Page 33 of Regrets

She took the letter, curtsied, and dashed off. She did not wonder why the master did not bring it to his daughter himself; the distance between father and daughter was well-known in the household.

Elizabeth, hearing a timid knock on the door, called out, “Come in, Polly!”

When the girl entered with a question on her face, Elizabeth smiled. “You have a particular knock that I recognise, Polly. What is it?”

“The master asked me to give this to you.” Polly reached into her apron pocket, found the letter, and thrust it toward Elizabeth.

Elizabeth looked at Polly’s hand, holding out the letter, but made no move to take it.

“Miss?” Polly held out the letter even further.

Elizabeth sighed. There was no point in making Polly uncomfortable. “Thank you, Polly,” she said, taking the letter.

Polly curtsied and departed, eager to go down to the kitchen and tell everyone that the master was now writing letters to his daughter.

***

Like her father, Elizabeth read the letter from Mr. Collins several times; not because the message was particularly complex, but because she was trying to make out the man’s character. Finally, she concluded that he was something of a fool, but a sincere one. That said, if he was minded to marry one of the Bennet girls, as he had suggested in his letter, he would have to show himself to be quite a different man than the one hinted at by his letter.

But how would she respond to her father’s note? He would value her opinion, would he? She had a good many opinions to offer on a variety of subjects, most of which he would not value at all, but of course he was referring specifically to the letter. Should she speak to him? Or write a note? Finally, she shrugged; he had not seen fit to actually speak to her on the subject and so she would follow suit.

She turned the paper containing his message over and wrote: There is no harm in allowing him to come; it would be best for us to know what sort of man he is. She hesitated, and then added: And you must warn Mama at once. Once the ink was dry, she folded the note back inside the letter and rang the bell for Polly.

***

At dinner that night, Mr. Bennet informed the family that the heir to the estate was to visit the family on the eighteenth of November.

“Heir presumptive,” Mrs. Bennet muttered.

“What is that, Mrs. Bennet?” her husband asked.

“Nothing whatever,” she replied.

“No, I definitely heard you say something,” he insisted. “I insist that you repeat yourself.”

“Very well,” she answered, rather defiantly. “I said that he is the heir presumptive. Not the heir.”

No one spoke for a moment. Finally, Kitty asked, softly, “What is the difference?”

Mrs. Bennet said, “The heir presumptive is only the heir if there is no true heir.”

Kitty looked confused, so Elizabeth clarified the matter. “If our parents were to produce a son, Mr. Collins would no longer be the heir.”

“But that cannot happen, can it?” Lydia asked. “I mean, Mama is too old...” she trailed off, sensing that she had ventured onto dangerous ground.

“Pass the salt, please, Lydia,” Jane said, quickly.

Lydia, grateful for the distraction, promptly obliged.

Elizabeth said, “We must be polite to him, of course, as he is our cousin.”

“And may turn us all out of the house the moment your father passes away,” Mrs. Bennet added.

“Oh! He would do that?” Mary asked, looking to Mr. Bennet.

It was Mrs. Bennet who answered. “He certainly could if he so wished! Is that not right, Mr. Bennet?” Her tone was sharp.

But her obvious attempt to provoke her spouse into a response of some sort failed, as he simply looked away. It was Elizabeth who calmed the waters, saying, “It does not matter, Mama. You know we would always have a home with our relatives in London.”