by J P Christy
As they walked to the parsonage, Collins pinched his cousin’s arm and hissed, “You gave Lady Catherine her headache!”
I hope I did, Elizabeth thought. Now if only I could give you one!
≈≈≈
At Fitzwilliam House in London, the colonel was surprised to be greeted by his mother. “You are in town, I see.”
“As are you, my boy.”
“Forgive me, Mother. I did not mean to be rude. It’s just that I expected to find Robert here.”
“Your eldest brother is in Nottinghamshire. Your father thinks he should spend at least a few months managing the estate he will one day inherit.”
The old boy has been gambling too much again, Fitzwilliam guessed but did not say. “I have just returned from Rosings.”
“That is something else Robert should be doing, making those annual visits so he can learn how other estates are run.” To the butler, Lady Fitzwilliam said, “We will have tea in the small parlor, Samuels.” She slipped her hand into the crook of her son’s arm, and they walked together. “How are Catherine and Anne?”
“When I left, Anne was happy, and Aunt Catherine was not. Anne and Darcy have declared irrevocably they will not marry.”
“Good for them! How did Catherine respond?”
“With the usual outrage. I suspect she is plotting a way to revoke the irrevocable.” In the parlor, he led his mother to her favorite chair and took the chair beside her.
“Kindly reassure me that you did not overextend yourself in your work on the estate.”
Fitzwilliam knew she was asking about his collarbone, which he had broken last October when the army wagon on which he had been riding overturned on a muddy road. As his bones had been slow to heal, he was spared a speedy return to the wars on the Continent. Instead, he remained in London, serving (in his words) as a general dogsbody for the army’s administrative and consultative matters. Smiling, he assured his mother, “I was a gentleman of leisure in Kent. I scarcely did more than ride my horse carefully and play billiards with Darcy.”
“Doubtful,” Lady Fitzwilliam said, one eyebrow raised. She considered her son’s injury a blessing, for she was not eager to have him return to the battlefield.
After a slight pause, he asked, “Have you heard from anyone interesting in my absence?”
“Let me see … in the month you have been gone, I have heard from many people, but I do not believe any of them had news that would be of interest to you.”
“I expect to be in town for awhile; perhaps you might ask Lady Penelope to come to tea.” Since returning to London, Lady Penelope had taken tea with Fitzwilliam’s mother every few weeks, and the colonel joined them whenever he was available.
“Ah. Apparently, I do have news of interest to you. Lady Penelope is visiting friends somewhere in the north. I expect her to return before the end of May.” Samuels arrived with a tea tray, and Lady Fitzwilliam prepared a cup to her son’s preference.
“Friends in the north,” Fitzwilliam repeated. I’ve waited a month to see her; I can wait few more weeks.
≈≈≈
April 28, 1811
At first, the tapping on Darcy’s bedroom door was lightly done. However, when he failed to respond, the taps became knocks and then the knocks became quite forceful. “Brother, are you ill?” Georgiana called.
Sunday, the day of rest; would that I could command my thoughts to give me rest! Darcy mused. In a voice that was essentially a groan, he replied, “I have a slight headache; you and Mrs. Annesley must attend church without me.”
“Would you find comfort in a cup of tea or coffee?” Georgiana asked after a brief hesitation.
“No. Yes. I don’t know. Allow me to sleep a bit longer. I shall join you at nuncheon.” He remained in bed until the sound of his sister’s footsteps faded away. With a sigh, he pushed aside the covers and stood. As if I could sleep with my brain so bedeviled!
At the window overlooking the garden at the rear of the townhouse, Darcy tied back the draperies and opened the glass. It was nearly May, yet the morning air was cool, and he welcomed the light breeze on his face.
Is Elizabeth walking the grounds of Rosings now? Is she happy to know she need not fear encountering me? Yet, if she did not want my company, why did she make a point of telling me her favorite path? Unless … unless she wished to warn me away. Oh, but she knew of my feelings for her! No, her rejection and the letter she gave me yesterday—was it only yesterday?—made it quite clear that she did not know of my regard for her.
In his mind’s eye, he saw Elizabeth’s furious expression as she declared, “I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly!”
Recalling the words of his proposal, Darcy blushed. Yes, he had bestowed his good opinion unwillingly, resentfully even, as if she had used some trickery to attract him. He muttered, “Oh no, madam, your manner was even more insidious. You refused to treat me with the calculating adoration I had come to expect from marriageable young ladies. If your behavior had not been the opposite of Caroline Bingley’s, would I still have found you so appealing, Elizabeth Bennet?”
Yes, a thousand times yes, an inner voice declared as an image of her fine eyes and laughing face claimed his thoughts.
≈≈≈
“Mama is ignoring me,” Anne announced to Mrs. Jenkinson when they met in the breakfast room. “I am so happy! It’s as if Christmas and my birthday occurred on the same day. Now if we could only avoid attending Mr. Collins’s Sunday services, my happiness would be complete.”
“Perhaps Miss Elizabeth would enjoy a ride in your phaeton?”
“Oh, Nora, is there room for all of us?” Anne asked eagerly.
“We are not large ladies; I believe we can fit. But if we do not, I insist you and Miss Elizabeth take a drive without me. She is here for but a short while, whereas I will always be here.”
“It won’t be as much fun if you are not with us. If we cannot all fit in the phaeton, we will take some other vehicle or perhaps go for a walk. Christopher said she likes to walk.”
≈≈≈
When Elizabeth came downstairs at the parsonage, she saw Maria waiting uncertainly outside the dining room’s closed door. She could hear Collins’s angry tones on the other side of the door but not his words. “Maria, what is going on?” she whispered.
“While I was eating breakfast, Mr. Collins told me to leave so he could speak to Charlotte,” she whispered. “I would like to finish my toast, but my plate is in there, and he is so loud.”
“Let us go into the kitchen and have fresh toast and tea there,” Elizabeth said, offering her hand to the younger woman.
Grateful for the steadying touch of someone she respected, Maria clasped Elizabeth’s hand. “Papa never talks to Mama in the way Mr. Collins talks to Charlotte. It’s very unpleasant to hear.”
The cook made a place for the two young women at the kitchen table and, after providing a pot of tea, a plate of toast, and butter and jam, she went into the garden.
“Do you wish to know why Mr. Collins was so angry?”
Yes, indeed! thought Elizabeth. However, she said, “If he sent you out of the room, surely it was a private discussion.”
“Then he should lower his voice. You know he has Charlotte read his sermons—after Lady Catherine reviews them, of course. Well, last night, Mr. Collins changed his sermon for today. When Charlotte read his revisions this morning, she thought they contained a criticism … of you.”
“Of me?”
“Mr. Collins was upset after tea at Rosings. He felt you were impertinent. So, he added a condemnation—that’s what Charlotte called it—of ungrateful guests. Mr. Collins insisted the changes were quotes from the Bible, but Charlotte did not recognize them, so she asked him to show her the source. He became angry and said the quotes were in the spirit of Proverbs and could as well have come from there. Then he said Charlotte had no right to question him because he was her lord and master. Charlotte said
it did not speak well of him if he were to publicly complain about a house guest. That’s when he asked, well, told me to leave.”
“Oh, poor Charlotte! I do not want to be the cause of a disagreement between them.”
“I could not bear to have a husband who blasphemed by making up Bible quotes and then scolded me with a declaration that he was my lord and master!”
“It will be best if we pretend we have heard nothing. And I will school myself not take offense at anything Mr. Collins says, no matter how unkind or silly.”
Maria nodded solemnly. “Yes.”
“Let us finish readying ourselves for church. We do not want Mr. Collins to feel we are delaying him.”
6
"I want lessons in impertinence."
Less than an hour after Sunday services, Charlotte, Maria, and Elizabeth were picking herbs in the garden. When Anne stopped her phaeton outside the parsonage, the ladies responded with polite waves, and Charlotte, wiping her hands on her apron, came to the gate. “Good day, Miss De Bourgh, Mrs. Jenkinson.”
“Good day to you, Mrs. Collins,” Anne said. “We were hoping Miss Elizabeth would be free to join us for a drive.”
Elizabeth walked over to stand beside Charlotte. “Most kind of you to invite me, but I am reluctant to abandon my hostess in the midst of her household tasks.”
“Nonsense, Lizzy. I do not need you to hold my hand while I pluck a leaf or two,” Charlotte said, untying the apron that protected Elizabeth’s dress. “Go enjoy the day.” Opening the gate, she added, “An outing will do you good.”
Meeting Charlotte’s gaze, Elizabeth guessed her thought that Mr. Collins’s mood might improve if his cousin was away from the parsonage. So, she crossed to the phaeton, saying, “Ladies, I am yours to command.” Although she did not have a high opinion of either Miss De Bourgh or Mrs. Jenkinson—the former was dull and meek, and the latter was nearly invisible—she felt obliged to accept, as the ladies had kindly shared the sofa with her at tea the day before.
Anne smiled at Mrs. Jenkinson. “My dear friend assures me the three of us will fit.”
Elizabeth was pleased that Anne referred to Mrs. Jenkinson as her friend rather than her employee. She climbed up to the seat, and very quickly the ladies were comfortably settled. With an experienced hand, Anne urged the horse along the lane.
“I thank you for inviting me today,” Elizabeth said. “I have admired your phaeton, and you manage it masterfully.”
“I thank you for the compliment. We thought you might want company since my cousins have returned to London.”
Elizabeth was not certain how to respond, wondering whether Anne had felt neglected. “I hope you do not feel you would not have been welcome to visit the parsonage with them.”
“Not at all,” Anne said. “Mrs. Collins is always delightful; however, Mr. Collins—”
“He is your cousin, I believe, Miss Elizabeth,” Mrs. Jenkinson interjected as if to caution Anne against making an inappropriate remark.
“Yes, well, your cousin .…” Anne trailed off.
Elizabeth understood immediately. “While I have great affection for Charlotte—we were friends in Meryton—I find myself unable to appreciate the unique character of Mr. Collins. In fact, the first time I met him was when he arrived at my family’s estate last fall in search of a bride. He and I have no lengthy friendship; thus, if you have also found yourselves unable to appreciate his unique character, I take no offense on his behalf.”
“That was an interesting sermon Mr. Collins gave this morning,” Mrs. Jenkinson said.
“Ah, yes, the parable of the ungrateful guest,” Elizabeth said wryly.
“My uncle was a minister, so I consider myself well informed regarding Bible stories, yet that one was unknown to me,” Mrs. Jenkinson said.
“Was it?” Anne asked. “I am not so familiar with the chapters and verses. It certainly sounded like a Bible story, scolding some woman for not showing sufficient appreciation for, presumably, being welcomed into the house of the Lord.”
Elizabeth blushed, not certain whether she was more embarrassed by her cousin’s need to denounce her publicly or that he did so under the guise of quoting Scripture. Mrs. Jenkinson noted the conflicting emotions reflected in her countenance. “By any chance, Miss Elizabeth, are you familiar with what Mr. Collins quoted?”
“I understand that it is a non-canonical gospel.”
“Would that be the Gospel of William?” Miss Jenkinson guessed.
Elizabeth laughed lightly. “It would.”
“The gospel of William? There were no apostles named William,” Anne said.
Mrs. Jenkinson whispered in Anne’s ear. Shocked, Anne looked first at her companion and then at Elizabeth. “The gospel of William Collins, is it? Such a dreadful man! If you are not comfortable being under his roof, perhaps Mama will allow you to stay at Rosings.”
No thank you; I prefer the devil I know! Elizabeth thought, hoping her feelings could not be read in her face. “You are very kind to offer; however, my cousin was much calmer after the service. As he has now denounced me before his congregation, I believe he will be at peace until the next time I spark his ire.”
“When Mr. Collins is not fawning over Mama or me, he behaves very rudely to my dear Nora—Mrs. Jenkinson—and to the servants and anyone else he decides is beneath him. Nora is a gentleman’s daughter!”
Mrs. Jenkinson said, “When Mrs. Collins first arrived at the parsonage, we visited her at least twice a week. But within a month, Mr. Collins would insist on joining us. Our talks were then dominated by whatever topics he chose. Typically, his conversation consisted of four parts flattery to one part nonsense.”
Anne recalled, “I asked Mrs. Collins why her husband—well, I did not use the word ‘intruded’ but I have no doubt she took my meaning. She said when her husband realized I was ‘honoring Hunsford with my esteemed presence,’ he declared that upon my arrival, a servant must be sent fetch him, regardless of where he was or what he was doing.”
“We learned from the staff’s gossip that he also insisted Mrs. Collins arrange for Anne’s favorite pastries to be available at all times,” Mrs. Jenkinson said.
“Which, of course, made for unnecessary work. Thus, I rarely visit. Does this offend Mrs. Collins?” Anne asked, concerned.
“I’ve noted no indication of offense,” Elizabeth assured her.
Anne said, “An awkwardness occurs when a person is thought to require special treatment from everyone else in her orbit. In such circumstances, it is difficult to develop sincere friendships.”
As Elizabeth nodded, an image popped into her head, and she could not stop herself from giggling. Embarrassed, she hurriedly said, “Pardon! I had a thought that surprised me.”
“Oh, do tell us. I should like to laugh today,” Anne urged.
“Well, I was envisioning your words stitched on a sampler: ‘An awkwardness occurs when one person is perceived as requiring special treatment from everyone else in her orbit.’ Or ‘his orbit,’ as appropriate. What an interesting gift that would make.”
The ladies laughed together, each picturing the person to whom they would present such a sampler. Anne asked, “Would you give it to Mr. Collins?”
Elizabeth spoke without thinking. “I doubt that my cousin, like your cousin, would recognize the scold, no matter how neatly it was stitched.” Realizing she had just insulted a relative of Anne’s, she gasped. “Please excuse my foolish words!”
“I assume you are referring to Darcy, for Christopher gets along with everyone.”
“Oh dear, forgive my rudeness,” Elizabeth said sincerely.
“If I had learned cross-stitching, I would be happy to present that sentiment to Darcy. When we were children, we got along quite well. But the older we grow, the more reserved he becomes. Sometimes he seems like a dyspeptic statue,” Anne said. Elizabeth tried and failed to suppress another giggle.
“In fairness to Mr. Darcy—” Mrs. Jenkinson began.
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br /> “Who has never bothered to have a conversation with you,” Anne said disapprovingly. To Elizabeth, she added, “Nora has never mentioned it, but I have observed my unsociable cousin, and his behavior does not sit well with me.”
“In fairness to Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Jenkinson began again, “he has much responsibility, which he takes very seriously. His own estate is home to many tenant farms. I doubt that these annual visits are pleasure jaunts, for he and the colonel spend hours reviewing the operation of Rosings. Also, Miss Elizabeth, he and the colonel share guardianship of Miss Darcy.”
Elizabeth recalled the comments from a letter Caroline Bingley had written to Jane after the Bingleys departed Netherfield last year. Caroline had all but said that her brother would offer for Darcy’s young sister. “I have not met Miss Darcy but have heard she is a very accomplished lady.”
“Georgiana and I exchange letters, but she never joins her brother on his visits. Mama scares her,” Anne said. “I do wish for Darcy to be happy, but with his stern demeanor and judgmental nature, I cannot imagine how that can be achieved. However, as he and I have now made clear to Mama that an engagement between us neither exists nor is desired, perhaps he will meet a lady who can help him to be happy. Our ‘disengagement’ discussion was the highlight of dinner on the night before my cousins fled Rosings.”
The ladies were silent as Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson recalled the conversation, unaware that Elizabeth would have given a year’s pin money to hear the details. Resigning herself to ignorance in the matter, she turned her attention to Mrs. Jenkinson. “May I ask how you became Miss De Bourgh’s companion?”
“I will tell you on one condition: please call me ‘Nora’; it is short for ‘Leonora.’”
“Happily. And I hope you will call me ‘Elizabeth.’”
“Well,” Anne said haughtily, “I insist on being called ‘Miss De Bourgh’ and having you both acknowledge that I require special treatment!” The sparkle in her eyes assured them she was teasing.
“Anne and I met in Bath some six years ago. I was married then; I am a widow now.”
