by Jann Rowland
At this suggestion, Jane turned her attention to her mother, and though her manner was as mild and obliging as ever, in her eyes there was a hint of steel which Mrs. Bennet had rarely, if ever, seen in her eldest child. “Mama, I think you had best cease this unseemly conversation and your attempts to undermine Lizzy. She is as capable as anyone I have ever known. If Mr. Collins feels that she is able to run his home, then you can have nothing to say on the matter.”
At that moment, Elizabeth returned to the room, and though Mrs. Bennet was upset that she had not obtained her objective, she was little disposed to continue the subject anyway. She could not understand how she had failed to win Jane over. Jane was meek and mild and in every way obliging—she should have bowed to her mother’s wishes without question, and Mrs. Bennet could not comprehend how she had failed to persuade her.
She was at a complete loss as to what she should do now. The mistress’s position appeared to be beyond her grasp forever.
Mrs. Bennet’s difficult day, however, was not finished, and later that evening, she was beginning to wonder if the fates had completely abandoned her. Mr. Bingley and his children had arrived for dinner with the Collinses, and though Mrs. Bennet sat resentfully in her chair, pushing the food around her plate without an appetite, the room had been filled with conversation and general good cheer . . . or as much cheer as could be expected, with the passing of Mr. Bennet putting a pall upon the party. Still, it was pleasant and familiar and sounded as a home would normally be expected to sound. Even Mary was more animated and included in the discussion than she normally would have been, which only served to raise Mrs. Bennet’s ire as she silently listened to the conversation for the whole of the evening.
It was after the Bingleys left for Netherfield that the latest blow to Mrs. Bennet’s world occurred. The subject of sleeping arrangements and bedchambers arose, and as the Collinses’ possessions had still not been unpacked from the wagon, which sat in the barn fully loaded, plans needed to be made for the disposition of their belongings. Mr. Collins raised the subject with his wife in the sitting room after the children had been sent to bed.
Now, it must be understood that while Longbourn was a moderately prosperous estate, well able to provide a comfortable standard of living for its inhabitants, it was by no means able to provide sufficient funds to allow them to spend in excess. Mrs. Bennet had often lamented the fact that Longbourn manor, though comfortable and pleasant, was not larger, and she had badgered her husband several times over the years to contract for an addition to be made to the house in order to make the estate more comfortable, particularly when her brother and sister Gardiner came to visit from London. Perversely, Mr. Bennet had always denied such requests out of hand, citing his wife’s expenditures as the reason why nothing could be put aside, as though it could conceivably be her fault that the estate was not more prosperous! Regardless, it was one of the few subjects on which Mr. Bennet had refused to be moved—regardless of how much she pressed him on it, he had remained firm and never yielded.
As a result, not including the master’s and mistress’s chambers, there were only five rooms as well as the nursery in the family apartments. The smallest chamber was set aside to house any visitors to the estate, which meant that there were only four available rooms. When Mrs. Bennet’s daughters had all lived at home, Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary, as the three eldest, had each had their own room, leaving the last room for Kitty and Lydia to share. Of course, once the eldest girls had married, the arrangements had changed, allowing them a little more comfort and space; however, now that Elizabeth, her husband, and their three children had moved back to Longbourn, the issue of bedchambers was once again of material concern.
“My dear,” said Mr. Collins, addressing his wife in his usual pompous style, “what directions shall I give the servants for the unloading of our belongings?”
Elizabeth glanced around the room, obviously considering the issue; Mary was paying little attention, her eyes focused on whatever dry religious text had lately caught her eye, and while Mrs. Bennet was caught up in bemoaning her recent fate, she still maintained enough presence of mind to pay attention to her daughter’s response.
“Since we have a dearth of available chambers for the moment,” responded Elizabeth with a significant glance at Mrs. Bennet, “I suppose James and Henry shall share a room in the near term—Jane’s old bedchamber should do nicely, I believe. And Eleanor is old enough that I do not believe she needs to stay in the nursery, so she may have my old room.”
“Not stay in the nursery?” sputtered Mrs. Bennet indignantly. “Of what are you speaking, Elizabeth? She is but five years old!”
“I believe I know the age of my only daughter, Mama,” said Elizabeth. “She is old enough and responsible enough to have her own room.”
Mrs. Bennet continued to try to protest, but her words fell upon deaf ears—Elizabeth would not hear what she had to say, and Mr. Collins even spoke right over Mrs. Bennet’s words!
“Indeed, I believe you are correct, Mrs. Collins,” said he in his obsequious tone. “There is no need at all for her to reside in the nursery—no need at all!—and we must remember that she did not have the benefit of a true nursery when she was young in any case. Hunsford is not large enough for such luxuries.”
Smiling at her husband, Elizabeth continued, “Of course, Mary shall stay in the room she has occupied since she was a girl.” Mary and Elizabeth shared a warm glance which Mrs. Bennet wondered at. Rarely had she seen the two girls together since Elizabeth had left the house, though Mary had visited Elizabeth in Kent on a number of occasions. It appeared that the two had grown much closer than they had been before Elizabeth’s marriage.
“I thank you, Elizabeth,” said Mary, “not only for your hospitality, but also for not upsetting my routine. I should find it most irksome to be required to change rooms.”
Elizabeth reached over and grasped her younger sister’s hand with obvious affection, an action Mrs. Bennet could not remember ever seeing shared by the two sisters. “You are a valued member of this family, Mary, and I would be pleased if you would continue to consider this your home.”
Beaming, Mary inclined her head before returning to her book. Mr. Collins, however, could not allow such an opportunity to pass without inserting his own comments on the situation.
“Indeed, we would be most honored for you to remain with us. I assure you that you are as welcome and as dear to us as any of our own children. As my late patroness, the honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, stated, ‘A family is a precious gift from God, Mr. Collins, and you would do well to be kind and generous to any remaining family of your cousin, Mr. Bennet, when he finally leaves this earth to receive his heavenly reward.’ I assure you that I take Lady Catherine’s wise and proper advice very seriously, and I would never consider forcing you to find a new home.”
Elizabeth was silent throughout Mr. Collins’s speech, but when he finally fell silent, she continued with her previous thoughts almost without interruption. “Your items should be taken to the master’s chambers, Mr. Collins, while mine can go to the mistress’s chambers. Of course, the items from your bookroom can go to my father’s library, where they can be put to the best use.”
Wide-eyed, Mrs. Bennet stared back at her daughter. “In the mistress’s chambers? But . . . but . . . where shall I sleep?”
“Why, in Lydia and Kitty’s old room, as it is the only one remaining,” replied Elizabeth. “For now, that room shall do quite well for you.”
Though Mrs. Bennet did not like the sound of Elizabeth’s ominous words “for now,” she focused on what was important: the fact that she did not wish to leave her rooms. “I have been in the mistress’s rooms for many years. I should think it would be a great hardship for me to be removed from them!”
“Mama, Mr. Collins shall inhabit the master’s chambers. It would be highly improper for you, a woman to whom he is not married, to continue to live in the mistress’s suite. The two rooms are, after
all, connected by a door, are they not?”
“Heavens, no!” cried Mr. Collins. “How could you consider such a thing, Mrs. Bennet? Of course my delightful and beloved Elizabeth shall inhabit the mistress’s bedchamber, as is her right and duty. I shall not hear another word in protest. To think that you would assume that I, a member of the clergy and a spokesman for our Lord, would even begin to consider staying in a room adjoined to that in which my mother-in-law is sleeping . . . why, it is troubling in the extreme! I should never imagine living in such an improper and, indeed, sinful state, even if I did not imagine it would offend the delicate sensibilities of my most beloved Mrs. Collins. I am not certain how you could have come to such an understanding, but I must insist, most emphatically, that you cease all opposition and take up your rightful place in the bedchamber which has been assigned to you.”
By the time Mr. Collins’s speech had concluded, Mrs. Bennet was eager to agree, if only to silence the man’s continual prattling! She did assure him, most eagerly, that she had not fully considered the situation and that she had never intended to suggest something so wholly improper. The silence which descended upon the room was truly welcome by the Bennet matriarch, and if she did witness the rather noticeable rolling of Elizabeth’s eyes, she could only console herself with the knowledge that her daughter found the man’s loquaciousness as trying as she did herself.
By the following morning, Longbourn was in flux, as the rearranging of belongings had begun. Mrs. Bennet watched with some vexation as her personal effects were removed from the mistress’s chambers and into her new room. In fact, she was unable to spend long witnessing Elizabeth’s things replacing hers and instead sat in the sitting room, sulking over her treatment by her odious son-in-law and her second-eldest daughter.
In the midst of her displeasure, she was, however, forced to admit that Elizabeth’s handling of the tasks before her was admirable. There was very little confusion or uproar, and the rest of the house continued to operate smoothly while the wagon was unloaded and the new articles were distributed throughout the house. Perhaps, Mrs. Bennet reflected, she had been wrong when she had assumed that Elizabeth could not handle a house the size of Longbourn, and she soon began congratulating herself for bringing her daughter up in a manner which made said daughter’s husband proud.
As for the new master of Longbourn, he was nowhere in evidence, seemingly preferring to leave the business of settling the family into their new home with his wife. Mrs. Bennet thought this was singular behavior, but she decided it made little difference, as Elizabeth was handling it effectively. Perhaps Mr. Collins was in the study going through Mr. Bennet’s books, though Mrs. Bennet could not imagine that the parson would willingly read the kind of texts her late husband preferred.
Knowing that she had lost the battle to retain control over the running of Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet turned her attention to something she was certain she could assist with: the improvement of the Collins children. The two boys, though rather rambunctious, as boys were wont to be, could be considerate and quiet when necessary. They were not the problem. Their younger sister, however, behaved in much the same manner as the boys; in short, she behaved as Elizabeth herself had behaved when she had been a girl . . . and not like a demure and proper young girl should behave. That, of course, would not do. Regardless of the fact that Elizabeth had been very fortunate to capture a man despite her own predilection for such behavior—with Mrs. Bennet’s judicious assistance, of course—Eleanor might not be as fortunate.
A few moments after Mrs. Bennet made her resolution, the first opportunity to be of use to her granddaughter presented itself. The young girl in question entered, running after her brothers, who had burst into the room while playing one of their games.
Ignoring the behavior of the two boys, Mrs. Bennet focused her attention on her granddaughter and cried: “Eleanor Jane Collins! Stop running this instant and come here, child. I would speak with you.”
Though Eleanor looked longingly after her brothers, her manners won out, and she made her way forward, curtseying prettily. “Yes, Grandmother Bennet?”
Mrs. Bennet nodded in approval, heartened to see the child obey her. Perhaps her task would not be so difficult after all; the child did seem to know how to behave at times. Hopefully, it would just be a matter of improving her deportment and curbing her tendency toward wildness.
“You must not run, child,” said Mrs. Bennet sternly. “It is not seemly.”
“Mama says that I must sit still and attend to my lessons, but when I am playing, I may do as I wish as long as I do not ruin my dress or go too far from the house.”
“I am certain she gave you that instruction when you were younger, my dear,” was Mrs. Bennet’s reply. “You are now five years old and already becoming a young lady. It is never too young to learn proper comportment, and learn it you must if you are ever to catch a husband.”
“But Grandmama,” said Eleanor, an earnest expression on her face as she reached out to touch Mrs. Bennet’s knee, “Mama has told me that I should search for a young man to love who cherishes me in turn.”
Considering her granddaughter’s naïveté, Mrs. Bennet took a little time to respond. Elizabeth had obviously filled her daughter with the same kind of romantic drivel to which Elizabeth herself had been so prone as a child. The child’s deportment clearly needed a little work, but the far more pressing concern was the need to replace these silly notions with those which would serve her properly as she grew into a young lady.
“While that is certainly an admirable goal, you should consider that it is by no means certain that you shall ever find a young man to love, especially considering the fact that you shall have little in the way of your own fortune,” said Mrs. Bennet, wondering how her daughter could have said such a thing.
“Why should I need a fortune?” asked the girl innocently.
“Why, to induce a young man to offer for you! Since you do not have the advantage of having a great dowry, you must make use of your natural charms to capture a wealthy man, as your mother’s older sister has managed to do.”
Her granddaughter’s answering frown was perplexed. “Why should I want to capture a husband? My brothers and I capture frogs and grass snakes and put them in a box. I do not believe a husband would enjoy living in a box.”
Feeling the familiar sensation of an imminent attack of nerves, Mrs. Bennet forced her panic aside and said with as much patience as she possessed: “I do not mean to capture a husband and put him in a box. I was referring to capturing his attention and making him wish to marry you.”
Her little brows furrowed in thought, Eleanor appeared to be considering her grandmother’s words. “But if a man loved me, he would marry me. I do not think I should need to capture him.”
“But what if you do not find a young man to love you?” pressed Mrs. Bennet. “Whatever shall you do then? Where shall you live?”
“Oh, I am not worried. Mama told me I may remain here with James, as he shall not put me out to fend for myself.”
“You would become a burden on your brother?”
“My brother loves me,” was Eleanor’s firm reply. “He shall not put me out.”
Aghast, Mrs. Bennet realized that there was more to be done to put her granddaughter to rights than she had initially envisioned. Never one to shirk before a daunting task, Mrs. Bennet gathered in a deep breath and held her hand out to Eleanor.
“I see that we have much to accomplish,” said she. “Come, Eleanor; let us go to your room, where I may begin your instruction.”
“But Grandmama—”
“Now, Eleanor,” interrupted Mrs. Bennet. “I am your grandmother, and you shall obey me.”
After one last longing glance at the door through which her brothers had escaped, Eleanor sighed and grasped Mrs. Bennet’s hand, allowing herself to be pulled from the room. Mrs. Bennet decided immediately that disobedience and impertinence were two other qualities which Elizabeth had seen fit to pass on to her da
ughter, and Mrs. Bennet was determined to ensure Eleanor learned to behave.
The next few days were spent in the correction and education of her granddaughter, although Mrs. Bennet was thankfully not required at all times. Elizabeth had employed a governess—though Mrs. Bennet was not certain where she had acquired the funds for such an extravagance—and all three children were required to spend much of their mornings in lessons, though Eleanor, being only five, was still too young to spend all of her time sitting and studying. While Eleanor already knew both her letters and some simple mathematics and was able to play simple tunes on the pianoforte, Mrs. Bennet did not truly care for such things; in her mind, it was more important for the child to know how to obtain a husband, run her husband’s home, and act as his hostess. All of the other book-learning would only scare men away, as very few men were able to tolerate a wife whose intelligence outshone their own.
Because Eleanor’s lessons generally ended before luncheon and her afternoons were largely her own to play as she liked, Mrs. Bennet was able to spend mornings in her own pursuits, though she was always careful to take her granddaughter in hand as soon as luncheon was complete. Sadly, however, she quickly found that her first impression had been correct: Eleanor was as stubborn and wild as Elizabeth herself had been at that age. It was vexing in the extreme, but try as she might, Mrs. Bennet could not persuade Eleanor to concentrate on the lessons she was imparting, for the child was always attempting to escape and go chasing after her brothers. Still, Mrs. Bennet was determined that Eleanor should learn, and if it required her to be firm with the girl, then that was what she would do.
Elizabeth was not much in evidence during those days, and as a result, she did not initially realize what Mrs. Bennet was doing. Elizabeth would often disappear into her husband’s library and would sometimes not reappear until almost the supper hour. But though Mrs. Bennet had not given the matter any great thought, she still felt a little uneasy whenever her daughter was near, not only for the coldness Elizabeth had exhibited since arriving, but also because Mrs. Bennet understood that her daughter would be most decidedly unhappy should she become aware of the instructions being given to Eleanor. As a result of this understanding, whenever Elizabeth appeared, Mrs. Bennet immediately broke off her lessons, a necessity which vexed her, as Eleanor would soon forget whatever Mrs. Bennet had taught her. Thus, she was always attempting to begin again, with little to show in the way of progress.