“No indeed, sir. Lady Catherine would never deny me the simple comforts of life.”
Mr. Bennet beamed upon his son-in-law. “Perhaps you will drive me to Westerham in the morning. Have you a gig from Lady Catherine for your use?”
“Oh, yes, sir. She is most generous. I have a mount suited to my use, and the stable hands ready the gig whenever I require it.”
“Well then, sir, I should greatly enjoy a morning out with you on the morrow, if you will grant me the pleasure. Westerham is near. You may show me around the market, as I wish to observethe stalls and shops the town boasts. You must know, sir, that our village of Meryton does not possess the same variety or quality of shops as a town of Westerham’s size.”
“I should be delighted to show you about, cousin. Shall we agree upon nine o’clock tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, yes. Setting out at that hour will give us the morning to procure plants and seeds. Have you already set in your turnips, potatoes, beans, or peas?”
“Not yet, sir.” The rector’s complexion heightened as he made this admission.
“No matter. There is still time, though the season advances. Have you beds for lettuce or spinach?”
“Not yet, sir, but I shall see to them without delay.”
Bennet said, “Mary, would you be so good as to prepare a list for your husband, including the herbs and vegetables grown in the gardens at Longbourn?”
He then addressed Mr. Collins. “Sir, how would you prefer the lists to be arranged, by season of planting or by the uses of the garden? I favor the latter, with the herb garden foremost, for each herb possesses its own fragrance. The root beds engage me less, though onions, potatoes, beets, and carrots serve well in a proper stew.”
Mr. Collins was wholly engaged with Mr. Bennet in a discussion of a useful kitchen garden, and Elizabeth glanced at Mary with a smile. Her father played his part to perfection. He had not walked the kitchen garden, nor concerned himself with lists of cuttings or seeds these many years. Such matters, as he often declared, belonged to the women, while he occupied himself with his Greek volumes.
That evening, as Mary helped her sister with her buttons, she said, “Lizzy, Papa was a champion this evening.”
Elizabeth laughed with pleasure. “One would never suppose he has scarcely set foot in the kitchen garden these twenty years.”
“You are right, he has not, but he has shown Mr. Collins the way, and I am certain he will next direct him to his parish, its needs, and the tithes. I have never felt close to our father, but tonight I feel a real affection for him for what he has done on my behalf.”
Elizabeth kissed her sister and drew her into an embrace. “Papa succeeds because he is a man and an estate owner, and your husband is inclined to respect such authority. He will follow his guidance readily. But you, as the daughter of a gentleman, will also command his regard, and he will be disposed to attend when you offer an opinion. You must speak, my dear. In this month since your marriage, have you offered him any suggestions?”
“No, Lizzy, I have not. I have had many opinions in my mind, but none have found their way into speech. I shall make the effort, for his sake and for my own. I have grown resentful, and it is unjust to him, since I have not had the courage to express myself.”
“Then I shall observe how you proceed. You will have your audience while Papa and I are here, and we shall applaud you whenever you act or speak in the interest of your marriage and your shared happiness.”
That evening, when the ladies withdrew, Mr. Collins’s gaze followed Elizabeth as she crossed the drawing room to collect her book, and it remained upon her until she left. Thomas Bennet observed it and said, “I believe you are pleased with my second daughter, sir. Shall she be entirely safe here?”
The rector’s complexion darkened. “Yes, sir, upon my word. No harm shall come to your daughter while she resides under my roof.”
“Very well, sir. As a man of honor, I shall depend upon your assurances.”
Chapter 11: Tea At Rosings Park
One evening, Elizabeth nearly choked on her tea when her father placed a well-worn volume into Mr. Collins’s hands and said, “The Republic, I think, would be of particular use to you, sir, as it treats of the proper governance of men and the duties of those who guide them. A gentleman in your situation, charged with the moral direction of a parish, could not fail to derive improvement from such a work.”
Flattered, Mr. Collins accepted the volume and, opening it, said, “Cousin, I have not much favored the Greek canon, but I shall certainly apply myself to this work, since it is so strongly recommended by you, sir.”
“Mr. Collins, I am much taken with the notion that the minds of those in positions of influence may be improved by the wisdom of those who have gone before us. I propose we begin a correspondence in which we may exchange our reflections upon the work. Let us commence this very evening and continue our discussion at a distance, when I return to Hertfordshire.”
On the day their father left them, Mary clung to him and kissed his cheek. She shed tears and, in a lowered voice, spoke her gratitude for all he had done on her behalf.
“Papa, Mr. Collins told me last evening that if our dear old rector can visit one of his parishioners each day, then he may do the same. I expect to enjoy several peaceful hours to myself, if he proves faithful to his intention.”
Thomas Bennet embraced his daughter. “My dear girl, you will do very well if you continue in the course we have begun.” Both stepped outside to join the others, and then he took leave of Lizzy and the rector and departed.
After their father left, a void opened in his absence, for he had kept Mr. Collins fully occupied. He had taken him into Westerham to procure seeds, cuttings, and plantings, had stood beside the rector in the back garden while his son-in-law directed the groundsman in the laying out of the beds and the proper watering of the garden, and in the evenings had engaged him in discussion of Plato’s Republic.
Elizabeth and Mary were both grateful for the hour of quiet Mr. Collins devoted to his correspondence with the gentleman whose estate he was one day to inherit.
