Mistletoe and Mischief

by Jann Rowland

  Mr. Collins stared after her vanished form for a few moments to ensure she would not immediately reappear. Then he reached forward and grabbed his nightcap, which had fallen off while he was bowing. Shakily, he placed it upon his head, and then he sank backward into his bed. After gazing around the room once more, he closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself and lose himself in dreams.

  He awoke abruptly sometime later—it could have been minutes or hours—to find a new pale figure at his bedside. He gasped as he realized the identity of his newest visitor. “Miss de Bourgh!”

  The meek figure of Anne de Bourgh gazed down at him, her countenance pale even for a spirit. Mr. Collins had not known her long, for she had passed away a few months before her mother. Some believed the two deaths were connected—that Lady Catherine let go of life out of grief for her daughter's death—but Mr. Collins had not joined anyone in making such speculations.

  “Mr. Collins,” said Miss de Bourgh quietly in greeting.

  “Might I ask why you are here, Miss de Bourgh?” asked Mr. Collins. Truly, he could not understand why he had been called upon by one spirit, much less two—particularly since he had not even believed they existed!

  “I have come to show you the dangers of forcing someone to acquiesce to your wishes.”

  “While I am not quite certain of what precisely you mean, I should not think that it would be a trial for anyone to abide by the desires of an upstanding clergyman such as myself.”

  “Do you believe that Elizabeth Bennet truly had need of your interference? Do you believe that she wanted to marry you?”

  “I believe she made the choice most befitting of her situation. When her father passes from this life, her mother and sisters shall need a place to reside, and I have eased her concerns for the future, as her husband-to-be should. Perhaps she has not had time to develop feelings of affection, but I shall make up for that lack during the remainder of my stay. There shall be no cause to repine.”

  “What of her sister's anticipated engagement?”

  “I know not the circumstances, but as the engagement has not yet occurred, it may not come to pass, so I do not believe it worth considering at the moment.”

  “Could you not have inquired further?”

  “I saw no reason to do so,” said Mr. Collins. “After all, marriage to me shall be an incredible gift, even more impressive than the prospect of marriage to another gentleman in the area. Miss Elizabeth shall never have to leave her home, and her mother and sisters will be secure in their futures. What more could she desire from marriage than that?”

  “Have you considered why Miss Elizabeth rejected your proposal at first?”

  “It is my understanding that such coy ways are the heart-blood of young women during these times. They feign disinterest at first before finally surrendering to what is natural and desirable.”

  Miss de Bourgh pursed her lips. “I suspect you shall not see where you have erred even if I ask you a thousand questions. Very well. Let me show you something instead.”

  The spirit stepped toward him, and he forced himself not to flinch. She passed her hand in front of his face, and he closed his eyes at the movement. When he opened them, he found himself immersed in new surroundings.

  “This is . . . this is the home where I was raised,” said Mr. Collins, looking around in awe. “I must be in the midst of some strange dream.”

  He moved from the entryway and walked forward, taking in the modest surroundings which he knew so well. His father had been a miser, embittered by a hundred grievances but also desirous for his son to reach a comfortable station in life that would give him the right to sneer at Mr. Bennet, with whom he had become determined to remain on poor terms. As the elder Mr. Collins disliked the expense of private tutors, that meant his son was often under his strict guidance; as he was illiterate, that meant the situation was almost always nigh unbearable for both him and his son. He could scarcely teach, and his son could scarcely learn from him.

  Thus it was that Mr. Collins found his steps stilled entirely when he came upon a familiar scene.

  A portly young boy sat at a small desk, quill in hand as he flinched in response to the lecture being hammered down upon him by a stern man whose face had the look of one who never smiled.

  “William!” spat the man. “You know how important this letter is, yet all you have succeeded in doing is covering the page in ink blots and something that scarcely seems as if it can pass as writing. We cannot afford the expense of page after page of paper. Utilize the sides and write as small as you possibly can. I shall not let your blunders cost us anything further.”

  There was a pause in which the boy murmured a plethora of apologies as he worked, and then the man said: “Foolish boy! Have you no brains in that thick skull of yours?”

  “I apologize, Father,” said the boy, bowing his head and apologizing over and over again.

  As Mr. Collins looked upon this young version of himself, he felt a heavy pressure in his chest. As his father could not read and write, letters had always fallen to the younger Collins. Still, in spite of the elder Collins's lack of understanding, the man would always supervise his son's correspondence, critiquing anything he possibly could and forcing his son to read the letters time and time again to ensure they said exactly what was intended.

  His breath caught in his throat as he wondered whether he could be seen and heard by the two figures from his past.

  “This scene is one your father repeated many times,” said Miss de Bourgh, moving to stand at his side. “You need not be concerned, for they do not know you are nearby at present. What has happened here is immutable.”

  “Ah, yes, of course,” murmured Mr. Collins.

  “As a boy, you were berated constantly. You would apologize over and over. Your father chose everything for you, from your shoes to your career.

  “We are not dissimilar in this way. My mother also dictated my life for me. Just as I confined myself to my home out of my mother's desire to aid my health, so did you become a clergyman at your father’s insistence. Neither of us dared to dream our own dreams.”

  Mr. Collins looked at the vision before him, at the unhappy boy simpering and apologizing, the angry man growling and criticizing. Miss de Bourgh's words disturbed him on some level, but he could not quite describe the reason.

  He took in a deep breath and pushed his shoulders back as he tried to shake off the emotions conjured up by this glimpse into his past. “Perhaps it was not my choice, but my impeccable character was formed through my father’s efforts.”

  “Impeccable, you say?” returned Miss de Bourgh. As he looked at her, ready to question her disparagement of his character, her form disappeared before his eyes.

  He gawked for a moment, running his hand in front of his face, only to jump in surprise as his father, who he had believed to be standing before him, appeared beside him.

  “Ah, w-what?” stammered the younger Collins, scarcely knowing what to say. “You—I thought you were—were you able to see me before now?”

  “William,” said his father gruffly, “I can see you at present, and only that signifies.”

  “Might I inquire as to why you are here still, sir?”

  “I have something to show you.”

  “Might I inquire as to what that might be?”

  The elder Collins did not answer verbally. Rather, he gestured for his son to follow, and he strode forward and walked through the bedchamber door without opening it.

  Mr. Collins gaped after his father for a moment before he tentatively took a few steps. He put out a hand to grasp the doorknob, but his fingers passed through it. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and walked through the door, shivering as he did so.

  The elder Collins had not slowed to allow for any delay, so his son had to hurry to reach him.

  “Am I a spirit as well?” asked the younger Collins in a slight panic. “Have I passed away in my sleep?”

  “You are not dead,” said his father
, “but it would be better for Elizabeth Bennet if you were.”

  “I do not understand—”

  As his father walked through the door to Mr. Bennet's bedchamber, Mr. Collins had no choice but to follow him.

  The room bore two figures, but not the ones whom the younger Collins would have expected. Mrs. Bennet must have been sleeping elsewhere, as Mr. Bennet was the only one in the bed. Beside him, her head bowed over his hand, was Elizabeth Bennet.

  However, she was not asleep. Instead, she sobbed quietly, her shoulders shaking with the effort to subdue any noise.

  “Ah, my dear Elizabeth,” said the younger Collins, moved by the sight before him. “She must be deeply affected by the knowledge that her father shall soon depart from this world, just as a good daughter should be.”

  “That is not the only reason for her tears,” said the elder Collins. “Because of her sense of responsibility, she has agreed to marry a man whom she can never love.”

  It took a few moments for the meaning of his father's words to enter Mr. Collins's head. “I beg your pardon?”

  “William,” said his father, “you are not the sort of man who could ever make Elizabeth Bennet happy. She should be with a man who can challenge her intellectually and elicit full and deep feelings of affection.”

  “I fail to see how you have come to this sort of expectation—”

  “Have you actually had an in-depth conversation with the young woman? Are you aware that her preference in books is vastly different from your own? Have you come to realize that she takes heart in the exertion of long walks in the countryside?”

  “No, I suppose I—”

  “You have scarcely taken the time to speak to her, much less look at her. I may not have done right by you as a child, William, but I can at least say without prevarication that I loved my wife. I would have given the world to her, and the insult that your cousin Bennet gave her—”

  The man cut off and shook his head. Once he had gathered his wits about him again, he said: “Well, once she died, I felt I could never forgive him, and you suffered for it as well. That was one of my greatest mistakes. But the son need not willingly make others suffer for the sins of the father.”

  The younger Collins, watching Miss Elizabeth sob, felt his heart deeply touched by the sight of her plight. Still, he told himself: “I can soothe her tears. She shall be much better situated upon assuming the position of my wife, and she shall find herself with no cause to regret her new life.”

  As he continued to gaze at her, he thought her to be quite handsome despite her tears, and he wondered why he should not be granted the honor of looking upon her face every day.

  Eventually, he realized the ghostly figure of his father had disappeared. After looking about him to ensure that the man had not simply stepped to the side, Mr. Collins left the room with the intention of returning to his bedchamber. When he stepped out, however, he nearly cried out in surprise. There, standing in front of him, was his cousin Bennet.

  “Mr. B-B-Bennet,” stammered Mr. Collins, looking back at the door to the room where he had just seen the man. “Are you—have you passed—that is, are you no longer with us?” This last was said in a mere whisper as Mr. Collins looked furtively around.

  “I regret to inform you that I have not yet departed from this world,” said Mr. Bennet. “I know you must be quite despondent to hear it.”

  Mr. Collins bowed a few times. “I should never venture to speak of despondency at such a time as this, Mr. Bennet.”

  “Of course.”

  “However, I do wish to inquire as to the reason for your appearance at this time. Should you not be abed?”

  “What I should do and what I actually do are ofttimes contrary to one another,” said Mr. Bennet, “but that does not signify. I appear before you with a singular purpose tonight.”

  “I suppose there is something that you wish to show me,” said Mr. Collins, recalling the previous ghosts who had called upon him.

  “Indeed,” said Mr. Bennet. “You have already seen glimpses of the past and present, but I am here to show you the future.”

  Mr. Collins smiled broadly in anticipation. “Ah, certainly, certainly, that would be a most logical assumption, would it not? I confess that the future is the period of my life that I am most desirous of witnessing. I wish to see that most felicitous bliss that must lay before me.”

  “I suppose you might not have any anxieties about the future at present, no matter what you may have seen this night, but I do wonder whether you shall be so cavalier once you finally return to your bedchamber.”

  “Have you a scene for me to witness?”

  “I do indeed. However, I think mine might have the greatest effect of all. Certainly, I hope it shall.”

  “I should be honored to see whatever a dying man might wish to show me,” said Mr. Collins. He soon realized his words might not be taken in the light he meant them, and he bowed and said, “Ah, beg pardon, sir.”

  “No offense taken, Collins,” said Mr. Bennet, waving his hand. “In fact, I rather find that the subject of death seems a fitting one.”

  The older man waved his hand once more, and Mr. Collins's surroundings faded out of view and then suddenly came sharply in focus. Mr. Collins glanced around and realized immediately they were outside. “This is . . . ?”

  “Longbourn Cemetery,” said Mr. Bennet, “a place where the dead are quite comfortable in their rest. However, I believe the person whom you would find to be of most interest is over there.”

  Mr. Collins looked at the place where Mr. Bennet gestured, and he saw Miss Elizabeth seated in front of a headstone. Her body shook, and Mr. Collins shook his head sadly. “Ah, she must be crying due to your demise, Mr. Bennet. She is quite the filial young woman—”

  “Actually, Mr. Collins, I would suggest you look again.”

  Mr. Collins moved forward to gain a better vantage, and he quickly realized Mr. Bennet was quite correct in indicating that the situation was not as it first appeared. Rather than crying, Miss Elizabeth was laughing as she played with a young girl, teasing her sides and eliciting ecstatic giggles.

  Mr. Collins frowned. “This is unusual behavior in a place where the dead are interred.”

  “It is,” said Mr. Bennet. “However, the passing of a particular person has brought her great joy.”

  “Joy?” echoed Mr. Collins. “It is rather odd that a young lady should be in such a state after someone has passed from this earth.”

  “Well, the death of the person in the grave before you has brought her great freedom. She is no longer bound to the whims of another but free to do as she will.”

  A sickening feeling took residence in Mr. Collins's gut. “What of the young girl? Is that her daughter?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Her daughter does not appear to be afflicted by the passing of . . . this person.”

  “The little girl takes after her mother. If her mother is not saddened but rather filled with joy, would not the daughter be so as well?”

  “They are playing at a grave,” said Mr. Collins, his tone almost entreating. The sickening feeling only worsened.

  “Did you not feel the same sense of overwhelming relief at the passing of your father? Would you not have played at his grave had you been younger when he left this world? After all, you were no longer beholden to his will. He never saw you as his equal, and he would have continued to control your life.”

  “Whose grave is this, Mr. Bennet?” whispered Mr. Collins. He knew the answer, of course, but he had to hear it.

  “Have you not looked at the name upon the marker?” asked Mr. Bennet in a tone that was almost mocking. “Why, it is yours, Mr. Collins.”

  Mr. Collins looked away, wringing his hands together as he felt himself beset by an unbearable agony. He felt as though he had suddenly been stabbed through the heart. “I do not wish for my wife and child to rejoice at my passing.”

  “What man would?”

  “Is t
his the future that must come or merely a future that could be?”

  “The future you see before you is not set in stone,” said Mr. Bennet. “There is still time to undo what has been done. I think perhaps there is another young man who might make my daughter happy.”

  “Another young man?”

  “Mr. Darcy has appeared to show a particular interest in Elizabeth of late. I believe he would make a much better match for her.”

  “Then I know what I must do,” said Mr. Collins in a rush, his decision abruptly made. “Thank you, Mr. Bennet. Thank you for leaving your sickbed to keep me from making a most grievous mistake. I had no notion I was forcing Miss Elizabeth into so unsuitable a position. You may be assured I will correct it at once!”

  He bowed a few times, and he felt that sensation of the world blurring around him before he found himself once more in his bedchambers. He remained still for a few moments to orient himself before he realized he was sitting up in his bed. Had he been asleep and only now just awakened?

  Mr. Collins reached out and ruffled the blankets on his legs, testing his ability to manipulate his surroundings. The level of light in the room indicated it was morning, so he must have awoken from the dreams that had so moved his heart.

  He leaped out of bed, shoving the first pair of shoes he found on his feet and then running from the room. He rushed outside Longbourn and was surprised, but pleased, to find Mr. Darcy approaching on horseback.

  “Mr. Darcy!” cried he, rushing forward and waving his arms to catch his attention.

  The gentleman continued forward, and once he drew close, he dismounted. “Mr. Collins,” said he, speaking more cordially than he had at their last meeting, “I might inquire as to the reason for your unusual appearance. Has something happened to the Bennets?”

  “No, sir,” said Mr. Collins, waving a hand dismissively. “Rather, I am vastly pleased to see you this morning, for I felt most desirous of speaking with you.”

  “I also believe I might have some business with you,” said Mr. Darcy, his voice and posture suddenly stiff.