The Colonel, though not given to the self-indulgent fancies of his favored one, found himself, in her absence, quite consumed by thoughts of her. How astonished he had been to find her transfigured in one year from girl to woman. The metamorphosis had pleased him and the bright butterfly she had become fueled his intrigue.
Maria was in every way her sister Charlotte’s opposite; she was spirited, if not by nature, then by the determined modeling of her character upon Elizabeth’s. For the latter was all that Maria dared hope to be, so much a mixture of beauty and intelligence. To imitate her was impossible, but to make small judgments on the nature of her character and undertake them as her own was within Maria’s grasp. On this facsimile she depended, intent, with the knowledge of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s regard for Elizabeth, to mirror her in some way so as to secure the unwitting gentleman as her own.
Two weeks into that hottest of months a young man called at Rosings Park seeking an address with Mary Bennet.This in itself was an occurrence of a unique type. Never before had her attention been sought so. The gentleman, a Mr. Robert Price, was known to the Bennets to be employed as a clerk in Mr. Phillip’s offices at Meryton.
Lady Catherine was at once astonished and put out that anyone should think it their right to call upon Mary and when the young man was announced she said to her housekeeper reluctantly,“Very well, show him in.” Then turning to Mary she said, “Are you acquainted with this Mr. Price?”
“He is known to my family, your ladyship, he is in the employ of my uncle.”
“Oh I see,” said Lady Catherine,“he is in trade, is he? Yes? Well, I am not surprised.”
When Robert Price was shown in to the room he did not display the signs of reverence that would meet Lady Catherine’s expectation. He presented himself with courtesy but made no false attempts at flattery or subservience.
“Mr. Price,” said Lady Catherine, “you seem a sensible sort of young man, on what grounds do you come here?”
“I am only recently in Kent,” he said,“I have relations who farm nearby, my annual leave affords me the opportunity of visiting them.”
“Which farm?” said Lady Catherine, “the Houghton small holding or Newhams, the dairy people?”
“Newhams, your ladyship,Thomas Newham is my uncle.”
“I see. They supply us of course, but that is no character reference,” she said critically.
“I thought I would visit Mary,” he said looking quickly at the girl,“being so close by.”
“Oh indeed,” said Lady Catherine, “is it the general manner of the farming community to visit wherever and whenever they see fit, it is highly unusual to my way of thinking.”
Mr. Price smiled.“No indeed, ma’am.You may be assured of my regret if my unexpected arrival has inconvenienced you, as for the behavior of farmers I cannot speak for them, I am a clerk by trade.”
“Oh yes, of course,” said Lady Catherine. “Well I’m glad to see you have made some attempt at elevating yourself, you prefer the pen to the shovel do you?”
“Infinitely, ma’am,” said the young man,“though I have not the experience with the latter to make too certain a ruling. I never picked one up in my life.”
Lady Catherine smiled coldly at the man. “Well that goes in your favor I suppose.” She turned then to Mary. “It would not do to have laborers calling! At Rosings? Highly improper!” she snapped.
Mary thought better than to respond to Lady Catherine and, despite her usual habit of complying with the de Bourgh dictates, she privately felt that Robert Price’s appearance was something of a blessing. Without her observation being overt, she made a point of taking in all little details of Mr. Price. She saw that he was not handsome in the ways a man was often thought to be, nor was he so tall or elegant as others, but he had, she thought, a kind disposition and a well-meaning spirit. More importantly, she observed, he was unlikely to think her own appearance marred by her need of spectacles for he wore them himself and quite often that afternoon she found him peering over the top of them to look at her. In the week that followed, Mary was to enjoy Mr. Price’s company on a further four occasions. As was her habit, she wrote a short account of her news to Mr. Collins in the usual expectation of his happiness at receiving it.
Rosings Park, Kent
21st July 1813
Dear Mr. Collins,
Forgive me for not writing sooner. I have, as you suggested, been reading to Anne from Fordyce’s Sermons and have most recently been making a study of The Book of Common Prayer in order to procure an appropriate litany for her protection from recurrent ailments.The good Lord has blessed us with fine weather but I fear the climate is now too close for Anne, she has been very ill again. But, as we know, God gives out misfortune in equal measure to blessings. Last week I was called on by Mr. Price, you may recall he works for my Uncle Phillips in Meryton. It was a pleasant surprise to reacquaint with him. He remembers you and asks that I send you his best wishes in this letter.
I hope that Mrs. Collins is well, please give my kindest regards to her and all at Lucas Lodge.
Yours Sincerely,
Miss Mary Bennet
CHAPTER 23
How much of pleasure or pain it was in his power to bestow! How much of good or evil must be done by him!
“You have survived admirably, child,” said Lady Metcalfe kindly to Georgiana.“I know the weeks have seemed drawn out for you.”
Georgiana nodded.“And the remaining days will be as years.”
Lady Harriet smiled. “But then, child, he is to come for you, I am as delighted as you, what a great advantage this will be for my writing, to meet the man. Oh! And what a gentleman, as you rightly said, to detour to town to take you back into Derbyshire. But then I have always noted that thoughtful men are so... thoughtful,” she said succinctly.
Briefly diverted by Lady Harriet’s nonsensical talk Georgiana again let her mind dwell on the thought of seeing Edwin again. On their last being together at Pemberley the two had not had the happy knowledge that Georgiana would make such a visit to London. Mr. Hanworth on learning her news from her letters made the immediate decision to include London on his itinerary with the express purpose of taking her back into Derbyshire with him. This welcome change in plans meant that the couple would reunite some three days earlier than anticipated.
The light relief afforded Elizabeth by the observation of Maria’s happiness was not always enough to distract her from the more pressing and serious worries that loomed.With but a month until her own child and Lydia’s infant came, she was less able to distract her mind with healthy pursuits like walking and often found herself dwelling on matters concerning Wickham and Lydia and the consequences of her own decision to foster their child. She detected that Darcy also grew reticent. He appeared remote, thoughtful, and preoccupied; his manner forced her to recall how she had perceived him before. She too, felt nothing like her old self, and marveled that Lydia displayed no signs of confusion at all.
“Can she be so coldhearted?” she asked herself. Her worries grew and preyed upon her. Fearing as the time drew near that their task would be difficult, she sought her husband’s advice and reassurance on the matter of raising the infants as equals.
“I confess I am afraid,” she said to Darcy, “afraid that you will not be able to see these infants as twins, as equals.”
Darcy was quiet for a moment, he walked to the window. “I share your fears, but you must trust me, Elizabeth.”
“If you do not trust that your hand will be even, how can I depend upon it?”
His voice was steady, resigned. “You cannot depend on my heart having a steady view. That is the material point. Only ignorance to the truth will ensure that my actions are impartial, only then can I vouch that my treatment of both children will be exercised with equanimity.”
Elizabeth made no attempt to conceal her distress and she quickly became tearful.“Then you mean me to have our child and foster the other and conceal from you the rightful identity o
f each?”
“I believe it must be so.”
“You have not thought that such a concealment will deprive me of being witness to your pride?” she asked incredulous.
“That you shall not witness it does not render it unreal. But pride, when misplaced, may endanger more than it protects.”
“But surely pride in your own child cannot be judged improper?”
“In the course of a perfect life it may not be so, but in circumstances such as these I believe it may result in prejudice and above all else I do not want to risk that.”There was anger in his voice.
Elizabeth, repressing her bitter tears, protested, “No you would not, you who know so much of improper pride and prejudice! I know it is your very great belief that where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation. But you say nothing of proper feeling or kin, your refusal to acknowledge our own child, even to me, may have the unhappy outcome of depriving him of the love and fairness you so desperately wish to give in equal measure to both.”
For the first time during their marriage, Darcy raised his voice. “Do not anger me further, Elizabeth, I assure you the consequence will be the exact opposite. I shall not know the truth; you will outline no such distinction to me. I forbid it, you must promise to suppress any desire on your part to subject me to even the merest whisper of disclosure.”
Elizabeth had never known his voice to raise with such rapidity or to such a volume and she was aware in an instant that it had startled her and left her weakened but she resolved to speak calmly and hold back her tears.
“Then trust you may that my words shall never reveal the truth, but I defy your heart not to know it,” she said. Her husband left the room; she remained there sobbing and did not know the heart-break her cries caused him because he did not return to comfort her.
Within a few days, Elizabeth’s spirits had lifted tolerably well, her husband’s tone had softened again but he was not so demonstrative as he had been. She did not press him for discussion; her usual tendency to persistence seemed somehow weakened by her condition and the circumstances.
She was glad of Georgiana’s return and was happy to see Edwin Hanworth again though neither had much time, beyond the normal courtesies, for anything or anyone but each other. Such an atmosphere of love surrounded Elizabeth. Maria and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s mutual infatuation was plain and Hanworth and Georgiana’s return further increased Elizabeth’s awareness of the coolness that had come over her marriage. Kitty was rarely out of Lydia’s sight, the two making an amusement of afternoons of girlish reminiscence at the Gardiners’ cottage. Elizabeth’s one consolation had been Lydia’s apparent detachment from her expected child. But as the time drew nearer she detected a transformation in her sister, noted small but significant signs that led her to believe the girl was at last acknowledging the seriousness of the situation.
“What if I cannot bear to part with the mite?” said Lydia one day.“It is very likely, you know, Lizzy, that I shall have the sweetest baby ever seen. For all my husband’s faults he cannot be condemned for his looks and handsome fathers, you know, Lizzy, make for handsome children. Oh Lord above, I hope the child is ill-favored, then I shall happily let you take it.”
“You have indicated thus far that it is what you wish, Lydia,” said Elizabeth with concern. “I am serious, there is gravity to this matter, there must be, we are not choosing bonnets which we may pull apart if we do not like them, we must honor our decision. Lives are not so easily stitched back again once ripped at the seams.”
Lydia settled back on her pillow and sighed. “I’m grown so plump, I hardly know myself.”
Elizabeth shook her head.“Oh Lydia, that should be the least of your concerns,” she said.
“That is just like you, Lizzy, you would have me turn as serious as you are. And that would not do! You shall not make a somber mother to my child I hope?”
“It is not my intention and hardly likely, we are not of somber parentage, I daresay I shall be able to temper my so-called solemnity,” said Elizabeth firmly.
“Good,” said Lydia. “For I cannot bear to think of any child having a dull life.”
Elizabeth could not help but feel angered. “Lydia, you insult me, the child will have as good and fulfilling a life as my own infant, depend upon it. Your circumstances are such that you are not in a position to dictate, you must trust me, sister.”
“Oh, I do,” said Lydia,“but I think I shall feel mighty jealous, if all goes well. I will be cross that you will have all the credit when half the work will have been mine.”
Elizabeth was enraged by her sister’s way of looking at things, but not surprised by it. “Lydia,” she said quietly,“I certainly have no pretension to the kind of triumph you speak of, you must not think such of me.You speak as if we were only concerned with the trifling issues of winning at cards or singing well, you must attempt, Lydia, in spite of your youth, to apply some sober reflection to things.”
As was Lydia’s way, she went on to talk of having some tea and moaned that when she was well again she should deserve new clothes.“I am all drab these days, Kitty even says so.”
When Mr. Collins received Mary’s letter he afforded it close inspection, for though he was not clever, he saw therein a means to his own advancement that a less shrewd man would have overlooked. He called his wife to the study. “Charlotte my dear,” said he, handing her the letter with a smug smile, “much as I feel we have been treated ill at Lady Catherine’s hand, I cannot help but be alarmed for her daughter’s situation. It would not, I am sure, be out of place for a clergyman of my standing to offer out a little warning to the de Bourgh ladies that their companion may not, if I am correct in my assumptions, always be so devoted.”
Charlotte gave her husband a look of concern.“I think I know your meaning, sir,” she said, “but forgive me, are you not a little hasty in your supposition?”
Mr. Collins laughed. “Your inexperience and ignorance are indeed in your favor, my dear Charlotte, but no, even if I am not to be proved right in my suspicions I think it would be remiss of me not to offer a small measure of advice to her ladyship. Imagine, Charlotte, the disappointment that would consume all at Rosings should Mary Bennet decide to marry.”
“You read a great deal into this correspondence, I think you are quite wrong.”
Mr. Collins became flustered.“Well perhaps I may be, but it is an indication of a side to Mary’s nature that has as yet not shown itself, a warning, of the gentlest kind would not be viewed dimly, I am sure.”
None of Charlotte’s protestations could prevent her husband pondering these latest thoughts. For the next fortnight the ideas formulated in his mind until suddenly one morning he could resist the temptation no more and he set out with an air of urgency, to write a letter to Lady Catherine.
“Discretion, Charlotte, that is my dictum,” he said as he took up his quill. He was engaged in the office of composing a letter for over an hour although the brevity of his missive did not reflect the copious time he had spent on it. If the thoughtfulness that delayed him so had been the result of sincerity it would have been commendable at least. But there are no such honors to award Mr. Collins; he was engaged only by the determination to write, as best he could, a letter that would cast Mary Bennet into a poor light. In turn, he hoped a glowing one would shine once more on him.
Lucas Lodge, Hertfordshire
12th August 1813
Dear Madam,
Allow me to begin this letter by offering you my sincere apologies for importuning you so. I pray that you will not be hasty and disregard its contents. My position as a clergyman and my own natural sense of morality prompts me to write. But let me get straight to the point; a few weeks ago I received a letter from young Mary, you will know I have, of all the Bennet girls, always favored the child for her devotion to and interest in those matters of doctrinal import that are my own speciality. She has indeed spent much of her time in studious toil and fo
r this I maintain some small measure of admiration, but I fear that even Mary, for whom I had such high expectations, is not impervious to allurement. Of course, I understand the natural instincts that may prompt her to seek a partner in life and it is not this fact that causes concern.
Should the girl manage to secure a suitable husband then I would be most felicitous on her behalf, although I confide that such success would surprise me. I pray you do not misunderstand my meaning, your ladyship, I would not personally look down upon such a union, no I should not, but my concerns are thus; should Mary embark upon a relationship of this type I fear it would leave you, and more importantly your daughter, devoid of a companion.
Mr. Darcy's Decision: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 16