by Beth Poppet
The spectacles were adjusted to sit a little higher on her nose. She sat taller too, as if preparing for a performance on the piano forte. In the voice of one reciting a school lesson, she said, “As a clergyman, his profession is highly respected and commendable. As a man, I believe him to be the pinnacle of good character. As my elder brother, I shall esteem and revere him as commanded.” She folded her hands in her lap, her duty to respond fulfilled.
Dissatisfied, Lizzy continued her queries. “Have you formed no opinions of your own? I did not mean to ask what is generally regarded as respected and commendable, but I wish to know your own feelings on the subject.”
Mary’s eyes blinked in rapid succession behind her spectacles, evidently taken aback by such a line of questioning. “I… find it highly appropriate how often he chuses to read a sermon over a novel, and his carefully selected compliments are offered in a most astute and timely manner.”
It crossed Lizzy’s mind that Mary did not know how to compliment at all, so eager was she to be the recipient of them, and Mr Collins’s practiced flatteries might agree with her. It was quite shocking to realise that there were persons in the world who genuinely liked Mr Collins for exactly the sort of person he was, and even more shocking that one of them should be her own younger sister.
“Perhaps Jane will come to think of him as well as you do,” Lizzy mused, half to herself, but Mary’s ears were sharp, and though she usually observed more than she communicated, this she did not let pass.
“Our eldest sister has done a remarkable thing. She has fulfilled all expectations of our mother in securing a comfortable position in life while simultaneously granting all of us unmarried sisters the welcome assurance that we will not be turned out and bereft of a place to lay our heads upon our father’s passing. The benefactress of her husband is a lady of great property and status, and though Jane may live modestly, as befitting the station of a clergyman’s wife, she will, I think, never want for her daily bread, or sufficient raiment. Our sister has made a fortunate alliance, indeed.”
Lizzy said nothing more, chusing to let the matter drop. Time alone could tell her whether Jane made a fortunate alliance in her eyes.
Lady Catherine sent her own coach and four to carry them the last miles of their journey, which Elizabeth was certain had to be Jane’s doing. She could not imagine Mr Collins imposing on the magnanimous nature of his patroness, but Jane might have graciously hinted at her sisters’ coming and where they intended to change horses which would have produced the extension of Lady Catherine’s kindness to them. Elizabeth’s eyes were trained to the window, intent on making out the extent of property belonging to Her Ladyship as they left the high road and neared Rosing’s Park, but the grandeur of the great house was hardly visible in the fog that set in, and the sloping garden leading up to the parsonage was obscured so well, they nearly missed it until they were rolling past it and had stopped at the little gate where their short walk to the house would begin.
The two sisters were met with Mr Collins and his wife awaiting them there, by all appearances in order to escort them the very small distance from the carriage to the front door. Elizabeth thought it abominably rude for Mr Collins to keep Jane standing in the cold with only her shawl, for she supposed it was he who must have insisted they hurry out to meet their guests before they could exit the carriage.
From her vantage point, and what little she could discern through the fog, the cottage seemed a modest, yet sufficient dwelling, with enough promise of warmth inside to make Lizzy think fondly of it at once, though she might have accepted a servant’s box, she was so rattled and cold from their ride.
“Sister Elizabeth! Sister Mary!” Mr Collins called to each as they stepped out of the coach. “We cannot tell you how delight—”
Lizzy leaped past Mr Collins, leaving his torrent of platitudes to be heaped upon Mary alone, and rushed into Jane’s arms, kissing her on both cheeks and enveloping her in her arms. Jane received her with a lively affection but felt a great deal too thin to Lizzy’s liking, and there was a weariness to her voice that was troubling.
They were hastened indoors amidst Mr Collins’s enquiries as to the health and wellbeing of all his dear sisters and their mother at home, and his stating the inestimable gratitude he felt of their gracing his and Mrs Collins’s humble abode, pausing in these affirmations only to point out each and every furnishing; the width of the bannister, or the suitability of the carpets for a clergyman in his position. Once Jane felt it would not be too unkind to interrupt, she offered refreshments, which Mr Collins reproached with the understanding that Lady Catherine did not approve of taking libations between the particular hours set for tea and mealtimes.
“Perhaps she allows exceptions for weary travellers,” Jane suggested meekly. “Surely, taking tea an hour early can be overlooked this once.”
“Very well, my dear, but it will be sure to upset Mullins, for you know she is not used to such impromptu service.”
“Let me put a small tray together, then. Mrs Mullins need not trouble herself, and such a little amount should not count against mealtimes.”
But this, Lizzy would not hear of, and the horror she expressed at such a notion when Jane was so clearly unfit in her fatigued state caused Mr Collins to fear the upset of his sister-in-law, the doubt of his care for Mrs Collins, and his ability to properly host more than he feared the unwarranted disapproval of Lady Catherine, who was assuredly the last person in the world to purposefully deprive anyone of their necessary bread. Mullins was directed, the tea was served presently, and a modicum of contentment returned to Lizzy by the avenue of cold sandwiches and a steaming pot of good brew.
After reviving themselves, Mary proved herself a useful companion once again as she kept Mr Collins full attention, listening intently to all his profusions of appreciation in the many ways Lady Catherine de Bourgh had condescended to him and his dear Mrs Collins since they had married; how good it was of her to bring his fair sisters hence, for she, of course, was the most considerate woman in all the world. This, Elizabeth supposed was his way of absolving Lady Catherine of any blame in the matter of withholding refreshments from his guests. His comments turned to the parsonage again, and all the ways their esteemed neighbour had given instructions on bettering the place. Having a willing listener to all he had henceforth imparted, Mr Collins was eager to show them the house in full, but fearing Jane was not up to such a walking tour, nor herself interested in delaying a rest, Lizzy persuaded him to take Mary round while Jane showed her straight to her room, promising to readjourn for supper at the prescribed and approved time.
The chamber that was given to Lizzy was small, but tidy, and bore at least one mark already of Jane’s handiwork. A needlepoint of heather in Lizzy’s preferred colours ornamented the bed, and the curtains were most decidedly of Jane’s fashioning. Lizzy summoned her to sit and rest while the trunks were unpacked, and then began to make herself presentable again. Between the laying out of frocks and familiarising herself to the new quarters, Lizzy intended to have all her private conversations out that were not suitable for general discussion.
Jane looked much relieved to be able to rest, and Lizzy began her queries with the matter of her health.
“Jane, you look very tired, and pale too. Are you ill?”
“Not by any affliction that can be named. It is nothing serious, and I am sure to be well soon.” She offered a smile, but there was little strength behind it. “Lady Catherine insists it is only a bit of ennui from the prevailing bad weather. She says I need only summon the energy to exert myself a little more and I will rally.” She said this as if she believed it, which troubled Lizzy all the more.
“What does Lady Catherine know of you and your constitution?” she asked with some bite.
“She asks after me when I am too ill to attend suppers at the great house, and Mr Collins gives her such communications as he believes true of my condition. She has invited us as many as twice in one week, which mak
es Mr Collins very happy, but he is terribly disappointed when I am unable to go.” She sighed wearily. “I do not know what has come over me. I feel ill, but there are no symptoms to complain of, apart from general fatigue and a lack of appetite.” Her gaze drifted towards the window. “Perhaps it is only low spirits, and I must try harder to apply myself to the housekeeping and my obligations to our parishioners and Lady Catherine.”
“These are not low spirits,” Lizzy insisted with a frown, “but a real malady of some sort. Is Mr Collins not concerned?”
“He is not with me when the worst of it persists and has only Lady Catherine’s counsel to go on. Do not distress yourself, Lizzy,” she said at her sister’s severe expression. “I can manage.”
“I do not think you can, dear Jane, nor should you try. But now that I am here, I will see to everything you can comfortably hand over to my care: baskets for your poor folk, instructions to Mullins; you shall not lift a finger of employment that I am able to do. I require complete idleness from you, Jane Collins.” The name was stumbled upon, as Lizzy almost gave her former name, “Furthermore, if you are not fully recovered within three days, I will have an apothecary called.”
“Dear Lizzy,” she settled comfortably against the pillows. “I know I shall be in good spirits so long as you are here with me. But oh,” with a little start, she sat up again, “we should not have left Mary with my husband for so long. I am being so careless not to show her to her room as well. I must go and rectify—”
“Now that is the very thing you should not be doing,” Lizzy urged her back into a recline. “Let me go down and fetch her myself. You stay just you are, and I shall bring her up to dress with me. Complete idleness, remember?”
“Oh, do, please.” Jane accepted with an eager smile. “I am so very glad you are both come. I found myself missing all of my sisters over these long weeks, regretting how little time I spent with each of you. No time alone with you was ever wasted of course, but how many hours spent on needlework and trimming could have been better employed with my family?”
“You forget,” Lizzy smiled, “you were often trying to get us to play together or employ ourselves in some mutual task, but we none of us naughty girls would deign to accompany the others, except for our walks into Meryton.”
“That is true. Perhaps I am absolved, then.”
“Utterly and completely!” Lizzy agreed, and hurried down to find Mary.
The remainder of the evening was spent pleasantly enough. There was a great deal of repetition from Mr Collins who insisted on giving his dear sister Elizabeth her own tour of the house and forgot throughout the evening what had already been said regarding this or that ornamentation on the mantlepiece, or the newly upholstered chair in the study, or worst of all, the ingenious idea of Lady Catherine to have shelves installed in all the closets.
Elizabeth’s chief concern, however, was not how Lady Catherine de Bourgh imposed her will on the furnishings and adornment of Hunsford, but how Jane fared in her new role as Mrs Collins. She was unable to gather many particulars when Mary joined them, as Jane asked for any news from home that Lizzy had not supplied, and she thought it best to save the more direct questions apart from Mary’s grim anecdotes. She determined to watch Jane closely and see if she recovered with her sisters to bolster her.
The next afternoon, as Lizzy prepared for a walk with Jane, there was a great commotion from downstairs; namely, Mr Collins shouting for Mrs Collins to make haste and follow him. Elizabeth left her room and came down in time to see him red-faced and short of breath barrelling out the door with Jane hurrying behind. It was fortunate they had intended to walk together, for Jane was already prepared for the chilly weather in her winter wraps and cap.
From the landing window, Elizabeth saw nothing to cause such a great outburst, but two ladies in a phaeton stopped at the garden gate.
“Why, it’s only Lady Catherine and her daughter!” she exclaimed.
“That is not Lady Catherine, but only Mrs Jenkins, and beside her is Miss Anne de Bourgh.” Mary sniffed critically, as if the mistake was incomprehensible.
Lizzy sighed, disregarding Mary’s correction. “Why does she and Mr Collins insist on keeping poor Jane out of doors in this bluster? Why do they not come inside?”
Evidently the expert on all things to do with the illustrious de Bourghs, Mary answered, “They never come into the house. It would be most challenging to supply all the comforts Miss de Bourgh’s constitution necessitates, and it is a kindness for them not to impose on their hosts in obligating them to provide such things.”
“That is all very well, but I wish more consideration was given for Jane’s constitution and comfort. I did not expect Miss de Bourgh to be so small and cross looking,” she mused quietly. “Perhaps we country girls were too lively and hale for his taste, and he means to keep the standing engagement.” A mischievous smile played at the corners of her mouth, and she raised her eyebrows in thought. “She’ll make him a proper wife with all her delicate frowns and bottles of smelling salts.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “I will not pretend to take an interest in your musings, as you obviously intend them for your own amusement. Unless you require a companion to gawk at our neighbours, I mean to finish this book before dinner.”
Lizzy was prevented from having the last word as Mr Collins and his wife re-entered the house just as Mary left her for the superior company of her book. Mr Collins was breathless with excitement, but still attempting to relay the great honour being shown his dear sisters and congratulating them heartily between great gasps and puffs of air, while Jane did her best to convey his full meaning to Elizabeth in one or two succinct phrases.
They were all invited to dine at Rosing’s the next evening; an invitation which exceeded even Mr Collins’s greatest hopes and expectations, as attentive a neighbour as Lady Catherine was, and despite his absolute faith that she would condescend to invite them before the week was out, it was beyond benevolence to bid them come to dine so soon, and to include the entire family besides.
The next day dawned with Lizzy in high spirits, for she had none of the fear and awe preparing to meet such a great and esteemed lady which Mr Collins supposed natural for a young lady in her position. Rather, she was amused by the prospect, and was much desirous of finding out if Lady Catherine was everything she imagined Mr Darcy’s would-be mother-in-law to be.
Mr Collins had been accurate in his depiction of the great house’s location. His own humble abode was indeed separated from Rosing’s by only a lane, and as they walked it, Mr Collins appraised all his sisters’ attire before they were even at the hedgerows. After a lively verbal debate with himself he deemed them to be acceptable, as Lady Catherine preferred a measure of distinction in rank. Sister Elizabeth’s winter layers were sufficiently unfashionable, he remarked as conclusion, and would do very well for their visit. Mary was given even greater commendation, as her attire was not only plain and practical, but also in the sort of drab colours Her Ladyship liked to see on others of a similar status. Jane squeezed Lizzy’s fidgeting hand as a sign to forgive the offences of her husband and be agreeable in spite of them.
Her answering look meant to convey that she would certainly try to be agreeable for Jane’s sake but could make no promises she might not have the self-will to keep.
Being ushered inside, all were made to suffer through the boasting of Mr Collins on behalf of Her Ladyship’s wealth and fine taste. The bannister was called into consideration, the prodigious diameter of the starburst in the foyer, the mouldings, and light fixtures, and everything between was called attention to, until at last they were brought to the lady herself, a tall, large, and fashionable woman with sharp eyes, and an air of authority. Jane made the introductions, immediately echoed by Mr Collins’s raptures of delight, and hurriedly hushed up by Lady Catherine’s insistence that they be seated. She seemed perfectly willing to accept every bit of Mr Collins’s flattery until it interrupted her own design in conversation, at
which point she would only have to open her mouth and Mr Collins would desist at once.
Mary was seated by Miss Anne de Bourgh, and more surprising than her sallow face and tiny frame with such a mother as Lady Catherine was the fact that she and Mary found things to say to one another. It was nothing that anyone else present cared to listen to, but their quiet murmurs were a low hum in the backdrop of the severe silences between Lady Catherine’s directives and inquisitions.
“Mrs Collins has told me a little of your family, Miss Bennet,” said she to Elizabeth, “and I must tell you, I find it most imprudent for your younger sisters to all be out before you and your sister there are married. Your youngest sister much be very young, indeed.”
“She is not yet sixteen,” Elizabeth confirmed, and to Lady Catherine it was an agreement. “But I think,” she went on, shocking both Lady Catherine and Mr Collins alike, “it would be very hard for the younger girls to be forced to be shut-ins while the rest of us have our fill of dances and assemblies. It would hardly inspire goodwill between us. Do not you think so?” Elizabeth asked Mary, knowing full well she cared nothing for balls or dances, and would likely be too scandalised to reply for some time. She was correct, as Mary only gaped. Before Mary could conjure a satisfactory rebuke, Lady Catherine had recovered from this difference of opinion and addressed Elizabeth herself.
“Well! You seem to give your opinions very decidedly for one so young. How old are you?”
“With the experience of three sisters born and grown up after me, you can hardly think me capable of owning it.”
“Come, now, Miss Bennet. You cannot be more than one and twenty.”
“I am only twenty,” she asserted, “and by no means pining for want of a husband.”
“Regardless of your youthful visage and very strong opinions on the appropriateness of your sisters’ availability,” Lady Catherine went on, taking no notice of Elizabeth’s disinterest, “it behoves you as the next in line to give your mother the joy and honour of securing a comfortable position for yourself as soon as possible. It is the duty of all young ladies to marry as soon as they are able, the better to set a good example for the younger to follow. Now that you see your sister is so well cared for, you cannot be long in seeking a position of similar domesticity.”
