bennet rested one hand against the arm of her chair as she rose. “Please assure her that I am very grateful for all the trouble she and Mrs Hurst are taking.”
Bingley offered his hand, then remembered the living warmth of hers before their fingers met and converted the gesture into an unnecessary adjustment of the chair.
“There is no trouble. Caroline has been waiting years for an opportunity to command a house full of people who cannot escape without appearing rude.”
Hurst rose as well. “Some of us have been exposed to the privilege for longer,” he said, smiling.
“You must all remain for luncheon. We dine early when Jane is unwell, and Hill has prepared enough for Mr Collins, which means there will certainly be sufficient for everyone else,” Mrs Bennet said, managing an invitation, an insult, and praise to her kitchen in one breath.
Bingley’s gaze returned to Miss Bennet, and for one dangerous moment Darcy believed that affection might persuade him to sit at a table displaying food he could neither consume nor plausibly refuse for an entire meal.
“We are expected at Netherfield,” Darcy intervened. “The steward has business requiring Bingley’s decision.”
Bingley stared at him. “Does he?”
“He has had it since yesterday.”
Hurst straightened his coat. “A steward may survive one disappointment, Bingley, but a second encourages account books. We must consider them.”
Mr Bennet approached them. “An admirable concern. Many gentlemen remember their ledgers only after the bills arrive.”
Mrs Bennet surrendered the luncheon with poor grace but secured Bingley’s promise to call again before the ball. Mr Bennet reminded him that the proposed visit would be the fourth, Bingley coloured for the second time that morning, and Miss Bennet became very interested in the wallpaper.
Darcy bowed to the ladies. Miss Elizabeth rose with her sisters and returned the courtesy, but when he straightened, her gaze held his for an instant.
She knew that he had understood her reference to Wickham, and she expected the matter to continue.
He could offer neither reassurance nor explanation before her family, so he gave her the only warning available to him.
“Old grievances are not always accurate when describing their injuries, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Nor are old adversaries necessarily impartial.”
“No.” Darcy accepted the justice of the rebuke. “But some grievances become dangerous when believed.”
Her expression altered, the amusement withdrawing while she considered him. “Then I shall endeavour to believe nothing without evidence.”
It was not obedience, but obedience from Miss Elizabeth would have alarmed him more than refusal. Darcy bowed again and followed Bingley and Hurst into the entrance hall.
Hill restored their hats and gloves, then assisted Bingley into his greatcoat while he continued asking whether Miss Bennet had appeared tired, pale, or merely delicate.
Hurst informed him that those states could coexist without producing a fatal conclusion.
Darcy drew on his gloves and watched the drawing room door, half expecting Miss Elizabeth to emerge and demand the explanation he had denied her.
Collins appeared instead, struggling into his coat as he hurried to reach them.
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Mr Darcy, you agreed to grant me a few minutes.”
“So I did.” Darcy took his hat from Hill and opened the front door before Collins could begin his account within reach of the drawing room. “We may speak outside.”
The sky was grey with no sign of sun. Their carriage waited on the sweep, the horses breathing steam into the cold air.
Hurst descended the steps first and moved to stand next to it.
Bingley followed more slowly, turning once to glance back at the drawing room windows before Darcy directed him down the drive.
Collins emerged without fastening the upper half of his coat. He looked back at the house, then at the coachman and footman, and lowered his voice.
“It is necessary that we speak where we cannot be overheard,” he muttered.
Hurst surveyed the open drive. “Unless the hedges have developed an interest in gossip, I believe we are safe.”
Darcy led them beyond the carriage, stopping where a curve in the drive placed several yews between them and the servants. Longbourn was visible through the branches, denying Mrs Bennet the opportunity to improve the conversation through participation.
Collins faced the three men and discovered that private disclosure required more courage than he had brought outdoors. His hands moved to each other, separated, then disappeared behind his back.
“Yesterday, during the visit from Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, I experienced a sensation which I have been unable to explain.”
Hurst leaned one shoulder against the trunk of a yew. “If this concerns my wife, explanation has defeated better men.”
“I touched her hand, Mr Hurst.”
“I am aware of the incident. Two cakes died and another sustained injuries.”
Collins’s lips parted. “They were cakes.”
“My wife remembers them fondly.”
Darcy gave Hurst a warning glance. “Allow him to continue.”
Hurst folded his arms and inclined his head, granting Collins temporary possession of the conversation.
“Mrs Hurst’s hand was cold.” Collins flexed his own fingers inside his gloves. “I do not mean that she had recently entered from outdoors or that the room was insufficiently heated. The coldness was settled. There was no warmth within it attempting to reach the surface.”
“Louisa has frequently produced that impression in company,” Hurst murmured.
Collins persisted. “The instant we accidentally touched, every instinct urged me to withdraw. I felt pain, though she exerted no pressure and did nothing which might have caused it. I have considered ague, weakness of the nerves, poor circulation, and a temporary disturbance of the humours, but none explains why the sensation seemed to belong to her while the alarm belonged to me.”
Darcy kept his voice neutral. “You believe Mrs Hurst caused it?”
“I believe I detected a condition which others could not.”