by Jann Rowland
“I always take great care, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth.
While she made all the appropriate comments, inside Elizabeth seethed at the ridiculous man. If one read between the lines—not difficult when the speaker was William Collins—his words were revealed as a concern that she would stay in his house for the rest of her life rather than any concern for her wellbeing. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was a woman of whom they had all heard much but never met, and given some of the nonsensical things Mr. Collins had attributed to her over the years, Elizabeth hoped the pleasure would be postponed indefinitely.
“I shall speak with my sister, Husband,” came Mary’s voice, as she stepped into the room behind her husband. “If you will leave us, I will ensure Elizabeth understands what you expect of her.”
With a beatific smile at his wife and a smug sneer for Elizabeth—which made him appear like a child—Mr. Collins turned and left the vestibule, the door to the study soon closing behind him. Interested in this change, Elizabeth eyed her sister, wondering why she had seen fit to intervene when she always allowed her husband to have his say, then speaking to Elizabeth about it later, usually with an admonishment delivered with perfunctory efficiency.
“I did not walk far, Mary,” said Elizabeth, seeking to forestall her sister’s expected rebuke. “It has been less than an hour since I departed.”
“Thank you for letting me know,” said Mary with a nod. “Did you inform the housekeeper when you left?”
“I did,” was Elizabeth’s simple reply.
Mary nodded as if the matter did not concern her at all. “Then you were here for much of the argument.”
With a sigh, Elizabeth nodded. “I was. It was one reason I left, for I did not wish to endure it any longer.”
With a brief nod Mary added: “I hope you do not think, as our mother does, that I am intent upon ruining Jane’s wedding for jealousy or whatever other silly reason she conjures.”
“No, Mary, I do not,” said Elizabeth.
Mary sighed and led Elizabeth back into the sitting-room. “The fact is we cannot afford all Mama wishes to do. You know something of the state of the books when Papa passed.”
“I helped him when I became old enough,” acknowledged Elizabeth.
“Then you know how Mama created hardship with her ways. I know it is hard to be denied what you have grown to expect, but we must economize if Longbourn is to recover. I am not denying you all you desire because I do not wish you to have it.”
Though Elizabeth was surprised at how open her sister was being—Mary had always remained closemouthed before—she could acquit her sister of cruelty. “No, Mary, I do not think it at all.”
With a smile, Mary nodded. “Then I thank you for understanding. When Jane leaves for her own home some of the restrictions will ease, though we will still need to be prudent.”
“And she has invited me to visit after her wedding tour,” reminded Elizabeth. “That will also help, though Mama will still be present.”
Mary laughed and said: “And Mama is more spoiled than you, as the youngest daughter, could ever be.”
“If anyone was spoiled,” said Elizabeth with a grin, “it would be Lydia. Mama doted on her so, for she is the most like Mama in both looks and temperament.”
“Do not remind me,” replied Mary, the rolling of her eyes speaking to her feelings for her younger sister. “I thank the Lord daily that Lydia married before our father passed away. Had she remained unwed, she and Mama together would have been the death of me.”
“Where is Mama now?” asked Elizabeth, though she thought she already knew the answer to her question.
“In the back parlor with Jane,” replied Mary, though with a hint of remaining exasperation. “I do not expect her to calm soon, but I hope she will refrain from screeching loud enough to be heard throughout the house.”
“Then I shall join my sister and attempt to placate her,” said Elizabeth, rising to her feet. “Perhaps it would be best if Mama requested a tray to her room tonight.”
Mary believed that the family should eat together and not make requests of the servants unless necessary. But she saw the wisdom in Elizabeth’s suggestion and nodded her agreement.
“If you can induce her to do so, I will instruct Mrs. Hill.”
With a smile, Elizabeth quit the room in search of her mother. Not only was Mary correct about her location, but Mrs. Bennet had never been one to modulate her voice, meaning Elizabeth could have found her even if Mary had made no mention of where she was.
“There you are, Lizzy!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet when she spied her daughter. “What do you make of Mary’s miserly behavior this time?”
“Mama, I do not think my sister means to curtail my celebration without cause,” cried Jane, her heightened tone and color indicating to Elizabeth this was not the first time she had said those words.
“Yes, she does,” snapped Mrs. Bennet. “Mary is as parsimonious as she is mingy; I do not know what I did to deserve such an odious daughter, for she has disappointed me again and again.”
“This is not helping, Mama,” said Elizabeth. “Mary has legitimate concerns for the state of the family finances.”
“She wants to ruin your sister’s wedding,” spat Mrs. Bennet. “And this after we celebrated her nuptials with as much cheer as she wishes to deny your sister.” Mrs. Bennet turned to Jane and said in a low—to her—voice: “She is jealous of you, Jane, for you are the most beautiful of my daughters.”
“There are few more frivolous accusations you could level at Mary than jealousy,” said Elizabeth, as Jane shook her head in denial. “Come, Mama, it is time to allow this matter to rest, at least for the present. Hurling such insults at our sister will only cause hurt and further anger to beset our home.”
Though their efforts were long and tiring, Elizabeth and Jane settled their mother in the end. Mrs. Bennet, a robust woman who could carry a grievance like a large sack on her back for miles, ceased her protestations, though Elizabeth could see her aggrieved glances by which she appeared to be attempting to pierce through walls to wherever her eldest daughter was at that moment. The suggestion of a tray, her mother accepted, and at length, they escorted her to her room, and saw her seated comfortably therein. When they left in each other’s company, it was all they could do not to sag against each other with relief.
“I wish Mama would see sense,” said Jane when they left the room. “There is no need for elaborate celebrations; it is the significance of the event that is important, not the trappings Mama thinks are so necessary!”
“Well do I know it,” replied Elizabeth. “But Mama is Mama. Such things are important to her; she will not see sense.”
“Then what are we to do?” fretted Jane.
“Perhaps you should send word to Mr. Bingley,” suggested Elizabeth. “It may be that he will have some notion of what is to be done.”
“Mr. Bingley has already assumed responsibility for my trousseau,” replied Jane. “I should not wish to ask him to assist with the wedding breakfast too.”
“I understand, Jane,” replied Elizabeth. “But the situation is becoming untenable, and you know Mama will not relent. I do not suggest Mr. Bingley take on all the expense. At the same time, he has some influence over her and may possess the ability to moderate her desires. You know she has no respect for Mr. Collins—perhaps she will listen to Mr. Bingley where she refuses to listen to anyone else.”
It was clear Jane was uncertain. Elizabeth grasped her sister’s shoulder and drew her in for an affectionate embrace. “Speak to him, Jane. He will wish you to come to him with such problems as this. There is little to lose at this juncture.”
With one last squeeze of her hand, Elizabeth turned away and went to her room, eager for the tranquility it would provide now that they had settled Mrs. Bennet. Perhaps she would nap before dinner. Such fortification obtained by rest was always to be desired when faced with the prospect of an evening in Mr. Collins’s presence.
; Chapter II
Jane and Elizabeth Bennet were like two peas in a pod. The youngest daughters of a country gentleman, and unlike their sisters to any degree, they had always been each other’s greatest support, best friend, and closest confidant.
When Mr. Bennet, one of the two pillars of her life, had passed, it had been Jane to whom Elizabeth turned for comfort. Two years Elizabeth’s elder, Jane had provided consolation, the knowledge that while change had been thrust upon them, she would not be lost on a sunless sea, forever adrift without a rudder.
With Jane’s engagement, however, Elizabeth often felt that fate was soon to be on her, had felt the waves crashing against her, threatening to send her to the watery depths of that ocean of despair, never to return. Such fanciful thoughts never lasted long, for Elizabeth was more pragmatic than that. The prospect of Jane’s departure, however, was not at all welcome, for she would be left in a house with three others, two of whom she had nothing in common, while the other she actively despised. While Elizabeth loved her mother and sister, there were times she did not like them much; the recent arguments had provided many examples of that.
Afraid though she was for her future, however, Elizabeth could not help but greet Jane’s fortune with pleasure. If anyone deserved such a good man as Mr. Bingley for a husband, it was her dearest sister. When she had first met Charles Bingley, Elizabeth had thought him an excellent man, but one of indifferent fortitude, forever at the beck and call of his sister. Of Miss Caroline Bingley, Elizabeth did not wish to think at all, for she and Miss Bingley were like hot oil and water.
Mr. Bingley, however, had proved his resolve more than once in the face of his sister—including one occasion when Elizabeth had by chance overheard him admonish her. When he made his proposal, it was clear on every subsequent occasion in Miss Bingley’s company that she did not appreciate his choice of wife; Miss Bingley was not above making snide comments encased in honey when she thought her brother unlikely to overhear. Elizabeth ignored the woman, though she would own to some concern about how she would affect her sister’s marriage.
On the occasion in question—the day after the argument at Longbourn—Mr. Bingley also proved himself keen of observation and understanding when he needed to be. The frequent battles between Mary and Mrs. Bennet had not all occurred out of his hearing, though both women had the sense to restrain themselves where he might overhear. Elizabeth did not know what Jane wrote in her letter to him but when he arrived the next day, he appeared to have some purpose in mind, which he addressed almost as soon as he entered the house.
“Mr. Bingley!” exclaimed Mr. Collins when the gentleman stepped into the room. “How wonderful it is to welcome you to my humble home. I hope all is well with you and your excellent sister?”
“It is, Mr. Collins,” replied Mr. Bingley. “I thank you for asking after us.”
It had always been thus between the two gentlemen; Mr. Collins possessed a groveling streak he could not quite suppress when he was in company with anyone he thought was above him in society. In this, Elizabeth thought he misread the situation to a certain extent, for while Mr. Bingley was a wealthy man, he did not yet own an estate, meaning he was not a gentleman. Mr. Collins, regardless of his descent or his lack of anything resembling intelligence, was a gentleman, at least in name. Elizabeth had often wondered about Mr. Collins’s behavior toward his patroness. What a ridiculous sight that must have been!
After a few moments of enduring Mr. Collins’s overt flattery, Mr. Bingley turned his attention to the reason for his visit. With Jane by his side, he spoke to Mary, who he understood would be the one to make the decisions.
“If you will pardon me for speaking on such a subject, I understand there has been some disagreement concerning our nuptials.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Bingley!” exclaimed Mr. Collins at once, interrupting whatever his wife or mother-in-law might have been about to say on the subject. “I am certain there can be no disagreement on the subject, for we would not wish to treat the event with anything other than the most honored occasion, just as it deserves!”
Elizabeth could see Mary’s tightening lips. It was beyond her understanding how Mr. Collins acted this way toward Mr. Bingley—or perhaps it was not so incomprehensible. It was part Mr. Collins’s inability to do other than lick the boots of any other man and part his fear that Mr. Bingley would withdraw his suit. In this he did not take into account how as a man, Mr. Bingley could not end an engagement and retain his respectability.
“That is encouraging, Mr. Collins,” replied Mr. Bingley. Then his eyes found Mary and Mrs. Bennet.
“We are determined to celebrate Jane’s wedding as the joyful event it is,” said Mary before her mother could interject. “My sister’s happiness is important to me—to us all. At the same time, we must do it in a fashion which makes sense, for we cannot overextend ourselves.”
It was clear in Mr. Bingley’s countenance that he understood Mary’s point. “That is prudent, Mrs. Collins. There is little sense in acting without caution and introducing waste.”
“But, Mr. Bingley!” said Mrs. Bennet, her protest no less than a wail. “There is a certain way we must do things. Should my daughter have anything less than the best, there will be talk in the neighborhood. Our consequence among our neighbors will fall because of it!”
“And so, we shall do everything possible to impress our neighbors,” replied Mr. Bingley, his tone placating. “To that end, I have a few suggestions, if you are willing to hear them.”
“Of course, we will hear them!” effused Mr. Collins. “No suggestion offered by yourself could ever go amiss, Mr. Bingley, for I am convinced you possess wisdom owned by few.”
It did not miss Elizabeth’s notice that Mr. Bingley made no reply to Mr. Collins’s enthusiasm, waiting instead for Mary. Though Mary did not respond at once, she eyed Mr. Collins for a moment before indicating her willingness to listen.
“My first suggestion is regarding the venue. Though Longbourn is a lovely estate, it is not large. Thus, I offer Netherfield as an alternative. The larger rooms at Netherfield would allow our guests to attend in greater comfort and with the greater kitchen capacity, the variety of dishes we could serve would make for a more enjoyable experience.”
While Mr. Collins broke out into another paean of praise for Mr. Bingley’s ingenuity, Elizabeth ignored him, as did everyone else. This decision, she knew, would be made by Mary and Mrs. Bennet, though Jane would also have something to say. Mrs. Bennet was the first to respond.
“At Netherfield? No, we cannot do it there! Netherfield is distant from the church and would be an inconvenience for our guests. Jane must have her wedding breakfast at Longbourn where she has lived all her life. We would not wish the neighbors to think we cannot host an appropriate fete at Longbourn.”
Though Mr. Collins’s lips twisted into a scowl and he opened his mouth to deliver a rebuke, Mary responded before he could find the words. “I believe I must agree with my mother, Mr. Bingley, though I thank you for your generous offer. Longbourn was the site of both my and my younger sister’s wedding breakfasts; it is more than large enough for the occasion.”
Mr. Bingley, who had never met Lydia, nodded as Mary turned to Jane. “It is your wedding breakfast, Jane. Do you wish to have it at Netherfield?”
“If you are willing, I would prefer to have my breakfast at Longbourn,” replied Jane, though in her diffident manner.
“It is no trouble, Jane,” replied Mary, giving her sister a soft smile.
Mrs. Bennet, watching this interaction between her daughters, smiled for what seemed like the first time in days. This was a large contrast to Mr. Collins’s frown, though again, no one paid any notice. Anything which he deemed must put him out in favor of his wife’s sisters must vex him.
Mary turned back to Mr. Bingley. “Again, I thank you, sir, but I believe we shall maintain Longbourn as the venue.”
“That is well,” said Mr. Bingley. It seemed to Elizabeth a faint air of relief
hovered about the gentleman, the reason for which she thought she understood. “Then perhaps we may discuss some of the other arrangements?”
The gentleman grinned and added: “Though I know we men must do as we are told when considering such events as a wedding breakfast, if I can be of assistance in any way, please do not hesitate to inform me.”
“There are a few matters about which we would appreciate your opinion, Mr. Bingley,” replied Mary, her words slow and thoughtful.
“Then by all means, let us speak of them.”
What followed would not end the arguments that had plagued Longbourn. But Elizabeth hoped it would lessen them to bearable levels. The litany of complaints Mrs. Bennet directed at her daughter was extensive, but Mr. Bingley listened to all with patience, deflecting where necessary, commiserating at times, and acting as the peacemaker between Mary and Mrs. Bennet when necessary. The man’s ability bespoke practice, leading Elizabeth to wonder if he had often acted as a buffer for his two sisters.
Some of Mrs. Bennet’s wilder demands the gentleman dissected and brought her around to a less expensive option, while he agreed with some of her other suggestions. While Mrs. Bennet was not pleased with everything they decided, Mr. Bingley had brokered a compromise which allowed for Mrs. Bennet to realize her desire to impress her neighbors and Mary to avoid straining the family resources.
“I should like to speak with Jane for a time,” announced Mr. Bingley when they finished discussing the breakfast. “Should we walk out?”
At times like this, Elizabeth could see the full extent of Mr. Collins’s ridiculous nature. While the discussion proceeded around him, Elizabeth had seen the petulance descend over him as he realized he was not to divorce himself from all responsibility for Jane’s celebration. Of more amusement was his sudden change from venerating Mr. Bingley to disapproving him for wishing to walk with Jane.