Love and Laughter

by Jann Rowland

  “And besides,” said Elizabeth, her lip curled up in a slight sneer, “running an estate of any size is beyond my husband’s comprehension. Indeed, a side of pork is beyond his comprehension, but we must forgive him these little failings, must we not?”

  Not knowing what to say, Mrs. Bennet chose to keep silent. Her daughter had always been a little different, but now she was not sure that Elizabeth was the same girl she had raised. No matter what Elizabeth had become, one thing was irrefutable—the situation was as Elizabeth said, and it appeared that she was now the true power at Longbourn. It behooved Mrs. Bennet to tread very carefully around her daughter.

  “Now, you may ask why I am telling you this,” continued Elizabeth after a moment. “Perhaps I am overestimating your abilities, but I believe you have already divined that it is because I wish you to know that as you are now living in my husband’s house, which I control, you are here at my sufferance. Do not cross me, Mother, or you shall pay the consequences. Are we clear?”

  Mrs. Bennet could only mumble an agreement as she wondered how it had all come to this. She should have been treated much better than this! As Elizabeth’s mother, she deserved respect for what she had done for her daughter. She did not feel respected; she felt ill-used.

  “Good,” said Elizabeth. “Now, just so that we are clear, you shall not fill Eleanor’s head with your nonsense, you shall not interfere in the running of this house, and you shall speak to me if you wish for something further than your stipend. I cannot promise that I will allow it, as money will be tight and the horses are required on the farm, but I will also not see you want for those things you need. I intend to see that this estate produces as it should, and we will need every advantage to ensure that it is so.”

  Elizabeth stared at her for a moment, forcing Mrs. Bennet to nod her head vigorously. She had no desire to antagonize her daughter further.

  “You should feel grateful, Mama. I had considered shipping you off to the dowager cottage the moment I arrived. You are fortunate that I was able to stay my anger.”

  “You would treat your mother in such an infamous manner?” gasped Mrs. Bennet.

  “I would.” Elizabeth’s eyes burned with a cold fire. “You forced me into this unwanted marriage with an idiot and demeaned my own understanding by insisting that I did not know what was best for me. And the worst part of it is that through your actions and machinations, I have lost whatever opportunity I once possessed to find a husband whom I could truly love and respect. Mr. Collins has very little other than my contempt—as do you for forcing this marriage on me. In addition, it is because of you that I have only been in my beloved father’s company twice for very short visits these past ten years . . . and that I was not able to say a final goodbye to him before he left this world. I shall tell you that I was barely able to control my anger as I walked through the door, and I grew even more infuriated when I found that you were off gossiping with your sister, as if you had not a care in the world.

  “Your move to the dowager cottage will likely still occur at some time or another,” continued Elizabeth nonchalantly. “I do not like the fact that the boys share a room, and should we have any more children,” she paused to snort in derision at the mere thought, “we will require more room. However, until that time comes, you may stay.”

  It did not escape Mrs. Bennet’s attention that Elizabeth did not say that she was “welcome” to stay. By this time, panic was beginning to set in, and she grasped at the first straw which came to her mind.

  “I will go to Jane!” Her words issued forth in the form of a screech. “She will not be so undutiful a daughter as to shunt me off to a small cottage to fend for myself!”

  Elizabeth only laughed. “She will not take you in, Mama. Jane and I have already discussed this. And before you begin to entertain thoughts of Netherfield’s dowager house, please remember that Mr. Bingley’s elderly aunt resides there, and the two of you do not get on at all.”

  Standing, Elizabeth walked toward the door. “I shall leave you with your thoughts, Mama. Please remember what I have said.”

  Though she did not move, Mrs. Bennet’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. She could almost feel the walls closing in on her—she was trapped, and there was nothing she could do about it! How could it all have come to this?

  “I will note that you have done this to yourself,” Elizabeth’s words floated to her as though moving through a thick fog. “If you had forced one of the younger girls to marry Mr. Collins, you would not be in this predicament, as I dare say you would have been able to control one of them better. I will not be controlled. You created your fate when you forced me into this union. Remember that when you consider what your life has become.

  “Be careful what you wish for, Mother.”

  With a cry, Mrs. Bennet sat up straight in her bed and peered wildly around the room. She was doomed—doomed! Whatever would she do?

  “It is merely a nightmare, Mrs. Bennet. Please return to your rest and allow the rest of your family to do likewise.”

  Stupidly, Mrs. Bennet gazed at the wall which separated her room from the master’s chambers. Elizabeth’s reprehensible behavior must have caused her to lose her sanity—the voice sounded very much like that of her husband, and she knew that he was . . .

  As she stared, Mrs. Bennet became aware of several things. First, the room in which she slept was not the smaller room to which Elizabeth had assigned her; it was the mistress’s chambers. Second, the voice she had heard had been the voice of her husband. Finally, she noticed that she was in her own bed!

  Nearly insensible with relief, Mrs. Bennet sank back down, thanking the Lord and Maker that it had all been a dream.

  As she lay there, she considered the events that had occurred since Mr. Collins’s arrival, and though Mrs. Bennet was not a woman to give in to fanciful imaginings, she had to acknowledge to herself that the dream had spooked her. Was Elizabeth marrying Mr. Collins the best thing for her future security? All at once, Elizabeth’s words from earlier that day floated back to her consciousness.

  “Mama, what are you doing?” asked Elizabeth furiously. She continued before Mrs. Bennet had time to muster a response. “I will not marry Mr. Collins! All you shall accomplish is to offend him when I inevitably refuse him. And if I should by some means be persuaded to actually marry the man, you shall not like me as the mistress of this estate. Be careful what you wish for, Mother, and cease this now before it is too late!”

  Elizabeth had stalked away once she had shared her opinion, and Mrs. Bennet had immediately shrugged her daughter’s words off as though they were of no moment. But with the dream fresh in her mind, Mrs. Bennet was not so willing now to simply ignore them. Would Elizabeth behave in such a manner?

  Though she could not be certain, Mrs. Bennet had to own to herself that it was a possibility. Elizabeth had always been a wild and disobliging child, and there certainly existed some possibility that she could behave in such a vindictive manner.

  No, Mrs. Bennet decided, she could not take the chance. She would have to do something to direct Mr. Collins away from Elizabeth. There was no other viable option.

  Settling back down into her mattress, Mrs. Bennet closed her eyes, with the intention of considering the problem the following morning. As she drifted off to sleep, one final thought penetrated her consciousness.

  “I wonder if it is too late to direct Mr. Collins toward Mary . . . .”

  The End

  The Food of Love

  by

  Lelia Eye

  This story is rather tongue-in-cheek. I just wanted to play with the idea of Mr. Collins throwing himself into the pursuit of love—only for his immense ego to get in the way of actually accomplishing anything!

  Mr. Collins found the coquetry of Elizabeth Bennet to be charming. He understood it was the custom of delicate female temperaments to pretend disinterest toward prospective suitors, and he certainly should have expected no less from the love of his life.

>   So when he saw that his suit was not being received with the warmth that was his due, he became determined to press harder to succeed with his cause. The problem was that he, being of an intellectual and religious sort, had read very few books detailing the rigors of romantic courtship. He resolved that the first step to remedy this lack was to find one such book to direct him on the proper conduct for wooing a worthy young female.

  Upon asking his cousin Lydia to supply him with instructive material, she gave him a very sweet smile and put a book in his hands; then she went prancing off with a rather loud giggle.

  He sat down with the volume, reading page after page with growing eagerness. Eventually, however, he came upon a scandalous passage—two unmarried young people were kissing! Heavens! What could be the reason for it?—and he was forced to close the book, his cheeks red, and the back of his neck feeling oddly damp.

  This novel would not do to instruct him! Certainly not. The material was quite inappropriate indeed! How could Mr. Bennet have ever found it conceivable to allow his young and impressionable daughter to read such rubbish? No, Mr. Collins needed to find another method to please Miss Elizabeth’s vanity. He should have known better than to ask that particular cousin for advice.

  And so he asked Mr. Bennet what method was best to use for the purpose of wooing one of his worthy daughters.

  “Poetry,” said Mr. Bennet with a smile as he placed a book in Mr. Collins’s hand, “is oft called the food of love. I suspect many a foolish female heart has been taken in by the ill-disguised lines of a Shakespearean sonnet which has merely been turned for the purpose of making it apply more specifically to the desired lady. After you compose the proper verse, you must make certain that the recital of your work is loud enough to be heard, and gesticulations of every sort are always welcome. The more exaggerated, the better, I should say.”

  Mr. Collins began to make the supreme depths of his gratitude known, but he was waved out of Mr. Bennet’s bookroom before he was finished. Yet he was far too excited about this new tactic to linger in any case.

  When he sat down at a small table to write, however, he found it was difficult to begin. He had never practiced his hand at writing metered poetry before, and he was at a loss as to what to say first. “Glorious Elizabeth” would not work, as it seemed almost profane for an esteemed clergyman such as himself to write those words, though he did not mind thinking them. He considered writing of the benefits of their union, yet he was not certain how he could fit all those words into a sonnet, which he thought tended to be rather short.

  At last, however, he opened the book of Shakespearean sonnets provided by Mr. Bennet, and he put pen to paper, copying the Bard’s style as best as he could.

  And lo! What wondrous words flowed from his pen! Why, he almost wished he had been a poet, for surely not even Shakespeare had ever produced such a marvel as this! His cousin Elizabeth was certain to be pleased, her vanity and her good sense both swayed by the evidence of how ardently he esteemed her!

  He found his cousin Elizabeth walking in the garden with her sister Jane—for some reason, his beloved had grown rather difficult to find lately without one of her sisters nearby—and he immediately requested that she sit down on a nearby bench.

  “I should like to continue my walk with Jane, Mr. Collins,” said Miss Elizabeth. “I am not certain why you would require me to be seated.”

  “There are words that I must speak to you, dear cousin,” said Collins, seeing the look—which must have been one of pleasure!—that his beloved gave to her sister. “I have been hard at work to win your approval, and I would like to offer up my efforts on bended knee!”

  “Perhaps Jane may sit with me,” said Miss Elizabeth. “I think our walk has fatigued her greatly!”

  “But my dear cousin, I require only a few moments of your time . . . and lovers’ words are meant to be confined to the privacy of only the lovers’ ears.”

  “Mr. Collins, I hardly think we could be qualified as—”

  “Miss Elizabeth, I know what you are going to say!” interrupted Mr. Collins. “I know my fair love desires to protest the truth of my feelings and to turn her head away with maidenly modesty. Yet I have something that must be said, and I must have you listen to me, or my heart shall burst!”

  “Well,” murmured Miss Elizabeth with a sigh, “I suppose we cannot allow that to happen. We might as well have done.”

  “I shall be back in a few minutes, Lizzy,” said Miss Bennet, touching her sister’s arm.

  Miss Elizabeth nodded and watched her sister go; then she turned to Mr. Collins with a raised eyebrow.

  He grabbed her hand and ushered her to the bench to be seated. She pulled her hand away from his, and he realized his palm was sweating. He apologized to her, explaining: “The heated gleam upon my palm is merely the physical manifestation of the magnitude of my feelings.” Privately, Mr. Collins was pleased with himself, for surely his words were more evidence of his possession of the soul of a poet. He would have to remember those words, for they could no doubt be used in another of his compositions in the future.

  Miss Elizabeth nodded, not commenting, and then she tilted her head and looked at him expectantly. “What did you wish to say, Mr. Collins?”

  “Oh!” cried he. “You are such a vision of loveliness, my dear cousin! I am certain Lady Catherine could find nothing wanting when examining you. Your form is so pleasing to the eye—though I am sorry to say I have not seen as many pretty ladies to make the judgment as perhaps I ought—and your intellect is the very thing to bring illumination and understanding to the words of Fordyce and the biblical texts which must be the focus of any parson’s wife!”

  “I am certain you flatter me, Mr. Collins.”

  “And that is what I wish to do! Women do so love to receive such delicate compliments as may be gifted upon them by their suitors, and I am no less the lover than any other young man hoping to woo a young lady. But I have brought you here for a specific purpose.” And here, he dropped to his knees and took the paper containing his words of love out of a pocket. After unfolding it, he grabbed her hand with one of his and stared into her eyes intently. “I have composed a poem for you, and I cannot help but smile at the thought that you are the first to hear such true and unabashed words slipping from my lips.”

  “A . . . poem, Mr. Collins?”

  “I see you are surprised, my dear cousin. Yes, the greatness of my love knows no bounds, and I have written such a poem as would make Shakespeare himself bow down before me, if you would please pardon me for so saying. I had never particularly seen myself as a skilled sonnet writer, but I have outdone myself in every way. Would you like to hear it?”

  There was a pause, and then Miss Elizabeth said: “I suppose you wanted me here so you could read it to me?”

  “Indeed!” cried Collins. “I shall unveil my gift now, and I am certain we shall speak of this moment to our children fondly in years to come. And now, with an eye to the great animation that will express my love for you, I begin:

  “My esteemed patroness’s eyes are as resplendent as the sun (here, he lifted his eyes to the sky),

  And I may, without fear of being accused of exaggeration, say that apples are not as red as her lips are red (he puckered his lips for emphasis).

  The snowy whiteness of her neck is nothing like your own dun (he tilted his head to reveal his neck),

  And if hairs were to be considered wires, why, there must be dark wires growing on your head (he took his hand away from hers to tug wildly at a strand of his own hair).

  And I must own—for who could not?—that there are wondrous roses, red and white,

  To be found in her ladyship’s noble cheeks (he patted his cheek fondly).

  And certainly, in some perfumes can more delight be found

  Than in the breath that from your mouth reeks (he feigned he was recoiling from his cousin’s face).

  I love to hear my patroness speak, and I also know

  That musi
c could never have such a pleasing sound (a smile stretched the corners of his mouth).

  I never saw quite such an angel of knowledge and goodness go

  As she, my lady, who scarcely treads the ground (he began flapping his arms much like a bird before bringing the paper back to his face once more to read).

  Yet my love for you, Miss Elizabeth, is quite rare,

  And I think the inestimable future of our love is beyond compare.”

  Clapping his hand over his heart, he flung himself to the ground, acting as one who had been struck down by greatness. And then he lay still, panting heavily, fatigued from his exertions. Surely there had never been an actor in the entire history of theater who displayed his love for a maiden as well as Mr. Collins did!

  “Jane!” cried Miss Elizabeth, standing in a panic. “I think there is something wrong with Mr. Collins!”

  “If there is anything wrong, it is only the utter strength of my love for you!” proclaimed he, slowly sitting up. “You cannot deny that the force of our affection is so great as to work miracles!”

  By this time, Miss Bennet, who had not been very far away, had come rushing up to them. “Mr. Collins!” exclaimed she. “Are you ill? Why are you on the ground?”

  “Is it not a lover’s prerogative to kiss the dirt at his beloved’s feet? If only her ladyship were here to instruct me on the proper behavior for one who has fallen so hard as I have! Lady Catherine is all that is good and helpful! Surely I have been robbed of the most useful and noble advice by the lack of her presence here to guide me! Oh, her gracious condescension is surely too much for a mere clergyman such as I to bear!”

  He continued in the throes of this passion, pounding his fists on the ground and then gesticulating at the air, and at some point, both his cousins left him there. Yet his feelings were inflamed, and he cared not for their departure. He should have been a poet! He knew it now! He had a lover’s heart!