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As a result, there was extensive discussion about the weather, insignificant events in the neighborhood, and the food. When Papa was alive, Elizabeth and Mary sometimes engaged him in conversation about the war or recent Acts of Parliament, but Collins frowned on that sort of talk from women. Whenever Elizabeth raised a subject Collins believed to be inappropriate, he would begin to quote Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women. It was tedious in the extreme.
Dinner was also awkward because the entire family had to maintain the fiction that Elizabeth had not helped to prepare the meal. Collins had let two maids go and refused to hire replacements. But he did not like to acknowledge that his parsimony had essentially forced his cousins to take the place of servants. She suspected he secretly took pleasure in having her perform these “menial” tasks on his behalf. For her part, Elizabeth did not mind; most of the food she prepared would be nourishing her mother and sisters, after all.
However, Collins did not want to acknowledge that a gentleman’s daughter worked in his kitchen. When he wished to identify a spice in the soup, he scowled if Elizabeth answered the question. He much preferred summoning Hill from the kitchen—and away from her own dinner. If the bread was tasty, Collins would say, “Hill baked particularly good bread today.”
It was a ridiculous farce. He had pushed the Bennet sisters into this position but did not want their neighbors to guess that Elizabeth labored in the kitchen—or that Jane cared for the chickens and goats while Mary cleaned the rooms and Kitty served as his son’s unpaid nursemaid. He was quite pleased to enjoy the free labor but wanted to maintain the façade that his “fair cousins” were real ladies. On many occasions, Elizabeth had hurried out of the kitchen and up the servants’ stairs as she removed her apron and smoothed her hair, arriving at the dining table to greet guests as if she had been idling away her afternoon in embroidery rather than cooking the meal they were about to consume.
Their mother wailed and bemoaned Collins’s treatment of them, declaring that they were “quite ill-used!” But this did nothing to improve their circumstances.
As Elizabeth cut into her beef, she glared at Collins, seated at the head of the table and busily shoveling food into his mouth. The man had callously evicted a widow and her two sons that day and yet still had a hearty appetite. At the foot of the table, Charlotte bounced baby Robert on her knee so he would not cry.
Their mother and Kitty discussed the price of ribbons and lace in Meryton. Collins cleared his throat, a signal that he expected other conversation to cease. “Did you have a pleasant dinner at the Longs?” he asked Jane. Jane and Elizabeth had been invited the previous day to dine with the Longs.
Elizabeth froze, alert for any hint of trouble. Was Collins displeased that he and his wife had not been invited as well?
“Yes, sir. It was quite agreeable,” Jane responded quietly.
“Did Mr. Shaw favor you with his attention?”
Elizabeth suppressed a groan. So that was Collins’s purpose. Mr. Shaw was a retired admiral who had rented Purvis Lodge about a year ago. Having married late in life, he had several young children. But his wife had died in childbirth not long after their arrival in Hertfordshire. As a gentleman with a respectable income, Mr. Shaw had been the subject of much speculation in Meryton society. Would he remarry? Would he take a wife from Hertfordshire?
He had danced with Jane at the last assembly, an incident of sufficient excitement to set tongues wagging. Elizabeth had dismissed such speculation, but the man had demonstrated some partiality for Jane at the Longs’ dinner—which Elizabeth found alarming. The man was old enough to be Jane’s father and as charming as a sore tooth. His incessant complaints about his children’s behavior suggested that he desired a wife primarily to serve as an unpaid governess.
But the most alarming thing about Mr. Shaw was that if he made Jane an offer, Elizabeth was not at all sure she would refuse. Collins had dropped many hints that he hoped his “fair cousins” would soon be wed. Although he gave them meager allowances for clothes and granted them few opportunities to go out in society, he never hesitated to remind them that they were a burden on the estate and his family.
Mary had said she did not plan to wed, and Elizabeth privately believed it was unlikely she would either. Although she had not voiced the thought to anyone, she had all but given up hope of finding a husband for herself; her portion was small, and the population of Longbourn needed her help. But Jane and Kitty still had the opportunity to make good matches.
However, Jane hated to disappoint anyone, even Mr. Collins. And she was very much aware that she was a burden. If Mr. Shaw made her an offer, she might feel compelled to accept it.
“He did speak with me,” Jane responded neutrally. “I cannot say whether he favored my company.”
“If he makes you an offer, of course, you would be pleased to accept,” Collins said, cutting into his meat. His tone of voice sounded like a question, but Elizabeth—and Jane—knew it to be an order.
“I have no reason to believe he will make me an offer, sir,” Jane responded, her eyes on her plate. It was a small show of defiance and one that Elizabeth had little faith in.
“Humph. What about you?” He waved his fork—complete with a hunk of potato—at the other sisters. “Kitty? Lizzy? Mary?” They shook their heads. “You are not without your charms, although you are not getting any younger. But some men are not too particular.”
Elizabeth silently seethed, wishing she could give her cousin the response his thoughtless comments deserved. But she could not object every time the man said something insulting, or they would do nothing but argue. Still, Kitty appeared about to burst into tears, and Mary fidgeted uncomfortably with her fork.
“Your portions are so small,” Collins continued through a mouthful of potato. “You cannot expect much, of course. Beggars cannot be choosers.”
A tear rolled down Kitty’s cheek; Elizabeth knew her younger sister hoped to marry for love. But Collins renewed his single-minded devotion to his meal whil
e the rest of the table fell into an uneasy silence.
Not for the first time Elizabeth considered whether she should find a way to remove her sisters from the estate now—without waiting for husbands who might never come. Some days living with Collins seemed intolerable, and everything he said appeared designed to break their spirit.
Elizabeth considered the options once again. The Gardiners would accommodate some Bennet sisters, and the Phillipses might take in her mother but nobody else. However, there were four sisters; no relative could bear the expense of more than two. Still, Elizabeth had made plans that Jane and Kitty would go to London if their circumstances grew intolerable, and their mother would go to Meryton. That would leave only Mary and Elizabeth to shift as they could at Longbourn. She could not leave; the tenants must be shielded from Collins. Elizabeth could do little enough for them now, but at least they had more food.
The tableau was interrupted when baby Robert emitted a wail. Charlotte dandled him on her knee. Refusing to be jollied, the child made even more plaintive noises. The dandling grew more urgent, to no avail.
At the other end of the table, Collins grunted. “Must we have the child at dinner?” he said, following the complaint with a few gulps from his wine glass.
“I believe it does him good to spend time with the family,” Charlotte responded mildly.
Collins dropped his fork with a clatter. “He is only an infant! He belongs in the nursery.”
“If he is in the nursery, then Kitty will not be able to join us for dinner,” Charlotte said, keeping her eyes focused on the baby. Indeed, since his birth she had devoted most of her energy to his care—at a time when most mothers would hand their child over to a nurse.
