From Longbourn to Pemberley - Spring 1811

by M-C Ranger

  ‘Ladies, allow me to remind you that you do not need to worry yourselves over your toilette. Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us which becomes herself and her daughter. I would advise you merely to put on whatever of your clothes is superior to the rest. There is no occasion for anything more. She likes to have the distinction of rank preserved.’

  As Fanny Price was wearing a gown that was as discreet as she was, Elizabeth presumed that this comment was directed at her.

  ‘This gown is already a few years old,’ she noted, meticulously smoothing the folds of her gown, ‘and the colour is very much outdated, is it not, Charlotte? Lady de Bourgh will be reassured at first glance, do not worry yourself, Mr. Collins.’

  ‘Your modesty distinguishes you, my dear cousin, and I’m certain that her ladyship will appreciate your efforts.’

  ‘Thank you for your advice, without which a young woman could feel out of place under such circumstances. Something tells me that Reverend Fordyce would approve of the correctness of your comments,’ stated Elizabeth, her face a study of utmost earnestness.

  Maria Lucas and Fanny Price followed this exchange, not knowing whether they should oppose or admire a guest exhibiting so much spirit.

  ‘You are probably correct and given the quality of my relations, it is entirely natural to me that this role...’

  ‘Father,’ Charlotte Collins interjected, ‘do you remember telling Maria and me about the day you were presented at the Court?’

  And it was Sir Lucas’s turn to remember, with obvious pleasure, the quality of his relations; this obliged Reverend Collins to be quiet, slighted by his wife’s interruption. Fortunately, his colleague Elton had come to Maidstone for the day, so he was only discountenanced long enough to realise that he could regain his composure by mentioning all the windows at the front of the house, as well as the cost of the hearth in the grand salon. This soothed him, and he returned to his role of agreeable and eloquent host until the great doors of Rosings opened for him and for those accompanying him.

  It would soon be midnight, and William Collins had not yet fallen asleep. For some time now, his difficulties falling asleep were due to the fact that Charlotte refused him access to her bedroom whenever there were young ladies under their roof. As a rector, was it not his duty to protect the innocence of young women of good family? He therefore had to work much harder at getting a good night’s sleep, and he ended up accepting this as a trial that was worthy of his rank, and that would only be temporary. But at this particular moment, it was not the reminder of his conjugal duty that was perturbing him, it was something that had happened over tea at Rosings. If Maria Lucas had remained quiet, it was because she found herself before a grand lady whose rank required that any young lady of the age of fourteen be politely and respectfully silent. Of course, it did not occur to him that Charlotte had lectured her younger sister after what had happened on the arrival of their guests a few days earlier. The sum of these two facts had made Maria the picture of obedience, as she feared she might otherwise be sent back to Lucas Lodge with her father the following day. If Sir Lucas had met expectations, it was because he had agreed to everything that Lady Catherine had said and not said, in case she might have decided to say it, which had earned him her condescending smile. Miss Price had simply continued to be herself, which could not but please their hostess. He had even noticed that Miss de Bourgh had addressed the young lady on more than one occasion. The latter had replied with a great deal of kindness and had brought a real smile to the pale lips of her interlocutor. Nothing in this exchange escaped the notice of Lady Catherine who, after seeming to hesitate in her decision as to which attitude she should adopt, had smiled and complimented Charlotte on the congeniality of her relative. But now we reach the reason for Reverend Collins’ insomnia: his cousin, Elizabeth Bennet. His benefactress had condescended to show interest in the family whose entail had made him the heir to the Longbourn estate; however, she had felt it wise to add that she did not approve of an arrangement that deprived the immediate female descendants and that obviously, this was not the case for Rosings. Mr. Collins never knew that this was the only point on which Elizabeth would have been in agreement with his hostess, as he had hastened to steer the conversation in a different direction, in vain. Lady Catherine had demonstrated a great deal of curiosity which it was important to not rein in, as it would perhaps risk lowering the esteem his protector held him in. William Collins had to do no more than slavishly obey while waiting for tea time to end, and this was very much the first time that he wished to shorten his visit to Rosings. He barely dared to recall the surprise of Lady Catherine when Elizabeth had stated that all the daughters of the house participated in evenings and balls, even if the oldest were not yet married, that they did not have a governess, had never had one, and that it was out of the question to take them to London for drawing or music lessons or anything that young, accomplished ladies did. Before the horrified, yes horrified! demeanour of their hostess, Mr. Collins had bestowed his cousin with a disapproving gaze. Would this not compromise the privileges granted by his benefactress? How humiliating it had been! And Miss Bennet had added to it by refusing to answer Lady Catherine when she inquired as to her age. This occasioned a look that was one of both outrage and amazement; rarely did she encounter a person who was audacious enough to mock her for her immense generosity. Had she not demonstrated a great degree of hospitality by showing interest in her rector’s guests? She should have been thanked for this. In the end, Mr. Collins had spoken, asking her ladyship about the weather on the morrow. This had brought a small smile to her lips, and after having stated her verdict, she requested that the carriage be summoned. He then showered her with gratitude, hoping that, by exhibiting his devotion, she would forget anything that was unseemly in his cousin’s responses. And all this was whirling through his head and keeping him from falling asleep. Fortunately, aided by fatigue and unbeknownst to him, he fell into a deep sleep; the sleep of one at peace, of one who no longer needed to demonstrate that intelligence was not essential to attaining his position. Thus, nothing, not even Elizabeth Bennet, could threaten his excellent circumstances as rector of Hunsford.

  Spring slowly progressed and Elizabeth discovered the charms of Kent. It should be noted that in the magnificence of early April, it would have been difficult to not be receptive to the surrounding countryside. The well-maintained gardens of Rosings were of some interest to the young lady, but she was drawn to the paths under the canopy of the mature trees, where she went for long, glorious walks. This would most certainly have displeased Mrs. Bennet had she known, but as Longbourn was approximately fifty miles distant, there was no need to worry unnecessarily. In fact, Elizabeth’s worries were directed more at Cheapside, from whence Jane had recently written her.

  London, the 6th of April, 1811

  Dear Lizzy,

  I hope that the Kent countryside meets your expectations and that you are benefiting from this marvellous beginning of spring to explore the area around Hunsford. Please send my kindest regards to Mr. Collins and Charlotte. Here, the nice weather allows us to get outside more frequently, and I accompany our little cousins to the park almost daily. It is a pleasure to see them play with so much enthusiasm and they find joy in such simple things that at times, I find myself somewhat envious of them.

  I must share with you an event that upset me when I learned of it in the last letter I received from my friend, Elinor Dashwood. She wrote me from Barton Cottage to tell me about their return. You might remember that I was unable to present her sister to you during our outing to Kensington Park, as she was, in fact, suffering from a broken heart, which she seemed to be overcoming with great difficulty. Well, in Cleveland, where they were to spend the night, something happened to Marianne, and there were fears she might die. Still, if the story ended fairly well, it was thanks to the devotion of Colonel Brandon. At this moment, Marianne is convalescing. Elinor ended her letter by mentioning that this dram
a had strengthened their bond and that they were now trying, through all these sorrows and regrets, to find a certain balance. Lizzy, thinking about what my friends are experiencing greatly pains me...

  With news such as this, it is easy to understand that Elizabeth would, for the most part, prefer the quiet solitude of a narrow, shaded path over the exuberance of Maria discovering that there was more to the world than Meryton. Charlotte thus frequently took her younger sister to the village to make the purchases required to properly maintain a household. As for Fanny, whose calm and reserved temperament had attracted the attention of Miss de Bourgh, she saw herself invited almost daily on outings on the estate in the phaeton. Lady Catherine had initially feared that Miss Price, who could not profess to be of the same rank as her daughter, would not meet her expectations, but she discerningly recalled that the young lady’s education had been provided for by the baronet, Sir Thomas Bertram, and that her manners were irreproachable. Anne de Bourgh therefore befriended the cousin of Mrs. Collins.

  *****

  When Fitzwilliam Darcy learned that John Constable had rented a residence in Soho, he met with him. It was not that the painter was a very well-known artist, but he had a special way of interpreting nature, and this had attracted the attention of young Darcy when he was still a student at Cambridge. The latter remembered going to an exhibit at the Royal Academy with his father and stopping short before Edge of a Wood, painted by the young artist from Suffolk. And now he had the opportunity to meet him, to talk with him, in order to have a somewhat better understanding of his approach. He went downstairs, found himself on Fritz Street, and decided to walk to his club, where he was to meet his cousin, The sun had managed to break through the fine gloom that had descended over London; fortunately, it was less oppressive than in March, when the record for clouds of soot had most certainly been beaten. For a few weeks now, some neighbourhoods had been covered in a haze that was so thick, it could have been cut with a knife. Darcy sighed good naturedly; his manservant would have a bit more work when he came home. In fact, how could one possibly keep a shirt or a tie white while walking through the city? On reaching St. James’s Street, it was just a few short steps before he burst into White’s, where, after having greeted some of his acquaintances, he found himself comfortably seated across from Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  ‘Fitz, what a delight to have you emerge from your lair! Judging by the dust on your boots, I would say you came on foot. Am I correct?’

  ‘No, your perceptiveness is as good as always. And you also appear to have used the same mode of transportation as I,’ retorted his cousin, pointing at the tip of his walking stick, which was leaned up against the latter’s chair.

  ‘You’re right. I ran into Thomas Lord when I was leaving the St. James’ Coffee House and I walked part of the way with him. Did you know that he moved the Marylebone Cricket Club over the winter?’

  ‘Yes, I remember having read about it, I’m not exactly sure when... And incidentally, I have not crossed paths with him for some time now.’

  ‘He is doing well, but he is wondering if the members will be happy with his new location. When I informed him that I would be meeting with you, he remembered the time you came to London and, to get your mind on other things, I’d taken you to the match between Eton and Harrow.’

  ‘How could I forget? It was two months after my father’s death. Eton won,’ Darcy declared, putting down the glass that had just been brought to him. ‘And do you remember the reaction of young Byron when Harrow was going to be beaten?’

  ‘Oh, yes! Who could forget that? It appears he is still as outrageous, if not excessively so. John Hobhouse confided this to me recently, as he knows him well. They left together last year, on a grand tour. However, he had no choice but to return, whereas Byron continued on his travels.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He admitted to being in debt and that his father, in exchange for paying his debts, had demanded that he join the army, which is where I met him, and that he live only from his salary. I think that this put quite a damper on his ideas of grandeur,’ said the colonel, a relaxed smile on his face.

  ‘If you’d like my advice, I’d say there’s a lesson to be learned: do not follow in the wake of young Byron for too long if you do not wish to suffer the consequences.’

  ‘Fitz, may I remind you that Byron has been with the House of Lords for two years now.’

  ‘And may I also remind you, Richard, that he is the author of Hours of Idleness, a work that I would not wish to see in the hands of my young sister. Incidentally, since we are talking about masterpieces, I have just come from John Constable’s, a painter who, in my eyes, looks very promising.’

  ‘I therefore have proof that you are frequenting the Society and that you have overcome your heartbreak. Lady Matlock will be reassured!’

  Darcy raised his eyes, exasperated by the colonel’s obsession. The latter, who was about as interested in painting as he was in archaeology, learned, despite himself, that John Constable saw his art not as a faithful imitation, but as a transposition of nature, whereby he attempted to express what he felt. The younger son of the Earl of Matlock, whose idea of art stopped at the great portraits of ancestors he’d always seen in the grand gallery of the manor belonging to his father’s side of the family, now had to listen to his cousin explain it all over again. Had he not retained his lesson? The topic of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s heartache was avoided, even in jest.

  ‘If you were to see these paintings, you would notice that Constable paints nature in its simplest and truest form; the colours are applied such that they create shapes that appear to come to life, as though the wind was moving through them, not to mention his finesse...’

  Darcy stopped suddenly, his mind overcome by a vision: that of a young woman running along a shaded path, her light silhouette disappearing behind a shrub, lively, with no contrivances...

  ‘Fitz, I see that the painting by this artist has made you, dare I say, poetic! Who would have thought, knowing the master of Pemberley?’

  ‘There you go again, as always, amusing yourself, at my expense. Where was I? Oh, yes! Constable showed me a canvas, Landscape with Cottages, which he painted last year. It pleased me immensely. I cannot exclude the possibility that I might purchase this work. Then he allowed me to look at what he has most recently been working on; a mill in a peaceful countryside, much like that of Derbyshire. When I left, I invited him to Pemberley if he one day comes through the area. I’m certain that he’d find it a source of much inspiration.’

  ‘Well! Seeing Fitzwilliam Darcy so enchanted astonishes me! You seem as captivated by his work as you would be by a charming young woman...’

  ‘With you, there’s no discussing a topic even slightly serious without you ridiculing it!’ exclaimed Darcy, with a bit too much emotion.

  After all, his cousin had only said this in jest. However, this caused him to be contemplative, and to regain his composure, he had to take a big sip of brandy. She was still there, in his subconscious, emerging without warning and leaving him speechless. What good had all his attempts been at forgetting those eyes? He merely had to go into one of the high-society salons of London aristocracy and he could meet any number of well-born young ladies, accomplished, ready to do anything to draw his attention. But he could no longer deny that the sparkle in these eyes eclipsed all others.

  ‘The carriage will be ready to leave Grosvenor Square the day after tomorrow, early in the morning. Does that suit you?’

  ‘Of course. It is of utmost pleasure to me, while I am on vacation, to extract myself from my bed in the early morning in the expectation of seeing our dear aunt,’ the colonel stated with sarcasm. ‘I’m joking, Fitz! On this note, I must leave you. We are having a family dinner tonight. My brother and his wife are passing through and will be at the house. You know Lady Matlock when it comes to punctuality. Please send my regards to Georgiana. Tell her I will see her just before we leave if she manages to leave the comfort of her
bed.’

  The trip was not very long, and despite the usual stop at Bromley, the carriage reached the Rosings estate shortly after the noon hour. Before the Hunsford parsonage, the travellers had just the time to see a silhouette take a low bow as they passed. This brought a slight sneer to Fitzwilliam Darcy’s lips.

  ‘We just caught a glimpse of this reverend whom Lady Catherine holds in such high esteem,’ remarked the Colonel, who had not missed the scene.

  ‘Indeed, Richard, I am almost looking forward to seeing you witness this character in person. Prepare yourself, you shall require a good deal of patience. However, I must tell you that Mrs. Collins is a fine and well-educated woman.’

  ‘I have taken note of this,’ replied his cousin, sounding somewhat amused. ‘Perhaps our stay will be more interesting than usual?’

  ‘Interesting? I’m not sure if I would use this adjective to describe the relations we will have with Mr. Collins and those close to him.’

  The butler opened the doors to the residence and bowed respectfully when the two visitors arrived. They soon found themselves in the grand salon, where their aunt was impatiently awaiting them, convinced that they were at least half-an-hour late, and this was, naturally, inexcusable. Before the imperturbable air of the master of Pemberley and the small smile on the colonel’s lips, she had to agree that what was most important was that they had arrived with no problems. Yet, thirty minutes, that was ten minutes later than the year before, never mind the delay they’d had two years ago. After this trifling matter had been confirmed several times, they were able to exchange news.