“Boring man, not even a bottle of scent, heaven knows he could make use of some,” she said, poking through a case of unused toiletries. It was then that she noticed an oblong box painted with curious symbols.
“Must be one of his church things.” Jenny rationalized and gave it a shake, hearing the contents slide about. Raised a Catholic, Jenny Miller loved the rituals and pageantry of religion, but had never been inside an Anglican church. Did they do the same things as the claimed? Or were there great secrets to be discovered? “Allowing curiosity to get the better of her, she carefully opened the box, hoping for some strange collection of sacred relics. Unfortunately, she was to be denied such a pleasure. Inside, a dozen small pockets lined the box. Each one holding a cloth medicine bag.
“Just a bunch of silly herbs. Look like my Grandmother’s special teas.”
Filled with disappointment, she sniffed one before placing it back in its place. Unidentifiable, the cloth bags held no interest until she remembered a similar item that was now resting with the trash.
“That’s one of these! I better put it back before he thinks me a thief!”
Rescuing the discarded item from the heap of laundry, Jenny carefully tucked it inside and replaced the box as she found it. No one was going to accuse her of stealing. She might be nosey, but what servant wasn’t? Taking one last look about the now spotless chamber, she gathered her cleaning supplies and left, hoping against hope that the man would keep it so.
~14~
As Elizabeth did her best to entertain Mr. Collins, Mary happily escaped for the morning. The dressmaker was coming at ten sharp for her final fitting. The bribe of a new gown had its desired effect upon not only herself, but ensuring immense jealousy filled her younger sisters.
“I don’t see why we can’t all have new gowns. Why is Mary so special? Its not as if anyone notices her.” Lydia wailed.
Her complaining fell on deaf ears as her neglect of Mr. Collins was made obvious, as was her constant criticism of everything around her.
“Lydia, cease your whining or you shall be left home to entertain that very person. It is high time that I put a stop to your selfishness.” Mr. Bennet announced, but his threat went unheeded until Mrs. Bennet, in a rare instance, agreed.
“Yes, Lydia, your father is right. If you had a bit more care about your decorum perhaps it would be worthy of reward. As it is, tongues all over Meryton are wagging about your near drowning, but not in a charitable way. I will not have you causing any sort of disgrace. Especially not when two very wealthy gentlemen have taken notice of your sisters. They may not wish to be connected with a family that may cause continual embarrassment.”
Mrs. Bennet, had no time to waste on the demands of her youngest child. Despite being her favorite, at fifteen, there was plenty of time for her to marry. The focus must be on the elders, for soon, even the beautiful Jane would be considered a spinster.
To all of this banter, Mary Bennet was oblivious as she turned before the mirror. Never had her father attended a dress fitting or given any opinion on what they wore. It was indeed odd, but strangely pleasing that he now took so much notice of her. Suggesting a pale sea green instead of the traditional pinks and blues, Mr. Bennet had demonstrated a keen eye for what became his middle child. The mousey hair took on an auburn tint that only enhanced Mary’s green eyes. He had to admit, when she took a care, she was just as attractive as her sisters. Patting her on the shoulder in approval, he was rewarded with a quick embrace before she ran above stairs to change. It would be the greatest of tragedies if something should spoil her gown before tomorrow. Once secluded in her chamber, a tiny box of a room, but one she did not have to share, Mary removed the dress and carefully hung it in her wardrobe. There she admired his alongside her normally drab assortment of gowns. Aside from the dark blue that she currently thought of as her “uniform” to tend Mr. Collins, all the others were either dull gray or brown. The last time a formal occasion required dress, she had been forced to wear one of Jane’s cast offs. Perhaps it was time to spruce up her wardrobe a bit, but there was time for that later. Taking her work apron from its hook, she tied it about her waist and took stock of the contents of the deep pockets. Having noticed a few loose threads, it was time to make repairs before her assortment of treasures were lost. Dumping them on her counterpane so the mending could commence, Mary noticed that the posset of herbs she had intended for Mr. Collins was missing. Having decided after his fall that he was not truly worth killing, she had only included a selection that would induce vomiting. But to where had it gotten? Just yesterday, after enduring an extremely long lecture on the natural weaknesses of women, she had fingered the muslin bag with full intention of dumping it in his soup. But opportunity had not presented.
“I probably would never have done it anyway. Mr. Collins should be thankful that I truly do possess a weakness in that regard,” she said to the empty room and vowed to throw the herbs away once found.
*****
Mary Bennet was not alone in her anticipation for the upcoming festivities. Fitzwilliam Darcy was experiencing a rare case of nerves. The place would be filled with strangers, but that was not what worried him. It was those with whom he was long acquainted that caused the most distress, but there was no avoiding it without appearing obvious. Besides, Charles Bingley was to announce his engagement to Jane Bennet that evening. Having already received full approval from Mr. Bennet, it was a great secret and he would not miss Charles’ happy moment. But it was his own happiness, or misery, if he were to be exact, that occupied his thoughts.
As a man born to wealth and privilege, with the best of educations and breeding, Darcy had always been so sure of himself. He knew what he wanted down to the last detail and there had never been any objection to his having it. That was before Elizabeth Bennet. Even when first introduced, he had not thought so well of her. Average at best, but when combined with her family, truly subpar. Yet he found himself in love with her. It was an emotion that he did not like, for it controlled him night and day, filling him with fear of loss. It was this fear that had kept him from acting, speaking, telling her his feelings. Not only did he fear her rejection, but also her censure, would she reciprocate? And, for the first time he also had competition for her favors. Laughing to himself, Darcy realized that his perspective of the world had changed greatly. To see Mr. Collins as a rival was comical, but ladies often succumbed to family pressures and married out of obligation. His only recourse was to default to his safe and comfortable norm… silence. For silence and reserve would be needed at tomorrow’s ball, but not in regard to Mr. Collins. Mrs. Bennet had taken the liberty to invite all of the regimental officers, including George Wickham. Wickham’s attentions to the youngest Bennet had not gone unnoticed and whispers of gossip had begun. The man was of the lowest caliber and would stop at nothing to achieve his own personal interests. Having known Wickham since he was a boy, Darcy worried that Lydia Bennet would suffer from it, as had his own sister some years ago. The worst part, was that Darcy blamed himself for Wickham’s selfishness. What began as an act of gratitude towards his father, the former steward of Pemberley, had created a monster. It was cruel to introduce a child without fortune to a circle of society in which he would not truly belong. Educated beyond his station, taught to ride and fence, Wickham had expected to take his place beside the Darcys and Bingleys of the world. But, without money, it could never be, and that resentment had festered until Wickham tried to marry his way in. But, a thirteen-year-old heiress is not without powerful friends and family and disaster was avoided. However, if disaster was brewing for Lydia Bennet, he may be unable to do anything to stop it.
~15~
The day of the Meryton Ball filled the Longbourn household with activity. For the ladies, it was a flurry of shoe roses and curling tongs. For the two solitary gentlemen, each wished to be temporarily in the other’s place. Mr. Bennet, although privy to the secret engagement of his eldest daughter, knew that his presence would be required. No
t only would he make the announcement, but be the beneficiary of a finely aged Scotch whiskey saved for just this occasion. If not for that, he would rather be home alone in his library. On the contrary, Mr. Collins was regretting his decision to maintain the façade of his illness. He even harbored the faint hope that one of the young ladies would choose to remain as company. However, there is no greater temptation for young ladies than the promise of a ball. Now, as he slumped back against the pillows in his freshly aired room, he contemplated how to spend the hours alone. There were always sermons to compose, and psalms to memorize, but somehow, he was not feeling his calling on that particular day. If anything, Mr. Collins had begun to believe that something sinister was lurking about, waiting for him to drop his guard. His thoughts, usually focused on charitable deeds or how he could possibly impress his patroness. Lady Catherine was indeed a difficult person to please, but it had been upon her suggestion that he had even come to Longbourn. Now, as a result, rather scandalous images of more than one Bennet daughter often entered his mind. At first, he had chastised himself for the thoughts, then later, rationalized them as natural to a man wishing to marry. Unfortunately, especially with the renewed attentions of Elizabeth and Mary, the visions had increased to the level of physical discomfort. Grumbling to himself, Mr. Collins decided it would be best to spend the evening purging himself of impurities. In his exuberance to decide which of the ladies would be the future Mrs. Collins, he had been neglectful of his routine.
“Too much rich food, that is all. A bit of my special tea and I should be put to rights by morning,” he reasoned, but the sound of footsteps in the hall outside his chamber sent him quickly to his bed. With only enough time to spread a blanket over his knees, he lay an arm across his eyes. To any visitor he would clearly be in the throes of a migraine, the only symptom that occasionally manifested from his injury. A short knock, followed by the door opening a few inches, announced the presence of Miss Elizabeth, bearing a tray of tea.
“Cousin William? Are you presentable?” she called before venturing further. Just that week, Elizabeth had been treated to the unpleasant sight of Mr. Collins in his small clothes. The stupid man had left his door open, a thing not done in a household filled with women. Having taken the precaution of warning her sisters, Elizabeth tried to avoid a repeat exhibition.
“Oh, I am glad it is you. Do come in Cousin Eliza.”
“I hope you don’t mind; it is a bit early for tea, but with the ball, all of the servants are occupied helping my sisters dress.”
“And you? Are you not going?” he inquired. The hope of having company evident upon his features.
“Oh yes, but I do not require much time to prepare. I thought I might spend some time with you.”
Elizabeth hated lying, and felt guilty when the man’s florid features deepened with the perceived compliment. She had not meant to flatter him, but Mr. Collins took even the smallest bit of attention with exaggerated acceptance as his due. Now, as he crawled backwards across the bed to take a chair, she was the recipient of yet another exposure to his person that could not be forgotten. The purchase of new clothing had been done with such haste that the fit of ready-made trousers had not been altered to accommodate his girth. As a result, a large rent had manifested down the backside. Smothering a giggle, Elizabeth tried to focus on not dropping the tea tray.
“You are always welcome; I believe that we have developed a special friendship over the past weeks.”
Elizabeth did not reply, but placed the tray on a table between them and busied herself with its final preparation. During his visit, Mr. Collins had made it known that he was very particular about the process and had given lengthy lectures as to how it was done in China and Japan.
“I see you have not forgotten my tutelage, cousin. It takes years of practice to perfect it, but your efforts are not unappreciated. Most civilized for heathens, those Japanese, I find their ceremony brings out the best flavor.”
“Indeed, my sisters and I have learned a great deal about many things since your arrival,” Elizabeth agreed, but chose not to add that patience and tolerance were among them. Now, as she opened the pot one final time before pouring, Mr. Collins halted her efforts. Expecting a criticism, she forced a smile.
“Ah… Dear cousin, if it is not too much trouble? Today I should like to add my own special blend of tea. But it is rather stout, and perhaps not for ladies.”
“I rely upon your experience in such matters. I must admit to a bit of fasting before dancing, it is better for my constitution.”
Having expected to consume considerable refreshments at the ball, Elizabeth had no intention eating anything beforehand and as a result, had not brought two cups, something Mr. Collins had not noticed.
“Of course, one cannot be two careful with diet. It seems we are of a similar mind on that… and many other things,” he added, allowing his hand to brush hers as he inspected the array of sweets and savories under the covered dish.
“I see you have brought my favorite lemon tart. Perhaps we can discuss the merits of citrus? It is too bad that lemons and such do not grow naturally in our climate, or I should consume them daily.”
Elizabeth only nodded and removed her hand from his proximity. The man had clearly forgotten his special tea. The constant distraction of mind, was not one of his better qualities, and those were already limited.
“Shall I add it? Or would you prefer another kettle of water?”
“Add what? Oh… thankyou cousin. yes, my tea…. if you would be so kind. There is a longish wooden box in the top drawer of the bureau. It has Chinese symbols on it… good health and long life. They are always wishing that sort of thing. Kind people, but again, heathens.”
Elizabeth did as bid and retrieved the item. Opening it carefully, she noticed muslin bags lining the interior. Choosing the next one in succession, she held it up.
“Is this it? There is no labeling.”
“They are all the same, carefully blended by an herbalist in London. A Mr. Chen, he comes highly recommended for all sorts of maladies. Even ones that our fine English physicians cannot cure. Just toss it in the tea pot and let it steep for a bit while we speak of subjects more agreeable to ladies.
Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but eagerly changed the subject to Lady Lucas’ newest breed of rose. As an avid gardener, Mr. Collins lost no time in recalling his own efforts to reproduce particular varieties. So animated was his speech, that it required the consumption of not only the entire pot of tea, but all the food. As his speech slowed, and eyes grew heavy, Elizabeth excused herself with the need to dress. As she left; his slurred words called out one last request.
“Do give me a full report of the ball, and make my apologies. I am clearly far to ill to attend.”
Closing the door, Elizabeth absently wondered what exactly was in that tea. Whomever Mr. Chen was, he clearly worked miracles. Unfortunately, Mr. Collins’ sedation was only the beginning of his troubles, for Elizabeth had not given her cousin the meticulously blended Asian restorative. Instead, Mr. Collins was now under the influence of Mary Bennet’s poisonous posset.
.
~16~
Assembly room, Meryton, some hours later…
When Fitzwilliam Darcy entered the ballroom, the first impression to be had was one that clearly defined his location. A ballroom yes, but merely for that evening, as although the air, thick with a myriad of perfumes and human sweat, still held an underlying stench of animal. Cow to be exact, and perhaps the odd horse or goat, for when not decorated for local festivities, the space was often used for livestock auctions. However, he had to applaud the committee that made the alterations, for aside from the lingering odor, the large chamber was resplendent, even for a simple country affair. It seemed that people had traveled for miles to attend, and there were many faces whom he did not recognize in the slightest, but of those whom he did, George Wickham was among them. Even though the evening was in its early hours, Darcy had observed that
the man had monopolized the attentions of Lydia Bennet. Having danced with that particular young lady more than what was appropriate for one without serious intentions, the gossips were already at work. As for the rest of the Bennets, it appeared that all were on their best behavior. Even Mary Bennet, now resplendent in a very becoming sea green confection, had not sat out a single dance. In truth, he was pleased for her. Her mannerisms had often reminded him of his own sister Georgiana. Awkward as a new colt, Mary Bennet’s face was transformed by a smile as she swept past in the arms of some unknown regimental officer. Kitty Bennet, having been cast aside by Lydia in favor of Wickham, repeated her elder sisters’ actions and maintained her decorum. Smiling at the scene, Darcy knew that his qualms about the Bennets, aside from Lydia were without merit. When placed in the proper situation, they did not disgrace their father. Seeing Mr. Bennet in conversation with Bingley, Darcy wondered if the day would arrive when he would have a private conversation to request Elizabeth’s hand. Although he had desperately wanted to keep her to himself, Darcy had swallowed what he knew to be jealousy when other men requested dances. It was far to early to make his intentions so obvious. Sipping lukewarm punch, he eagerly awaited her return and tried to fade into the shadows, but was besieged by Mrs. Bennet leading a flock of local women in her wake.
“Mr. Darcy! Oh, there you are, I simply must introduce you to a few of our social circle. I was just telling Mrs. Ruffelby and Lady Teasley about you. They were most impressed and want to hear all about Penderlay.”
Refusing Mr Collins Page 5