Page 13 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

Mr. Collins gathered his hat and valise. While I waited, I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the glass in the hall: muddy, harried, and more than a little vexed—certainly, the appearance of a busy housemaid—more likely, with my muddied hems, a maid from the dairy!

* * *

Dinner that evening was only one course, though the table was set with all the formality that Mrs. Bennet could muster, given that the silver had indeed been locked away and the best china hidden from view. The fare was plain—cold beef and pigeon pie, with a syllabub to follow. Mr. Collins was all admiration of the room, and all its furniture was examined and praised; and his commendation would have been pleasing but for the mortification that he assumed all was likely to be his future property. Did he not realise that entailment strictly applied only to real property? Personal property, like money, livestock, or furniture, could not be entailed. A thought crossed my mind: perhaps he did, which would necessitate his marrying into the family—the only way he could inherit the chattels and furniture of the house. Jane was engaged. Oh dear, the days ahead could bring further embarrassment. If he set his eyes on me, any proposal would be singularly unwelcome.

The gentleman, seated at Mama’s right hand, surveyed the table with an approving nod. “Mrs. Bennet, you are most attentive to the duties of your station. I trust you will not think me remiss in remarking that the table at Hunsford Parsonage is, of necessity, far more modest. My own cook—though an excellent woman who also sees to the house—cannot approach your hand with pastry.” He helped himself to a generous slice of pie.

“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” replied Mama. “But we are very well able to keep a cook ourselves. While my daughters and I govern the household, we leave it to the servants to know and carry out their responsibilities.”

He inclined his head gravely. “But surely you practice economy—which requires close attention to servants who, in my experience, often take advantage of their position.”

“I can assure you, sir, that in Hertfordshire most servants are trustworthy. Does your experience come from Kent—is that where you were raised?”

“Certainly not, madam. The standards in Kent are set by none other than her ladyship, Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself, and are above reproach. I have the honour of being patronised by the lady—a circumstance which, I assure you, is the envy of every clergyman in the county. Her ladyship visits Hunsford Parsonage frequently—for she is most attentive to her spiritual obligations and to the comfort of her tenants. In fact, it was only last Michaelmas that she condescended to enter my humble abode, and remarked, with her usual discernment, on the admirable neatness of my pantry shelves.”

He paused, as if expecting us all to express our wonder, and Jane obliged him with a small, encouraging smile.

“Lady Catherine must be an exceptional woman,” I said, attempting to hide my amusement.

“Oh, Miss Elizabeth, you do not exaggerate. Her ladyship is a woman of the highest rank and discernment, possessed of a most generous disposition. Why, only last week, she advised me upon the arrangement of my parlour chairs, recommending that the sofa should be placed directly opposite the fire, so that any guest, however humble, might enjoy its warmth. Such consideration! Such attention to the comfort of even the least among us! I am persuaded that no other noblewoman in England could equal her.” He paused to take a bite of pie.

“And is Rosings very grand, Mr. Collins?” said Mama. “I have heard it is the finest house in Kent, nay, in all the south of England.” In one of Mr. Darcy’s letters, he had shared some observations of Rosings Park, which Papa had related to us. The chimney piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds—Mr. Darcy had remarked that it was likely that his sister-by-marriage, Lady Catherine, would allow only the best dressed chimney sweeps to clean what certainly must be the finest soot in all of England. So droll.

Mr. Collins sat up even straighter, if that were possible. “Grand, madam? It is splendid beyond description. The approach alone is lined with elms of ancient origin, planted by Sir Lewis de Bourgh”—did he not see the contradiction?—“the house built of Portland stone, with a portico supported by Ionic columns, and a drawing room that can accommodate upwards of fifty guests. Her ladyship’s dining room is hung with crimson damask, and the silver plate… Of course, I could not expect you and my cousins to appreciate its magnificence. I am frequently invited to dine at Rosings, and Lady Catherine herself is known to converse with me for upwards of half an hour at a time. She is most gracious, and always enquires after my health, and that of my parishioners.”

Jane and I exchanged glances, and I could see she struggled not to snicker. Mama appeared entranced, eyes shining with tears of amusement.

“And Lady Catherine—does she have a family?” Mama asked, covering her mouth with her napkin. She caught my eye—it was badly done, for I found I could not suppress my merriment. Mr. Collins appeared not to notice.

He nodded solemnly. “Indeed she does. Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, an only child, is a young lady of distinguished birth and fortune, though delicate in health. Lady Catherine has every hope that her daughter will one day make a brilliant match, and I have no doubt she will succeed, for who could refuse such a combination of pedigree and property?”

He smiled, as if he himself might be the object of such noble designs, then grew suddenly reflective. “Lady Catherine is also most solicitous regarding the marriages of her acquaintance. She is of the opinion—a most sound one, I believe—that it is the duty of every clergyman to set an example of propriety by marrying and establishing himself respectably in the world. She has often remarked to me that a single man in possession of a good living ought not to remain so for long.”

Here he paused, and I saw Mama’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Jane looked down at her plate. I kept my expression bland, though inwardly I braced myself.

Mr. Collins cleared his throat. “In fact, it was by Lady Catherine’s express recommendation that I resolved, upon inheriting the living at Hunsford, to seek out a suitable wife. It is a subject on which she has pronounced most eloquently. Her ladyship has assured me that a prudent choice in marriage will secure the happiness and respectability of both parties, and contribute to the harmony of the parish.”

He glanced at Jane, then at me, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. “It is my intention, therefore, to select a lady of modest fortune and amiable temper, who will do credit to my station and to the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I am not insensible to the advantages of an alliance with a family such as yours, Mrs. Bennet—indeed, I have every reason to hope that my proposal will meet with a favourable reception.”

There was a silence, broken only by the clink of Mrs. Bennet’s spoon against her plate.

“You have come, sir,” she said, “at an auspicious time. Our Jane, Miss Bennet, is engaged to be married to Mr. Bingley, a neighbour who holds Netherfield Park.”

Mr. Collins took but a moment to switch his full attention to me.

“I am, I hope, a man of sense and feeling,” he said, “though not, perhaps, of the most lively disposition. I flatter myself that my society would not be wholly disagreeable. Lady Catherine herself has always remarked on my punctuality and my attention to the duties of my office.”

I attempted to turn the conversation. “Lady Catherine, it seems, is as much a patroness of social harmony as she is of the church.”

“Indeed, Miss Elizabeth. Her ladyship is a model for all the nobility. She is never so happy as when she is dispensing advice. Why, she even undertook to instruct Mrs. Jenkinson, her daughter’s companion, on the proper method of arranging a tea tray. ‘There is a right way and a wrong way, Mrs. Jenkinson,’ she said—and who could doubt her?”

At this, Jane did laugh, though she quickly disguised it as a cough. Mama, with a gleam in her eye—for she was truly enjoying the repartee—pressed Mr. Collins to further confidences regarding Lady Catherine’s tastes and opinions. He obliged her with the utmost willingness, describing at length her ladyship’s views on everything from the training of partridge dogs to the merits of boiled versus roasted potatoes.

At last, the meal drew to a close. Mama beamed, Jane smiled weakly at me, and I could only hope that Papa might recover swiftly enough to rescue us from Mr. Collins’s continued attentions. As we rose from the table, Mr. Collins lingered behind, perhaps to rehearse another speech in praise of Lady Catherine, or to admire his own reflection in the glass. He declined taking tea in the parlour, and retired thereafter to his room, confessing that he was enervated after the journey from Hunsford. He made no comment on his accommodation; likely, the parsonage at Hunsford was of inferior dimensions, and his room there was but little larger than the butler’s room at Longbourn.

That night, as I prepared for bed, I could not help but laugh at the absurdity of the evening. Mr. Collins, with all his self-importance and borrowed consequence, was as comic—and as mortifying—as ever I could have imagined. Yet his intentions were unmistakable. Truly, I was glad that Papa had set aside sufficient dowry that I could refuse, with equanimity, if he were to propose marriage. God forbid!

I thought of Mary, the most serious of us, who knew far more scripture than I ever would. Could she have done for Mr. Collins? She would have rated him highly as a clergyman. But her intellect would challenge his ego, and, certainly, she would have laughed at his absurdities just as much as Mama, Jane, and I.