Chapter 22
In the event, Mr. Bennet hardly spoke at all during dinner.
He allowed himself the merest ghost of a smile when Mr. Collins, praising the food with the same extravagance with which he had admired all the other distinguishing marks of the house, asked to which of his fair cousins he was indebted for its cookery.
Mrs. Bennet replied with some asperity, observing they were very well able to keep a cook and none of her daughters had anything to do in the kitchen.
Chastened, Mr. Collins rushed to make amends, and continued to do so long after Mrs. Bennet considered herself appeased.
It seemed to Mary as if he spent quite fifteen minutes apologising, whilst everyone else stared, embarassed, at their plates.
But it was only when all was cleared away and the servants had withdrawn that she saw her father compose his features into an expression of polite enquiry and devote himself to the agreeable task of exposing as many of his guest’s failings as was possible before the coffee was brought in.
He began by declaring that Mr. Collins seemed very fortunate in his patroness; could he enlighten them any further about Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who seemed so solicitous of his comfort and well-being?
He could not have chosen a better subject.
Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise, extolling her affability and condescension, her graciousness in approving his sermons, her generosity in inviting him to dinner, her extraordinary civility in sometimes asking him on a Saturday night to make up her pool of quadrille when another gentleman had disappointed her.
For a lady of her rank, such behaviour was as exceptional as it was pleasing.
She had even seen fit to distinguish his humble parsonage with a visit and had approved all the alterations he had made there, although she had been kind enough to inform him the upstairs closets required more shelves.
As he blundered on, the pity Mary had begun to feel for him grew.
Her sisters, she knew, had already dismissed him.
She could not say that she herself found him an admirable character; but she knew how it felt to hear one’s words greeted with puzzlement, scorn, or indifference, and her sympathy for him increased, even as he seemed determined to make his situation worse.
“Lady Catherine seems far more agreeable than many great ladies,” observed Mrs. Bennet. “I believe, sir, that she is a widow, and that she has a daughter?”
Mr. Collins agreed this was so.
“What kind of young lady is she? Is she considered very handsome?”
It was unfortunate, replied Mr. Collins, that Miss de Bourgh did not enjoy the good health usually considered essential to beauty; but, as he frequently assured Lady Catherine, her looks were of the refined kind which marks the young woman of distinguished birth.
“Has she been presented at court, sir?”
“Her indifferent health unhappily prevents her being in town,” Mr. Collins explained. “As I told Lady Catherine, this misfortune has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament.”
He looked around, as pleased with himself as he was with his remark.
“I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always agreeable to ladies.”
Mary closed her eyes for a moment. He had surely sealed his fate now. She saw her father sit up.
“I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine that her daughter was born to be a duchess,” continued Mr. Collins. “These are the little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay.”
“You judge very properly,” said Mr. Bennet, “and it is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are they the result of previous study?”
“They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time,” replied Mr. Collins, “and though I sometimes amuse myself with composing such elegant little compliments as may be adapted to any occasion, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.”
Mr. Bennet nodded, delighted to discover that his cousin was quite as absurd a figure as he could possibly have wished.
Nothing in his features betrayed his pleasure; apart from a glance or two at Elizabeth, he gave no sign of it.
Mr. Collins himself was quite unconscious of the judgement that had been passed upon him, raising his glass in happy ignorance of his condemnation.
But Mary was ashamed. It seemed a dishonourable thing to treat a guest in such a manner, even when he was as foolish and silly as Mr. Collins.
When they rose from the table and made their way to the drawing room to take more coffee, Mary attempted to speak a few kind words to her cousin in recompense.
She trusted his journey had gone well, and that he was not too tired?
Was this the first time he had been in Hertfordshire?
He answered perfunctorily, his eyes searching for a seat which would place him as close as possible to Jane.
Throughout dinner, he had smiled at the eldest Bennet sister with a warmth which was not returned; but he appeared not to notice her coolness.
When the general conversation petered out, everyone having exhausted their stock of empty politeness, Mr. Bennet suggested that their guest might entertain them by reading aloud.
Mr. Collins eagerly assented, and after a brief scouring of shelves and side tables, a book was produced.
But when handed to Mr. Collins, he looked at it with disdain.
It was, Mary saw, her mother’s latest volume borrowed from the circulating library.
“I beg your pardon, but I am afraid I must disoblige you. I never read novels. Perhaps you have something else?”
Mary considered him hopefully. Perhaps his literary tastes were closer to her own than to her mother’s?
In the ensuing bustle, whilst new books were searched for, it occurred to Mary that he might enjoy one of her own favourite titles.
Rushing to fetch it from its accustomed place, she handed it to him quickly, before any alternative could be offered.
“Perhaps this might be more to your liking, sir?”
“Ah, yes, Fordyce’s Sermons!” he replied approvingly. “We shall not go wrong with this!”
Mary dropped her eyes and smiled with secret pride as he opened the familiar pages and began.
He read exactly as might have been expected, slowly, portentously, and with exaggerated solemnity.
But Mary was thrilled to hear the well-known phrases spoken aloud, without irony or disdain.
As his voice rolled on, she began to consider whether there might be other interests she and her cousin shared—had he read Blair’s Sermons, she wondered, or perhaps even something by Bishop Berkeley?
How exciting it would be to discuss them with a like-minded reader.
Her thoughts dwelt so keenly upon such rich possibilities that she did not see Lydia fidgeting with boredom on the other side of the room; and her sister’s sudden exclamation was almost as great a surprise to Mary as it was to Mr. Collins.
“Do you know, Mama, that my uncle Phillips talks of turning away Richard, and that if he does, Colonel Forster will hire him? I shall walk into Meryton tomorrow to hear more about it.”
Lydia was immediately bid by her two eldest sisters to hold her tongue, whilst Mrs. Bennet apologised profusely. In truth, only Mary genuinely regretted that they should hear no more, for Mr. Collins was seriously offended and had closed the book with an aggrieved frown.
“I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit. It amazes me, I confess.”
Just at that moment, coffee finally arrived; and in the distraction created by its being laid out, Mary leant across to Mr. Collins and sought to soothe his ruffled dignity.
“I am very sorry you did not continue, sir. I am a great admirer of Dr. Fordyce and have read the sermons through on many occasions. This is my copy, you know.”
“I am glad to hear that one amongst you is interested in advantageous instruction. It is true nothing is so beneficial to young ladies as well-directed reading, though not all are disposed to appreciate its importance.”
He shot an affronted glance at Lydia, who, absorbed in a low, confidential conversation with Kitty, did not notice at all. Mary persevered.
“As you think so highly of Dr. Fordyce, I should very much like to hear what other authors you enjoy. Not all young women are indifferent to works of a serious nature. I myself am very keen to discover other books that may be of benefit to me.”
“That is very commendable in you, and I am glad to hear it. But I hope you will forgive me if our conversation is postponed for another time. If you will excuse me, I intend to propose myself to your excellent father for a game of backgammon. I feel I can be of no further use amongst the ladies.”
With the smallest of ingratiating bows, he was gone.