Mrs. Bennet's Favorite Daughter

by Jann Rowland

  Horrified, none of the Bennet sisters spoke again. Mr. Collins did not seem to notice, for he relished his meal, even smacking his lips as some tasty morsel went into his mouth. When his mouth was free of encumbrance, he conversed with Mr. Bennet, though the Bennet patriarch, by now tiring of Mr. Collins’s brand of silliness, did not answer often.

  When the meal was completed, the ladies withdrew to the sitting-room, leaving Mr. Bennet with the parson. Elizabeth did not fail to notice her father’s longing looks at them, but in this instance, she left the duty of entertaining their guest to her father with pleasure. In the company of their mother, the five sisters trudged away from the dining room, each thinking the same thought: surely Mr. Collins would not turn his attentions on any of them!

  “What an imbecile,” said Lydia, the first to speak when they reached the sitting-room. “How any woman could endure him for three minutes, let alone an entire lifetime, is beyond my understanding.”

  “I hope he does not wish to marry me,” fretted Kitty, looking back toward the dining room with fear.

  “Mr. Collins is a parson,” said Mary in her prim tone. “As such, he must be respectable.”

  “Respectability, dear Mary,” said Elizabeth, “is bestowed upon a man who earns it with his actions, his character, and his ability to show his nobility of character to others. I wonder that Mr. Collins became a parson, for it seems as if he has little knowledge of the Bible.”

  To that, Mary could say nothing.

  “Well, Mr. Collins is a disagreeable man,” said Mrs. Bennet. “But you need not concern yourself, girls. Even should Mr. Collins fix his attention on one of you, your father and I will not require you to marry him. I would prefer you to remain old maids than marry such an objectionable man as he.”

  The five sisters murmured their agreement and fell silent, though the specter of Mr. Collins remained foremost in their thoughts. It was perhaps not surprising that when Mr. Collins lingered with Mr. Bennet, they one and all decided it would be best to retire early.

  Chapter V

  Upon entering the breakfast room the following morning, the Bennet sisters discovered Mr. Collins had not yet descended to break his fast. Whether this was an anomaly, they could not know at the moment, but on face value, it appeared the parson was not an early riser. Given his profession, one could not have predicted such behavior, but on the first day, there it was.

  What they did not escape was the reproachful glares and aggrieved complaints from their father. “It seemed you were all content to abandon me to a dullard last night,” said he in a tone accusatory, though with his customary brand of humor. “Well, I shall have my vengeance, for I do not mean to make myself available at all times. No, you shall all have your turns hosting Mr. Collins, for I insist upon it.”

  “I have already informed the girls that we will not force them to marry Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet.

  Mr. Bennet released his false afflicted air. “Of course, you will not. If you had thought otherwise, I would be quite surprised.”

  “No, I did not think otherwise, Papa,” replied Elizabeth.

  “Then you should not concern yourself. There is something odd about my cousin,” mused Mr. Bennet, “something on which I cannot quite put my finger. Whatever it is, I did not gain the impression he means to focus on one of you girls for his future wife. There is something else on his mind, though I cannot state with any surety what it is.”

  While Mr. Collins was not punctual to their mealtimes—and he made no apology when he arrived to break his fast as the family was rising—he was most attentive at all other times. The man lingered over his breakfast for some time—longer than Elizabeth thought was necessary. When he finished, he took it upon himself to attend ‘his fair cousins,’ as he put it himself, and none could convince him his civility was unnecessary.

  “My, your stitches are uneven, are they not, Cousin Elizabeth?” remarked he not long after they were all seated in the sitting-room. “Perhaps you should practice more, for my patroness always speaks of the efficacy of practice in effecting an improvement in one’s skills.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, not at all offended by his faux pas. “Lady Catherine’s wisdom in this matter cannot be disputed. Though I do not enjoy embroidery, as a rule, I would agree that practicing would improve my stitches.”

  Mr. Collins, however, paid no attention to Elizabeth’s reply. “Really, Cousins, must you laugh so loud?”

  In Elizabeth’s opinion, Kitty and Lydia had not been bothering anyone; they could when they put their minds to it, but at present, they were rather quiet. Lydia appeared on the verge of some retort, but a sharp look from Elizabeth put an end to it, and she sulked instead.

  “That is better,” said the parson. “If you have not heard it said that children should be seen and not heard, let this be a lesson to you. There is little to be gained from making a raucous display when you should sit quietly in the presence of your betters.”

  For the girls this was the final indignity, for after fixing Mr. Collins with a hateful glare, Lydia rose and called Kitty after her, leading her sister up the stairs. The sound of the door slamming behind them as they entered what Elizabeth thought was Lydia’s room was a testament to the offense they felt. Mr. Collins did not seem to understand it for what it was, for he smiled and nodded with satisfaction, and turned his attention back to Elizabeth.

  “It appears your mother has done little to restrain the high animal spirits of your sisters. I should advise in the most strenuous manner possible that she should not overlook their education.” Mr. Collins paused and directed a critical look at Elizabeth. “In fact, it may be best if she attended to you all or hired the services of a woman to oversee you if she is not capable of it herself. Your sisters will not grow to be a credit to your family if you do not teach them to behave.”

  A stinging retort was on the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue when Mary said: “Shall you not sit with me, Mr. Collins? I was reading in Deuteronomy yesterday and came upon a passage I cannot quite make out. Perhaps your knowledge of the scriptures and insight as a parson would help.”

  Mr. Collins waved Mary off. “Then I would recommend you listen closer to Sunday sermons, Cousin Mary. I am not in the habit of explaining every minute detail of the scriptures to those who do not bother to take their attendance with the seriousness it requires.”

  For a moment, Mary could find no reply, so surprised was she. Then she too rose and, giving the parson an imperious glare, retreated from the room. Mary was better behaved than her younger sisters, and the slamming of her bedroom door behind her was not so loud. Elizabeth fancied her sister’s footsteps on the stairs were heavier than Mary’s usual tread.

  “It seems your sisters have all taken my advice to improve themselves,” said Mr. Collins with satisfaction. “That is well, for if Lady Catherine were here, she would advise them in the most serious manner to listen to the words of their superiors, lest they are despised wherever they go.”

  Then Mr. Collins turned to Jane. “Tell me, Cousin, do you play the pianoforte?”

  “Only a little, Mr. Collins,” said Jane. “Though I enjoy it—”

  “No, no, that will not do at all!” exclaimed Mr. Collins. “Why were you not taught? Have my cousin and his wife abrogated their responsibilities to this great degree? Have I come to a family who has no talent, no training, and little in their heads other than fashion and novels?”

  “Jane,” said Elizabeth, rising to her feet and looking at her sister to avoid strangling the parson. “Shall you not assist me in my room? I believe I have forgotten something there.”

  Though Jane’s sense of politeness urged her to disagree, she caught the stony nature of Elizabeth’s glare and agreed. While Jane made some quiet attempt to excuse herself from the parson, Elizabeth hurried her from the room and led her upstairs. When they gained her room, Elizabeth closed the door—without slamming it, though it was a near thing—and rounded on her sister.


  “Thank you, Jane. If we had stayed another moment in that room with that odious man, I would not have been responsible for what I said to him!”

  Jane sighed and sat on Elizabeth’s bed. “Mr. Collins is . . .”

  “A disgusting and unendurable man,” finished Elizabeth.

  Even Jane could not gainsay Elizabeth’s statement. “It is well that our parents have already made it clear they will not require any of us to marry him.”

  “I would not anyway,” rejoined Elizabeth. “I should rather end a scullery maid than endure Mr. Collins my entire life.”

  Jane nodded with agreement and they fell silent.

  When Mrs. Bennet returned to the sitting-room after speaking with Mrs. Hill, it surprised her to see Mr. Collins sitting alone. The parson, far from showing distress at his solitary state, appeared to be basking in self-satisfaction, though she could not understand why that might be.

  Maggie Bennet was a woman who was under no misapprehensions about herself. Well aware of her limitations, she instead chose to focus on those traits she considered to be strengths, and among those was the ability to manage the house and be a good hostess. Maggie also thought she had done a credible job of raising five beautiful and intelligent daughters.

  What she was not was an intelligent woman. It was one reason she had always been so close to Elizabeth, for she saw in Elizabeth that quickness of mind that had attracted her to her husband, a trait passed on from him to his second daughter. Maggie had always known that even if she did not understand something, Elizabeth’s quick mind would grasp it. Her ability to share her knowledge with Maggie in a way she would understand had always made her grateful to her daughter for her assistance.

  Even with these limitations, Maggie Bennet knew a dullard when she saw one, and Mr. William Collins was the stupidest man she had ever met, and the most objectionable. Part of her wished to consign him to his own company and occupy herself elsewhere, for she knew with an instinctive surety that he would offend her within minutes. But the attentive hostess in her would not abandon her guest, no matter how objectionable she found him. At least, she would not abandon him without attempting friendly relations.

  “Where are my daughters, Mr. Collins?”

  Catching sight of her, Mr. Collins gave her a look of satisfaction. “They have taken my advice and absented themselves to affect the improvements I suggested.”

  That sounded worrisome, for Maggie could imagine nothing Mr. Collins could say to improve her girls. It was more likely he had offended them and driven them all from the room.

  “Now, if you please, Mrs. Bennet, I wish to speak to you on a subject most dear to my heart.”

  Though feeling all the effects of skepticism, Maggie decided it was best to humor him. “Very well, Mr. Collins,” said she, settling herself in her favorite chair. “How may I assist?”

  “I wish to know something of the neighborhood, Mrs. Bennet. The families with whom you dine, the number and attributes of any daughters they have, and so on.”

  “You mean to make yourself agreeable to our society while you are here?” asked Mrs. Bennet.

  “Of course,” said Mr. Collins, “for it is the duty of a clergyman to adapt himself to the society in which he finds himself, whether high or low. There is another matter of which I am interested, but I shall make more of that known anon when I know something of the people who live here.”

  A sudden memory entered her mind of Mr. Collins speaking the previous evening, and she said: “As I recall, you are here to search for a wife.”

  “To put it with indelicacy,” replied Mr. Collins.

  Thinking hard, Mrs. Bennet considered the gentleman before him. He was objectionable to be certain, but on a certain level, he was also respectable, possessing a good living, not to mention his future inheritance of the place she now called home. Though there were many ladies in the neighborhood who were eager to find husbands, loyalty dictated she speak of her own daughters first. Mary was pious and knowledgeable concerning Bible-related matters, and Mrs. Bennet had always thought she would make a good parson’s wife. Maggie thought Mary a little more disposed to Mr. Collins than her other daughters, given what she had said the previous evening.

  “There are many young ladies near Meryton, Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet.

  “Yes, yes,” said the gentleman. “I am sure there are. But I do not wish to hear of them all—only those who possess that certain something that all men wish to find in his wife.”

  Maggie was confused, but she attempted to reply, nonetheless. “If you are looking for a wife who will suit you as a parson, my middle daughter, Mary, would suit. Mary is pious and studious and often visits our tenant children. I think she would make an excellent parson’s wife.”

  Whatever response the parson offered, Mrs. Bennet would not have expected him to laugh. But he did, shocking her yet again.

  “My dear Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Collins. “I do not believe you understand me. For the future Mrs. Collins, I wish to marry a woman of good standing, a woman of means, one who possesses what any man in my position would want—dowry and connections. Your daughters may be amiable, but you cannot think I would ever offer for one of them. They possess little dowry, am I correct?”

  “Their dowries are not large,” confessed Mrs. Bennet, growing more offended by the moment.

  “Exactly,” said the man with a nod. “Furthermore, though you are proud of them, as any mother would be, I cannot think their chances of capturing husbands are great at all.”

  “Whatever can you mean?” demanded Mrs. Bennet, now growing cross.

  “Why, because of those deficiencies attendant to their situations. Some of these are no fault of their own but certain others are without a doubt.”

  “My daughters are wonderful girls, Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet from between clenched teeth. “They are pretty and amiable, have excellent dispositions, and have been brought up in the proper manner. Though they do not have extensive dowries, as you say, I cannot but think they would make any man who asks to marry them proud.”

  Mr. Collins laughed again—again! The sight of the man and his merriment brought Mrs. Bennet close to the breaking point. What she would not give for a bottle to break over his thick head!

  “The affection you hold for your daughters is admirable, but you cannot be blind to their deficiencies. Miss Jane is tolerably pretty, I suppose, but she cannot even play the pianoforte, has little talent otherwise, and rarely opens her mouth. Your youngest daughters are improper hoydens in need of a firm hand and your middle daughter is a bluestocking and the most likely spinster in the making I have ever seen. And the worst is your second daughter, who speaks as if she were a man, talking of matters she cannot understand, besides being ill-favored and the furthest thing from tempting to a man that I can imagine. I suggest you prepare your daughters for spinsterhood, Mrs. Bennet, for it is unlikely they will ever marry.”

  Shooting to her feet, Mrs. Bennet glared down on the parson, unwilling to allow him to insult her dear daughters. “Then it is fortunate for you, Mr. Collins, that you do not consider my girls good enough to be your wife, for I cannot imagine ever agreeing to any of them marrying you.”

  Then she turned on her heel and marched from the room, head held high, not caring what Mr. Collins thought. As she climbed the stairs to her room, Mrs. Bennet was counting the days until they could dispense with the parson’s company. He was the most loathsome man she had ever met!

  The fourth time Mr. Bennet heard a door slam above him he looked up from his book, wondering what was happening in his house. The first one had been the loudest, the third the softest, but all had been unusual in what, he thought, was a tranquil home. Could something have happened that morning?

  As Bennet considered the matter, he decided to refrain from investigating. If his presence was required, his wife would call him, and as she had not appeared, it was better to leave well enough alone. Besides, Bennet had little desire to draw his cousin’s atten
tion. Let the ladies have the pleasure of his company for a time—Bennet had endured enough of the man the previous evening.

  That decided, Bennet turned back to his book and immersed himself in its pages.

  The ubiquitous presence of Mr. Collins made it difficult for anyone to enjoy their home. When out of their rooms, the Bennet sisters were treated to an unapologetic Mr. Collins dogging their every step—it seemed to Elizabeth the man was not even aware of how he had offended them. Retreat to their rooms was possible, but not desirable, for no one wished to spend all their time hidden away in their bedchambers.

  Thus, not long after luncheon, the Bennet sisters decided among themselves that they would escape the man’s presence by walking into Meryton. Even that, however, was a failure.

  “Then I shall accompany you into the town,” said Mr. Collins when he learned of their intention. Jane and Elizabeth shared a glance—it had been their wish to free themselves from him. “It will be just the thing, for there, you might introduce me to those of the neighborhood, so I may be about the task which brought me to your door.”

  “It was my understanding it was your patroness’s wish to restore relations between us,” was Elizabeth’s acid observation.

  “Of course,” said Mr. Collins, waving his hand as if shooing away an insect. “But it was also to find a wife. I suspect this will be an excellent location in which to begin my quest.”

  Elizabeth did not think there was a young lady in all Hertfordshire who could endure him, but there was nothing to say, and she refrained from giving him any further reason to speak. Not that he needed any. Seeing her mother glaring at the parson as if to bore holes in him, Elizabeth wondered if he had offended her too. Before they left, her mother contrived a moment to speak to her.

  “You may tell your sisters they are safe from Mr. Collins.” Mrs. Bennet turned a glare on the man as he was pulling on his gloves and looked away from him as if he were of no consequence. “He is looking for a woman of fortune to become Mrs. Collins and has expressed his . . . disinclination to pursue any of you.”