by Sarah Hoyt
Chapter Six
"Oh, I cannot believe that Mr. Bingley would leave," Mrs. Bennet said over breakfast. "And yet, my sister Phillips says that the house has been locked up and there's no thought of coming back again. I'll always say he used my daughter very ill. Very ill indeed."
"It is true, Elizabeth," Jane said, looking up at her sister, her eyes filled with tears. "Caroline herself wrote to tell me that they've gone to London, to meet with Mr. Darcy's sister. She..." Jane's voice faltered. "She has great hopes that Mr. Bingley means to marry Miss Darcy."
Elizabeth took a deep breath. She would rather cut out her own tongue with a butter knife than tell Jane what she'd seen in the rhubarb. Through the night she'd lain awake, tossing, tormented by the idea of what Mr. Darcy had corrupted Mr. Bingley into. She was quite sure it wasn't Mr. Bingley's true nature. She'd seen the way he looked at Jane.
But she'd read the Plato and the historians of the Roman Empire. She didn't understand the attraction of the vice, but there must be some, since so many powerful people had indulged in it. And however it was, Mr. Bingley wasn't for Jane. Helping herself to eggs and a slice of ham, she said, "I'm sorry to say it, Jane, but I think it's a good thing that Mr. Bingley should be removed from us, and that we should be removed from Mr. Bingley."
She saw Jane's eyes widen at her contradicting what she told Jane just the day before. But Jane was too kind to call her to task about it.
"Bite your tongue, girl," Mrs. Bennet said. "Well... The good thing is that Jane is going to London to stay with my brother, Gardiner. I'm sure that she'll contrive a way to run into Bingley. She is such a clever girl."
"Mama..." Elizabeth said.
"It does credit to your modesty, cousin Elizabeth," Mr. Collins said, from across the table, where he was stuffing his face with fried kidneys. "To mention that it is not right for the lady to run after the man. For a woman's reputation is as lovely as it is frail. And once gone, it is gone forever."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Guess what?" she said. "Oh, never mind. They caught an old wolf out Cunningham farm's way. The Were-Hunters think he might have been the one that was getting into henhouses. I hope not, for if they do not catch at least one were soon, we'll be declared non-infested, and the RWH will be moved elsewhere. Oh, I hope not."
"Well," Mrs. Bennet said. "You girls must make the most of it while you can. You should walk to Meryton and see the officers."
Mr. Bennet turned the page of the paper and made a sound. "Well," he said. "Brighton has just been declared a most infested locale. They have three dragons, a were-cheetah, and--" He looked over the paper at them, his eyes sparkling. "A were-gorilla who appears at the pump nightly. Now -- that would be diverting. Why can we never get unusual weres?. The least they can do is make sport for us."
"Papa," Elizabeth said. She loved her father dearly, but sometimes he said things that she worried would be hurtful to Jane, or put her in a position of danger.
"Er..." Mr. Bennet looked at his daughter uncomprehending. "Oh come, Elizabeth," he said. "If I were a were I'd want to give as much trouble as humanly possible." He flashed a grin, before going back to his reading. "Perhaps I'd lock myself up in my library and thus avoid the moon altogether. And at night I'd let out terrifying howls to scare the servants." He made a sound that might be a growl or a choked off bout of laughter. "Oh, that would do very well indeed."
"Mamma," Elizabeth said, her concern rising at all the talk of weres. And if that was not bad enough, she greatly doubted her ability to be alone with Jane without blurting the whole miserable business of the rhubarb. "I think I'll go for a walk to clear my head. Oakham Mount perhaps."
"But, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Collins said. "I wish to speak with you during the course of the morning."
Elizabeth had a feeling she knew what that talk would be about. She shook her head. "Mr. Collins, I'm sure that there is nothing you want to speak to me about. At least nothing that could possibly be important."
"Miss Elizabeth," Mrs. Bennet said. "I order you to listen to Mr. Collins."
* * * *
And so it was that immediately after breakfast, Elizabeth found herself in the small parlor in the company of a very nervous Mr. Collins. She knew he was nervous because he was walking around the room in circles. And, as he walked, his demeanor changed, and he started stooping forward, his knuckles dragging on the ground.
Turning around, he fixed her with soulful brown eyes. "Ook," he said. "Oook, oook, ook, ook." He gestured with his hands, then gestured with his foot. The shoe slipped, and another hand emerged from his shoe.
Mr. Collins sat on his behind, and started picking his fur, pensively.
His fur. Elizabeth blinked. She backed against the table. Mr. Collins was an orangutan. A were. He had that reaction she'd often read about in books, though never observed in Jane, of turning to his were form when scared. And he was blinking at her out of small, simian eyes and saying, "Ook, ook, oook" with the intensity of feeling that betrayed that he thought he was speaking English. And with a sense of dread and astonishment, Elizabeth realized that Mr. Collins had no idea whatsoever that he shifted forms. And probably neither did most people -- considering that his ape form was so similar to his human form.
The realization shook Elizabeth so that she fell backward onto an armchair, staring wide eyed at him. She'd been so concentrated on Jane, on keeping Jane safe, that she'd never considered there might be other weres nearby.
Oh, she knew there was a dragon and perhaps another wolf somewhere -- at least she hoped that the wolf that Jane was so taken with was not the old wolf they'd caught raiding henhouses. But she assumed they were people they never knew in the whole course of their lives. Apprentices to some craftsman, clerks to some firm. The affliction of weredom was not confined to the upper classes. On the contrary, appearing as rarely as it did in each family, it could not often appear in nobility. Because noblemen and wealthy people, living as they did surrounded by servants and retainers, were caught out more often than not.
It was only through the utmost care that Elizabeth had kept Jane from being discovered. She'd never expected to meet another were in her circle of friends, let alone her family.
She started to shake, and then realized it was laughter, bubbling up from deep within her, from some place she didn't even know existed. It erupted in a burbling stream from her lips, and grew into chuckles, then guffaws.
"Oook?" Mr. Collins said. He looked worried. "Ook, ook, ook?" He stretched a long, brown arm, and picked what Elizabeth hoped was an imaginary louse off her head. "Ook?" he said, taking his fingers to his mouth.
Elizabeth swallowed, trying to get control of her laughter, and managed only to bubble with the occasional giggle as she said, "Mr. Collins, I am afraid I must refuse your kind offer. I'm the last woman who could ever make you happy, and I know you could never make me so."
"Ooook?" Mr. Collins asked, incredulous.
"Oh, no, Mr. Collins. You do me a great honor with your proposal, but truly, I could never aspire to being your wife. I am not worthy."
"Oooo?" he asked. Then, puffing out his chest. "Ook."
"Indeed," Elizabeth said.
And at this, she leaned back in her chair and laughed, wholeheartedly. She laughed till her sides ached. She laughed till she thought she'd cry.
When she was done, Mr. Collins was a sad little shape, knuckling across the garden, towards the road. She wondered how far he was going. And she was sure he was quite safe. How odd that one could be a were and yet be perfectly disguised.
* * * *
Collins ambled across the fields, not knowing where he was going, only aware that his hopes in marrying his cousin Elizabeth were all dashed. What is more, she had laughed at him. He was certain of this. Well, blast all Bennets. He had intended to do his Christian duty because of the unfortunate entail, but that was now over. No other female in the household could tempt him. Mary too prissy and prosaic, Kitty and Lydia too flighty and flirty.
* * * *<
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Though it was the last day of November, it was balmy, almost spring-like day. Charlotte Lucas had gone down to the herb garden to cut some fresh chives for the omelet she planned to prepare for her father's nuncheon. Though he was a knight, their means were so strained that they kept no cook, something that Mrs. Bennet enjoyed to make note of when extolling the virtues of her daughters over those of the Lucases. But Charlotte believed that her cooking abilities would hold her in good stead one day.
She had just placed the bunch of chives into her basket when she heard a rustling in the bushes and looked up to see Mr. Collins loping awkwardly towards her. He looked rather unkempt. His uneven gait she soon put down to the fact that one of his shoes hung from his ear rather than covering his foot.
"Mr. Collins," she cried. "Whatever has happened?"
He looked at her. "Ook!" he said most pathetically.
She thought she had never seen him look more dejected. Or hairy. And then and there she decided that she would marry him. Someone had to see to it that the man received a regular shave.
"Mr. Collins, you must tell me all about it," she said, putting her arms out to him.
Luckily she had found a bench to sit upon, because he hopped up into her lap and began rocking back and forth, crooning.
She had never experienced lovemaking before, though she was full seven and twenty, but she was quite sure that his behavior had gone beyond the bounds of propriety, and she was glad of it. Soon one of her family was bound to come by and see. She would be completely compromised and they would be forced to marry. She closed her eyes and allowed him to stroke her hair, even though his hands were rough and his fingernails rather long. When they were married she would ensure he was always properly manicured, too. The poor man definitely needed a woman to look after him.
"Charlotte, what are you doing on a bench all tangled in a gentleman's arms?" cried her little brother Harry, who had just come up from fishing in the stream.
"Hush!" cried Charlotte. "Mr. Collins and I are engaged. He is going to speak to Papa at once."
"Engaged?" he chortled. "I never thought I should see the day!"
Mr. Collins suddenly bounced off her lap. "Oook!" he expostulated. Then after a look of severe concentration, "Engaged?"
"Why certainly, Mr. Collins," said Charlotte. "I am a lady of virtue. You do not think that I would allow such . . . privileges without us having pledged our troth to each other."
"Oook, troth?"
"You were most persuasive, when you so eloquently told me of your love." She sighed. "And when you told me what a perfect parson's wife I should be. How I should know what to put upon all those shelves in your numerous closets."
Collins' furrowed brow smoothed a little. "Closets."
"Indeed. And how I would humble myself appropriately before your most illustrious patroness. Elizabeth Bennet would never do that."
Mr. Collins could but nod in agreement.
"And of course nothing matches my esteem for you," she added. "It is near as great, but not quite so much, as the esteem in which you hold Lady Catherine de Bourgh."
Collins could not help but be impressed. "Oook," he sighed.
"Now please," she said in the manner of speaking to a deficient child, "take that shoelace out of your mouth and put the shoe upon your foot. You need to go and speak to Papa right away."
And as Charlotte glanced at his foot his need of a wife was impressed upon her all the more. The man had not thought even to wear stockings upon his feet! She smiled indulgently. She realized she was to have her work cut out for her, but she was certain that she would be the making of the man! Not a marriage of the deepest love like Elizabeth was forever harping about, but certainly preferable to living the shadow of a life in the home of one of her brothers or propping up her aging parents in the sunset of their days.
* * * *
Sir William was pleased to finally be petitioned for the hand of his eldest daughter. His face wreathed in smiles he indicated a chair for Collins to sit upon, while he poured them each a large glass of brandy from a cut glass decanter.
"So, you want to marry our Charlotte?" he asked.
Collins snuggled into the chair, sipped his drink, and stared blankly back at Sir William. "Oook," he said.
"Capital, capital!" cried Sir William jovially. "I had thought you meant to have one of your cousins, but I am pleased as punch you chose our own sweet Charlotte instead. Lomgbourn will be yours one day. It will be nice to have our girl situated so close to home. Very nice indeed."
"Oook," said Collins smugly.
"I can see that we are of one mind," said Sir William, nodding sagely. "Welcome to the family, my boy. Capital, capital."
* * * *
The next morning, Elizabeth was pleased to see that though her mother plagued Mr. Collins to renew his addresses to her second child, he adamantly refused. He then proceeded to make himself scarce for the rest of the day. Elizabeth was glad. She did not want her last few hours with Jane spoiled by another scene with Mr. Collins.
She sat in the parlor holding Jane's hand until their uncle's man arrived with the carriage to take Jane to London.
"Elizabeth..." Jane said. "Don't worry about me. I'll live quietly in London. I will be safe with our aunt and uncle."
"I know you will, dear," Elizabeth said, reaching for the valise and handing it to Jane. "I know you will. And it will ease my mind to know you safe and sound."
"Yes," Jane said, but her voice sounded distant.
"What is it dear," Elizabeth said, studiously avoiding asking if it was Mr. Bingley.
"Oh, Elizabeth, I must say I'll always... It's just that I... I prefer him to every other man I've ever known."
"Oh, Jane," Elizabeth said, and hugged her tightly. "It will all turn out for the best, you'll see."
Elizabeth stood upon the gravel sweep long after the carriage had gone. What was she to do now that she no longer had Jane to protect? How would she keep her thoughts from returning to that terrible scene she had witnessed at the Netherfield ball? She was about to return to the house when Lydia and Kitty came running up the drive, giggling even more boisterously than usual.
"Oh, Elizabeth, you will never guess what has happened!" cried Lydia.
"We have just now seen Maria Lucas," said Kitty.
"Charlotte is to be married!" cried Lydia.
"I wanted to tell," pouted Kitty, as she stomped her foot.
"To Mr. Collins!" cried Lydia.
Mr. Collins? It cannot be!" said Elizabeth.
"Did you think that because you did not want him no one else would?" asked Lydia. "Though, truth be told, I cannot understand what Charlotte sees in that ugly, mottled thing."
"And his whiskers!" tittered Kitty. "Oh, shh! Here she comes now to tell you."
Elizabeth did her best to keep her composure while talking to her friend. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Charlotte's feelings and alienate her, but the thought of Charlotte married to a were-ape was almost too much to bear. Not only was Mr. Collins boring and unattractive in his human form, his lack of control over his animal form was both disagreeable and dangerous.
But Charlotte claimed to be happy with her engagement, and she knew that her friend had different expectations from marriage than she had herself. She knew she ought to, but she could not bring herself to tell Charlotte what she had discovered about Mr. Collins. It would ruin her happiness and make her a laughingstock in the neighborhood. Besides, with the were-hunters in town, it could be dangerous for Mr. Collins. And she didn't want his life on her hands.
* * * *
Far away in his London townhouse, Mr. Darcy brooded by the sitting room window. Behind him, Georgiana, his sixteen year old sister, played, softly. He'd been glad enough to see Georgiana again. Georgiana was still wounded from the events with Sevrin and more in need of his steadying arm and shoulder than Darcy had expected.
They were now alone, the Bingleys having left after dinner. But how quiet and hapless Bi
ngley had looked at dinner. Darcy very much feared that his attachment to the Bennet girl had been real and one of those from which one hardly recovered, or never completely. With Bingley's gentle nature, he was likely to fall in melancholy. The fact that Miss Bingley had babbled on no stop with more vitriol than sense hadn't made dinner any easier.
He became aware the piano had stopped behind him, a second before Georgiana put her hand on his shoulder.
"You are very quiet, brother."
Darcy sighed. "I suppose," he said. "I'm still mourning for..." He wouldn't say Sevrin's name.
Georgiana sighed. "We all are. But I seem to detect something else, some fresh grief."
Darcy managed a quick, flashing smile. How perceptive Georgiana was, for her age. "Not grief, dear. Not exactly." With his larger hand, he patted her hand on his shoulder. "Not unless one can grieve for a future that could never be."
Georgiana looked attentively at him, her dark blue eyes serious. "It is a girl, then? Like... Mr. Bingley?"
Darcy looked over his shoulder at Georgiana. "What know you of Bingley's girl?"
"Nothing, except that Miss Bingley was very spiteful about some nobody who tried to attach him. Was it the same girl you cared for?"
Darcy laughed at the thought of his being interested in Jane Bennet. "Nothing so simple, no. It was... another girl. With eyes like the midnight sky. She..." He shook his head. "To be honest, I don't even know why she fascinates me."
He looked out at the sky, lit by reflections of lights from the great city of London. And realized in his mind he was calculating how long it would take the dragon to fly to Hertfordshire and fly outside Elizabeth Bennet's window, looking into her bedchamber. But his rational self knew this was lunacy. He would have to be content with his memory of her, sleeping, her face beautiful and hopeful in repose. Like a fairy princess waiting the kiss of a charmed knight.