Chapter 9 In Which Two Gentlemen Refuse My Proposals of Marriage
In Which Two Gentlemen Refuse My Proposals of Marriage
Bear with me a bit, Holzmann. This chapter has little to do with science. However, it has everything to do with how I came to create the chromae, so I’d better tell you.
What do you think it means to be in love, Holzmann? For the well-organized mind, I mean. Is it when you look at someone and see how he fits perfectly into the life that you want? How if you can just have him, it will unlock everything you need to be happy? If so, I was in love with Mr. Collins.
When my Collins-related derangement took hold, it had been approximately a year since my father’s accident. I had watched Papa closely since then but detected no ill effects, aside from perhaps a certain anxiety at the sight of lightning.
I had watched myself closely, too, and was less sanguine about my observations.
Quindley’s said, “A young lady’s primary duty is to prepare for her life as a mother and wife.
Until the happy day when a man makes her his own, she must strive to make her father’s home a happier, godlier, more pleasant place and be a helpmeet to her mother and brothers and sisters. ”
I had no gift for making anyone happy, but I could play pleasant music and share godly extracts.
All that year I played and copied until my fingers ached.
I saw Cariad once more, but I did not let him approach me—my little half-dead experiment could not improve any man’s home.
He flew into our carriage, chirping desperately, while I was on my way to a morning visit with Mamma.
She shrieked and shooed him away, and after a moment of shock so did I, with twice as much vigor.
I believe he was trying to sit upon my shoulder.
After he’d flown away my head began to ache so fiercely that I begged Mamma to take me home.
A girl who gives all she has to her family shall become tranquil of spirit.
So Quindley proclaims. Yet I found tranquility elusive.
Some days I missed my lab so much I felt ill with it.
The harder I strove for womanly perfection, the more insufficient I felt.
Quindley would not approve of my strange, restless dreams, full of shocks and the scents of lightning and sweat, of sparks shining against disordered curls, nor of the way I would lay awake after, longing for I knew not what.
A husband. I must be longing for a husband.
And then, in our very midst, appeared Mr. Collins on the hunt for a Miss Bennet for a bride. It was so ideal it felt divinely ordained.
Mr. Collins was a cousin of my father’s who came to visit us about a year after Papa’s little accident.
Due to the unfortunate entail, he was also Papa’s heir.
It quickly became apparent that he had come to Longbourn to choose a bride, and I knew—I knew —he would choose me.
How could he not? He was a learned fellow and a clergyman.
I was the only one of us remotely interested in the things he liked to talk about.
True, when I discounted all the material advantages and thought only of the man himself, my ardor cooled noticeably.
His hair was rather greasy, and so was his ingratiating style of speech.
But if he had no gift for conversation, that only made us better matched.
Anyway, does anyone really fall in love with just a person?
If that were true, we would not all know one another’s incomes so precisely.
And if he chose me, I could keep Longbourn. Dear, dear Longbourn, with my dear, dear laboratory at the top. True, I had sworn off it—but if Mr. Collins chose me, would that not be a sign that my penance was paid, that I could go back to it?
That thought banished all remaining doubts. I was in love with Mr. Collins. He would be mine. He had to be. It was divinely ordained.
Unfortunately, the divine Ordinator failed to inform my beloved, who looked right past me to my prettier sisters. When I did manage to wave down his attention he called me “Cousin Kitty—Lydia—er—Mary.” No matter. I had barely begun.
My campaign was threefold.
Hymns. I played them as often as I could, and all his favorite composers. I wished him to know that as a clergyman’s wife I would share his interest in God, and that I could save the church money by playing the organ for free.
Beauty. Usually I strove only for a neat appearance, but now I did my best to appear to advantage. I cannot pretend that it was an unqualified success.
I tried pinching my cheeks for an elegant flush, as I had seen my sisters do, but I pinched too hard and broke out in spots.
I experimented with curl papers, but instead of producing elegant ringlets to hang prettily round my ears, I ended up with a riot of curls that stood out all around my face, a bit like a lion’s mane.
Mamma made Hill take me back upstairs and slick it all back down with pomade.
Too bad. I thought the effect was rather interesting.
Conversation. This was the most important angle of attack, and, I thought, the easiest. Mr. Collins would soon find that I was far more ready and able to share his interests than my sisters.
In fact, I found it difficult to hold his attention for more than a sentence or two.
He would speak to me only when Jane and Elizabeth had left the room, and even then he did his best to accompany them, sometimes forcing them to say quite plainly that they were going to the bottom of the garden.
Despite these setbacks I persisted. After a day or two, I felt my efforts were beginning to pay off.
I was standing by the window, dressed for a ball at nearby Netherfield, when Mr. Collins’s voice said from behind me, “Fair cousin, you look enchanting. That color becomes you most elegantly. It reminds me of the hue of the chaise cushions at Rosings.”
I turned around. It was happening! It was working! I had to work to keep my smile moderate and ladylike. “Thank you, Mr. Collins.”
But when he saw my face, his turned to confusion. “I thought you were Miss Elizabeth,” he mumbled. “Pardon me, cousin—er—cousin.” He fled back to the guest room, not emerging until the others had come down.
I was not repressed. Very well, he thought I was Elizabeth. But if my backside was enough like hers to make him wax rhapsodic about Rosings, then I was getting closer, wasn’t I?
I spent the first part of the evening drifting around the ballroom after him, hoping he would ask me to dance. And he did! True, it was only to ask about what sort of hymns Elizabeth liked best, but still, I did my best to use the time to my advantage.
“I hope you are enjoying your future home,” I told him.
“Hmm? What?” He had been trying to bow to Elizabeth and dance with me at the same time, and as a consequence was several steps behind. “Oh, yes, quite lovely.” He turned to look at me and started. “Are you quite well?”
I have a tendency to frown when trying to remember the steps to a dance, and hence was making a great effort to smile instead. The effect may have been disconcerting. “Yes, quite well.” I turned and curtsied and cast about for something to say. “Longbourn was built in 1685.”
“Very commendable,” he said, “for a young lady to be so knowledgeable about her house. Why, on the subject of Rosings, Lady Catherine de Bourgh—”
“Oh, yes, I love Longbourn.” We were going down the line of the dance now, perhaps the longest uninterrupted moment I would have with him. I seized it. “I hope I shall never have to leave.”
He gave me an approving smile. “A pleasure to hear such retiring sentiments from a young lady. Too many young ladies these days are pert and forward.”
“Yes!” I said. “So I have read! On the subject, Fordyce says—”
“You know Fordyce? He is a great favorite!”
“Very well indeed! He says that excess pertness in the female will drive young men into such a frenzy that they will riot in the streets. I strive never to be pert.”
He beamed upon me and patted my hand. “Miss Mary, you are an upstanding young lady indeed. It is a delight to converse with one with such a well-developed mind. You will make some man an excellent wife someday.”
The dance was drawing to a close. I could not risk losing this chance. I knew I ought to wait for him to speak, but I had tired of talking around the subject.
“Why not yours?” I blurted.
He whipped his head around to look at me. “What?”
“I’d be a fine wife to you,” I said. “Really I would. Much better than Lizzy, I assure you.”
“You… Wife…?” he said faintly.
“Forgive my bluntness, but someone has to tell you. I am really the only one that will suit you. Jane is in love, Kitty and Lydia are idiots, and Lizzy is pert enough to launch a thousand riots. Do marry me instead. You will find me quite modest and meek.”
His mouth was open. With an apparent effort, he shut it again. “Miss Mary,” he said, “you are charming in every respect. I hope one day as your brother to introduce you at Rosings.” He patted my hand again. “As your brother .”
He had walked me over to the punch bowl. Now he dropped my arm with all speed. The next thing I knew he was across the room. That was clear enough.
In my mind’s eye I saw my laboratory retreating into the darkness.
My heart throbbed sickly in my throat. I fought the urge to chase Collins across the room, to press my suit.
Surely if I could just make him understand—but no.
Try harder , that was always my solution, but in this I had already tried too hard.
I was just about to return to the refreshments table when I heard a voice say, “Why, it’s Miss Mary Bennet.”
I turned around. Septimus Pike was standing before me.