“Ah!” said Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head. “Then she is better off than many girls. What sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome.”
“She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that, in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex, because there is that in her features which marks the young lady of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her from making that progress in many accomplishments which she could not have otherwise failed of, as I am informed by the lady who superintended her education, and who still resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends to drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies.”
“Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at court.”
“Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine one day, has deprived the British court of its brightest ornaments. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea. I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine, that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay.”
Elizabeth listened to the lengthy descriptions of Mr. Collins with both amusement and revulsion. Even Jane, whose normally docile expression could give no offense, managed a wide-eyed look at the excessive flattery.
“You judge very properly,” said Mr. Bennet, “and it is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study.”
Elizabeth was forced to cover her mouth with the back of her hand to keep from laughing.
“They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.”
Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered. Mr. Collins was as absurd as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment, maintaining at the same time the most resolute composure of countenance, and, except in an occasional glance at Elizabeth, requiring no partner in his pleasure.
By tea-time, however, the dose had been enough, and Mr. Bennet was glad to take his guest into the drawing room; and, when tea was over, glad to invite him to read aloud to the ladies. Mr. Collins readily assented, and a book was produced. Everything announced it to be from a circulating library, and on beholding it, he begged pardon, and protested that he never read novels. Kitty stared at him. Lydia exclaimed. Other books were produced, and after some deliberation he chose Fordyce's Sermons.
Lydia gaped as he opened the volume, and before he had, with very monotonous solemnity, read three pages, she interrupted him with, “Do you know, mamma, that my uncle Philips talks of turning away Richard? If he does, Colonel Forster will hire him. My aunt told me so herself on Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton tomorrow to hear more about it, and to ask when Mr. Denny comes back from town.”
Lydia was bid by her two eldest sisters to hold her tongue. Mr. Collins, much offended, laid aside his book, and said, “I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit. It amazes me, I confess; for, certainly, there can be nothing so advantageous to them as instruction. But I will no longer importune my young cousin.”
Then turning to Mr. Bennet, he offered himself as his antagonist at backgammon. Mr. Bennet accepted the challenge, observing that he acted very wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling amusements. Mrs. Bennet and her daughters apologized most civilly for Lydia's interruption, and promised that it should not occur again, if he would resume his book. Mr. Collins, after assuring them that he bore his young cousin no ill-will, and should never resent her behavior as any affront, seated himself at another table with Mr. Bennet, and prepared for backgammon.
After it was settled, Elizabeth leaned towards Jane and whispered, “I could kiss Lydia for her insolent behavior tonight, for it saved us from such a sermon.”
Jane's burst of quickly subdued laughter was her only answer.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MR. COLLINS WAS NOT A SENSIBLE MAN, and this deficiency of nature had been little assisted by education or society. The greatest part of his life had been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and miserly father, and though he belonged to one of the universities, he had merely kept the necessary terms, without forming at it any useful acquaintance. The subjection in which his father had brought him up had given him originally great humility of manner; but it was now a good deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head, and the consequential feelings of early and unexpected prosperity. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he felt for her high rank, and his veneration for her as his patroness, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a clergyman, and his right as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.
Having now a good house and a very sufficient income, he intended to marry. In seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family he had a wife in view, as he meant to choose one of the daughters, if he found them as handsome and amiable as they were represented by common report. This was his plan of amends — of atonement — for inheriting their father's estate; and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generous on his own part.
His plan did not vary on seeing them. Miss Bennet's lovely face confirmed his views, and established all his strictest notions of what was due to seniority. For the first evening she was his settled choice. However, the next morning he made an alteration during a quarter of an hour's tete-a-tete with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast. The conversation began with his parsonage house, and led naturally to the avowal of his hopes that a mistress might be found for it at Longbourn. This produced from her, amid very complaisant smiles and general encouragement, a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on. “I must mention, Mr. Collins, for I feel it incumbent on me to hint that my eldest daughter is likely to be very soon engaged. As to my youngest daughters, I could not take it upon myself to say, but I do not know of any prepossession.”
Mr. Collins, without difficulty, changed from Jane to Elizabeth, who succeeded Jane in age and he felt was equal to the same in beauty. Mrs. Bennet treasured the knowledge, and trusted that she might soon have two daughters married. The man whom she could not bear to speak of the day before was now high in her good graces. Though she would not mention it to Elizabeth, she did feel compelled to pull her two eldest daughters aside for that talk which every mother must someday give. And, as she did not anticipate having to wait long, she saw no reason not to give her talk in the high state of her excitement over the pending engagements.
“I feel compelled, as all mothers of daughters must one day be, due to your age and the very likelihood of your someday — rather soon I think — getting married, to touch upon the unpleasantries. I think it is necessary to get the talk out of the way now, so as not to ruin the most happy of occasions when the day comes, as my mother did for me — only waiting until the very morning of my wedding. I can tell you I could think of little else, and did not enjoy nor remember eating my wedding breakfast for fear of what was to come.”
Jane stared at her mother in shock. “Whatever did our grandmother say to make you so afraid? I do not understand what you are trying to tell us.”
“Patience, dear Jane; and Lizzy, do not look at me in that manner! If you do not listen now, I will not repeat myself ag
ain and you will be on your own come that time,” said Mrs. Bennet.
Her interest piqued, Elizabeth endeavored to look contrite.
Mrs. Bennet launched into her motherly duty with a look of fortitude and determination rarely witnessed by her two daughters. “The night of your wedding is like walking through a door, moving from your room of girlhood into your room of womanhood. In this new room you will discover things you cannot possibly imagine in your girlhood state. As your mother, it is my duty to inform you that your husband will come and visit. You must let him, for it is your duty to receive him as your guest. If you keep still, do not make a fuss, he will be grateful for the attention. I daresay, often early in the marriage, he will be inclined to leave you gifts. These gifts will grow to be children.”
Jane shared a confused look with Elizabeth.
“A husband comes into a lady's private parlor for a visit?” asked Jane.
“Precisely. Your parlor,” said Mrs. Bennet with a smart nod. “Consider it a chore that must be performed. If you do not speak too much, he will retire from his visit with the greatest haste possible under the circumstance. If you are unfortunate, he will have a ravenous appetite, and it will be your lot to receive him often to dine at your table. But, the blessing of this is you will have many children of your own.” Then, nodding as if quite proud of herself, she said, “See, that was not so bad. I must instruct you not to share this conversation with your younger sisters. Their ears are much too innocent for this story — much too young to even watch the animals' visits to their ladies' parlors.”
When Mrs. Bennet left, as if chased out of the room by the devil itself, Elizabeth looked at her sister. “Did you understand our dear mother?”
“Hardly a word,” Jane laughed uncomfortably. “What do you think has come over her, speaking in such a way? She acts as if she expects us to walk down the aisle tomorrow.”
“Apparently, she is worried our husbands will make a nuisance of themselves by coming into our rooms to watch us sew and eat our teacakes.” Elizabeth had a somewhat clearer picture of what her mother alluded to, but it was not something Jane, with all her delicate sensibilities, would care to discuss. Her sister shied away from such subjects, and at times Elizabeth wondered just how much her sister really did know about the nature of men and women. Instead of commenting further and making Jane more uncomfortable, she resolved to broach the subject with her dear aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, the next time she saw her.
Lydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten, and every sister except Mary agreed to go with her. Mr. Collins was to attend them, at the request of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious to get rid of him and have his library to himself; for thither Mr. Collins had followed him after breakfast; and there he would continue, nominally engaged with one of the largest folios in the collection, but really talking to Mr. Bennet, with little cessation, of his house and garden at Hunsford. Such doings discomposed Mr. Bennet exceedingly. In his library he had been always sure of leisure and tranquility; and though prepared, as he told Elizabeth, to meet with folly and conceit in every other room of the house, he was used to be free from them there. Therefore, his civility was most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to join his daughters in their walk. Mr. Collins, being in fact much better fitted for a walker than a reader, was extremely pleased to close his large book and go.
In pompous nothings on his side, and civil assents on that of his cousins, their time passed till they entered Meryton where after the attention of the younger ones was no longer to be gained by him. Their eyes were immediately wandering the street in quest of the officers, and nothing less than a very smart bonnet or a new muslin in a shop window could recall them.
But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom they had never seen before. He was most gentlemanlike in appearance, walking with another officer on the other side of the way. The officer was the very Mr. Denny whose return from London Lydia came to inquire, and he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the stranger's air, and all wondered who he could be. Kitty and Lydia, determined to find out, made their way across the street under pretense of wanting something in an opposite shop, and fortunately had just gained the pavement when the two gentlemen reached the same spot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and entreated permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him the day before from town, and he was happy to say had accepted a commission in their corps. This was exactly as it should be, for the young man wanted only regimentals to make him completely charming.
Jane, whose attractions were decided elsewhere, greeted the new acquaintance with a sincerity that complimented her nature. Elizabeth found she was instantly charmed, and shared her new-found excitement with a secretive look to Jane — the kind of look which only the closest of sisters could understand. The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation, a readiness that was at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming. His appearance was greatly in his favor; he had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address.
The whole party was still standing and talking together very agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley were seen riding down the street. Elizabeth felt her breath catch in her throat. The dark countenance of Mr. Darcy was a stark contrast to the lighthearted Mr. Wickham; yet she found herself compelled, as she was often wont to do when in his presence, to watch Mr. Darcy as he approached. The sun shone against his back, framing his shoulders and casting shadows over his face. He rode with the ease of a man who had spent his life around horses, and she found her eyes drifting down to where his strong thighs gripped the beast.
On distinguishing the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them. When they began the usual civilities, Elizabeth forced her gaze away from Mr. Darcy's legs, and back to Mr. Wickham.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy acknowledged, his tone holding some amusement and she could imagine it was at her expense. She did not answer as she gave a small bow of her head.
Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the principal object. He said he was then on his way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after her. Mr. Darcy began to corroborate it with a bow, when his eyes were suddenly arrested by the sight of the stranger. Elizabeth witnessed the countenance of both as they looked at each other, and was astonished at the effect of the meeting. Both changed color, one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat — a salutation which Mr. Darcy just deigned to return.
In another minute, Mr. Bingley, but without seeming to have noticed what passed, took leave and rode on with his friend.
Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Philip's house, and then made their bows, in spite of Miss Lydia's pressing entreaties that they should come in, and even in spite of Mrs. Philips's throwing up the parlor window and loudly seconding the invitation.
Mrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces; and the two eldest, from their recent absence, were particularly welcome. Her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane's introduction of him. She received him with her very best politeness, which he returned tenfold, apologizing for his intrusion without any previous acquaintance with her, which he could not help flattering himself, might be justified by his relationship to the young ladies who introduced him to her notice. Mrs. Philips was quite awed by such an excess of good breeding, but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put to an end to by exclamations and inquiries about the other. She could only tell her nieces what they already knew, that Mr. Denny had brought Mr. Wickham from London, and that he was to have a lieutenant's commission. She had been watching him walk up and down the street for the last hour. Had Mr. Wickham appeared, Kitty and Lydia would certainly have continued the occupation. Unluckily no one passed windows now except a few of the officers, who, in comparison with the stranger, had become “stupid, disagreeable fellows.” Some of
them were to dine with the Philipses the next day, and their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham, and give him an invitation also, if the family from Longbourn would come in the evening. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits. Mr. Collins repeated his apologies in quitting the room, and was assured with unwearying civility that they were perfectly needless.
Wickham.
The man's name was as distasteful to Darcy as the most rotten of fish. He watched as the object of his distaste crossed the street some distance away. The Bennets were no longer with him, but the shock of seeing the sisters with that particular man left him a little cold. He had been determining not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth when he had detected Mr. Wickham next to her. He did not miss Elizabeth's smile, but could not determine if the look was caused merely by her usual playfulness, or if it had been something special for their new acquaintance. Either way, the jealousy he felt was not welcomed.
The urge to warn her of the man's villainous nature warred with propriety, which the honor of his family name dictated he follow. Wickham was a scoundrel of the worst kind, though the truth of it was not widely known throughout the countryside, or even in London for that matter. Darcy had been careful to make sure the story was never told beyond those directly involved, nor would he be the one to speak of it now. To say what he knew of the man would be to bring dishonor to someone very dear to him. He refused to even think of the details of it lest he be spurred to anger. With the detestable man so close, it was hard not to run him down with his horse.
Reining his horse away from the man, he rode through the streets a little faster than was prudent. Bingley, undoubtedly surprised by the swift departure was soon behind him, racing beyond the buildings into the wide prairie that would lead them back to Netherfield. He wished the air hitting upon his face and chest could blow away the desires that plagued his flesh. Thinking of Elizabeth with Wickham, with any man, caused his chest to tighten and his anger to rise. He wanted to strike something, to beat his fist till the pain overtook any inkling of passion. More than this, he wanted to find Elizabeth; to pull her onto his horse, and ride away with her to some hidden alcove where they would not be discovered. There he would make love to her; claiming her so she could not go to another man; banishing the demons inside him; killing the sensations of longing that now rendered his brain feeble and his limbs weak.
Pride and Prejudice: The Wild and Wanton Edition Page 10
