To make matters worse, after complimenting the dinner, Mr. Collins had the impudence to ask which of his fair cousins had prepared it as he looked specifically toward Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet, with some asperity, quickly set him right.
“I can assure you, sir, that we are quite able to keep a good cook. My daughters have nothing to do in the kitchen.”
“A thousand pardons, Madam. I meant no offense.”
Mrs. Bennet relented, but Mr. Collins continued to apologize for about a quarter of an hour, directing many of his statements toward Elizabeth who simply nodded. The man had no inclination to remain silent, so little was demanded of those present to carry any conversation.
During the meal, Elizabeth continued to observe her father and, though she was unsurprised that he scarcely spoke, she did not like the way he would frown at their cousin then throw a sympathetic glance in her own direction. A disconcerting sensation began to settle in her stomach and she soon lost her appetite. Something was dreadfully wrong.
When the servants were withdrawn, Mr. Bennet made some effort to direct the topic of conversation and chose one on which their guest was most verbose: his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Elizabeth nearly groaned when she heard her father mention how fortunate Mr. Collins was in his patroness. With even more solemnity of manner than previously, the rector related the remarkableness of her ladyship’s attention to his wishes and her consideration for his comfort.
“I have never in my life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank—such affability and condescension, as I have myself experienced from Lady Catherine. She graciously approved of both of the discourses which I have had the honour of preaching before her. I have been invited to dine twice at Rosings, and, only this past Saturday, was sent for to make up her pool of quadrille in the evening.”
Elizabeth could not help thinking the woman sounded a bit superior, approving a rector’s message. It also appeared as though she considered Mr. Collins to be available to meet her every whim. How could a man submit himself to such demands? Her thoughts scattered as Mr. Collins continued his praises.
“I have heard those say Lady Catherine is proud, but I have never seen anything but affability in her. She has always spoken to me as she would any other gentleman. My presence here is the very example of her beneficence. She makes no objection to my joining in the society of the neighbourhood nor to my leaving the parish occasionally for a week or two to visit relations.”
His gaze once more travelled in Elizabeth’s direction. “She has even condescended to advise me to marry as soon as I can, provided I choose with discretion.” His lips lifted in what must have been his subdued version of a smile before he continued. “She paid me a visit in my humble parsonage and approved all the alterations I had been making. She even vouchsafed to suggest some herself—some shelves in the closet upstairs.”
Elizabeth sat quietly, while her mother remarked upon Mr. Collins’ statements and questioned him further regarding his abode and the great Lady. The feeling from earlier was now growing, causing the food she had eaten to sour in her stomach as she was suddenly able to place the strange sensations. Mr. Collins was here in want of a wife, and her fear mixed with revulsion suggested he was drawn to her.
Her gaze travelled to her father once more, but the man refused to meet her eye. Her chest began to tighten as though a large fist closed about her. Her desire was to flee the room, but she knew she could not. Her fear was that she might swoon if she did not manage to take a normal breath.
“Lizzy?” she heard Jane whisper as her sister’s warm hand touched her own.
Elizabeth turned to meet her sister’s gaze, longing for Jane’s natural calm to ease the anxiety that was filling her. She attempted to smile, but that simply caused Jane’s brow to pucker.
“Are you unwell, dearest?” Jane whispered.
“Oh, dear!” Mr. Collins exclaimed. “Cousin Elizabeth, you appear quite pale. Are you unwell?”
Taking a deep though shaky breath, Elizabeth attempted to assure everyone that she was quite well. Again, she noted her father would not meet her eyes though everyone else seemed to accept her reassurances. Only Jane continued to pat her hand and glance anxiously in her direction. Elizabeth laid her other hand upon Jane’s and said a silent prayer that she was mistaken.
***********
Tears blurred Elizabeth’s eyes and her breath burned in her lungs as she walked rapidly toward her home. She could hear her cousin panting behind her but was determined not to allow him to reach her side.
“Lizzy?”
Jane’s breathless voice pierced her heart causing her to slow just enough for Jane to grasp her arm. Elizabeth adjusted her pace so as not to terribly task her sister, but still maintain an unattainable distance from Mr. Collins.
“Lizzy, please,” Jane gasped. “I am unable to walk so quickly.”
“Forgive me, Dearest, but I must reach my room before our cousin is able to importune me.” She squeezed her sister’s hand and slipped away, fighting the urge to run as Longbourn came into sight. The look of concern upon Jane’s countenance had told Elizabeth her eyes were even redder than she had suspected.
The door opened before her and Elizabeth fled up the stairs before any might have the opportunity to call her away. Only when her bedroom door was closed and locked behind her, did she allow herself to breathe a sigh of relief. Her hands shook as she removed her gloves, and she nearly tore the buttons from her pelisse as her failed attempts to open them increased her frustration. The offending outerwear was dropped unceremoniously on the chest at the foot of her bed and she rushed to the window.
Her knees trembled as she lowered herself to the floor and rested her chin on the sill, her fingers gripping the edge. In this position, she could only see the treetops, sky, and clouds which blurred as her tears began. Only a drop or two at first, but soon her cheeks were wet, and her nose ran unheeded. A bullfinch flew by her window, reminding her of the soldiers filling her small town and drawing her back to the reason for her distress.
Lydia had been determined to walk to Meryton that morning and Papa insistent that Mr. Collins join them. Though her cousin had made attempts to claim a place at Elizabeth’s side, the narrow paths they had chosen and Jane holding her arm had thwarted him. The walk to town was passed in pompous nothings on his side and civil assents on that of the ladies. When they reached their destination, her youngest sisters hurried away in search of bonnets or officers, whichever could be found first.
Mr. Collins had taken the opportunity to grasp Elizabeth’s arm, as though he guided her footsteps in a locale of which he knew nothing, but she was overly familiar. Though it required all her discipline, she refrained from rolling her eyes and instead looked to Jane, hoping for a bit of her sister’s natural calm to overcome the desire to snatch her arm from his grip. She was thus distracted when they approached Lydia and Kitty.
The youngest Bennet daughters had located Mr. Denny, one of their favourite officers; and he was introducing them to his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had accepted a commission in their corps. Elizabeth longed to join in the conversation, but Mr. Collins seemed determined to keep her from it.
“I am surprised your parents do not correct your sisters’ behaviour,” he whispered in her ear as his grip tightened.
“I believe, sir, that is something you must discuss with my father.”
He nodded once. “As I shall. When I am Master of Longbourn, it will not be permitted.” Mr. Collins drew himself up to his full height and frowned at her sisters.
Elizabeth was shocked to hear him speak so in her presence. They were all very much aware of the entail, but for this man to become master, her father would have to die. The fact that he could make such a comment, without thought of how she would receive it … She could feel herself trembling and prayed he did not notice. Her eyes scanned the vicinity for anything to distract her so none would notice her growing distress.
Two horsemen rode in their direction, and she
was pleased to see Mr. Bingley’s smile as his gaze fell upon Jane. She was even happy to see his disagreeable friend, Mr. Darcy; hoping his consequence might distract her cousin long enough that he would release her, and she could step away from him.
Mr. Bingley was at their side in a matter of a moment, bowing and proclaiming his destination as Longbourn in hopes of finding Jane well. His friend joined them and bowed, seemingly prepared to corroborate his friend’s purpose when he appeared struck dumb.
Elizabeth followed his gaze to find it lingered upon Mr. Wickham, who now appeared a bit ashen. As her eyes returned to Mr. Darcy, his countenance reddened, and he turned abruptly away.
“I say,” Mr. Collins tsked in her ear. “His manners are sorely lacking. Is all of Meryton this uncivilized?”
The absurdity of Mr. Darcy being lumped in with Meryton society was not lost on Elizabeth, but the need to suppress her mirth disappeared as Mr. Collins stepped closer still, his leg brushing her skirts in too familiar a manner. She stepped away, but he would follow.
Mr. Bingley looked up to see his friend moving on and bowed over Jane’s hand before bidding farewell to the rest of the group. Jane’s dreamy expression as she watched him go told Elizabeth she would be of little assistance with their cousin.
“Our aunt is expecting us.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded high pitched and brittle to her own ears, but there was no help for it. She was distressed and did not see any relief in the near future. Her only hope was to arrive at her aunt’s where she might be able to excuse herself while her cousin fawned over his hostess.
The soldiers escorted them, causing Mr. Collins to continue his whispered censures. The spot where his thumb rested just above her elbow ached, and she suspected she would bare a bruise there come evening. With each stale breath that reached her cheek and each brush of her skirt against his leg, she cringed inwardly wondering if no one saw her discomfort.
The fact that he seemed so fully focused upon her, confirmed Elizabeth’s suspicions that she was the bride of his choosing. Her gaze drifted toward Jane who walked at her side, oblivious to all around her. Everything inside of Elizabeth demanded she pull away from the toady man but love for her sister forced her to resist. If she were to insult Mr. Collins who held their futures in his hands, she could injure those she held most dear.
Elizabeth turned her head to the side and took a deep, cleansing breath. Determined to bear but not encourage her cousin, she pointed out things she hoped he would find interesting and distract him from his sermonizing. Whatever was indicated, be it tree, well, or home, was compared and found wanting to something similar on his patroness’ property. The sight of her aunt’s home was never so welcome.
A soft knock, followed by a whispered, “Lizzy?” as the doorknob rattled drew her from her memories. Elizabeth wiped her cheeks and blew her nose as she crossed the room to lean against the door.
“Lizzy, Mama is asking for you.” Jane’s whispered words renewed Elizabeth’s distress.
“Please, tell her I am indisposed.”
Jane said nothing at first. “May I enter?” she finally asked.
“I fear I am unwell and not suitable for company.”
There was silence for a moment before Jane tried again. “Is there nothing I can do to bring you comfort?”
Marry Mr. Bingley, quickly. “No. I wish to rest.”
She heard her sister’s reluctant steps retreat to the stairs but remained where she was. The cool wood of the door felt good against her feverish forehead. She rocked her head to and fro until she heard heavier steps upon the stairs. Fearing who it may be, she retreated to her bed and lay down, drawing her shawl over her.
The banging on the door was followed by her mother’s voice. “Lizzy open this door. You are wanted in the drawing room.” Her voice lowered, but only slightly. “Mr. Collins wishes to know you better.”
Elizabeth lay silent, hoping her mother would think her asleep. She heard the sound of her mother fumbling with her chatelaine and closed her eyes. The door opened a second later with a bang.
“Lizzy, get up at once!” Her mother crossed to the bed and leaned over her. “Lord, whatever has happened? You look terrible! Mr. Collins cannot see you this way.” She laid a hand upon her daughter’s brow, and Elizabeth was suddenly thankful for her emotional release which now caused her to appear so ill. “You are burning up.”
Elizabeth allowed her eyes to blink open. “Mama, I feel truly horrid.” Tears slipped from her eyes unbidden.
Her mother frowned, but wiped Elizabeth’s cheeks with her handkerchief. “There, there. You must rest tonight. I am certain you have just walked too far to-day. You are always traipsing about.” She kissed Elizabeth’s forehead. “I will have Hill bring you a bowl of broth and some chamomile tea. That will put you to rights. Mr. Collins will simply have to wait until the morrow to speak with you.”
Fresh tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes, but her mother was already heading for the door. “Sleep now, Lizzy. You must look rested to-morrow.”
The door closed behind her as Elizabeth succumbed to her feeling of helplessness. At any other time in her life, she knew her father would come to her aid. With his recent odd behaviour, she was no longer so assured. Her thoughts turned to her Saviour and His prayer at Gethsemane.
“O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.”
***********
Elizabeth sat alone in her room at the dressing table, staring absent-mindedly at her reflection. She patted her fingertips under her left eye, grimacing at the puffiness. Her only hope would be that her mother would see her and agree she appeared too unwell to attend her aunt’s card party that evening.
The door opened, and Jane slipped inside. Soundlessly, she stepped up behind her sister and rested her hands upon Elizabeth’s shoulders.
“Dearest, have you improved at all?”
Elizabeth’s hand fell back to the table. “I fear I have not. Will mother relent; do you think?”
A shake of her head was Jane’s only response. She dipped a cloth into the nearby basin and handed it to her sister who applied it to her eyes and forehead. Jane took up Elizabeth’s hairbrush and employed it deftly. They remained in silence as Jane gently brushed and styled her sister’s hair. When she had finished, she took the cloth and examined Elizabeth’s eyes.
“I believe that might have helped; your eyes are not as swollen.”
“Jane, you are too kind. I look quite ill.” Elizabeth examined her reflection once more. “Perhaps it is as it should be.” Her lips tugged upward hesitantly. “Mr. Collins may turn from me if I look a fright.”
Her sister attempted a smile but turned away. Elizabeth’s skin began to crawl. Something was dreadfully wrong.
“Jane?”
Jane did not respond but opened the wardrobe and removed Elizabeth’s favourite shawl.
“That is too good for Aunt Phillips. I shall wear my red shawl.” She stood to take the other from her sister but noticed Jane’s countenance was quite serious. “Jane? What is it?”
“Mama insists you wear your best, and I fear your red shawl will only emphasize your paleness this evening.” She would not meet Elizabeth’s gaze.
Elizabeth’s hand shook as she accepted the shawl from her sister. “What else has Mama said?” she whispered. When Jane shook her head, Elizabeth clutched her sister’s hands. “Please, Jane, you must tell me. I fear I already suspect …” She could not finish her thought; she had no desire to speak her fears aloud.
“She is encouraging Mr. Collins,” Jane replied.
Elizabeth returned to her seat and ran her fingers over the edge of her wrap. “And Papa?”
“He has spent the day in his book room and has spoken to no one.”
“Is he aware of …?”
“Mama is never quiet, Lizzy.”
There it was. Elizabeth had been correct in her suppositions. Her family would be destitute should her father die, and at the mercy of Mr. Collins. Therefore, Eliza
beth was to be the sacrificial lamb. Like Abraham and Isaac, though there would be no ram caught in a hedge to substitute at the last moment. Like Christ … her thoughts returned to her prayers of the night before and she realized she had not finished the prayer. O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and folded her hands in her lap. She had always had great faith in God. She knew he loved his children and wanted only the best for them. She was also familiar with the Bible and knew she could not expect a life of ease, without tests; but through it all, God would not forsake her. Taking a deep breath, she sent up a silent plea that God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, would use her according to His plans.
“I suppose we should go below before Mama comes to collect us,” Elizabeth said as she stood.
Jane stared at her sister in amazement. “Lizzy, are you …?”
“I will be well, Jane.” Elizabeth patted her sister’s hand and gathered her reticule and outerwear. As she slipped into the pelisse, she noticed a button was loose due to her frustrated tugging from the day before. What had she benefited by being so distraught? She could only put her trust in God, for all things work together for good to them that love Him.
She led her sister from the room and downstairs where their cousin eagerly awaited her. Though it was proper that he escort Jane to the carriage, he grasped Elizabeth’s elbow once more and drew her along beside them. When all the Bennet sisters were seated, Mr. Collins entered the coach and took the seat opposite his chosen. The carriage reached the Phillips’ home and the sisters were handed out the way they had entered. Elizabeth was grateful for this as her cousin was still seeing to her younger sisters while she and Jane slipped inside their aunt’s home.
Elizabeth was pleased to learn that their new acquaintance, Mr. Wickham, had accepted her uncle’s invitation, and she was momentarily distracted from her woes when she remembered the odd interactions between him and Mr. Darcy the day before. As Mr. Collins was greeting her aunt, Elizabeth took the moment to find a seat. When the officers entered the room, Mr. Wickham seated himself beside her. They immediately fell into conversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, and she came to realize that the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the speaker.
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