Love and Laughter

by Jann Rowland

  “Mrs. Bennet,” said he, speaking in a tone more than usually unctuous and patronizing, “please allow me to condole with you on the tragic passing of your most excellent husband, the man who was so clever as to father my own beautiful and wonderful companion in life.” Here, Mr. Collins halted his words and leered at his wife. Elizabeth, however, ignored him, intent, it seemed, upon freezing Mrs. Bennet with the winter’s blast of her stare.

  “Indeed,” continued Mr. Collins after a moment, “your loss is keenly felt by all of your excellent family, including my dear Mrs. Collins and I, and I assure you that regardless of my own elevation due to the death of your most excellent husband, I find myself reluctant to take up his mantle with his loss still so fresh in the minds of us all. You are truly to be pitied, Mrs. Bennet, for suffering such an exquisite loss, but you must, I think, take comfort in the knowledge that all is in accordance with the movement of the seasons and the cycle of life as well as the knowledge that your husband is now held within the bosom of our Lord. And indeed, I feel I must inform you that I am not unaffected or insensible to this very great loss, yet I am compelled to take up my birthright and execute my duties, and I believe I shall not disappoint your excellent husband in the manner in which I fulfill my stewardship. Indeed, I shall not!”

  As Mr. Collins rambled on, Mrs. Bennet felt two things. One was a certain contempt for this daft man who had claimed in one moment that he could not take up her husband’s mantle while saying in the next that he was compelled to do so. The other was distress at not being able to get in a word of her own while he blathered on. But while Mr. Collins continued to speak for several minutes and even rose to pace the room, using grand hand gestures to make his point, Elizabeth continued to sit quietly and demurely in her chair. Mrs. Bennet did not miss the continued coldness of her stare, however, as the ineffectual man continued speaking without realizing that neither of the women who were present were paying him the scantest of attention.

  “Mr. Collins!” said Elizabeth at length, interrupting her husband in mid-sentence. The man halted immediately and turned to stare at his wife, his mouth open and his hands comically raised in the air, where he had been gesturing in emphasis over some point he was trying to make. “I should like to have a few words with my mother. Perhaps you could investigate the state of the gardens. I know how much you enjoy your vegetable gardens, and though we have only a small one at Longbourn, I am certain you will wish to expand upon it greatly.”

  “Yes, yes, I believe I should like that,” said Mr. Collins, his eyes darting back and forth between his wife and his mother-in-law. But though he professed agreement with his wife, he was clearly reluctant to leave the rom. “But perhaps—”

  “In private, Mr. Collins,” interrupted his wife. “My mother and I have not met for some time, and I wish to converse with her in private.”

  The light of understanding seemed to enter his eyes, and Mr. Collins bowed and said with a smile: “Yes, of course. I understand completely, my dear; indeed, I do. Delicate conversation between two elegant females such as yourselves would undoubtedly be of no interest to a man such as myself. I believe that I shall take your excellent suggestion and remove myself from the house forthwith to inspect the gardens, so that I may immediately begin to plan for their expansion.”

  It was several minutes, however, before Mr. Collins’s words were exhausted to the point where he actually took his leave, regardless of his professed intention to depart immediately. And through it all, Elizabeth watched her husband with a form of exasperation evident upon her countenance while she waited for his words to finally run out. Silence descended upon the room as the man left, Elizabeth looking at the door through which he had exited.

  “Whatever else my husband is, he may not be faulted for his gardens at Hunsford, for they are among the finest in the county,” said Elizabeth after a moment, breaking the silence. “Of course, that may be because of the amount of time he spends in them.”

  “But he is now a gentleman, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet. “It is not seemly for him to be spending so much time in such pursuits.”

  The cold agates which comprised her second daughter’s eyes were once again focused upon Mrs. Bennet, who instantly wished that she had held her tongue and avoided drawing Elizabeth’s attention.

  “I assure you that there is nothing improper about Mr. Collins tending to his own gardens, Mama. It is an activity he enjoys very much, and it has the advantage of being very beneficial exercise. Besides, he is more emotionally and intellectually suited for such endeavors than . . . other activities. Since Lady Catherine’s death, he has had much more time on his hands; encouraging him to work in the gardens has kept him busy and, more importantly, kept me sane.”

  Though Mrs. Bennet thought this was a rather singular way of speaking of one’s husband, she seized upon the opportunity to change the subject. “Ah, yes, I remember hearing of the passing of your patroness some years ago, yet I understand that Lady Catherine had a daughter. Does Mr. Collins hold the same reverence for her that he did for his previous patroness?”

  “Anne de Bourgh did not take an interest in the doings of the area,” replied Elizabeth. “And Anne Darcy, as she is now called, is even less inclined, preferring to allow her husband full rein of such matters.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember Mr. Collins mentioning the fact that Mr. Darcy was betrothed to Miss de Bourgh. Does Mr. Darcy dispense with his wisdom to the extent that the late Lady Catherine did?”

  “I believe that the proud and disagreeable Mr. Darcy would consider it beneath his dignity to bestow wisdom on the likes of William Collins. Mr. Darcy and his wife make their home at his estate in Derbyshire and only visit Rosings a few weeks of the year. And when they are in residence, the Collinses are certainly not grand enough to be admitted to their august presence, only excepting when we should happen to meet in Hunsford church.”

  Making noises of understanding, Mrs. Bennet allowed the subject to drop. She had frequently seen Mr. Darcy visit Mr. Bingley and Jane over the years, and the cold, proud, and disagreeable man’s manners had not changed at all in the time since he had first been introduced to the area. Of more immediate concern to Mrs. Bennet was Elizabeth’s manner. Throughout the entirety of the conversation, Elizabeth, though she appeared to be speaking affably, had not allowed her cold expression to waver in the slightest, and Mrs. Bennet was now beginning to become truly uncomfortable. She wondered if she could escape to her room until dinner was served.

  “Mama, there is a matter about which I would speak with you,” said Elizabeth suddenly, startling Mrs. Bennet from her thoughts.

  “Of course, Elizabeth,” replied Mrs. Bennet, thinking that her daughter wished for some advice. “I would be happy to help you with whatever you require.”

  A faint smile graced Elizabeth’s face. “I assure you that I have no need for assistance, Mama. I have, after all, been managing my own house for above ten years now. No, the matter of which I must speak is somewhat serious, and I require your attention so that there may be no misunderstanding.”

  During the course of her words, the smile had faded from Elizabeth’s face, and once the she had fallen silent, Mrs. Bennet was again the subject of that hard and piercing expression. Dumbly, she nodded and waited for her daughter to speak.

  “I understand that you were away visiting my aunt and have been gone since this morning. Am I correct?”

  Mrs. Bennet could only nod once again in response to the question, wondering what her daughter was about.

  “Though it may be proper for you to visit your sister upon occasion, it is not proper for you to stay away the entire day indulging in gossip. This is a house in mourning, Mama, and I will not have my father’s memory disrespected.”

  Never having felt so insulted in her life, Mrs. Bennet sputtered and responded angrily: “I have not done anything improper. I was in the company of my sister today, and you may ask her if you doubt my word.”

  “I have no doubt of the vera
city of your words, Mama,” said Elizabeth evenly, “but I also know that you were gone the whole of the day. The proper length of a visit is half an hour, though as she is your sister, it is within her rights to allow that stricture to lapse. However, as we are in mourning, a day spent gossiping as though you had not a care in the world is most decidedly not proper, and I will not have it. If you wish to visit your sister, you may do so, but there is to be no gossiping and carrying on as you have done in the past. After six months, the limitations may be relaxed to a certain extent, but not before. You are a new widow, Mother. You must act like one.”

  Offended beyond anything she had previously experienced, Mrs. Bennet felt the familiar onset of an attack of her nerves. But though she began to bemoan her situation and berate her thoughtless and ungrateful daughter, Elizabeth quickly interrupted her.

  “Mother!”

  Mrs. Bennet’s eyes widened. Never before had Elizabeth dared to speak to her in such a manner! She listened with surprise as her daughter continued.

  “These conditions are not negotiable! Remember, we are in mourning. There will be little entertaining, no balls or parties, and absolutely no disrespect for my father.”

  Pausing for a moment, Elizabeth peered at her mother, making Mrs. Bennet even more uncomfortable, as if she were the proverbial mouse cornered by the cat.

  “One more thing, Mama. The horses shall be required on the farm most days, as we are nearing the planting season. If you wish to visit your sister in Meryton, I am afraid you will need to walk.”

  This time, Mrs. Bennet was unable to speak through her sputtering. To think that she should be denied the carriage to go to Meryton! The indignity was not to be borne.

  “I shall leave you now,” said Elizabeth, “as I should like to have a look at my father’s books. Perhaps it would be wise if you rested before dinner.”

  With that, Elizabeth rose and glided from the room without a glance back at her shocked mother. It was in a daze that Mrs. Bennet made her way back to her chamber, wondering all the way what had just happened. The unease that she felt upon first entering the room with her daughter was now growing to a sizeable attack on her nerves, and she decided that the best thing to do was to rest with the ever-faithful Hill attending her. At least her longtime servant would be willing to hear of her troubles and condole with her. It seemed she could not count on her daughter to do it.

  Nothing was right! Nothing was as she had intended it to be! That evening at dinner saw the first indignity, for when Mrs. Bennet arrived at the dinner table, Elizabeth was already seated in her position—her place at the foot of the table!—and none of Mrs. Bennet’s subtle hints could induce her to vacate the seat in favor of Mrs. Bennet’s rights. It was most vexing and severely taxing on Mrs. Bennet’s nerves. One sharp look from her daughter, however, and the state of Mrs. Bennet’s nerves curiously righted themselves, and she sat at Elizabeth’s left side.

  The situation did not improve from there, unfortunately. Convinced that she was being ill-used and determined to assert her rights, Mrs. Bennet returned to the issue regarding the carriage. Her words, as she rehearsed them in her room, sounded elegant and convincing, but Mrs. Bennet was shocked when Elizabeth merely laughed.

  “Oh, Mama, the horses are needed on the farm. Besides, we are in mourning—there is not a lot of visiting to be done.”

  “Indeed, we are,” said Mary, choosing that moment to inject her morality into the conversation. “It is ever so proper of us to show our respect for our beloved father by grieving his passing as society dictates.”

  “That is correct, Mary,” said Mr. Collins. “Your sentiments do you credit.”

  “Besides,” said Elizabeth, “I am certain that should you wish to visit my aunt, a walk of merely a mile will do you good. Mr. Collins has often commented on the very beneficial nature of regular exercise—have you not done so, Mr. Collins?”

  “Indeed, I have,” was the man’s enthusiastic response. And though Mrs. Bennet was familiar with the sycophantic ways of Mr. Collins, she was startled at the overly unctuous nature of most of his comments to his wife and the simpering smirk with which they were delivered. Mrs. Bennet had never previously seen such an attitude from the man unless he was droning on about his patroness.

  Mr. Collins expounded for some time on the subject, but though Mrs. Bennet noticed a tightening around his wife’s eyes as the man droned on, Elizabeth continued to eat her dinner, seemingly content to allow him to blather on in whatever manner he deemed fit. Thus it was that the evening passed, and as it had indeed been a long day, they all retired early that evening. And though Mrs. Bennet’s spirits were low, she had no doubt that the next day would be better. It could hardly be worse.

  The next day was, in fact, much worse. Mrs. Bennet was left to wonder how it all had gone so wrong. It began well enough, she supposed, as the family gathered together for the morning meal, and though Elizabeth still occupied the chair at the foot of the table, the food was good, and the night’s sleep had done wonders to restore Mrs. Bennet’s equilibrium. Furthermore, an event occurred just after breakfast which gave Mrs. Bennet an idea of how to regain her place: Jane arrived for a visit.

  It was a tearful reunion—Jane and Elizabeth flew into each other’s arms, as they had not been together for more than three years. While watching them, Mrs. Bennet was struck by the thought that Jane was an exceedingly good and obliging girl. Alas, if only Elizabeth were more like her elder sister! But Jane would see sense, Mrs. Bennet was certain. If she could persuade Jane to the rightness of her cause, then perhaps Lizzy and Mr. Collins would also understand it.

  Excited, Mrs. Bennet waited for an opportunity to make her case to her eldest, but it was a long and dreary morning of waiting, as Jane and Elizabeth showed no signs of separating, so engrossed were they in their reunion. In truth, Mrs. Bennet heard little of what they were saying. It seemed to consist of their joy at seeing one another, tales of their children—Jane had three daughters and a son, making her another Bennet daughter who had succeeded where Mrs. Bennet had failed—and expressions of delight and contentment over the fact that they would now be situated less than three miles from one another. Mrs. Bennet truly thought that their excitement was a little unseemly. It was true that they had always been close, but with husbands and children of their own, one would think that they would be able to get by with their immediate families.

  Finally, the moment at hand arrived, and Elizabeth left to deal with some matter of the household—something that Mrs. Bennet, as the long-time mistress of Longbourn, should have handled herself! Seeing the opportunity to have her conversation with Jane, Mrs. Bennet rose and situated herself beside her eldest, prompting a questioning look.

  Knowing she would have to be sly, Mrs. Bennet decided to approach the subject in an oblique sort of way. They chatted for a few moments about Netherfield and Jane’s children, and then Mrs. Bennet finally felt the time was right to bring up her grievances.

  “Jane, I must own that I am concerned for your sister.”

  “In what fashion?” asked Jane. Though Mrs. Bennet had been certain Jane’s attention would be captured by any concerns expressed regarding her most beloved sister, her response indicated no more than mild curiosity.

  Undeterred, Mrs. Bennet pressed on. “I fear she grieves deeply for your father’s death.”

  “As do we all, Mama.”

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Bennet. “But Lizzy was so close to your father, even though she has spent the last ten years in Kent. I am afraid she has thrown herself into the work of the house without giving herself the opportunity to mourn properly.”

  Jane appeared lost in thought, and Mrs. Bennet was certain that her words were having the intended effect. “I must own that I have seen no great alteration in her manner,” was Jane’s subsequent reply.

  “But you have spent only a little time in her company,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Why, even yesterday she told that she was truly grieved and wished to show respect for
your father.”

  “That is to be expected.”

  “Oh, but that is not all. I fear for her ability to run this house properly in her current condition.”

  “I am certain you are overstating the situation, Mama. Elizabeth has had the management of her own house since her marriage to Mr. Collins. I am sure she is well aware of what is required.”

  Mrs. Bennet was now becoming exasperated. Could her daughters not see that she knew what was best? Could they not understand that she wanted the best for them? They should have shown much more deference for her, their mother, trusting that she was correct.

  “Longbourn is a completely different prospect than the small parsonage she managed when she lived in Kent. She cannot expect to understand the operation of an estate manor which must be many times larger than her former home.”

  “I truly believe that you underestimate Lizzy’s abilities, Mama. Have you not always said that you taught us how to properly run our homes once we were married?”

  Mrs. Bennet was taken aback and unable to respond, as it was true. She had always taken great care to ensure that her daughters were well-versed in the duties they would assume when they made their own homes.

  Jane, however, continued speaking, completely insensible to her mother’s consternation. “Regardless, Mr. Collins has inherited Longbourn, and as a result, Elizabeth is now mistress of this estate. There is nothing to be done. She shall settle in, and the house shall run as smoothly as it ever did when you were managing it.”

  Frustrated, Mrs. Bennet decided to try another approach. “Perhaps what you say is true, but I still worry for her. Would it not be better for me to continue as I was until Elizabeth recovers from her loss? That will allow her to come to terms with it in her own way, without needing to concern herself with the operation of the house.”