“Then I will not share the details of their impending journey with you. Most of Mr. Collins’s letter is devoted to the birth and christening of his son,” said Mr. Bennet. He adjusted his spectacles and read aloud:
You may already be aware, through my dear Charlotte’s relations, that we have chosen, with the acquiescence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, to christen our son Lewis William Collins. If the child had been a girl we would have chosen Catherine Anne, to honor my noble patroness and her distinguished daughter, but the child, as you know, is a boy – not that we are the least disappointed, especially as he is a strong child, with healthy lungs and appetite. The first reason for choosing this name was to honor Lady Catherine’s late husband, Sir Lewis de Bourgh. The second name, William, is a family name honoring Mrs. Collins’s father and happens to also be my own. We also considered Lucas, or even Bennet, to carry on the name that you have not been able to bequeath, and I feel I must apologize for giving the preference to those who are at hand. We hope to have many children, and if we are so blessed, be assured, my dear Mr. Bennet, that we will honor you when the time comes, although I must say that having just one child requires a great deal of effort, especially as we were unfortunate with our initial choice of nursery maid. The change in domestic circumstances experienced by many new parents will excuse my tardiness in composing this missive to inform you of my son’s name, and the reasons supporting the choice, but as you and Mrs. Bennet are parents yourselves you will certainly comprehend the difficulties and forgive us. Be assured, however, that Mrs. Collins and our son are all well, and we hope to introduce you soon to Lewis William Collins, and continue to heal the breach between the two branches of our family.
Mr. Bennet read the page to the feminine members of his family, in the hope that they would enjoy the pompous formality of his cousin’s manner. Unluckily, this was an appreciation that he could not share; only Elizabeth had inherited his delight in others’ foibles – one of the reasons that Mrs. Darcy, although the least preferred of Mrs. Bennet’s children, was Mr. Bennet’s favorite. As Mr. Bennet read, Mrs. Bennet fidgeted impatiently, Kitty attempted and failed to hide several yawns, and Mrs. Philips stared at the plate of muffins and wondered if she would appear too greedy if she took another. Only Mary attended to Mr. Collins’s epistle with any interest, but her interest was completely serious.
Mr. Bennet, realizing the limitations of his audience, stopped reading and resumed drinking his tea.
Mrs. Bennet proved that she had been paying attention by responding to the letter’s contents if not its style. “So, Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a healthy son! Of course we already know about it, as Mrs. Collins wrote to Lady Lucas long before your cousin wrote to you. I suppose that they wish to show Longbourn to Lewis so that he can claim it as his own.”
Mr. Bennet knew that his wife still felt guilty about never producing a son and cutting off the entail. That increased her resentment of Mrs. Collins, who had achieved with her first child what Mrs. Bennet had failed to do with five. Mr. Bennet attempted to reason with his lady. “Mrs. Bennet, even if Mr. and Mrs. Collins had been able to honor Lady Catherine by having a daughter to name after her, the property would still be entailed on Mr. Collins. Once I die, Longbourn will go to him. There is nothing that we can do about it. Is that not true, Mrs. Philips?”
Despite being both the daughter and the wife of an attorney, Mrs. Philips was ignorant of most legal matters. She was also not accustomed to being appealed to by her brother-in-law on any point. Her mouth full of muffin, she mumbled something unintelligible but fortunately for her, no one paid any attention.
“And if Mr. Collins should die?” asked Mrs. Bennet.
“Then little Lewis Collins will inherit.”
Mrs. Bennet spoke without enthusiasm. “Lewis William Collins! I will not have him staying here, breaking everything! We will have to place all the fine things on the highest shelves.”
“Mamma, Lewis is only a few months old,” Kitty protested. “He cannot possibly be walking.”
Mr. Bennet reminded Mrs. Bennet that they would soon have grandchildren themselves, and that they might as well prepare the house for it.
Mrs. Bennet, however, was not to be dissuaded from voicing displeasure. “I do not see why an infant, who no one cares anything about, should be heir to Longbourn!”
Mr. Bennet said that he expected that many people cared about Lewis Collins, including their neighbors, Sir William and Lady Lucas, the boy’s grandparents, to say nothing of Mr. and Mrs. Collins, who were certainly delighted by their son. “Mr. Collins has written four pages on the subject,” said Mr. Bennet, waving them.
Mary asked if she could read the rest of the letter, and Mr. Bennet passed the pages to his third daughter.
“Mary, how can you want to read anything written by that man?” asked Kitty.
“There are many reasons to like Mr. Collins, or at least to show him respect. He is a clergyman; he is our cousin, and he is the heir to Longbourn.”
“And one of the dullest men that ever breathed!”
Mr. Bennet said, “For once, Mary and Kitty, I am in agreement with both your sentiments.”
Mr. Bennet’s remark was confusing to Mrs. Bennet, who upbraided him for talking nonsense.
Kitty, leaning back in her chair, voiced a different complaint. “The weather is so warm, and I am so bored. I wish I could visit Lydia, Papa. I do not see why she should be allowed to visit my aunt Gardiner in London while I stay here.”
“We all wish we could visit Lydia,” said Mrs. Bennet, who missed her youngest daughter’s liveliness and good humor. “But London in August, Kitty, would be even warmer than Hertfordshire. I do wish Lydia and Wickham would write. We have not even learned if Wickham reached Newcastle safely.”
Mary began sharing other items of news from Mr. Collins’s letter.
“I will finish my tea in the library,” said Mr. Bennet. He was reminded, as he had been so often, that a small dose of his family was sufficient to renew the great appeal of the solitude and serenity of his books. Besides, he had already read Mr. Collins’s letter; he did not need to be informed of its contents again.
“As you please, Mr. Bennet,” said Mrs. Bennet.
“Who is that?” asked Mrs. Philips, who, as a guest, had been seated with the best view of the window, but whose eyesight was not so good that she could distinguish much at a distance.
They could all hear the sound of horses’ hoofs and an approaching carriage. Mrs. Bennet told Kitty to take a look, and even Mr. Bennet delayed his escape and waited to learn the identity of the arrival.
Kitty bounded over to the window and pulled the curtain to the side. “It is Jane!” she said. “Or – at least it is Mr. Bingley’s carriage.” Kitty continued to gaze out the window and to make her report. “The carriage has stopped – the man is opening the door – he helping Jane out.”
“Anyone else, Kitty? Has Mr. Bingley come calling too? Or Miss Bingley?” inquired Mrs. Bennet.
But Kitty reported that Jane had arrived alone.
The mother still took action, telling Kitty to ring the bell and to order a fresh pot of tea and another plate of muffins. Mrs. Philips and Mary Bennet looked more alert, and even Mr. Bennet, on the threshold of departure for the sanctuary of his library, sat back down with the others. His eldest daughter might not be quite his favorite, but he valued her highly. Jane’s calm demeanor and good sense were always welcome after the high spirits and querulousness of the others.
But Mr. Bennet was disappointed in his expectation for rational, intelligent conversation, for when Mrs. Bingley entered the room, instead of greeting them calmly, she sat down and burst into tears.
CHAPTER II
A young matron who sinks into a chair and cries must be comforted. The occupants of the Bennet parlor were united, at least, in their desire to help dear Jane, although not in agreement in how to go about it. Mrs. Philips tried to loan her niece her recently acquired little glass flask of smelling sal
ts, which was inappropriate as Mrs. Bingley was weeping and not faint. Mary tried to think of something pertinent and profound to say; Kitty prepared a muffin and a cup of tea; Mr. Bennet pulled out a large handkerchief and silently handed it to his eldest daughter; and Mrs. Bennet, pushing aside Mrs. Philips, loudly demanded to know what was wrong.
“Are you ill?” inquired Mrs. Bennet. “Should we send for Mr. Jones?”
These questions were relevant because Jane expected to become a mother in about six weeks.
Jane wiped her face with her father’s handkerchief and surveyed the large party hovering before her. “Mother, I assure you, I am not ill. There is no need to send for the apothecary.”
Mrs. Bennet continued with her theories. “Is it that Miss Bingley? Has she been unkind to you? If so, she should go and live with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, wherever they are these days.”
Miss Bingley, Mr. Bingley’s sister, was petitioning for her brother to purchase an estate in some other neighborhood, and had listed Mrs. Bennet as chief among her reasons for suggesting a removal to another county. Miss Bingley’s opinion of Mrs. Bennet had somehow traveled from Netherfield to Longbourn, and the mistress of Longbourn had taken great offense.
“No, Mamma. Please, please, forget about it.” Jane gazed around her at all the anxious faces. “It is nothing, really. Forgive me for disturbing you. And thank you, Kitty, for the tea and muffin. I am certain it will restore me.”
But the others in the Bennet parlor could not cease speculating. Mrs. Philips wondered if a servant had been giving her trouble, for her new acquaintance, Mrs. Smith, had just told her a horror story about servants. Mrs. Bennet wanted to know if they were having money troubles, and if so, Bingley should discuss it with Mr. Bennet.
Mr. Bennet was silent. He was not sure what he could do in such a case – Longbourn was a fine estate, for their area of Hertfordshire, but he did not have the means to compensate for any shortfall of Mr. Bingley’s, whose income was more than twice his, and included fewer dependents – but again Jane shook her head. Although he said nothing, Mr. Bennet observed his daughter carefully.
Mary had finally determined what sort of consolation she could offer. “Would you like me to play for you on the pianoforte? Music can be a great comfort to a distressed spirit.”
“No, Mary, thank you. Just tell me how all of you are.”
A valiant attempt was made to change the subject; the names Mr. Collins and Lady Lucas were offered, but the curiosity regarding Jane’s situation was too strong. Mrs. Bennet and the other ladies could not resist inquiring what was wrong – so frequently that Jane took the desperate step of asking Mary to play the pianoforte for her after all.
Mary entertained them for half-an-hour. Then Jane departed, and Mrs. Philips as well, grateful to accept a lift back to Meryton in the Netherfield chaise.
Mr. Bennet then observed to his lady: “I suspect that Jane came in order to tell us something and then decided against it.”
But Mrs. Bennet, in the habit of disagreeing with her husband on everything, was inclined to believe Jane’s assertion that nothing was wrong. “We asked her what the matter was, and she said nothing, several times! Why would she come to tell us something and then not speak? What could ever stop her from confiding in her parents, especially her mother? And her sisters? It is very good of you, Mr. Bennet, to take such an interest – but Jane has already denied it, and she is the most trustworthy of our girls.” Mary and Kitty, both still in the drawing-room, frowned at this reflection, but their mother obliviously continued. “I will tell you what it is. Jane will soon be having her first child and a young woman in her condition can easily be fanciful. Things, even little things, can upset one. I should know. My nerves have always been sensitive, and Jane, after all, is my daughter. Perhaps Miss Bingley said something, and Jane needed an hour or two away from her. I am sure it is nothing. What could be wrong?”
“I do not know,” said Mr. Bennet, and added, unusually gravely for him, “I hope, Mrs. Bennet, that you are right and that it is all it is.” He returned at last to the solitude of his library but he was so concerned that he considered writing a letter to his second daughter. His anxiety persisted, so he actually wrote the letter that evening and sent it via the post the following morning.
It was this note that Mrs. Darcy opened, just two days later, when it reached her at Pemberley. She read it aloud to her husband, a procedure that took less than a minute.
Dear Lizzy,
Your sister Jane is out of spirits. She was in tears at Longbourn this afternoon. She needs your help. Yours sincerely, etc.
“What do you think is wrong?” Elizabeth asked of her husband.
“Dear Elizabeth, you must know better than I.”
“I wonder that she has not written. Perhaps she is too distressed to write. Or could she be ill?”
“Everything you say is possible,” said Mr. Darcy.
“But if any of those things were true, my father should have mentioned it. Could something be wrong with Bingley? Have you heard anything from your friend?”
But Darcy had received no communication from Mr. Bingley for several weeks. The men, though good friends, did not keep up the same sort of chatty correspondence far more common to females.
“I wish my father had said more,” said Elizabeth, passing the letter to her husband.
“Your father rarely says more,” said Darcy, for terseness was Mr. Bennet’s custom. “But since he has actually taken the trouble to write, he is obviously concerned. It is possible that he has not said more because he does not know more. What I believe your father wants is for you to visit. Also, his letter indicates that Jane needs you, and not that Bingley needs me. So do you wish to travel to Longbourn – or perhaps, if you go, you should stay at Netherfield?”
Elizabeth could not disagree with anything that her husband said, and was impressed at his eliciting so much meaning out of so few words. Moreover, she wished to be with her sister during this most interesting time, but she did have more to add. “And I believe what you want, is for me to make the journey and for you to remain at Pemberley. You are avoiding Longbourn.”
“My dear, do not accuse me.”
But they both comprehended that their marriage fared better when Mr. Darcy was not reminded too often and too strongly of his wife’s mother. Not only was Mrs. Bennet an irritant in herself; the prospect that Elizabeth might grow to resemble Mrs. Bennet would strike fear into any rational man. Elizabeth sometimes experienced anxiety herself with respect to the possibility, even though Darcy had assured her that she would have to change a great deal before she acquired the manners of her mother.
Darcy said genially, “If you insist upon my going to Netherfield, I will, but I believe that your sister will be more likely to confide in you if I am not there. Especially if it is a matter concerning her condition.”
“Your arguments are too good,” said Elizabeth. “Besides, you have the Grangers to take care of”– Darcy was overseeing some improvements being made to some of his tenants’ property – “and Georgiana is returning from London next week. You will want to be here to welcome your sister, and Colonel Fitzwilliam is coming too. Wilson is the most reliable coachman in the country, so you have no fears for my safety.”
“And the weather has been dry, and the roads between Pemberley and Longbourn are excellent. Georgiana, however, will miss you.”
“And I will miss Georgiana – and her music.” Elizabeth did not add, that it was a penance to trade Georgiana Darcy’s glorious music for the pedantic efforts of Mary Bennet, because she did not need to remind husband of yet another way in which the Bennets were inferior to the Darcys. He had known of all these deficiencies – her want of connection and fortune, not to mention her mother – before he had asked for her hand, and yet his affection for her was so great that he had done it anyway.
“And I will miss you,” said her gallant husband. “You must promise me not to stay away for long, and to return as soon as yo
u are assured of Jane’s safety. And if you miss me, or if you think I could be of any use, I will come immediately, even if it means leaving visitors to their own devices at Pemberley.”
The question then became whether she should stay at Netherfield Park, with her sister, or at Longbourn, with her parents. “If Jane will have me, I would rather stay at Netherfield. But perhaps it would be indelicate for me to invite myself, whereas my father has invited me.”
“Elizabeth, you know very well that you will be welcome at either house. But my recommendation is that you choose Netherfield. First, if Jane needs assistance, you can supply it more easily if you are under the same roof. Second, given her condition, it is natural for you to wish to be near her.”
“And, if you do join me, you would much prefer to be at Netherfield than at Longbourn,” said Elizabeth.
“Do not take that into account. I know how much Jane means to you, and I would endure much more to put your mind at ease. But I think my other reasons are sufficient.”
So Elizabeth wrote the appropriate letters, including sending a note of apology to some friends with whom she had become acquainted since becoming mistress of Pemberley, and made the other necessary arrangements. Two days later she set out to spend some time with her sister and to visit the neighborhood of her youth.
CHAPTER III
Elizabeth had been in Hertfordshire but once since her marriage, when she and Mr. Darcy had been journeying somewhere else, and so had only spent two nights there in the past ten months. On that occasion she was still so newly married, with all the attendant fuss granted to every bride – something that she could not avoid as her mother had been determined to exhibit her to everyone – that Elizabeth had neither time nor leisure to ponder the difference in her situation before and after marriage. On this visit she planned to spend several weeks at least, so she would have opportunity for assessment and reflection.
The Meryton Murders Page 2