by Suzan Lauder
Before he had said many words, my younger sisters rushed into the room at each other’s heels as if in a race. Mr. Collins tapped his foot and grimaced at the intrusion, but he made a brief bow as each girl greeted him with bright eyes and a flutter of lashes—even Mary stammered a flirtatious address to the man! He deigned to offer a clipped, “Good morning,” before ignoring my younger sisters, who took their usual places in the breakfast room, all the while keeping their eyes on him. Jane was last into the breakfast room at a normal time for the meal. As he leapt to his feet, Mr. Collins’s face lit in a smile that was so becoming, one wondered whether it was practised.
She appeared to warrant more than a brief greeting since he added, “I am pleased to see you look so well this morning, Miss Bennet. I trust you had a good rest?” He made no effort to hide his admiration as his eyes scrutinized her from head to toe.
Jane’s cheeks took on high colour as she dipped a curtsey. “Yes, I thank you, sir.” Her voice was strained as though she had lost her breath.
Mr. Collins shifted slightly so she could barely pass without brushing him, his eyes following her every movement. He stared at Jane’s backside as she took her chair, seeming to take stock of her before he resumed his muttered speech to my mother, who was all attention to him.
Lydia whispered to Kitty, “I should never have believed myself caring two figs for a man who wore black rather than red, but I cannot stop admiring him.”
To my amazement, Kitty told her to hush! “I am concentrating on his words!” Her significant annoyance was clear in her angry tone and furrowed brow. Kitty—who had always followed what Lydia did, paid heed to her every word, and made no decisions without her younger sister—was overruling her leader! I nearly missed the conversation between my mother and Mr. Collins for my sister’s strange behaviour. I could not hear the larger part of it but caught bits and snips enough.
“…Lady Catherine…my very good opinion of myself… induce me to be explicit…seek out the mistress of my parsonage…”
At this point, his gaze fixed upon Jane again. My dear elder sister behaved in the same manner I had: as though something was wrong with her apparel. She inspected her gown for stains, brushed off invisible dust, and adjusted her fichu to make both sides even.
“…lovely face…not so light…slow moving…soft undulations of figure…seniority…”
“Jane is a delightful girl any mother would be proud of,” my mother replied in a loud whisper with a complaisant smile, “but I must caution you against becoming fixed upon her. She is as good as engaged.”
A glance at Jane confirmed she had heard my mother’s every appalling word. Even though she was regarding her plate, the beetroot tint from her cheeks to the tips of her ears gave away her mortification.
“My younger daughters have no prepossession, and Elizabeth is second only to Jane in—”
Mr. Collins did not allow her to finish. “But no declaration has yet been made?” His question was asked with little tact and in a peeved tone.
“No, but we expect the gentleman to pay his addresses any day.”
He rolled his eyes, raised his nose in the air, and gave a haughty sniff. “Had he been truly fixed on such a lovely lady, he would have acted by now. I see no need to change my inclination.”
A few moments passed before I realized I was gaping at him. Did he mean to compete with Mr. Bingley for Jane?
My mother probably thought the same as she stared stupidly at Mr. Collins. Her mouth hung open while he added, “My plan of amends—of atonement—for inheriting Mr. Bennet’s estate is excessively generous and disinterested on my own part. You must agree that my olive branch is an excellent opportunity for your family—full of eligibility and suitability.”
He, indeed, desired Jane for himself! And in doing so, he lost his best opportunity to become higher in my mother’s good graces than he already was due to his beauty. A man who planned to send her from Longbourn expected to be welcomed as a parallel suitor to Mr. Bingley, a man of five thousand a year! Was Jane lucky or cursed? What a strange quirk of fate.
That day, my sisters and I planned a walk to Meryton to partake of the younger girls’ two favourite activities: browsing the shop windows and visiting my Aunt Phillips, which they took pleasure in as often as my parents would allow. We invited Mr. Collins to join us to make the acquaintance of my aunt and see the town. Despite our ability to answer his questions, Mr. Collins insisted on being satisfied by requesting the information from my mother before we set out. “Did you say Mrs. Phillips is your elder sister?”
She affirmed it.
“And who is Mr. Phillips?”
“My brother is a solicitor, sir. He was clerk to my late father and took over the business when my father retired.”
Mr. Collins’s brow furrowed as he fingered the hair of his forelock and stared in contemplation towards the floor. Based on his earlier behaviour, he did not appear pleased that my uncle was not a gentleman and was deciding how to approach the visit to someone so pedestrian.
My mother, whether or not she intended to misunderstand his hesitation, reassured him. “Do not be shy, sir. My sister is ever so hospitable. I can assure you that you will be welcomed and entertained in her home. All the young people enjoy her conversation and generosity.”
And so it was set. We marched off to Meryton, and Mr. Collins bent our ears the entire way with his observations of this or that on the road and the way it reminded him of the incomparable environs of Kent. Little could impress him as his home county always came up favourable in the comparison of verdant hills and magnificent valleys to our “pleasant countryside.” Now, Hertfordshire is not a bad place and pretty in many ways, but Kent sounded positively heavenly from Mr. Collins’s equally sublime lips. However, it did not take long before I became sceptical regarding this panegyric of perfection. Perhaps his glowing description was more a feature of Mr. Collins’s need to impress than the actual truth of the matter.
Kitty and Lydia were quick to grow disinterested in his effusions and skipped ahead to whisper secrets to each other. Mr. Collins paused as his brows snapped together and his nose wrinkled at their childish antics, but the lapse in his speech was brief. Their ears must not have been worth his breath.
Lydia and Kitty’s stolen and blushing glances at my cousin, as well as their fits of giggles, soon made it clear he was the subject of their confidences. Oh, the direction their discussion must have gone!
“A pity his lips are not sealed closed as what comes from his mouth is so annoying that he ruins my admiration of his wonderful countenance.”
“Do not listen to him. Look at his figure!”
Halfway to Meryton, it became abundantly clear that Mr. Collins favoured Jane, which was no surprise; most men did. Her beauty has turned many heads, and my mother cannot fathom why her eldest daughter has yet to receive a proposal of marriage. My suspicion is that she herself is the culprit who sabotages Jane’s prospects. Gentlemen cannot get close to my sister without my mother’s rattling on about how wonderful Jane is with broad hints that she would welcome an offer.
It is odd to recall that Mr. Collins is related to my father and not my mother. His manner of speaking is more akin to Mama’s lack of awareness of the nonsense that spews from her mouth. She is vain enough to care little for what others think of her opinions, and she is poor at listening.
Jane, unlike my mother, is gentle in nature, so unassuming and kind that she was patient with Mr. Collins’s incessant droning regarding the value of his living in Kent as a strong inducement to matrimony, as well as his acceptance of Longbourn based on a brief evaluation. She was polite and offered genial responses whenever he stopped speaking long enough to accept them. Curiously, he seemed to do this by design: he would make a statement that favoured himself greatly and then wait until his poor listener felt obliged to agree on some at
tribute of his that deserved significant praise. Jane, always considerate, offered kind statements, and his pleasure and vanity increased with each incident.
In pity for Jane, the next time he waited for a response that would direct the conversation where he wished, I attempted to interject a new topic that would include us all. Kitty and Lydia giggled, but Mary spoke up with the question for which he was certainly hoping.
“Why does Lady Catherine visit your humble abode, sir?”
I gave her a black glare.
“Your curiosity betrays your intellect, Miss Mary,” Mr. Collins replied, “because only a clever person would know that I mentioned Lady Catherine to demonstrate how the clergy are considered above requiring condescension from such a gracious person as her ladyship. Indeed, I am almost as important in standing as she and her lovely daughter, of which Lady Catherine reminds me time and time again whilst she offers affable smiles of esteem.” He chuckled and I started at the sound. “Might I add that she admires what she sees?”
Was there no other topic he could discuss but himself? How could a man so remarkable in appearance be such a tedious conversationalist? No influence could persuade him to give others an opportunity to speak of their interests, and his voice became an irritating hum in my ears except for the odd time when I glanced his way. He was so fine looking. But how long would it be before I became accustomed to that fact and would not allow it to distract me from his ill manners? I diverted my eyes to the nature that surrounded us and the path ahead.
And a disaster was about to occur.
I shouted to my younger sisters, who were heedless of where they walked as they peered behind them at Mr. Collins. “Lydia! Kitty!”
Too late! They swung their sneering countenances in my direction rather than towards the path in front of them, which happened to be occupied by two men. One of them, Mr. Denny of the local militia, was known to us and approached with a broad smile as he held out his arms to catch Kitty before she crashed into him. Likewise, his colleague caught Lydia’s shoulders. Lydia’s giggles and grin had a momentary lapse between curling her lip at my warning and turning towards the man holding her steady, when she smiled at him and giggled some more. I could not blame her because, had I never laid eyes upon my cousin, I would say he was the handsomest of men. The stranger and Mr. Denny laughed as they unhanded my silly sisters, and Mr. Denny introduced his friend as Mr. Wickham. Mr. Wickham was as genial in address as he was appealing in face and figure and, combined with Mr. Denny’s cheerful manners, he encouraged a short but delightful conversation during which Mr. Denny informed us that Mr. Wickham was joining the ——shire militia as a new officer.
“Will you be wearing a red coat the next time we see you?” Lydia asked. Doubtless, my sister thought this would add to her enjoyment of ogling him.
Mr. Wickham grinned as if he knew why she asked. “I shall, miss.”
My cousin’s next words showed he was not pleased. “Some ladies are drawn to flashy garments, and some gentlemen must wear them because they are not otherwise attractive.” All eyes were on Mr. Collins again as his lush lips were turned down in a decided frown. His icy blue eyes were full of hauteur. “He who is already the handsomest of men looks best in black.” He had mumbled the last as though to himself, yet it was loud enough for all to hear. Of course, Mr. Wickham’s brown coat was not mentioned but that had no bearing on the interest in our little crowd. Mr. Collins had our attention again, and he returned our gazes with a self-satisfied smirk.
Behind him, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy approached on horseback, and Mr. Bingley called out a salutation. The majority of our party, including Jane, were so fixed on Mr. Collins that at first they were not conscious of the other gentlemen’s arrival. I was the sole person who responded, and Mr. Darcy bowed to me from his seat. The poor man. The obligation to show politesse to me—a lady with whom he shared a mutual dislike—must have nettled. I elbowed Jane to get her attention.
“What?”
My quietest whisper would have been heard by the others, but I had no choice. “Mr. Bingley!”
She spun around. “Oh! Good morning, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy! We were…watching Mr. Collins…I mean walking Mr. Collins…I mean walking to my aunt’s with Mr. Collins.” I had never seen Jane so flustered!
Mr. Bingley’s face was frozen in a strange grin as Jane again stared at Mr. Collins, who gave her a simpering smile. My Jane, my usually cool and unaffected elder sister, fluttered her lashes and giggled like Lydia! How horrifying!
As I made the introductions, Mr. Collins gazed at Mr. Bingley with yet another smug smirk. This situation had to be dealt with and soon! His distraction of my sisters had caused them to become as rude as he was, and the lot of them knew no other topic other than Mr. Collins.
However, when Mr. Bingley said he and Mr. Darcy were on their way to Longbourn to discover how Jane fared, she redirected her attention Mr. Bingley’s way, well pleased with his consideration. He began to make pleasant conversation, asking after my parents. To have something to listen to other than the marvels of Mr. Collins from that gentleman’s lips was a tremendous relief.
For a moment, Mr. Collins went quiet as he alternated between ogling Jane with a smitten expression and glaring at Mr. Bingley. My younger sisters had fixed their gazes on the clergyman, insensible of Mr. Bingley’s cheerful addresses. Likewise, Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham observed Mr. Collins with expressions of curiosity. Indeed, in their place, I would also wonder what sort of man could glean such overarching interest.
Mr. Wickham’s eyes flicked towards Mr. Bingley. He obviously saw something of interest because his head snapped back to stare in that direction and his face changed markedly. What affected him so? A quick look revealed Mr. Darcy glaring at Mr. Wickham while Mr. Wickham’s gaze dropped with a genuine appearance of contrition: his shoulders were rounded, and the tips of his ears were pink as if caught in some boyish folly. What could cause such concern? Before I could contemplate all I had seen, Mr. Collins interrupted my thoughts by addressing Jane.
“Do not cause your sisters to tarry, Miss Bennet. Your aunt expects their call.”
Following Mr. Collins’s rude admonishment, Mr. Wickham spoke quietly to Mr. Denny, and the two bowed and went on their way. Once they rounded the corner of the path, Kitty and Lydia linked arms to commence their walk to my aunt’s whilst Jane beamed at Mr. Bingley, who indicated his hope to see her later. Rather than wait for Jane to finish her farewells, I made a quick curtsey and turned to follow my youngest sisters, eager to leave my annoying cousin behind. If only he had been rendered mute at birth! He would be so much more agreeable if his pompous lectures were not forced upon us.
As they strolled along behind me, Jane and Mary remained silent whilst my cousin once again allowed none other than his voice to fill the air. He had already begun disparaging Mr. Bingley’s airs at presuming himself a gentleman when he was no more than a tradesman’s son. And Mr. Bingley, of course, was not attractive enough—who could admire a man whose skin was so pale?
We followed the town’s main road, encountering acquaintances as we walked along past our favourite little shops. Instead of their usual nod and smile, we were met by wide-eyed expressions of awe—all directed at Mr. Collins. An occasional backwards glance showed some people had even stopped in their tracks to gape at him after he had passed them by.
I neared the head of our group where my youngest sisters ambled along. An argument had commenced between Lydia and Kitty.
“Is not Mr. Wickham particularly handsome? Would you not admire him in a red coat?” Lydia’s lifted shoulder and conspiratorial head tilt meant that her questions were actually statements that she felt deserved consideration.
“He is very handsome, indeed, and would look better in red than the other officers we know. Perhaps you would prefer to spend time with him.”
Lydia scoffed. “I shall not ha
ve the time as I must entertain our cousin.”
“He is not in need of a companion, being as preoccupied with Jane as he is. Mary hangs on as well, though she has little hope of catching his notice.” Kitty was firm as she added, “No, you would be best to turn your eye towards Mr. Wickham.”
“Just because I am the youngest does not mean I shall settle for who is left after my sisters marry. I am the tallest, so gentlemen presume I am older. You will see. One day, I shall be just like Mama.”
Kitty dropped her arm from where it was hooked through Lydia’s. “If you mean the mistress of Longbourn, your hopes will be short-lived. You liked Captain Carter well enough, and Mr. Chamberlayne likes you. If you are bent on a change in suitor, Mr. Wickham will suffice.”
“You liked Mr. Denny as well,” said Lydia. “But if you prefer Mr. Wickham to all the other officers, perhaps you should take him.”
“I am not inclined towards him, and my intentions are to do much better. You see, I am the most like Jane, and she is meant for Mr. Bingley. I do not think a certain gentleman will like Lizzy or Mary, and that leaves me as next in line.”
“What makes you think he will pass over our sisters for you?”
“I have seen how he gazes at Jane. Lizzy and Mary are both too light in figure for his tastes and not pretty enough for such a perfect man.”
I was pleased that I was seen as light in figure despite some of my larger assets. But not pretty enough? Had my sisters decided Mr. Darcy’s view was that of all men?
Lydia rolled her eyes. “Your figure is ample enough to distract him, but my womanly form appeals to men. I am also much more comely than you.”
