On Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Now as the visit came to an end, Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased very rapidly, as did her affection for Jane; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Elizabeth took leave of the whole party in the liveliest of spirits, excited by the prospect of going home.
After a day of being ignored by Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth was surprised by his attention when coming to see them off. When she stepped towards the carriage, it looked for the briefest of moments as if he would hand her up. Instead, Mr. Bingley extended his hand first and he delivered her safely within. Darcy's eyes fixed on her as the carriage rolled away and she found herself leaning against the window overlong to stare back. Neither of them pulled their gaze away first and it was only after the carriage turned from view that the contact was severed.
They were not welcomed home very cordially by their mother. Mrs. Bennet wondered at their coming, and thought them very wrong to give so much trouble, and was sure Jane would have caught cold again. But their father, though very laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was really glad to see them. He had felt their importance in the family circle for the evening conversation, when they were all assembled, had lost much of its animation, and almost all its sense by the absence of Jane and Elizabeth.
They found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of human nature; and had some extracts to admire, and some new observations of threadbare morality to listen to. Catherine and Lydia had information for them of a different sort. Much had been done and much had been said in the regiment since the preceding Wednesday; several of the officers had dined lately with their uncle, a private named Sykes had been flogged, and it had actually been hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married.
Elizabeth, conscious of her sister's tired state, urged Jane to bed early. Catherine and Lydia protested that they had more news to tell, and only let Jane go after securing a promise from her to hear all about the regiment the following morning. When Jane was safely tucked away in bed, Elizabeth took a chair next to the window to watch over her. She pulled her legs under her and wrapped a warm blanket over her shoulders, alternating her attention between Jane and the miles separating Longbourn from Netherfield.
In the quiet safety of her room, she was able at last to think in great detail about the whole of their stay at Netherfield — of what was done and what was said. Her opinion of everyone was pretty much fixed, save for one. Mr. Darcy remained somewhat of a mystery. Though she knew him to be prideful and with somber faults, as had been determined during the course of their conversations, the conviction of this knowledge did not coincide with the way he sometimes looked at her.
The more she thought of it, the more she was convinced there might have been heat within his gaze while she walked with Miss Bingley. The idea caused a curious longing within her stomach and thighs. Curious because, though she full well understood its meaning, she could not fathom why it would occur to the idea of someone she had determined to be as disagreeable as Mr. Darcy. Then, remembering how he ignored her when they were alone, but talked to her when the others were about, she determined that the heat in his gaze was not for her and that, perhaps, his conversation with her was a way to tease Miss Bingley. For, though that lady did not understand his character very well, Mr. Darcy surely understood hers.
Content at last that her assumptions of the visit were correct, she pulled the blanket tighter. Unfortunately, the ache she felt for the disagreeable gentleman did not go away. With Jane in the room, there was no hope of relieving it — not that she wanted to fantasize about Mr. Darcy. That would be a mistake, for once she allowed him to invade the intimacy of such acts, he would be forever associated with them and she would never be able to look at him in the eye again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I HOPE, MY DEAR, that you have ordered a good dinner today,” said Mr. Bennet to his wife, as they were at breakfast the next morning. “I have reason to expect an addition to our family party.”
“Who do you mean? I know of nobody that is coming, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in — and I hope my dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home.”
“The person of whom I speak is a gentleman.”
Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled. “A gentleman? It is Mr. Bingley, I am sure! Well, I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingley. But, good Lord, how unlucky. There is not a bit of fish to be got today. Lydia, my love, ring the bell. I must speak to Hill this moment.”
“It is not Mr. Bingley,” said her husband. “It is a person whom I never saw in the whole course of my life.”
This roused a general astonishment, and he had the pleasure of being eagerly questioned by his wife and his five daughters at once.
After amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he explained, “About a month ago I received this letter, and about a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases.”
“Oh, my dear,” cried his wife. “I cannot bear to hear that odious man mentioned. Pray do not talk of him. It is the hardest thing in the world that your estate should be entailed away from your own children. I am sure, if I had been you, I should have tried long ago to do something or other about it.”
Jane and Elizabeth tried to explain to her the nature of an entail. They had often attempted to do it before, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason, and she continued to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling an estate away from a family of five daughters, in favor of a man whom nobody cared anything about.
“It certainly is a most iniquitous affair,” said Mr. Bennet, “and nothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself.”
“No, I am sure I shall not. I think it is very impertinent of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such false friends. Why could he not keep on quarreling with you, as his father did before him.”
“Why, indeed. He does seem to have had some filial scruples on that head, as you will hear.” Pausing, Mr. Bennet unfolded the letter he had brought with him to the table in preparation of this moment, and read, “Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15th October.”
“Oh, do get on with it!” fretted Mrs. Bennet.
“Dear Sir.” Mr. Bennet continued, as if his wife had not spoken. “The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honored father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach. For some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with anyone with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance.” He looked as his wife, stating, “There, Mrs. Bennet.”
“That does not change his intentions in turning us out,” his wife said.
“Pray, let me finish.” Mr. Bennet turned back to the letter. “My mind, however, is now made up on the subject, for having received ordination at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavor to demean myself with grateful respect towards her ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within in the reach of my influence, and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures are highly commendable, and that the circumstance of my being
next in the entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your side, and not lead you to reject the offered olive-branch. I cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the means of injuring your amiable daughters, and beg leave to apologize for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends. If you should have no objection to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday sennight following, which I can do without any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some other clergyman is engaged to do the duty of the day. I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and daughters, your well-wisher and friend, William Collins.”
“Well!” said Mrs. Bennet, as if trying to make up her mind about the gentlemen in question. She had long grown used to hating the man and found it hard to reconcile her feelings after one letter.
“At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peacemaking gentleman,” said Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the letter. “He seems to be a most conscientious and polite young man, upon my word, and I do not doubt this will prove a valuable acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine should be so indulgent as to let him come to us again.”
“There is some sense in what he says about the girls,” said Mrs. Bennet, forgetting her struggle. “However, if he is disposed to make them any amends, I shall not be the person to discourage him.”
“Though it is difficult,” said Jane, “to guess in what way he can mean to make us the atonement he thinks our due, the wish is certainly to his credit.”
Elizabeth was chiefly struck by his extraordinary deference for Lady Catherine, and his kind intention of christening, marrying, and burying his parishioners whenever it was required. “He must be an oddity, I think. I cannot make him out. There is something very pompous in his style. And what can he mean by apologizing for being next in the entail? We cannot suppose he would help it if he could. Could he be a sensible man, sir.”
“No, my dear, I think not. I have great hopes of finding him quite the reverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter, which promises well. I am impatient to see him.”
“In point of composition,” said Mary, “the letter does not seem defective. The idea of the olive-branch perhaps is not wholly new, yet I think it is well expressed.”
To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer were in any degree interesting. It was next to impossible that their cousin should come in a scarlet coat, and it was now some weeks since they had received pleasure from the society of a man in any other color. As for their mother, Mr. Collins's letter had done away much of her ill-will, and she was preparing to see him with a degree of composure which astonished her husband and daughters.
Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet indeed said little, but the ladies were ready enough to talk. Mr. Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty. His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated before he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a family of daughters; said he had heard much of their beauty, but that in this instance fame had fallen short of the truth; and added, that he did not doubt her seeing them all in due time disposed of in marriage.
This gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers, but Mrs. Bennet, who quarreled with no compliments, answered most readily, “You are very kind. I wish with all my heart it may prove so, for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled so oddly.”
“You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate.”
“Ah, sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you, for such things I know are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed.”
“I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins, and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing forward and precipitate. However I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more, but, perhaps, when we are better acquainted —”
He was interrupted by a summons to dinner. The girls smiled on each other. They were not the only objects of Mr. Collins's admiration. The hall, the dining room, and all its furniture, were examined and praised. His commendation of everything would have touched Mrs. Bennet's heart, but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his own future property. The dinner too in its turn was highly admired, and he begged to know to which of his fair cousins the excellency of its cooking was owed. There he was set right by Mrs. Bennet, who assured him with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended, but he continued to apologize for about a quarter of an hour.
“You cannot mean to brood every time the ball is mentioned,” said Bingley to his friend, as they waited for the grooms to bring out their horses. It was a fine evening for a ride and both gentlemen preferred any excuse to be away from Mr. Hurst and his demands for cards. “I find my mood quite the opposite of yours. I cannot wait to dance with the lovely Miss Bennet again, and to see her well after such a dreadful illness.”
“You mistake my quiet for brooding,” Darcy answered. He took the reins handed to him and led the horse a few paces before swinging up on its back. “I have no opinion on your ball.”
“I daresay you might enjoy yourself,” Bingley, too, seated his horse and was content to follow Darcy's lead over the long drive. “I am sure you will find Miss Elizabeth more than a tolerable partner now that you are in her acquaintance. Her good humor and pleasant nature is a compliment to any gathering.”
“Do not bother yourself with selecting my dance partners,” Darcy said, unwilling to discuss the matter. He had made up his mind to limit his acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth and did not need any inducements to change it. The fact that his fantasies of her were only enhanced by their conversations did not bode well on his determination, and he knew he would have to be diligent if he were to strike her from his fantasies.
“But if I do not, you will not,” Bingley said, allowing his horse free rein to go as it pleased. The creature had the same amiable temperament as its owner and was content to follow Darcy's stallion. “I know I said you may go to bed if it pleases you, but you will come, will you not?”
“I will,” Darcy said. “I cannot imagine hiding in a room while my host entertains guests below.”
“I am glad to hear it!” Bingley smiled, as if the matter had weighed greatly on his mind and now all was right in the world. “Do you think it to be too indelicate of me to ask Miss Bennet to dance three or four times? I feel we are becoming better acquainted; and though I do not wish for her illness, past or future, I am glad for the time it afforded me in her company. I find her the most delicate of females, very pleasing in every way. I am quite enamored with her, and am not hesitant to say it to you, my friend.”
“As your friend, I did not need you to say it to know it was so.”
“Am I so transparent, then?” Bingley laughed. “I find I do not care if I am. Oh, but if you were to find such a person as Miss Bennet to occupy your mind. Think of how wonderful it would be, the two of us, very much enamored and —”
“A race!” Darcy challenged, as he gently nudged his horse, urging it to go faster as they came to the end of the lane. He did not wish to hear more, for Bingley's compliments to the eldest Miss Bennet only forced Darcy to think of her sister. Bingley instantly complied with the idea and no more was said as they pounded their way to an unspecified finish line.
Mr. Bennet scarcely spok
e at all during dinner, but when the servants were withdrawn, he thought it time to have some conversation with his guest, and therefore started a subject in which he expected him to shine, by observing that he seemed very fortunate in his patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attention to his wishes, and consideration for his comfort, appeared very remarkable. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen better.
Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise. The subject elevated him to more than usual solemnity of manner, and with a most important aspect he protested, “I have never in my life witnessed such behavior in a person of rank — such affability and condescension, as I have myself experienced from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously pleased to approve of the discourses which I had already had the honor of preaching before her. She has also asked me twice to dine at Rosings, and sent for me only last Saturday to make up her pool of quadrille in the evening. Lady Catherine is reckoned proud by many people, but I have never seen anything but affability in her. She has always spoken to me as she would to any other gentleman and made not the smallest objection to my joining in the society of the neighborhood or to my leaving the parish occasionally for a week or two, to visit my relations. She has even condescended to advise me to marry as soon as I am able, provided I choose with discretion. And she once paid me a visit in my humble parsonage, where she perfectly approved all the alterations I have been making, and has even vouchsafed to suggest some herself — some shelves in the closet upstairs.”
“That is all very proper and civil, I am sure,” said Mrs. Bennet. “I daresay she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir.”
“The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence.”
“I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family.”
“She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property.”
Pride and Prejudice: The Wild and Wanton Edition Page 9
