by Tilly Davis
The little village of Hunsford was set around a green, the border of which was Rosings Park itself, with views through the surrounding trees to the house, which was indeed a most fine and grand set of buildings.
There were around forty dwellings in the village, and a small inn on the green, ‘the de Bourgh Arms,’ for Hunsford was a regular stop for travellers bound for Dover and the south coast, and one could often observe unfamiliar faces travelling through.
The parsonage had an attractive garden to its rear, as well as a small formal garden at its front, and as we observed last night opposite to it was the lychgate, by which one entered the churchyard.
The church itself was of pre-reformation build, and had suffered considerably at the hands of Mr. Collins’ puritanical predecessors, its interior now largely being of wooden pews, and whitewashed walls, redolent of the Protestantism now preached within its walls.
The graveyard contained the remains of Hunsfords’ past inhabitants, as well as a section reserved for the de Bourgh family, and was surrounded by a similar privet hedge to that of the parsonage, a little path leading through it to the church, from which the sound of the bell was now emanating.
‘We shall be late to divine service,’ Mrs. Bennet called to Elizabeth, as her daughter appeared in the kitchen that morning, having passed a tolerable night’s sleep in her new home.
‘Mr. Collins is certainly vigorous at his bells,’ she said, ‘they began half an hour ago.’
‘Then we have no excuse for being late,’ Mrs. Bennet said, consuming the last of her bread and jam, as Elizabeth put on her bonnet and the pair prepared to depart.
Several of the villagers looked with interest as Elizabeth and her mother came down the path from the parsonage and crossed over to the church, the gentlemen doffing their caps and one or two of the ladies giving a slight curtsey as they realised that this was to be the new wife of their rector.
‘What pleasant people they seem,’ Mrs. Bennet whispered, as she and Elizabeth entered the cool church, the smell of damp woodwork hitting them, as it does one in any English church.
‘My dear cousin, I thought you would not make the service,’ Mr. Collins said, appearing a little irritated.
‘We are a full quarter of an hour early to the service,’ Elizabeth replied, as she and her mother seated themselves on a pew close to the front of the church.
‘You cannot sit there,’ Mr. Collins said, ‘you will be directly behind Lady Catherine de Bourgh, sit here instead, the lady does not like anyone to sit close to her whilst at divine service.’
Elizabeth and her mother now moved across the church to the place of Mr. Collins’ indication, taking their seats as the clergyman continued to fuss around them.
As the church began to fill with the inhabitants of Hunsford, Elizabeth stole a glance round to see who her new companions would be. The villagers were a mixture of farming folk and tradesmen, and appeared friendly, amicably chatting to one another as the bell continued to ring.
It was no doubt getting close to nine o’clock and Mr. Collins was now dressed in his surplice, preaching band, black scarf, and hood, the epitome of a clergyman of the established church.
The service was about to begin when a hush descended upon the congregation as the door to the church opened, and a sickly-looking girl, dressed in a black dress and shawl entered, followed closely by a most haughty-looking woman, herself also dressed in black, her head covered by a hat and thin veil.
Mr. Collins rushed to the door to greet them, leaving Elizabeth in no doubt that this was Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the woman of whom she had heard so much about, and whose presence she was now in.
Given Mr. Collins’ exhortation of the lady in question, Elizabeth found herself somewhat underwhelmed by her presence. She was shorter than Elizabeth had expected, and the girl who accompanied her, no doubt her daughter, whom Elizabeth recalled was named Anne, appeared most unwell, her coughs now emanating around the church, as Mr. Collins led the two women to their places, neither of them casting a glance at anyone else, as they settled themselves down before the service began.
With the principal guests now in attendance, Mr. Collins made his way to the front of the church and began the service.
‘O Lord, open thou our lips,’ he intoned.
‘And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise,’ the congregation responded.
‘O God, make speed to save us,’ he said.
‘O Lord, make haste to help us,’ came the response.
Mr. Collins was a pompous man, this much we have noted, but it seemed that his pomposity, and the exaggeration of his voice, was only magnified in the setting of the church, where he led the service in such a way that Elizabeth found herself more bored than she ever recalled having been during worship in the past.
His sermon concerned the finer points of exposition surrounding Our Lord’s burial in the tomb on Good Friday, a matter upon which he was well versed, sharing with the congregation many insightful comments regarding the translation of the scriptures from their original Greek, not having fully discerned that most of the residents of Hunsford struggled to read English, let alone the Gospel in its first language.
As the service ended Elizabeth noticed her mother leaning a little heavily upon her, and gently shaking her awake Mrs. Bennet pronounced herself fully aware of all that had occurred, though later admitting that perhaps the journey of yesterday had been something of a tiring ordeal.
As the congregation filed from the church, enlightened no doubt by Mr. Collins’ exposition, that same gentleman reserved most of his pastoral concern for the lady of Rosings Park who, despite her mere toleration of her chaplain, was keen to meet the woman whom the rector had chosen as his wife.
‘And she has arrived safely, Mr. Collins,’ Lady Catherine said, as she and Anne stood at the church door conversing with the clergyman.
‘She has indeed, Lady Catherine, at around five o’clock last night, she and her mother, safely arrived from Longbourn.’
‘Her mother too?’ Lady Catherine said, ‘I was going to enquire as to her chaperone, it would not do for an unmarried lady to reside at the rectory without one.’
‘Indeed, it would not, madam,’ Mr. Collins said, a little offended that Lady Catherine would think his morals so low as to even consider such an arrangement.
‘Ah, here she is now, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, may I introduce my wife-to-be, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and her mother.’
Both Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet effected a curtsey, as Lady Catherine looked on, somewhat disapprovingly.
‘She’s taller than I expected,’ the lady said, ‘though I have no doubt that you have made suitable choice Mr. Collins,’ and addressing Elizabeth she continued, ‘has your mother taught you to cook and to sew? The rectory here employs only a housemaid, and you will be expected to undertake a great many duties.’
‘She has been well prepared for her marriage,’ Mrs. Bennet said, taking a dislike to Mr. Collins’ patroness, a sentiment shared by Elizabeth.
‘And you reside at Longbourn, your husband has not accompanied you? And Mr. Collins tells me you have four other daughters, I could not believe it to hear of five daughters all in need of a husband,’ Lady Catherine continued.
‘My husband must remain at home to see to my daughters, and to the house,’ Mrs. Bennet said, ‘Longbourn is perhaps not as grand as Rosings Park, but it is certainly a house in need of management.’
‘Indeed, I can see it requires management,’ Lady Catherine said, still eyeing Elizabeth up and down, ‘tell me, whilst at Longbourn these past months did you make the acquaintance of my nephew Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?’ Or perhaps his circles were a little different to yours.’
At the mention of Mr. Darcy, Mr. Collins grimaced a little and attempted to steer the conversation in a different direction, but Elizabeth was happy to answer, if it should mean upsetting Lady Catherine’s sensibilities a little more.
‘Oh, we did indeed make the acquaintance of the
gentleman in question, and of his friend Mr. Bingley, in fact we were invited to dine there with Mr. Collins himself, were we not, cousin?’ Elizabeth said.
‘We were indeed, cousin,’ Mr. Collins said, appearing a little embarrassed since he had made mention only of his own dining with the Netherfield set to Lady Catherine, ignoring the fact that the Bennets had been present too.
Lady Catherine looked somewhat incredulous, and made to remark that it must be a poor social scene at Meryton, and that Mr. Darcy must surely have hated it, given his position in society. Anne remained at her side, quiet, and meekly awaiting the conclusion of her mother’s interrogation.
After further gushing from Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine and Anne made their way to the waiting horse and trap which would transport them back to Rosings Park, Elizabeth and her mother returning across to the parsonage where the smell of roast beef was emanating from the kitchen, Lady Catherine’s assessment of the domestic arrangements being less than accurate.
‘She is a perfectly horrible woman,’ Elizabeth said, once she and Mrs. Bennet were out of Mr. Collins’ earshot.
‘Elizabeth, we should not speak ill of one who is in such a position over the living that you are to enjoy here,’ her mother said.
‘I’m not sure I will enjoy it, Mother, if this is what I am to be subjected to, the way she looked down upon us, why she should be Caroline Bingley’s aunt rather than Mr. Darcy’s,’ Elizabeth said, as she and her mother settled themselves at the dining table to await Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth had certainly not warmed to the idea of life in Hunsford, given her encounter with its most formidable resident. Lady Catherine de Bourgh had led something of a difficult life, though one is always wont to judge a person with great wealth as one for whom difficulty is lessened, whatever that difficulty might be. A widower at an early age, she had spent much of her life caring for her daughter Anne, a shy, sickly, and reclusive girl who was a source of shame to Lady Catherine, her prospects of marriage somewhat thin.
At one time Lady Catherine had hoped that her dashing nephew Mr. Darcy would be the one to marry Anne, thus uniting the two great estates of Pemberley and Rosings Park, but now that the engagement between that gentleman and Miss Caroline Bingley had been announced, the prospects for Anne appeared vastly diminished.
‘I have just spoken again to Lady Catherine de Bourgh and she was most delighted to meet you,’ Mr. Collins said, as he entered the parsonage after greeting the last of his parishioners, ‘most delighted indeed, she told me that I had made a most adequate choice.’
‘And indeed you have, sir,’ Mrs. Bennet said, as the beef joint was brought to the table.
The atmosphere at Evensong was similar to that of the morning, though Lady Catherine de Bourgh had deigned not to be present, her daughter Anne sitting in the family pew, wrapped in a shawl and shivering, for the church could become very cold, even in the springtime.
As Mr. Collins pronounced the blessing at the end of the service, Elizabeth could not help but feel a twinge of sadness once more that this was to be her lot, though soon without her mother there for company.
How would she fill her days there in Hunsford without the ever-present interest of her sisters? Who would she confide in now that Jane and her closest friend Charlotte were so far away? As the sun set upon Hunsford, and the lights were lit at Rosings Park, Elizabeth found herself dejected at the prospect of the life she had chosen, Mr. Collins maintained his almost constant commentary on the life of Lady Catherine, whilst Elizabeth and her mother sat before the fire, both already tired of Hunsford.
4
A Letter and an Approaching Marriage
It was just a week before the wedding, and much preparation had already taken place at Hunsford before the arrival of the Bennet family to witness the marriage of Mr. Collins and Elizabeth.
She and her mother had spent time walking in the vicinity, which was indeed most pleasant, the surrounding Kent countryside a mixture of picturesque views, little villages, woodland and meadow, of which Rosings Park provided a splendid centrepiece.
Mr. Collins had assured his wife-to-be that an invitation to dine there would be forthcoming after their marriage, and Elizabeth had resigned herself to this fate, amongst many others.
For now, though, she looked forward to the arrival of her sisters, along with Charlotte Lucas, and her father to Hunsford in a few days’ time, the prospect of the wedding pushed to the back of her mind.
Mr. Collins spent much of the time attending to his parochial duties, though much of this duty confined him to the study of the parsonage, the younger and less well-educated curates attending to the spiritual needs of the population.
Mrs. Bennet, having seen the situation in which her daughter was to remain, could not help but worry a little at the prospect of the marriage, though she put such thoughts out of her head, and concentrated upon the arrangements, of which she considered there to be many.
It was not to be large wedding, though the parsonage at Hunsford was not adequate to contain all of the guests, and thus only Mr. Bennet and Jane would stay there, the other sisters and Charlotte Lucas consigned to the village inn, which Mr. Collins had assured Mrs. Bennet would be a suitable place in which they could lodge.
But as the wedding drew nearer Elizabeth received a letter from her sister which was to cause considerable concern to both her and her mother.
My dearest Elizabeth,
I write with some unfortunate news, though father would be most put out if he knew that he were the subject of my correspondence. He himself has, this past week, been taken ill, Doctor Dukes says it is an infection of the lungs, and has consigned father to bed with a strong tonic, and orders that he must be kept warm at all times.
I have seen to it that a fire has been kindled in his bedroom grate from dawn to dusk, but it has taken him ever such a while to right himself, though he appears well now.
It has greatly distressed us all to see him in this way, and I must confess to have been most worried as to his state of health. He is though determined to travel to Hunsford, and to witness your wedding to Mr. Collins and so we will make the journey as planned and trust that all is prepared for our arrival.
I think of you each day, my dearest sister, and I pray that you are happy there in Hunsford, we look forward ever so much to being with you next week.
With my love and affection to you and to mother.
Jane.
‘But Mr. Bennet is never ill,’ Mrs. Bennet cried, as she snatched the letter from Elizabeth and read it out loud again, ‘he is never ill, always in the rudest of health, oh, how shall my nerves stand this, to think of him travelling this distance when the doctor has confined him to his chamber, and what if he falls ill whilst he is here, how shall we care for him in a place such as this?’ for Mrs. Bennet had realised that the parsonage at Hunsford, despite Mr. Collins’ boasts to the contrary, was nothing compared to her own beloved Longbourn.
‘I shall write back to Jane and insist upon his not coming,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Not coming to his own daughter’s wedding?’ Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, ‘he should never condescend to such a request, he is stubborn as a mule, I fear there is nothing we can do to prevent it. Now this worry alongside all the preparations to be made here, it is too much for my nerves, Kent is such a strange place, whatever are we to do.’
And she bustled off, leaving Elizabeth alone in the kitchen holding Jane’s letter.
She knew that her father was in ever increasing poor health, and no doubt a journey to see her married here at Hunsford would only increase his susceptibility to illness, yet how desperately she wished to see him, to see them all in fact.
Thus, she wrote back to her sister expressing her sympathies, but extolling their forthcoming visit, and reminding her of just how much she wished to see them.
The marriage between Mr. Collins and Elizabeth had sparked considerable interest amongst the local people, and with the arrival of the Bennets into the village, w
hich happened two days prior to the wedding, on the Thursday of a week in late April, their interest was once more aroused.
Mr. Bennet, now in a better state of health then when Jane had written to her sister, had insisted that they leave Longbourn as early as possible, thus their breakfast, usually eaten around ten o’clock in the morning, was served at seven, Mary, who always rose early, was charged with rousing the others. Thus, it was that the carriage set out from Longbourn at eight o’clock, pausing at Meryton Lodge to collect Charlotte Lucas, who was eager to see her friend again.
Elizabeth spent most of that day looking out for the arrival of her family, Mrs. Bennet fussing over preparations for the wedding, of which there very few, it being a low-key affair befitting a clergyman, its only grandiose feature being the presence of my Lord Bishop of Rochester who would arrive on Saturday morning to preside at the matrimony.
It was around three o’clock that the carriage pulled into Hunsford, the Bennet girls and Charlotte Lucas enjoying the spectacle of Rosings Park, Kitty and Lydia speculating as to whether a regiment had ever been stationed there and Mary commenting on its architectural features of which she had read about in a book discovered in Mr. Bennet’s library.
On her part Jane had spent much of the journey concerned for her father’s welfare, but the gentleman in question, who did appear older than he had done so recently, had passed the ride in reasonable comfort, his own excitement at seeing his daughter, and if truth be told his dear wife, compensating for any discomfort on his own part.
‘The carriage is here, Mother, they are here,’ Elizabeth called as her family pulled up outside, Charlotte Lucas the first to disembark.
‘They are not due yet,’ her mother called from upstairs, ‘they cannot be here yet, all is not prepared, whatever was Jane thinking in making your father leave so early, a man in his condition, oh my.’