Page 12 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

It was a long walk, the trail still muddy as the ground thawed, and my petticoat was six inches deep in mud when I returned to the house. I entered by the kitchen, changed my half-Hessians for my day shoes, and walked directly to the parlour to warm myself by the fire.

“Harrumph!”

Startled, I turned to see that the room was occupied, not by Mrs. Bennet, but by a gentleman whom I had never seen before.

“Whatever are you at?” the man exclaimed peremptorily. “To come to the parlour in such a state. I shall speak to Mrs. Bennet of this; it is not to be borne.”

He was a tall, heavy looking man of about five and twenty, with a broad, stout figure, wearing a pastor’s frock. His cheeks were florid, and his brow bore a faint sheen. For a moment, I was too astonished to reply and simply stared at him. But he was not finished—

“While you are here, build up the fire with more coal—for Corinthians says: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously.”

I smirked. “And does not Proverbs say: Precious treasure and oil are in a wise man's dwelling, but a foolish man devours it? I find, sir, that coal is a treasure to be used sparingly—the room is warm enough. Indeed, you appear to be overheated.” And—as though in a pantomime—I took my handkerchief from my sleeve and wiped my forehead. Who was this man, to have thought I was a servant? And to quote the scriptures with a misplaced authority that he clearly felt was his due!

Now it was his turn to be astonished. That a woman should respond so, to disdain the respect and authority which his clerical garb should naturally bestow, was, I suspected, a circumstance quite beyond him.

He blinked twice, as if uncertain whether to be offended or merely confounded. “You—woman—are not the housemaid?” he stammered, his gaze flickering from my muddied hem to my face and then hastily away.

I could not help but laugh, though I tried to temper my amusement with a polite smile. “No, sir, I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of the house.”

His complexion deepened from florid to nearly scarlet. He tugged at the cuffs of his frock with a certain injured dignity. “Indeed. My name is Mr. Collins. I am lately come from Hunsford, in Kent. I expected to be treated with civility at the very least. Are you not aware of who I am?”

Collins? Ah, the heir presumptive to Longbourn.

He drew himself up, deciding to ignore my impudence, and seated himself with a ponderous sigh. “I had not expected,” he said, “to find the daughters of Longbourn quite so vulgar in appearance and behaviour.”

“Then I shall relieve you of any discomfort, Mr. Collins,” I said, sweeping from the room, just then meeting Mama in the hall.

“Oh, Lizzy,” she said softly, aware that the door to the parlour was still open. “Mr. Collins has arrived, and without an invitation. I have just come from Mr. Bennet; he has taken quite a turn, and is very much in pain.”

“Mama, I will go to him. But what shall we do with Mr. Collins? To arrive without so much as a by-your-leave. I just now left him—indeed, a rude and overbearing man. Why, he thought me a servant and quoted the scriptures to me!”

“Lizzy, I trust you did not respond? That you were polite?”

I blushed. “I am sorry, Mama. I did reply with a verse in return. But what are we to do? It would be improper for him to stay upstairs near our bed-chambers, with Papa downstairs in his room. Surely he cannot expect to reside in the house overnight.”

I took Mama’s hand. I could not leave her alone with such an unwelcome guest. Together we returned to the parlour, where Mr. Collins was standing by the mantel, examining the silver candelabras. I noticed the fire blazing. It was heaped with a generous measure of coal from the scuttle.

“Mr. Collins, my apologies, but Mr. Bennet has taken a turn, and his arthritis is causing him great pain. It often flares up, as it has now, but on the morrow he is likely to be recovered. If you are staying at the inn in Meryton, perhaps you could come to Longbourn for breakfast, and then, I am sure, he might receive you.”

“The inn? No, Mrs. Bennet, as the heir to Longbourn, I will stay here!” Mr. Collins stared belligerently at Mama, who looked at him with some confusion.

“Mr. Collins,” she said at last, finding her voice, “we are, of course, always pleased to welcome family to Longbourn, but we have no chamber made up for a gentleman.”

He regarded her with lofty disapproval. “It is only fitting, Madam, that I should become acquainted with the property which, in the due course of time, I am to inherit. Lady Catherine herself encouraged me to take an active interest in my future estate. If it is merely a question of inconvenience, I shall make do with whatever accommodations are available. I am not fastidious.”

There was an awkward silence. I could feel my mother’s mortification. The prospect of Mr. Collins blundering through the private rooms, his heavy tread echoing above the sickroom, seemed intolerable. I braced myself, but Mama rallied, smoothing her skirts and summoning a brittle graciousness.

“If you are certain you do not mind, Mr. Collins, we will see that you are comfortable.”

He bowed, a smug smile wreathing his face. “I am most obliged to you, Mrs. Bennet. I am, after all, practically family.”

I glanced at Mama, who pressed her lips together and offered him a shallow curtsey.

“Lizzy, would you show Mr. Collins to Mr. Duncan’s old room?” she murmured. “And—” her voice dropped to a whisper as she drew close— “be careful not to leave him unattended in the hall. The silver is not yet locked away.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Of course, Mama.”

“This way, Mr. Collins,” I said, gesturing toward the corridor that ran past the kitchen. A tidy, though small room—Mr. Duncan had been our butler, until he had passed, some five years ago.