A burst of sound from the room behind them broke the spell. She took her father’s arm and they left the house.
The next morning, Elizabeth’s hope to have her father’s company for two weeks at least was dashed. On calling at Bingley’s house, they found that Kitty had suffered dreadfully in the night. Mr. Bennet put a rein on his sarcastic humour for once, when he saw how pale and exhausted she looked. At the unwonted kindness of his kiss, Kitty’s eyes filled with tears.
“You need your mother, my dear. I shall take you home.”
“No, Papa,” Kitty whispered hoarsely. “I want to stay in London.”
The physician felt differently, however, and recommended the young lady’s immediate removal. Kitty made a cry of protest that was at once swallowed up by a coughing fit.
Elizabeth remonstrated with her.
“Dear Kitty, we must act upon the best advice we can obtain. The air in London is too damp for you at this time of year.”
“The air is not merely damp, madam, but filthy,” replied the physician. “Winter is the worst time, it is true, but we may well find that Miss Bennet is unable to tolerate the air of London in any season.”
“No!” croaked the hapless girl.
They journeyed to Hertfordshire as gently as possible, in Darcy’s barouche. On their arrival Mrs. Bennet flew into hysterics, feeling sure that Kitty, suddenly the precious pearl among her children, was not long for this world. However, as a few days’ rest restored her jewel to health, other feelings appeared.
“I love to have Kitty at home,” she confided to her friend Lady Lucas. “I missed her dreadfully.” She smiled complacently. “As, indeed, I miss all my girls that are gone away.” (She loved to remind other mothers of her success in getting rid of daughters.)
Lady Lucas murmured her sympathy.
“Why did they send Kitty home so hastily? She is very nearly recovered, and now Mr. Bennet will not think of her going back to London. How am I to find a husband for her here? There isn’t an eligible bachelor in the county, I’m sure.”
Mrs. Bennet’s standards of eligibility had risen somewhat since her eldest daughters had married so very well. Of course she could not expect Mary or Kitty to do so well as Elizabeth had done. That sort of good fortune was rare. However, she liked to have Kitty in the home of her wealthy son-in-law, where she pictured her meeting an army of his rich bachelor friends.
Mercifully for Lady Lucas, they were interrupted by her husband, Sir William, who hurried in with the newspaper.
“Mrs. Bennet,” he exclaimed, “did you know Mrs. Darcy has conversed with the Regent!”
“I daresay, Sir William,” she replied, with an airy nonchalance impossible a year before. “Countess Reerdon presented her at St. James weeks ago.”
“This is altogether different!” he said triumphantly, putting the newspaper before her. He pointed out the lines he had circled in the court news, informing the world that, “Accompanied by the Marchioness of Englebury to a musical evening, the fascinating Mrs. Darcy had conversed with the Prince of Wales.”
Mrs. Bennet hurried home to tell her consort. He never troubled to read this important section of the newspaper that men of Sir William’s sense turned to first.
“Mr. Bennet, Mr. Bennet, listen my dear, such news!” she said, as she burst into the sanctum of his library. Mr. Bennet was his usual vexatious self, refusing to become excited, then capping off with the casual words: “I thought her ladyship seemed too intelligent a woman to waste her time with such nonsense. Lizzy despises the Regent.”
“Mr. Bennet! You have met the marchioness? Why did you not tell me all about her?”
Mr. Bennet silently mused. How proud he had felt of his daughter, as she sat calmly accepting the admiration of the extraordinary people gathered about Lady Englebury. She had appeared unperturbed by the analytical gaze of one of the most powerful women in London. She had appreciated the older woman’s cleverness, and had happily topped her sharp comments with her own, equally clever, while spoken with a charm no-one in that room could have matched. Yet she was barely one-and-twenty!
“Lizzy!” he had cried, when they were in the carriage on the way home from the marchioness’s house. “There is none like you, and I feel I must take some of the credit for your mind, as for your splendid spirit.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled privately at the memory.
“Now he laughs!” exclaimed his wife. “Mr. Bennet, you provoke me at every turn!”
CHAPTER 10
DARCY’S HOPE THAT HIS COUSIN Henry might benefit from his own falling out of favour with their aunt was seemingly based on an imperfect understanding of the nature of her ladyship’s Christian Charity. Lady Catherine expressed her benevolence chiefly by busying herself in the affairs of others. It was inconceivable that she might throw away Anne’s fortune on a man who had nothing more than his character to recommend him.
When Darcy married to disoblige her, she had been all but immobilised by rage. Indeed, Elizabeth and her husband both had relatives sunk in gloom. By an interesting coincidence, these relatives lived on properties separated only by a lane. On one side of the lane stood the pleasant little vicarage of Hunsford. On the other lay the extensive estate of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The living at Hunsford was one of many favours in her gift. On the demise of the old vicar, some eighteen months earlier, chance had drawn her attention to Mr. Collins, and, to his profound gratitude, she had bestowed the position upon him. Mr. Collins was Mr. Bennet’s cousin.
On Darcy’s marriage, her ladyship’s rage had encompassed Mr. Collins and his wife, Charlotte. Collins had committed unpardonable offences. He had, in the first place, a cousin Elizabeth, whom he invited to stay at the vicarage when Mr. Darcy was visiting his aunt. Then, most seriously, he had made no perceivable attempt to prevent the artful minx from getting her hooks into him. In vain did Mr. Collins protest that he had never imagined such a sacrilege. In vain did Charlotte Collins avow her dismay at the match.
So unpleasant had their life become under her ladyship’s displeasure that they had escaped to Hertfordshire to stay with Charlotte’s family, hoping that her ladyship’s wrath would abate in time.
At last, time had procured an apparent pardon. In December, Lady Catherine had exercised the Christian tolerance for which she was famed, and sent for Mr. Collins to return. His father-in-law lent the couple his carriage that they might lose no speed. They arrived home at dinner time and the vicar prepared himself to pay his respects to his august benefactress.
“My dear Mr. Collins,” said Charlotte, “pray take a few moments to rest and eat your dinner. You are much fatigued.”
Mr. Collins gulped for breath, even before he began his walk.
“My dear Charlotte, Lady Catherine will take it amiss if I do not attend upon her directly. As for dinner, I could not eat a mouthful!”
Off he had duly trotted. The footman who opened the door to him would not admit him, however. He disdainfully promised to convey Mr. Collins’s message to her ladyship, before closing the door in his face.
The loss of her ladyship’s favour was grievous indeed, but Mr. Collins could not give up hope. Whenever her carriage went by, he rushed out, as he had always done, and bowed low. On Sundays, he ushered her respectfully out from the church, but instead of bestowing a condescending word, she merely said: “Do not imagine, Mr. Collins, that you can worm your way back into my good graces with such attentions as these. My character is renowned for its firmness. I am impervious to flattery.”
“Your Ladyship,” he replied, “I am quite aware of my unworthiness. I am humbly grateful to be in your Ladyship’s vicinity for a few moments.”
She sailed by, followed by her daughter, who was supported in her trials by her waiting woman. Perhaps Miss de Bourgh’s face had become rather pinched by a lifetime of whining, and her little body wasted with lack of exercise and peculiar diets. Of course, a happy and friendly expression can make up for such deficiencies. Unfortunately, her face rare
ly displayed such a look. However, Collins was able to see beyond the mere exterior and his expression indicated that the inner beauty and glory of Miss de Bourgh overwhelmed him with admiration.
He could not understand Darcy’s preference for Elizabeth over such a one. Certainly Elizabeth was pretty, vivacious and witty. She had a certain quality that may appeal to some men’s baser instincts, but Miss de Bourgh … ah! Sublime! She saw his expression and sniffed contemptuously.
Mr. Collins was blessed with a wife of intelligence and good nature, but Charlotte was great with child and somewhat less with patience. It was not to her taste, just then, to toil down the long path to Rosings. She had tired of leaving tinctures to lift the spirits or soothe the throat, calm the mind or vitalise the liver of Miss de Bourgh. Leaving such offerings, day after day, with a supercilious servant, then having the door closed to her was an effort beyond what she felt was worthwhile in obsequiousness.
After they had been home three weeks, she said one evening: “My dear Mr. Collins, I fear there is little to gain from my making a lavender bag for Miss de Bourgh. I am sure she must have plenty such.”
“Do you think so, Charlotte? What might you make instead?”
“Nothing at all, my dear.”
“My dear Charlotte!” said Mr. Collins, in a voice heavy with moral remonstrance. Suddenly a suspicion crossed his mind, and he said playfully, through his next mouthful of mutton: “I believe you are having a little mood, due to your condition.”
Charlotte flinched. “Mr. Collins, pray do not speak with your mouth full.”
“I do beg your pardon. I shall endeavour to remember this rule.”
“I thank you. I should like to put an idea to you regarding our little difficulty with Lady Catherine.”
“Ah!” he said, with a wave of his finger. “Having a man’s intelligence and great deal more education than yourself, I am undoubtedly better suited to guide, than be guided by, you.”
If Charlotte had any doubts of the value of this man’s intelligence, she did not say so. Instead, she said: “I have been meditating upon an idea originally suggested by you, as I tend to do in my spare moments.”
“Charlotte, my little love! I see it now. Pray remind me.”
“You were saying the other day that our current line of conduct towards Lady Catherine seems to avail us nothing.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. How can you have forgotten? You went on to say that her ladyship will very likely come around sooner if we neglect her a little. Bow as her carriage passes, but only if you happen to be out of doors. Usher her from the church, but not to the very gate. I recognised it at once as one of your flashes of inspiration.” In her first days of matrimony, Charlotte would not have laid the flattery on with a trowel, but she knew him well by now.
“We shall put my plan into operation at once. Charlotte, I forbid you to visit Rosings again, unless you are expressly invited thither.”
“Certainly, Mr. Collins.”
Habit dies hard, and Charlotte had to bodily prevent her husband from rushing out at the sound of the de Bourgh equipage. In church a little fainting fit had been necessary to distract him from kissing the hem of Miss de Bourgh’s garment, as it were. Within five days, her ladyship actually lowered herself to ask the servants if there had been any message from Mrs. Collins. In a week came an invitation from Rosings, to take tea.
Matters had proceeded very nicely from there, with a tacit agreement never to mention the disgraceful hussy and scapegrace nephew.
In late December Charlotte gave birth to a son. Mr. Collins’s elation was clouded when he learnt that Charlotte had made up her mind to nurse the child herself. He believed that it was a husband’s sacred duty to regularly express his affection in a certain way. He also knew that a suspension of marital favours was called for during the period of feeding at the mother’s bosom. It was an indisputable fact that indulgence in such pleasures spoilt the milk. He sought the assistance of the midwife to change his wife’s mind.
“Mrs. Biggins, my good lady tells me she has cancelled her arrangements with the wet-nurse.”
“A good notion, sir. That Tilly Perkins is nought but a nasty slut.”
“Mrs. Biggins, the Good Lord commands one to love one’s neighbour as oneself.”
“He didna mean loving no slut. When I see them two Jones children, side by side of her own two youngest, well, if they’re not of the same father, I ain’t got eyes in me head.”
“Oh, dear! There are other wet-nurses about, though?”
“There be, sir, but your lady is very set on nursing the babe herself.”
“Indeed. Do you not feel that Mrs. Collins is too delicate for this task? I fear greatly that her strength will be undermined.”
“Lord, sir, no. Your lady is very sound in her health.”
“Mrs. Biggins, a husband sees signs of weakness, and they fill him with fear.”
Husbands’ fears were not unfamiliar to Mrs. Biggins; among the cottagers, she had been known to give husbands the sharp side of her tongue. This, however, was the vicar.
“My experience tells me you need have no fears for Mrs. Collins, sir.”
“You can set my mind at rest?” he asked mournfully.
“I can, sir. What is more, there be no kinder, tolerating lady in all the parish. The babe will take in her goodness with the milk. As for Tilly Perkins—”
“Yes, yes. That will be all.”
He thought he might look upon these next months as a succession of Lents. Charlotte did feel it had been his idea not to put the baby out to nurse. He was gratified that she treasured up his little remarks and wished he could recall them. The happiness of the married state had quite muddled his memory.
Things may not have taken this turn had the child been a girl. Mr. Collins had the advantage of being the closest male relation of Mr. Bennet, whose estate at Longbourn was entailed on the male line. Charlotte relied upon having a boy to ensure their family inheritance of Longbourn, once Mr. Bennet was sadly out of the way. Now, in the melancholy event of Mr. Collins also passing, she would have a son with whom to live in that comfortable house.
Mr. Collins felt bound, in his position as clergyman, to remonstrate with Tilly Perkins in regard to her reputation. Fortunately, he thought to share this view with his wife first. Charlotte pointed out the oddness of accusing Mrs. Perkins of no more than having two children who looked a little like those of the local attorney. Of course, should the rumour be true, their son had been saved from the contamination of spending his first twelve months at the bosom of a fallen woman.
They named the child William, for his father. They would have added Lewis, in honour of Lady Catherine’s late spouse, but the icy stare that this presumption produced caused a hasty change to Richard, for no-one in particular.
In the New Year, Lady Catherine had gone up to town to survey the available bachelors. She dispensed invitations to certain suitable persons to visit Rosings in the spring. By the end of the season, she would make her choice. Anne, along with a handsome sum of money, must be engaged to be married, well and soon, to show Darcy how little thought they gave to him.
Her ladyship’s encounter with her enemies, on her very first dinner engagement in town, had done nothing to improve her temper. Then came Mr. Reginald Foxwell’s base ingratitude in rejecting her patronage and his unspeakable impertinence in implying there could be any dishonour in her ladyship’s conduct. This encounter had stirred up a fury that swept aside all her triumph in the coming entertainment of no less than three eligible peers of the realm.
Fortunately, a letter from Elizabeth warned Mrs. Collins of Lady Catherine’s misfortunes in London, giving Charlotte and her spouse time to ready themselves. From being determined to use all the scorn in her considerable store of fire to wither the vicar to ash, her ladyship found herself so buoyed up by Mr. Collins’s adroit use of the Scriptures, and so soothed by Mrs. Collins’s sympathy, that they began to seem her most valued supporte
rs. Before she knew what she was about, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who frowned upon duality, had offered the vacant living to her favourite. Mr. Collins, of course, totally agreed with her ladyship’s general rule on dual livings, but he also totally agreed that there were times when the Lord did place an extra burden upon his most hard-working servants. Of course, he would pay the usual slender salary to a curate for the other parish and continue to reside in the slightly smaller Hunsford vicarage, in order to have the close vicinity and time required to be of service to his benefactress.
If Charlotte sighed a little at this decision, she was comforted by the threefold increase in their income, and the excellent employment prospects for a second son, if one such should make his appearance.
CHAPTER 11
OF ALL GEORGIANA’S RELATIONS, Henry Fitzwilliam was the only one of whom she had never been in awe. From childhood, her heart had nestled in the warm safety of his affection. She believed she loved her brother more than she loved Henry, yet always felt the need to strive for Fitzwilliam’s approval. Not so with Henry, dear Henry, whose affection never altered, whose face never froze with even a moment’s disapproval.
In the last year or so, however, something had changed between them. He cared for her still, she knew, but, in some sense she could not define, he had withdrawn himself a little.
He had come to Brougham Square only once since they arrived in London, and that was merely a brief wedding visit. Now he had come again at last, and they sat together in the cosiness of her own sitting room. The firelight danced on the deep pink of the curtains and upholstery, reflecting warmth around them.
“You have neglected us most sorrowfully, Henry,” she said. “It is almost three weeks since you last called.”
“I have thought of you all constantly, of course. I trust you received my notes.”
“Yes, and I thank you for them.”
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