Implacable Resentment

by Jann Rowland

  Quickly preparing herself for bed, Elizabeth braided her hair and donned her longest and heaviest nightgown before settling down in bed and waiting for the inevitable. If she was to be honest with herself, Elizabeth knew that she was not truly fearful for what the parson might do; she was more curious as to what form his displeasure would take.

  In the end, it was a little more than ten minutes after she had entered her room—Mr. Collins, it appeared, was not any more adept at telling time than he was at any of the other tasks at which Elizabeth had witnessed him failing so abysmally—when his knock sounded on her door.

  “Mrs. Collins,” said he as the reverberation of his raps echoed through the room. “I have come to you.” His tone was a particularly wheedling sort of voice which he no doubt thought to be affectionate.

  When there was no reply, he attempted the door experimentally, his efforts to turn the handle intensifying when it became obvious that it would not turn.

  “Shall you not open the door, my love?” asked he after a few moments of ineffectually turning the knob. “It is time for there to be no more secrets between us.”

  Elizabeth stayed resolutely silent, refusing to give the man any reason for hope that his advances might meet with any success. His attempts to enter the room became more insistent, and the noise of him turning the handle and eventually pushing on the door in an attempt to enter into the room sounded loud in the stillness of her room.

  “Mrs. Collins, this is unseemly,” said he, his voice raised in displeasure. “I have been patient in deference to your delicate sensibilities, but there comes a point where further delay cannot be tolerated. Open this door!”

  The sound of his shoulder hitting the door resounded throughout the room, along with his now insistent and furious turning of the handle. But it was all for naught, as the door refused to yield. Elizabeth was grateful for the sturdy construction of the parsonage.

  “Very well. I shall return,” said the man, his voice overflowing with anger.

  Elizabeth listened to the sounds of his retreat down the hall and to the stairs. Knowing that she guessed correctly at his actions, Elizabeth waited for his return, thinking about how the stupid man still did not understand her disinclination for his company and her disgust for his person.

  Soon, his footsteps once again sounded, this time swift and clipped, up the stairs and to the outside of her door. “Where is the key to this room, Mrs. Collins?” demanded he. “Let me in!”

  When Elizabeth refused to speak, the man once again pushed on the door and turned the handle with a furious vigor.

  All at once, the noise stopped, and silence reigned in the hall. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice conciliatory this time. “Mrs. Collins, please open the door. It is time for us to become a couple in every sense of the word. Further delay is not proper.”

  He said nothing further of the matter, and moments later, the sound of his footsteps echoed down the hall. The noise of his own door closing arose with a crash, indicating his rage as he entered his own room and shut the door behind him with undue force.

  Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief, confident that he was defeated for the night. But though she fell into a fitful doze, it did not last long, as the parson was back to try her door before long, and though he said nothing, the sound of his stalking footsteps, followed by his abuse of the handle and his subsequent heavy pounding on the door, served as a testament to his anger.

  And so it continued through the night. Mr. Collins would attempt to enter the room for a few moments, and then upon being frustrated with his failure, he would retreat back to his own, returning to make the attempt again and again. There was little sleep to be had for Elizabeth that night, as she was afraid to settle into a deep sleep. It would not do to be woken by the man in the event that he actually managed to bypass the door. It was a long night, and by the morning, Elizabeth was almost contemplating simply leaving the parsonage for good.

  Mr. Collins accosted her the moment she entered the breakfast room the following morning, his displeasure as well as the obvious effects of a sleepless night written on his face.

  “Mrs. Collins,” said he, “what did you mean by locking me from your room last night?”

  “I am sorry, Mr. Collins, but I have not the pleasure of understanding you,” said Elizabeth, deciding that it was best to utilize simple avoidance as long as possible. “I found myself fatigued upon our return last night and retired as soon as we arrived at the parsonage.”

  His mouth working in astonished soundlessness, Mr. Collins gaped at her. “Do you not remember my comments from last evening? It has been nearly three weeks since our marriage. The time is here for us to become one, as I am certain an intelligent young lady such as you must understand.”

  “Become one?” asked Elizabeth, feigning ignorance. “Did we not become one when my father forced me to the altar and insisted I sign the register?”

  Perhaps it was not wise to refer to her reluctance in so blatant a manner, but Elizabeth was angry, and her good judgment had been impaired by disdain for this man. But in this, she appeared to be fortunate, as once again the sight of a befuddled Collins met Elizabeth’s sight, and if she had not been so disgusted by the man, she might have found it amusing. However, proving that he was a man prone to hear what he wished to hear and nothing more, Mr. Collins ignored the second part of her statement and focused on her seeming lack of understanding.

  “Now I see, my beautiful wife,” said he with an expression of utmost condescension. “I had thought that your excellent mother would explain the matter to you in full before our marriage, but perhaps the ceremony was completed in such haste that a communication of this sort was not possible. You have been ignorant of what happens between man and woman once their marriage has been sanctioned, and I suppose that I should not be surprised that an elegant and innocent female such as yourself would not possess such knowledge.

  “Regardless, I shall enlighten you, and by the time I have finished explaining the matter to you, I am confident you shall be as willing—or dare I say eager!—as I am to finalize our marriage in the solemn act of communion between two souls. You see, Mrs. Collins—”

  “Thank you very much for your words,” said Elizabeth, speaking over the man’s blathering. Resisting his advances, tolerating his never-ending prattling, and even living in the same house as the man were all very well, but Elizabeth would not subject herself to an explanation of the marriage act from the man. She had much rather die than allow him to continue in such a manner!

  “As the weather is fine, I believe that I shall take my constitutional before I attend to Widow Morris. I bid you a good morning, sir.”

  And with that, Elizabeth swept from the room. Her last glimpse of Mr. Collins was the man staring at her as she exited the parsonage, his jaw slack with the shock of her exit.

  Elizabeth stayed out pacing the grounds of Rosings as long as she was able, not wanting to return to the parsonage to once again bear the complaints of her husband, despite the fact that it meant that she was away from the parsonage until quite late in the afternoon. Mrs. Morris was a wonderful old soul who appreciated Elizabeth’s attempts to care for her, and she told the most interesting stories of her late husband, who had been the blacksmith in the small community for many years.

  Finally, however, Elizabeth was forced to turn her steps toward the parsonage and brave the displeasure of her husband. She did not know exactly what form his anger would take, but she could not imagine that his frame of mind was at all good given the manner in which she had left him earlier without even taking leave.

  Her suspicions were proven to be correct, but as she walked up to the front door of the house, she noted the presence of one of Lady Catherine’s carriages with a groan. Anne always visited in her phaeton, which meant that the lady herself was undoubtedly within. A visit from the woman was never a circumstance to be looked upon with equanimity; this interview promised to be much worse.

  Knowing there was
nothing for it, Elizabeth entered the house, passing her outer wear to Jessica, who was waiting for her within the entrance.

  “Lady Catherine has come?”

  “Yes, madam,” replied the maid, her eyes lowered in deference. Elizabeth had cultivated a friendship of sorts with the young woman, and Jessica would only behave in such a manner if something uncomfortable was occurring. Whatever Lady Catherine’s purpose was, it could not be an innocuous visit.

  “Very well,” said she to Jessica, giving her an encouraging smile. “I shall go in directly.”

  The parlor’s interior held three disparate people: her husband, Mr. Darcy, and Lady Catherine. But while Mr. Collins turned to regard her with a petulant scowl and an injured air and Mr. Darcy with one of excessive worry, Lady Catherine’s countenance was nigh unreadable other than a slight tightening of her eyes and a somewhat calculating stare. An awful premonition began to form within Elizabeth’s breast.

  “Mrs. Collins, how good of you to return to the parsonage,” said Lady Catherine as soon as Elizabeth had entered the room. “How can you account for such a long absence?”

  “After my morning walk, I visited Hunsford village, and I have been with Mrs. Morris, offering her comfort.” Elizabeth was not about to concede any wrongdoing, and if what she suspected was true, Lady Catherine would undoubtedly interrogate her, trying to uncover something lacking, as a fisherman might inspect his nets for holes.

  “Surely that cannot account for the length of your absence. Mr. Collins informs me that you left before even breaking your fast.”

  Turning a less than amused eye on the parson, Elizabeth regarded him, noting the way in which he projected himself to be the injured party. “How . . . good of him to relate such details to your ladyship in minute detail. One wonders if he is always this loquacious about matters which should be left private.”

  “Mr. Collins tells me everything!” said Lady Catherine. It was impossible to miss the pride in the lady’s voice at such a proclamation. “There is no detail about the parish and those lives within the realm of my influence which I would not wish to know. I am most decidedly attentive about all such things, I assure you.”

  Knowing that Mr. Collins related everything to the woman was one thing, but having it proudly proclaimed by her was another. Not only did it appear that the parson was betraying the parishioners’ confidence by relating to his patroness what was said in the confessional—a grievous breach of church law, if true—but it seemed almost certain that Mr. Collins had told her ladyship everything which had occurred since their arrival in Kent, though the man had almost certainly not explained anything which had happened in Hertfordshire. He would certainly wish to keep any hint of impropriety from her ears, if he even now comprehended that what had passed between them had been in any way improper.

  “How . . . fortunate a circumstance for you, Lady Catherine,” said Elizabeth. The fact that the lady’s countenance tightened into a disapproving scowl bespoke the fact that Elizabeth had been unable to keep the scorn from her voice.

  “Mrs. Collins, I warn you not to trifle with me. However you may choose to attempt to deflect the matter with impudent comments, you will find me steady to my purpose. My character has been celebrated far and wide with an uncommon frankness, and I assure you that I will not depart from a lifetime of such conduct.

  “Now, Mrs. Collins, among the communications your husband has imparted to me, one statement he has made is that though your marriage is already weeks old, it remains unconsummated. Is this so?”

  Elizabeth glared at the small-minded man, incensed that he would speak of such an intimate matter with another, but Mr. Collins merely glowered back at her. She should have guessed that he would not keep quiet about this. The man was incapable of gainsaying Lady Catherine concerning the slightest detail, and he would not doubt wish to have her firmly take his part in any dispute.

  “Lady Catherine,” interjected Mr. Darcy, looking highly uncomfortable, “perhaps we should not interfere in so delicate a matter as this.”

  “Be silent, Darcy. This is a most grave matter, and I must have Mrs. Collins’s response.”

  Mr. Darcy bristled at being spoken to in such a matter, but Lady Catherine had already turned her attention back to Elizabeth. “I am waiting, Mrs. Collins.”

  “That is an impertinent question, and I shall not dignify it with a response,” said Elizabeth with some disdain.

  “Mrs. Collins, I insist upon being satisfied. Have you submitted to your husband as is your duty as a wife?”

  “You may insist all you like, but it will have no effect on me. I will not respond to such an impertinent question from someone so wholly unconnected to me.”

  Mr. Collins’s eyes fairly bulged out of his head at Elizabeth’s words and tone, and Lady Catherine gave her an infuriated look. “Unconnected with you?” cried she. “I provide this living to your husband which so handsomely feeds you and provides a roof over your head. You would dismiss that connection?”

  “You are no relation, Lady Catherine, regardless of how closely my husband works with you. I would not answer your questions if they came from my mother, who I must own is a much closer connection. This line of questioning is improper and unseemly, and I will not respond.”

  Eyes narrowed to mere slits, Lady Catherine looked on Elizabeth with derision. “I believe your refusal to speak of the matter is tantamount to an admission of guilt, Mrs. Collins, and I can only wonder at the effrontery, the lack of common sense, and the sheer impropriety of your behavior. I have never heard of a woman denying her husband his rights as a married man as you have. I demand that you immediately cease this behavior and submit to it as is proper.”

  Elizabeth said nothing, content to sit there and glare at Lady Catherine. The other woman appeared to take her silence as an opportunity to instruct her on exactly what she must do. But Elizabeth had decided not to listen. Instead, she looked over at Mr. Darcy, noting his discomfort over his aunt’s continued diatribe. When their eyes met, an understanding passed between them, and they both smiled slightly, sending encouragement to the other. In this fashion, Elizabeth was able to tolerate Lady’s Catherine’s copious words on the subject.

  But when the afternoon started to wane, Elizabeth decided that enough was enough. She stood in an abrupt fashion, startling Lady Catherine to silence for a moment, and curtseyed, though with the minimum deference required.

  “If you will excuse me, I must see to supper.”

  And with that, Elizabeth departed the room, expecting for the great lady to call her back before she was able to make her escape. But no word of opposition was voiced, and soon Elizabeth had vanished from their sight. But she paused at the closed door to see if she could hear any reaction to her departure. The sounds of conversation welled up from within the room, and though Elizabeth could not hear exactly what was being said, the lady’s voice rose above the murmur:

  “Go to her tonight, Mr. Collins. I am certain you shall have no trouble with her.”

  Stifling a laugh, Elizabeth fled to the kitchen. If Lady Catherine thought her cowed, then the lady was less discerning than Elizabeth had ever thought. William Collins would be named King of England before she would ever submit to him.

  Elizabeth soon learned that Mr. Collins was not quite the simpleton she had thought, a realization which at once amused her and concerned her at the same time. Lady Catherine had departed before Elizabeth had returned to the parlor, but though the lady had seemed certain that Elizabeth would do her duty as the lady saw it, Mr. Collins had no apparent conviction of the same.

  Rather, throughout the evening, Mr. Collins watched her with suspicion, though he tried to hide the fact that he was doing so. To say that his attempts at obfuscation were ineffectual was a massive understatement. He was as obvious in his watching eyes and narrow stares as Lydia was in her flirting at the local assembly.

  When Elizabeth went to bed, she was uncertain as to whether Mr. Collins would make the attempt to once a
gain enter her room. His behavior seemed to suggest that he was not in agreement with his patroness’s conclusions on the matter. But his reverence for her and his seeming belief of her infallibility were such that Elizabeth felt certain that he would at least make the attempt. Thus, when she heard the rattle of the doorknob only a quarter hour after she had retired, Elizabeth was not surprised that he had trusted his patroness’s judgment.

  What did surprise her was when he left directly and did not bother her for the rest of the night. Of course, she did not truly believe that he had given up; on the contrary, Elizabeth had every confidence in his inability to see what was right in front of his eyes.

  And she was proven right.

  The next morning, Elizabeth emerged from her room to the sound of wind howling through the trees beside the house, the lash of rain against the windows, and the dreary, reluctant light filtering through the windows like a disobedient child afraid of imminent punishment. There would be no escape for her today amongst the groves of Rosings Park.

  Elizabeth entered the dining room to the sight of her husband with food already piled high on his plate and the newspaper set out in front of him. Upon seeing her, he put down his paper and stood, peering at her with an unctuous smile.

  “My dear, it is so good of you to join me this fine morning,” said he with a low bow which would have been appropriate if she had been the queen herself. “I must say that you are looking lovelier than the reddest roses in my garden. But when have you ever looked anything but enchanting and radiant?”

  The sight of his lascivious leer almost prompted Elizabeth to quit the room forthwith, but against her better judgment, she sat in a chair which he pulled out for her and filled her plate with a dainty selection of breakfast foods, determined to stay only long enough to eat a little food and depart from his odious presence.