“Yes, my dear?” her spouse enquired, not looking up from his book.
“Mr. Collins is here and he seems to think he is expected!”
This caused her husband to look up. The chagrin on his face told Mrs. Bennet everything she needed to know. She left the room, slamming the door hard behind her.
“Hill! Hill!”
The housekeeper appeared behind Mrs. Bennet, drying her hands on her apron.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“We have an unexpected guest who must be treated with every courtesy. I will delay him while you make certain that the guest room is ready for him.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Hill scurried off.
Mrs. Bennet returned to the parlour, where her three older daughters were doing their best to not alert Mr. Collins to the fact that his arrival had been unexpected. They had enquired as to the comfort of his journey, his current residence, and his occupation. Thus, they now knew that his journey had been tolerable, that he lived in a town called Hunsford in the county of Kent, and that he was a rector.
Mrs. Bennet joined the group, offering her guest tea, which was accepted. After about twenty minutes, Mrs. Hill popped her head around the corner and gave Mrs. Bennet a quick nod.
With a sigh of relief, Mrs. Bennet now offered to escort her unexpected guest to his room. He gratefully rose, picked up his valise, and followed his hostess up the stairs. If he wondered why it had taken so long for him to be given a room, he kept it to himself.
No sooner had he vanished upstairs, then the three older Bennet girls began a whispered conversation.
Jane said, “Mama is going to have strong words with Papa for not telling her about this visit.”
Elizabeth added, “And no one could possibly blame her. Mama has had to have Hill run up to get the guest room ready, and now will have to speak with Cook to make certain that there is an adequate dinner prepared for him.”
Then Mary said, reprovingly, “He is a man of the cloth, remember. He will forgive any difficulties that arise.”
No one bothered with a response to this.
Mr. Collins soon returned to the parlour. He was, he said, delighted by the room he had been given. He was delighted by the reception he had received by his relatives here at Longbourn. He was delighted by Longbourn itself, and he looked forward to inheriting it, but not anytime soon, of course. He was delightedby the beauty of his female cousins, and hoped to see a good deal more of them in the future.
The two older girls traded glances as he continued. Elizabeth thought of the Friar in the Canterbury Tales:A friar there was, a wanton and a merry, a limiter, a full solémpnè man. In all the orders four is none that can so much of dalliance and fair language.She and Papa had argued at length as to the meaning of the wordsolémpnè, but this man certainly was doing his best to accomplish the fair language part of the quote. She could hope that Mr. Collins was more like the Parson.He was a shepherd and not a mercenary. And though he holy were and virtuous, he was to sinful men not despitous, Nor of his speechè daungerous nor digne, but in his teaching díscreet and benign.But she rather doubted it.
Chapter Thirty
Georgiana had gone down three of the streets bordering the square and was now starting on the fourth. The morning was long over and it was now late afternoon. If George went to Madame Dubois’ and found her gone, he would immediately know where she had gone. And he probably knew exactly which house was Matlock House.
Why had she paid so little attention to details such as these? How could she not know where her own relatives lived? For that matter, she did not even know where Darcy House was! Even if she had been able to get there, she did not know if her brother would be in residence and, if he were, whether he would protect her from George. After all, he had not done so at Gretna Green. The Earl and Countess, she thought, were more likely to help her.
She shielded her eyes from the setting sun and stared down the last row of houses. Taking a deep breath, she started up the steps of the corner house.
Elgin House. Linden House. As she wearily climbed up the steps of the next house, she heard an all-too familiar voice call out her name. “Georgiana!”
It was George. He was at the far end of this row of houses and running toward her. “Georgiana, get back here immediately!”
“No, oh, no, please, please,” she prayed, tears filling her eyes.
Lindsay House. She ran back down the steps and up the steps of the next house.
MATLOCK HOUSE. This was it! She was here! She rang the bell desperately, again and again, as George ran toward her, his face filled with rage.
The door opened and the Matlock’s butler stared down at her. “I think you want the back steps, miss,” he said, loftily, and began to shut the door.
At that moment, Wickham leaped up the steps and extended angry fingers to seize the fabric of Georgiana’s dress. Georgiana ducked under the butler’s arm and ran into the house.
“Keep him out!” she screamed to the butler. “He is trying to kill me!”
