“You aren’t . . .” Elizabeth trailed off, unsure how to phrase her question. She hadn’t had much quiet time with Kitty, without their mother. She thought Kitty and Mr. Collins looked like they were in love, but she wouldn’t see her sister rush into a marriage unsure, especially now that she had the means to help Kitty, thanks to Charlotte. “That is, you do love Mr. Collins, don’t you?”
Kitty’s smile was radiant. “Yes, I love Mr. Collins. I can’t wait until we’re together again and married. I was devastated when I thought he wasn’t going to propose, all because the silly man thought I wouldn’t have the life I deserve. That’s why I got the chickens.”
“Chickens?” Charlotte asked. She exchanged an amused glance with Elizabeth.
Kitty turned to Charlotte. “You have chickens. You’re practical, and sensible with money. You married a Mr. Collins. I wanted to show him I could be the wife of a poor clergyman.” She made a face. “It wasn’t until I cried that he offered for me.”
“I’m glad it worked out,” Charlotte said. “You would be amazed at what I had to do to get my Mr. Collins to offer for me. That was three days after he proposed to Elizabeth.”
“Mama was horrified, you know,” Kitty said. “She wanted your Mr. Collins to marry Mary, since Elizabeth wouldn’t have him. But Mary has found a better man. I’m glad for her.”
“Kitty,” Elizabeth reprimanded, but her tone was gentle.
Kitty blinked, then went red, obviously realizing what she’d said. “I didn’t mean to speak ill of your husband,” she said, turning wide eyes on Charlotte.
“I understand.” Charlotte gave a little shake of her head. “He was what he was. There’s no reason to pretend otherwise.”
“You were a good wife to him,” Elizabeth said, meaning it.
“I tried to be,” Charlotte replied.
“We’ve all been proposed to by a Mr. Collins,” Kitty added.
“We have,” Elizabeth said. “But I’m the odd one out, since I didn’t manage to marry one. Ask Mother, she’ll tell you.”
All three women chuckled at that. Elizabeth changed the topic to Kitty’s future, not wanting to risk further insulting Charlotte’s late husband. As they spoke of the plans Kitty and Mr. Collins had, Elizabeth was pleased. Kitty was getting the better Mr. Collins.
Chapter Twenty
The mills were only desirable because the farms were worse.
Darcy had a steward who ran his estate, kept abreast of his tenants, and saw to many of his investments, but he’d hired Mr. McIntyre to help with his other charities. Mr. McIntyre brought a sensible Scottish attitude to his work. Darcy’s steward handled the genuine hardship cases among the tenants, of course, such as a recent widow or an injured breadwinner. These were necessary, but not worth Darcy’s time, since they didn’t involve much in the way of decisions. Mr. McIntyre helped Darcy handle cases that were a little farther from home or unusual.
Mr. Collins had originally come to Darcy’s attention both because his troubles came from his own charity and because he’d been working hard to improve his situation. Mr. McIntyre had gone personally to oversee the work on Mr. Collins’ garden and had handled a shovel with the other men. Darcy knew Mr. McIntyre’s unassuming appearance and Scottish burr hid his intelligence and education, and Mr. McIntyre knew it as well. He could speak the King’s English perfectly when he wished. Darcy wasn’t certain which form of speech was more natural to the man.
After receiving Mrs. Collins’ letter about her son’s birth and the further allocation of the Bennet daughters, Darcy asked Mr. McIntyre to let him know when Mr. Collins returned from Hertfordshire. Mr. McIntyre did so by the simple method of attending Mr. Collins’ church every Sunday, wearing workmen’s clothing.
“Collins has made a good choice with his curate,” Mr. McIntyre told Darcy a few weeks later. “The only thing I can accuse the man of is rather trite sermons. I talked to him after the service. He told me Collins will be back in two days.”
Thus prepared, Darcy was able to ride by Mr. Collins parsonage with no visible expectation of finding him home. He was particularly lucky Mr. Collins had obviously just finished collecting eggs, and so spotted Darcy on the road. The whole meeting could come off as chance, not as Darcy going out of his way to hear any possible news of Elizabeth.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Collins called, waving. “What a pleasure to see you. Please, come inside.”
Darcy did his best not to look eager. “If it’s no trouble.”
“Not at all. Do you want to put your horse in my pasture? If you rode from Pemberley, he might appreciate the rest and the grass.”
Darcy’s practiced eye saw that the pasture was not overgrazed but a prudent homeowner might want to preserve the grass for his own stock, which seemed to consist of goats. Nevertheless, he put his horse in the pasture after removing both saddle and bridle. Sometimes, one had to accept hospitality, even if the giver could little afford it.
Mr. Collins had divested himself of the eggs while Darcy worked, and returned to the yard to usher him inside. Darcy took in the small parlor Mr. Collins lead him into. There were shutters on the windows, but no curtains. There was an appropriate amount of furniture, but there wasn’t a single decoration. The furniture was functional, old but not damaged, and completely unadorned.
“Would you care for anything?” Mr. Collins asked as they were seated. “I’m afraid my cook is out, but I have sherry.”
Darcy shook his head. “I wanted to offer my congratulation on your engagement to Miss Kitty.” He wondered what Elizabeth’s sister would think of the emptiness of the parsonage.
“I know, after the house at Longbourn, this is very plain,” Mr. Collins said, his eyes sweeping the room as well. “I worry it isn’t up to what she has a right to expect. I almost didn’t propose, thinking it would be unfair to her.”
“What made you change your mind?” Darcy said, startled his thoughts had been so obvious.
“She cried because I was leaving. I wanted her to have more than I can give her, but she claims all the more she wants is my love.” He shrugged, clearly embarrassed. “I was wondering if I should try to get something to cheer the place up.”
“Why not let her put her own stamp on it?” Darcy suggested. “Tell her you were going to spend a certain amount of money on it, and let her decide what she wants.”
“Is that what you’re going to do when you marry? Let your wife redecorate Pemberley?”
Darcy, taken aback, had no notion how to respond to that.
“I’m sorry, that was impertinent of me,” Mr. Collins apologized. “Forgive me.”
“No,” Darcy said slowly. He offered Mr. Collins a rueful smile. “You were right to say it. I’ve always thought I have so much to offer a woman, she would be happy to take it.” He was aware that the past tense was appropriate in this statement. “I never considered what it would be like for her to move into a house decorated by others and not be allowed to change it.” He looked around the room again, seeing the austereness more as an invitation this time. “My mother redecorated much of Pemberley, but there are some rooms my grandmother planned and some my great grandmother did. I suppose I assumed my wife will plan her own bedroom and sitting room, but leave Pemberley as it is. Yet, I redecorated a room for my sister without giving it any thought.”
“Pemberley is reputed to be magnificent,” Mr. Collins said, his tone holding no judgement. “I can understand you not wanting to change it.”
“Pemberley is a house to be lived in, not a shrine to the past.” Darcy frowned. “My mother was the daughter of an earl and had exquisite taste. My grandmother rode with the hounds and spent more time improving the stable than the house. She had a room with no carpeting, which was designed so she could walk in from the stable and sit down and be comfortable. Even after she was too old to ride, she would sit there, wearing her riding habit, complete with her boots, putting her feet up on the furniture. She could dress up for company, but she preferred living that
way. She hid her eccentricities from most outsiders.” Darcy smiled, conjuring the past in his mind’s eye. “I loved visiting her room when I was a child. I didn’t have to be careful of the furniture. I cried when she died, and again when my mother redecorated the room.” He wondered if Elizabeth would have liked that room. Perhaps she would want one like it, for children . . . Darcy shook his head. He couldn’t very well have children with a woman he never saw and who wouldn’t marry him.
“What rooms were kept?”
“Kept?” Darcy repeated, his gaze refocusing on Mr. Collins. He realized he’d already spoken much more than was usual. Mr. Collins had an easy way to him, though, and gave no sign of passing judgement on Darcy’s words.
“You said some rooms were decorated by your grandmother, implying they were kept.”
Darcy nodded. “So I did. One is what we call the horse room. It’s full of pictures of hunting. Also, she had a room where the furniture is a little taller than most furniture. The chairs are a little higher off the ground. She liked it when she got older, saying it was easier for her to get out of a chair. She was a tall woman, even when she was old.”
“They sound like nice rooms.”
“You’ve never seen Pemberley?” Darcy asked, recalling Mr. Collins earlier words about Pemberley being reputedly magnificent. Darcy, accustomed to people touring his home when he was away, never knew who’d been inside and who had not.
Mr. Collins shook his head.
“That should be remedied.” It was polite, and, Darcy admitted to himself, it was best to establish the habit of Mr. Collins visiting now, so he could be invited again if Elizabeth visited her sister there.
“I wasn’t hinting for an invitation, but I won’t decline.”
Darcy stood. “If you’re free now, I’ll send for a carriage.” He’d talked so much about his home, he hadn’t had the chance to seek information about Elizabeth yet.
“If it’s not an imposition, I’d prefer if you sent a groom with an extra horse. I grew fond of riding when at Longbourn and I can’t afford it here.”
Darcy nodded. “Give me an hour.”
Thanking him, Mr. Collins showed him out. Darcy saddled his mount, who was happily grazing on Mr. Collins’ grass, and set out toward Pemberley.
After giving it a little thought during his ride, Darcy brought the extra horse himself, telling Mr. Collins that much of Pemberley’s grounds were best seen on horseback. As they rode through the countryside, they both saw a lowborn man spit in Darcy’s direction. Being used to it, he ignored the man, although he could see Mr. Collins was shaken. Once they arrived on Pemberley property, there were friendly waves and people calling out respectful greetings.
Nothing was said about the disparity as they wandered the house and grounds, Darcy fishing for news of Elizabeth. He found it a bit difficult to concentrate on his guest, amiable as Mr. Collins was, as his mind kept picturing Elizabeth in each room. What would she think of his home? Could she come to love it as he did?
Several hours later, Darcy and Mr. Collins returned to the front of the house, where a groom waited with two new horses for Mr. Collins’ ride back. Mr. Collins had been a surprisingly pleasant guest. Darcy was pleased. If his desire to marry Elizabeth ever came to fruition, Collins would be an acceptable relation and visitor.
Mr. Collins halted at the top of the steps, turning to Darcy. He gave a quick glance around. “I couldn’t help but notice a man spit in your direction earlier, and you seemed to take it in stride. It’s not my place, I know, but--”
Darcy cut him off with a gesture. “It’s nothing. Undoubtedly, it’s because of my mill.”
Mr. Collins looked startled, the first time all day he’d given an overt reaction to Darcy’s words. “I’d heard you have a mill, and I know they are terrible places, but I would expect your mill to have better conditions,” he said hesitantly.
“Let me show you, if you have the time,” Darcy said, mounting the horse intended for the groom who would have accompanied Mr. Collins back to the rectory. He turned the horse, the look he gave Mr. Collins challenging.
With a shrug, Mr. Collins mounted the second horse.
Mr. Collins doubt was palpable to Darcy as they rode, but he knew there was no point in trying to explain. Darcy would have to show him. He wondered why people thought all mill owners got away with deplorable conditions. There was no point in telling people a mill could easily be better than a farm. Many mills were safer, cleaner, and paid better, but that was a relative measure. The mills were only desirable because the farms were worse.
Perhaps it was because the misery was concentrated in a mill, Darcy mused. That made the mills seem worse. Mill workers understood they were better off in a mill than on a farm, or they wouldn’t keep migrating to the mills. Most mill owners understood that if they tried to get away with terrible conditions, they wouldn’t find workers. Those who didn’t, didn’t stay in business long.
Darcy tried to see things through Mr. Collins’ eyes when they entered the mill. Yes, most of the work was done by women and children, because they were paid less than the going wages for a man. Darcy wondered what Mr. Collins thought of the cots along one wall, some with people sleeping in them. Or, of the school area where three boys were earnestly writing on slates as a man looked on and four girls were sewing seams under a woman’s supervision. Darcy led the way over to the kitchen area, where a big pot was simmering over coals.
He doubted Mr. Collins noticed there was a nearly empty hourglass on the table. Mr. Collins would have gone in farther, but Darcy stopped, gesturing to it. The last sand ran out. The man overseeing the boys writing hit a bell.
Simultaneously, several things happened. The sleepers on the cots arose, one rather reluctantly, and went over to relieve people on the machines, as did the boys who were writing and the girls who were sewing. The woman who’d been overseeing the girls sewing went to the kitchen area and scooped out something for each person who left a machine. Mr. Collins walked over and looked into the pot.
It was half gruel with bits of whatever was available. Today it was mainly cabbage, spinach and beans, with bits of meat. From the smell, there was also onion and garlic. Darcy wanted everyone to get a quarter pound of meat every day, and made sure good food was supplied.
“How often are they fed?” Mr. Collins asked.
“Three times a day.”
Mr. Collins nodded, approvingly.
The man who’d been working with the boys on writing came over, nodding to Mr. Collins before turning to Darcy. “We had to send Douglas Kincaid home.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Darcy replied.
“It’s not his fault,” the man said.
Darcy shook his head. “I have to stick to my word. He can’t come back.”
“I know, sir,” the man said, but he looked unhappy. “But you know it was his father’s doing.”
“I know, but I can’t do anything about it,” Darcy replied reluctantly. He cast a quick glance at Mr. Collins. He didn’t want to emphasize the ugly side of the business.
“Why was this Douglas sent home and why can’t he come back?” Mr. Collins asked.
“Tell him,” Darcy said to his employee and walked away. He didn’t need to hear it again. It only angered him. Douglas’ father insisted his son come home from the mill and put in several hours of work on the farm. He told Douglas since he had such an easy job at the mill, he still had to do his share of work at home. Douglas didn’t get enough sleep and was dangerously tired when he worked. This was the fourth time he’d been sent home, and it would be the last time. Darcy knew he could have a replacement worker in a matter of hours. This time, he would do it.
He felt sorry for Douglas. The boy was fourteen and had to do what his father said. Darcy would like to see the lad educated and able to save for a better future, but he couldn’t hire everyone. Another child would benefit.
Darcy smiled, watching as a girl grabbed a book, after gobbling her meal, and took it to wh
ere the light was good. Most of the other children napped, since it was a long work day, and two of the three breaks they had were spent in being educated. The girl’s parents required no further work from her at home, so she came to the mill rested. They realized what the opportunity to learn meant for their children.
Mr. Collins spent nearly an hour looking around and asking questions. Darcy employed the time going over the books, something he liked to check into himself when he could, and discussing which person to hire to replace Douglas. Every tenant family had at least one person working at the mill. Douglas’ family consisted only of his father and himself and Darcy would not hire the father.
Darcy was angry with the man. Douglas brought home enough money to hire a worker to replace his labor at home. The father was a notorious drunkard. When he didn’t pay his rent next quarter, Darcy would give him notice. He hoped to have another family there before spring. It wouldn’t help Douglas, he knew, but the boy had only a few more years before he could decide to help himself.
Eventually, Mr. Collins sought out Darcy, ready to leave. They returned to the horses, which grazed outside. Mr. Collins’ expression was thoughtful.
“Are you making a profit?” he asked as they mounted.
“Oddly, enough, I am.” Darcy shrugged. “It’s about the same profit I would get from putting sheep on the land.”
“Only you hire many more workers than would be required for sheep,” Mr. Collins said.
“Yes, but I only hire my tenants’ families.”
“Is that why the man spat at you?”
“I assume so. Or because they don’t know what goes on here. It’s common for them to hate me for either.”
“Could you enlarge this? There seems to be enough room.”
“It’s run on water power, which is limited.”
“Perhaps a second suitable location could be found,” Mr. Collins said.
Darcy considered that. “I hadn’t thought to look yet.”
Believing in Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 16
