Screaming, shouting, gesticulating, exclaiming, and cries of “Oh, oh, oh, you ungrateful daughter.”
Unfortunately for Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Bennet showed no inclination to support his wife in the matter. Instead he simply said that he would by no means encourage Elizabeth to marry Mr. Collins, and then he requested Mrs. Bennet to be quieter for the sake of Jane and retreated back to his study.
This did nothing for Jane, as the instant that the door closed on Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet began to shout and gesticulate again, with many questions upon how it would now be impossible for Jane to survive at all after Mr. Bennet died, which he no doubt would without any delay worth speaking of.
But at long last the drawing room quieted down.
Mrs. Bennet had been taken by a fit of nerves, such that Elizabeth thought her mother had worked herself into a state where she was actually unwell, and she retreated up to her bedroom.
As for Mr. Collins, Charlotte had come to call, and seeing the situation she drew Mr. Collins’s conversation to herself, and then convinced him to dine at Lucas Lodge that afternoon.
Mary busied herself reading and copying out extracts in the reading room, and Lydia and Kitty went out to call on Mrs. Phillips in hopes of meeting officers on the road to Meryton.
Just Elizabeth and Jane in the room.
Elizabeth dropped onto the sofa next to her sister and took her hand. “What a difficult morning. What a morning! — why could Mama not have seen that there is no conceivable world in which I would have married Mr. Collins?”
“Lizzy.” Jane’s voice was strained, though Elizabeth did not know why.
“She is the author of most of our discontents — I am quite sure she pointed him towardsmeas the daughter to try to marry.”
“Mary would hardly be pretty enough for him, and you cannot believe that either Kitty or Lydia would have made a good clergyman’s wife.”
“Irrelevancy, she ought to have sent him off. Or left him to shift for himself. How could she have thoughtIwould accept him? Does she not know me better than that?”
“Yes,” Jane said slowly, in a soft voice that Elizabeth could barely hear. “Yes… you refused Mr. Collins’s offer of marriage.”
“And then she accused me of having no concern for you? — as though the only way to care for you would have been for me to marry Mr. Collins.Youof course were not asked for your opinion upon whether I should marry Mr. Collins.”
“No, no one asked me whether you should marry Mr. Collins.”
The flat echoing tone with which Jane spoke made Elizabeth look at her carefully.
Jane’s hands were folded tightly together. Her eyes still looked lovely, but they did notlookanywhere in particular. Jane wore a white and blue dress Elizabeth had seen on her dozens of times, and her lips were thinly pressed together. Her feet bounced up and down in a tapping motion.
If this had been anyone but Jane, Elizabeth would have thought she was tense and annoyed.
“Jane, surely youdon’tthink that I should have married Mr. Collins.”
No reply.
Except Jane’s hands clenched tighter together, till the knuckles went white.
“Jane, what are you thinking? We'll manage. If Papa—”
“Itdoesn’t matter.”
“Jane?”
“You do notcareabout me in this! You did not think of me. You did not ask yourself at all about me — Heavens! Lord! Look. Look at yourself. Go to a mirror and stare at yourselfbecause you can. You are angry because an eligible man with an honorable profession asked you to enter the honorable state of matrimony with him.”
“What is the matter, Janey?”
“You had your choice! — at least youchose! At least you can marry. Men still want you. No one abandoned you because you are now damaged and undesirable forever. No one proclaimed they loved you and then left without… without the decency of telling you why. You can walk about, you can look out the window. You can look at your hands. You can see your own reflection. You can see Mama — how can you be so angry at her when you canseeher? — I’ll never see Kitty, Lydia, Mary again. Never — and that view… the last thing I will ever see clearly was a dreary grey November rain. Who wants to see a dreary grey November anyways? It will stick in my mind always, more prominent than the people I love. And I don’t want it. None of it. I want to be able tosee.”
“I… Jane, I had no idea that—”
“Of course you don’t! I’m always serene! I’m always content! Jilted? Well why would I mourn? I still have mylovingfamily. Blinded? Why would I complain? I am still alive. Useless, ugly, unmarriageable? Why would I complain? Who needs a husband? Who even wants to marry — Wilhelmina Goulding told me that the whole marital act is dreadfully unpleasant anyways. So no! No!Idon’t complain. I’m just happy.”
