by Tilly Davis
My dear Mr. Bennet,
I write to you this afternoon after having received correspondence from one Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
At this Mr. Collins laid down his knife and fork and adopted an heir of due respect, looking attentively at Mr. Bennet who continued to read.
It is my understanding that you have staying with you at present a clergyman of some renown by the name of Mr. William Collins, rector of Hunsford, and chaplain to the lady in question at Rosings Park. She happens also to be the aunt of my good friend Mr. Darcy, with whom you and your family are acquainted.
Given this happy circumstance of mutual connection, myself and my sisters would be deeply gladdened if you, Mr. Collins and your family would care to dine with us at Netherfield Park this Thursday evening at seven o’clock. With your permission I shall send a carriage to collect you and transport you home again, I do not wish tragedy to befall a member of your family again on a visit to Netherfield. and once again may I say how pleased I was to find Jane in such rude health when we visited Longbourn the other day.
It will be our pleasure to welcome Mr. Collins here, and I know that Mr. Darcy too looks forward to continuing his acquaintance with your family.
Until Thursday evening, I remain yours, every faithfully.
Charles Bingley, Esq.
‘Lady Catherine de Bourgh does a great service to me,’ Mr. Collins said, appearing somewhat misty-eyed as he considered his benefactor.
‘How kind of Mr. Bingley to invite us to dine at Netherfield,’ Mrs. Bennet said, ‘a true gentleman. Jane, you are clearly highly favoured, he refers to you in passing through the letter.’
‘He refers to her illness, Mother,’ Lydia said, ‘it’s hardly a marriage proposal.’
‘A child like you would not understand,’ Mrs. Bennet said pointedly to her daughter, who immediately adopted an attitude of sulking, for although she certainly was a child, Lydia Bennet did not like being reminded of the fact, her ill-thought-out words often being enough to warrant such recollection from others.
‘I shall reply to Mr. Bingley this morning after breakfast,’ Mr. Bennet said, ‘to dine at Netherfield will be quite an honour.’
‘I have no doubt that Mr. Darcy is a man of fine character given his familial connections,’ Mr. Collins said.
‘He is a man of considerable standing,’ Mr. Bennet replied, ‘they say the estate at Pemberley is quite magnificent.’
‘I doubt it rivals Rosings Park,’ Mr. Collins said, ‘I can only imagine that Netherfield itself bears little resemblance to the grandeur of my patron’s home, though I look forward to seeing it, and to making further acquaintance with the nephew of one who has done such kindness in recommending me to Mr. Bingley, I shall write to her now and thank her.’
And leaving his eggs and ham almost untouched, Mr. Collins went to do just that, the letter dispatched shortly afterwards, a farm boy walking to the village entrusted it in return for a penny.
‘An invitation to Netherfield to dine, our company is clearly in high demand,’ Mr. Bennet said, as he finished his breakfast, Mrs Bennet agreeing with her husband and their daughters finding themselves in varied levels of excitement, as the prospect of Thursday evening approached.
The days that followed the arrival of Mr. Bingley’s invitation passed somewhat uneventfully. Mr. Collins took walks accompanied by his cousins who had taken it upon themselves to relieve their father of his constant presence in his study, a fact for which Mr. Bennet was most grateful.
Lydia and Kitty had walked with Mr. Collins into Meryton where he had admired the church and had called upon the rector, Mr. Granville Hicks, commenting to the gentleman that his own living was somewhat similar to this, bordered as it was by a great house. Mr. Collins was most surprised however to learn that Mr. Hicks had never heard of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, though he himself had been educated at Merton College, Oxford, and had never ventured much further than the surrounding county lines.
‘But Lady Catherine is renowned throughout the land,’ Mr. Collins had said, a fact which fell on deaf ears, quite literally, as the rector of Meryton used a horn to hear through, and had conveniently left it in the rectory whilst escorting the gentleman around the church.
Mr. Collins remarked on their walk home that he would not trade the living at Meryton for his own, a fact that Lydia and Kitty agreed was for the best.
With Mary, the clergyman sat and discussed Shakespeare, for Mr. Collins believed himself to be something of an expert upon the bard, having seen several productions of his works performed in London itself.
‘I have seen Hamlet, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Othello, and of course Romeo and Juliet,’ he informed her, ‘though perhaps my favourite of his works is The Merchant of Venice, a play with such intensity, after all a pound of flesh is often what is required of us all, don’t you think?’
Mary did think, and she thought her cousin to be perhaps the most ridiculous man she had ever met, a fact she would readily have told him if she had not been aware of his position in relation to Longbourn, the home in which she hoped to spend the rest of her life, an attraction to men being low in her ambitions.
Mr. Collins largely ignored Jane, having given her up as lost to the attractions of Mr. Bingley, a fact which would be only strengthened by the dinner planned for Thursday evening.
As for Elizabeth, he remained the model of courtesy though veiled in a subtle threat, the future of Longbourn never far from their discussion, it wouldn’t do, he said to her, to think of Longbourn in the hands of others one day.
But as Thursday dawned, Elizabeth found herself not dwelling upon her cousin’s words, but instead looking forward to seeing Mr. Darcy once again. If truth be told, thoughts of him had been foremost in her mind. The way he had looked at her, during the visit which he and Mr. Bingley had paid to Longbourn just a short while ago, was an image which played across her mind. It seemed he appeared more charming each time they met, though she was still wont to judge him on that first meeting at the Assembly Room ball, she herself being disposed to take first impressions as indicative of true character, whether or not such should be the case.
But whatever Mr. Darcy’s motivations might be, she felt certain that more would be revealed, and as the family prepared to dine at Netherfield, the thought of Pemberley’s heir was never far from her mind.
6
A Dinner and a Proposal
‘Oh, Mr. Bennet, remain still a moment, won’t you please, this button will not fasten itself around your neck,’ Mrs. Bennet said, attempting to assist her husband into his formal wear.
The evening of Thursday had arrived, and the family were busy preparing themselves for the arrival of the carriage at Longbourn which would transport them to Netherfield.
‘Why must we ride in a carriage? It’ll be terribly cramped,’ Mary complained, as she stood waiting by the door.
‘Well, how else would we arrive at Netherfield?’ Mrs. Bennet asked, ‘are we to walk there like commoners?’
‘I should rather not go at all,’ Mary replied.
‘Come now, Mary,’ Mr. Bennet said, ‘we can return to the safety of the study after the ladies of the house have had their fun, why we might even have some ourselves at their expense if we are careful in our observation,’ and he smiled at his middle daughter.
‘Keep still, Mr. Bennet!’
‘Mother, the carriage is approaching,’ Kitty called from outside, where she and Lydia had been awaiting it.
At that moment, the button at the top of Mr. Bennet’s best shirt detached itself spectacularly from its place, flying across the hallway and landing at the feet of Mr. Collins, who was dressed in the most peculiar outfit one could imagine, his starched clerical collar sitting so high up his neck that his ample chin rested upon it, creating a tiered effect redolent of a rolled ham.
The rest of him was clad in a black suit, which appeared a little moth-eaten, though was presumably his best.
‘Oh, Mr. Bennet, what are we to do now?’ his wife waile
d, as Jane and Elizabeth both appeared in the hallway.
But at their appearance all thought of the missing button melted from their mother’s mind as she beheld her two daughters who no one could deny appeared most radiant in their attire.
‘Jane and Elizabeth, you are both the model of womanly grace and beauty,’ their father declared, looking them up and down approvingly.
‘And may I add too that Elizabeth, you are most strikingly beautiful,’ Mr. Collins said, ignoring Jane, and focusing entirely upon her sister.
The two girls gave a mock curtsey, and Mrs. Bennet embraced them both.
‘Jane, I have no doubt that Mr. Bingley will only seek to increase your courtship when he beholds you tonight, you are truly your mother’s daughter, isn’t she, Mr. Bennet?’
‘Truly so,’ the gentleman replied, giving both of his daughters a wry smile.
The family now stepped out into the moonlit evening, and as their transport approached Mrs. Bennet gave her daughters one final look over, pronouncing each of them as more than adequate.
‘May I help you, Cousin Elizabeth?’ Mr. Collins said, proffering his hand, as Elizabeth stepped up into the carriage.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, as he settled himself in next to her for the ride to Netherfield.
To walk that evening would have been a more comfortable experience, for Mr. Bingley’s carriage, though most adequate for him, was somewhat cramped for a family of seven and an ample clergyman. Thus, it was that they arrived at Netherfield eager to disembark, the bumpy track through the parkland not having helped matters at all.
‘It is a most fine house,’ Mrs. Bennet said, as she stood surveying the façade, whilst the others clambered out.
‘Most fine indeed, though as I predicted, and had observed from a distance during my walks this week, nothing in comparison to Rosings Park,’ Mr. Collins observed.
‘I have no doubt that what it lacks in architectural finery, it makes up with by the warmth of the welcome within,’ Mr. Bennet said, as a livery-clad footman arrived at the door.
‘Would you come this way,’ he said, as the family ushered themselves inside, Mrs. Bennet marvelling at the finery she beheld, for Netherfield Park was, despite Mr. Collins’ observation, a fine house indeed, and contained one of the best collections of English portraiture in the country.
‘Oh, I can just imagine balls and parties here,’ Kitty said, ‘wasn’t it once let to a military family for a while, Mother?'
‘Yes, that’s right, dear,’ Mrs. Bennet replied, her own attention still fixed on the fixtures and fittings.
‘You know the entrance hall at Rosings Park is twice the size of this,’ Mr. Collins said to Elizabeth, as the footman led them through the hallway and towards the reception room in which Mr. Bingley was awaiting them.
On her part Elizabeth found the subject of entrance halls rather dull, the size of one’s house no indicator as to the size of one’s heart or mind. But of this opinion she remained silent, as Mr. Collins continued his inane chatter.
‘Mr. and Mrs. George Bennet, The Reverend Mr. William Collins, and the Ladies Bennet,’ the footman announced, as they now entered a well-lit salon, furnished in only the finest furniture which money could buy.
‘I’m so glad you could make it,’ Mr. Bingley said, rising immediately from his chair as the ladies gave a curtsey, Mr. Darcy too rose from his chair and offered a similar obeisance whilst Caroline Bingley remained resolutely seated in silence close to the fire.
‘I trust the carriage ride was a comfortable one?’ he continued.
‘Why, yes indeed, sir,’ Mrs. Bennet lied, ‘and may I say how deeply honoured we are to be invited to Netherfield to dine this evening, your hospitality knows no bounds.’
Mr. Bingley laughed.
‘Well, it is my, our pleasure, to welcome our neighbours and friends here to Netherfield, all of us have been anticipating your arrival in great excitement, have we not?’
‘We have,’ Mr. Darcy said, his eyes fixed upon Elizabeth who gave a slight blush.
Caroline Bingley once again remained silent.
‘A fine house indeed is Netherfield,’ Mr. Bennet observed, ‘a fine house indeed, as a boy I used to come here to play with the Duke’s children, I was always taken by the gardens of the park, so fine and yet so expansive, we used to roam for hours in them.’
‘Fond memories indeed, sir,’ Mr. Bingley, ‘now, won’t you all sit down?’
The party spread itself around the room, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet seating themselves close to the fire, with Lydia and Kitty at their sides, the two girls in a perpetual state of giggles as Mrs. Bennet attempted to chastise them.
Mr. Darcy sat next to Mary, whilst Elizabeth and Jane sat together close to Caroline Bingley who was yet to utter a word either in greeting or in conversation.
Mr. Collins, who wished to make the acquaintance of Mr. Darcy, sat as close as possible to that gentleman who did his best to ignore him, whilst Charles Bingley took the centre stage, and led the conversation, whilst glasses of blackberry wine were poured, and the guests continued their commentary upon the beauty of the room in which they now found themselves.
‘Do you expect to remain at Netherfield for long, sir?’ Mrs. Bennet asked, as Mr. Bingley passed round the glasses.
‘At least for the season, yes, we are most taken with it, and of course with its company,’ he said, glancing at Jane who smiled back at him.
If truth be told both Jane and Mr. Bingley found themselves rather lacking when it came to placing themselves in the position of vulnerability which is required in order to express a sentiment of love and affection for another. So far each had merely allowed themselves to perceive the other’s evident attraction, but it would be up to Mr. Bingley to propose the pursuit of that attraction, such was the order of things. And resolving to do this filled him with both dread and joyful anticipation.
‘And you, Mr. Darcy, will you remain here too for that length of time?’ Mrs. Bennet continued, the conversation having thus far been led largely by herself.
‘I may indeed remain, though I am mindful of my own estate at Pemberley where my sister resides, she is resting at this time following something of a difficult upheaval and so I may visit her there, or it is possible we shall both go to Rosings Park in Kent, the home of my aunt.’
At this Mr. Collins piped up, he had been waiting for such an opportunity, and now that he had found it he took full advantage.
‘Lady Catherine de Bourgh?’ he said.
Mr. Darcy turned to him, having thus far ignored the clergyman who offered nothing of interest to him except slight comedic value in his appearance.
‘That’s right, are you acquainted with Lady Catherine?’
‘Why, sir, I am,’ Mr. Collins continued, ‘Lady Catherine de Bourgh is my patroness at Hunsford, I am appointed her private chaplain at Rosings Park, and have dined there on no less than three separate occasions.’
Lady Catherine had indeed mentioned Mr. Collins to her nephew though not by name, her opinion of him having been summarised in a letter to Mr. Darcy in which she described the new rector as ‘tolerable with many flaws,’ a fact which had Mr. Collins known would no doubt have sent him into a state of nervous shock and horror, his own opinion of himself assumed to be that of others.
‘I had been informed that a new rector had come to the parish,’ Mr. Darcy said, ‘I am pleased then to make your acquaintance. Do you reside here in the neighbourhood for long, a fortuitous connection, but are there not parochial duties to attend to?’
‘I am fortunate in possessing several curates in the parish who will see to the work, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh was most gracious in permitting me this leave of absence in order that I might visit my inheritance here at Longbourn.’
‘A fine inheritance it is, sir,’ Mr. Bingley said, ‘though should Mr. Bennet receive the gift of a grandson in his lifetime then presumably Longbourn would pass to him?’
‘A possibility,’ Mr. Collins
said.
At this awkward moment in the conversation the sound of a gong resonated through the house and the footman announced that dinner would be served at Mr. Bingley’s convenience in the dining room.
It being now convenient for the conversation to take a new direction, Mr. Bingley ushered his guests from the salon, offering his arm to Jane as he did so, she gladly taking it as they made their way to dine. Caroline Bingley followed behind with incredulity.
Mr. Darcy had been too late to offer his arm to Elizabeth, she being escorted by Mr. Collins who was making loud comments about the state of the wallpaper in comparison to Rosings Park, much to the chagrin of their hosts.
‘Oh, Mr. Bennet, such a place puts our own humble abode to shame,’ Mrs Bennet said, as they entered the dining room where every candle had been lit, casting a warm glow across the large table, exquisitely laid with the finest china and cutlery in the house. A fire was burning in the grate, and around the walls the footmen stood waiting to serve the dinner, which Mr. Bingley had instructed was to be of only the finest quality.
He placed himself at the head of the table, inviting Jane to his side, and Mr. Darcy at the other end, with Caroline Bingley to his left. Mr. Bennet sat on Mr. Bingley’s other side, and Elizabeth next to her mother, who was on Mr. Darcy’s left, with Mr. Collins to her immediate left, the other Bennet girls fitting into the gaps.
When they were all seated, Mr. Bingley stood to welcome them.
‘May I say once more how delighted we are to welcome our friends and neighbours from Longbourn, and to make the acquaintance of Mr. Collins, you are all most welcome here, and may I begin a little out of custom by proposing a toast to the ladies.’
The gentlemen stood and raised their glasses which had hurriedly been filled.
‘To the ladies,’ they said, causing Lydia and Kitty once more to burst into uncontrollable laughter.
The footmen now brought the soup course to the table and began to serve, Mrs. Bennet commenting incessantly upon how wonderful everything was, the soup pronounced to be ‘exquisite,’ which indeed it was.