Page 23 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

“You and I both, Lizzy, are women whom any man might wish to marry. My income, which one day will be yours, exceeds fifteen hundred pounds a year—equivalent to a fortune of forty thousand pounds at the four percents. A prize indeed for any fortune-hunter.”

Mama had the right of it. And even a man of eight and twenty would find Mama an extremely attractive woman—more so with a fortune of forty thousand pounds.

At that moment, another suitor arrived, even less welcome than the two officers. A commotion in the hall interrupted us. Mrs. Hill reappeared, looking distinctly vexed. “Mr. Collins, ma’am.”

My brows shot up in surprise. Mama looked at me in concern. “I am not sure we are prepared to receive him, Mrs. Hill. I would wish Mr. Philips to be present. Could you please inform him that we are not at home.”

“No, it is not to be borne! Certainly you shall see me—I am your cousin, the head of the family!” Mr. Collins pushed past Mrs. Hill.

“Mr. Collins,” Mama said, rising to greet him. “You must forgive us, sir, but Miss Elizabeth and I are a little fatigued. Perhaps you could call on the morrow, when we would be most happy to receive you.”

Oh, the effrontery of the man. He would not be dissuaded and crossed the parlour and sat, after pulling a chair as close as possible to Mama.

“My dear cousin,” he began, “perhaps you are unaware, but I warned you that the servants of Hertfordshire were not to be trusted.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I replied, deeply puzzled by his comment.

“The house, Longbourn House! It is empty—why, there is no furniture, no carpets, nothing in the kitchen, nor any servants. They have run away with the lot! I immediately called upon Sir William Lucas, the magistrate, but he told me that I should speak to you or Mr. Philips.”

“Perhaps you should speak to Mr. Philips, for he is the estate’s attorney. But, as you are here, cousin, will you take tea?” Mama glanced at me, and I left to ask Mrs. Hill to bring tea and biscuits.

Mr. Collins glared at me as I returned, still very much perturbed. “But surely, it is the magistrate’s duty to investigate theft.”

“There is no theft, Mr. Collins,” Mama said. “As you are aware, only the estate lands and house are entailed. Mr. Bennet’s personal possessions have been sold, the receipts thereof added to my jointure.”

“B—but how am I to furnish the house? There are matters of livestock, of horses, a carriage; am I to cook my own meals? Where am I to sleep? There are neither linens, mattresses, nor beds!”

“Have you come from Hunsford? Surely, the house there contained adequate furniture—you should have it brought up from Kent.” I smiled innocently at him. I guessed that the parsonage was furnished when he took up the position.

He stared at me blankly. It was certain he had never considered that the furniture of a house, and all the utensils, were not part of the property.

Mama folded her hands with a composure that was only partly genuine. “Mr. Collins, you must understand that the practicalities of owning property often require significant expenditure. Longbourn is indeed yours, but you must find the means to outfit the house and the farm yourself. I’m sure that Mr. Philips can advise you on the matter.”

He looked unconvinced. “But, Mrs. Bennet, my patroness, Lady Catherine herself, maintains that a man of the cloth should find his establishment ready and welcoming. It is a most unfortunate inconvenience—most unfortunate indeed.”

“Surely, sir, with the tithe income from Hunsford, you can afford at the very least to furnish the house,” I said. “Farm implements and horses can be purchased in the neighbourhood.”

Mr. Collins gave me an injured look—I had touched upon an issue which upset him exceedingly. “There is no glebe income; the church lands were disposed of many years ago. The living depends entirely on the benefice of Lady Catherine, for it is she who pays the tithes.”

“And the lesser tithes—eggs, poultry and the like—I suppose it is too far from Kent to Hertfordshire for you to collect those?”

Mama shot me a look, half warning, half indulgent. “Lizzy, do not tease your cousin. Mr. Collins, there is no theft, I assure you—merely the ordinary business of settling an estate.”

Tea arrived and Mrs. Hill’s scowl softened as she set the tray before us. For a moment, it seemed the danger had passed.

But Mr. Collins, his dignity sorely wounded, sipped his tea in silence, casting resentful glances at the hearth. The only sound was his chewing a biscuit.

After a long pause, he spoke again, his voice a little softer. “I suppose, then, that I must make do. Then we should set the date for our wedding. I had supposed to marry Cousin Elizabeth, but I am aware that I would do more honour to the estate and to my fairest cousin, to reinstall Mrs. Bennet to her rightful place as Mistress of Longbourn. We shall have the banns read here in the Longbourn chapel now that I am resident in the parish—let us set the day for the fifteenth of next month.”

Did I truly spit out my tea? Yes, droplets and a smattering of damp biscuit crumbs were spread across the tablecloth. Too late, I placed my hand to my mouth. Both Mama and I stared at the man, unable to speak.

We both sat immobilised for some minutes. Mr. Collins appeared quite unperturbed by our silence, or by his presumption.

“Mr. Collins,” I said, with all the formality I could muster, “I do not understand you.”

Collins bristled. “Surely, as the nearest male relative of the same blood as Mr. Bennet, it is Mrs. Bennet’s duty to marry me. A woman running her own household? She cannot negotiate with tradesmen, or oversee tenants, or defend her interests against the unscrupulous.”

Mama had gone exceedingly pale, her distress visible as she twisted her handkerchief in her hands. She stared at him, coloured, but remained silent.