Page 34 of Mr Collins in Love
“You may ask how I have formed this view, Miss Lucas, not being married myself, but as a clergyman I have visited the homes of a great many people of all types, in Sussex and in London, where I held curacies, and of course, now, in Kent, as the rector, and I have watched my parishioners closely.Indeed, I have often taken notes as to their behaviour.And while I do not think there are many women who would go so far as to say they regretted having children, there are some who very much regretted it, and there are a considerable number who would be content with seeing their children but half a dozen times a year.”I thought about this, and added, “Or, certainly, seeingsomeof their children very seldom.”
“Certainly, sir, I think Mrs Bennet finds some of her daughters to be easier company than others,” she said.
“I’m sure they are all very accomplished and amiable young ladies,” I said, because this is the sort of gallant lie I have found goes down well.
“But some, perhaps, with more sense than others,” she said.
“Anyway, Mrs Bennet strikes me as a woman of good sense and I’m sure is a good model to them.She is ever cognisant of the future and does what she can to ameliorate its uncertainties.To me that seems the most sensible approach to life, especially in these terrible times of change and conflict.”
“Certainly, she thinks more often of the future than does Mr Bennet.”Miss Lucas remarked.Then she sighed.“I think often to the future myself.”
I told her such forethought did her credit, and alluded to the parable of the wise and foolish virgins.This brought us back to Longbourn where I must, of necessity, be much in the company of Miss Elizabeth.
I was unsure how to behave towards her.I could not be too sanguine for I did not want her to deduce I was relieved she had refused me, a situation that must surely be offensive to any young lady.The safest approach seemed to be to scarcely ever speak to her, and so I took refuge in what I flatter myself was a rather stately formality.
Luckily, Miss Lucas still seemed much inclined to seek out my company and so we spoke of her clever method for growing mustard and cress, and my opinions, borrowed, I must own, from George, on sowing carrots, and on the cunning use of human hair in keeping deer away from one’s garden.
That night I went to bed quite calm and slept almost immediately.I woke, however, in the early hours with a jolt.The disappointed presence of Lady Catherine had hovered over me all yesterday.Now, in the dark of the night, it was as if her spectre pounced, bringing with it all the dread of her displeasure.
I rehearsed again my arguments.I had located a suitable young lady.I had paid her all the correct attentions—conversing with her, dancing with her, complimenting her and so on.I had made my proposal very properly.I had done everything Lady Catherine could have asked of me.It was not my fault the lady had refused me.Surely, Lady Catherine would see that?But the ache in my gut and the iron bar inside my shoulders said otherwise.Lady Catherine would find fault, for had I been more personable, or displayed less of my true character, then likely Miss Elizabeth would have accepted me.
For a day I had been able to pretend to myself that Jem and I might have another untroubled summer together.Now I could not persuade myself that this would be the case.Lady Catherine might give me a week’s respite, or even a month or two, but then she would start badgering again and she would never give up.
Ah, but how often had I lain in such a torment, only to discover that the horrors I had imagined did not come to pass?Consider, for example, how afraid I had been of telling her I had taken on a second man to help George.I had not slept for days—but when I had given her the news, she had barely blinked.Of course I must marry eventually, but perhaps Jem and Iwouldget another summer?
Ah, but summer was seven months away, and while that might seem but a moment to me, to Lady Catherine it would seem I dragged my heels for an eternity?—
Round and round my thoughts turned, first to one scenario, then to the other.I lay as one paralysed while the grey November morning came and young Molly brought hot water and made up the fire.
The household began to stir.There were women’s voices on the stairs and the sound of the pianoforte, and, presently, the aroma of ham and of tea.Yet still I lay there, my mind running hither and thither like a rabbit pursued by a hound.
Molly came again, tapping at the door, bobbing a curtsey and asking, “Beg pardon, sir, but Mrs Bennet asks if you would like breakfast in your room this morning, sir?”
“No, thank you, Molly.I will get up.”
“Yes, sir.”She shivered.“Ooh, it’s cold in here, sir.Shall I make up the fire again before you get up?”She did not wait for an answer but proceeded to stir it to a goodly blaze.She went to the jug and touched it.“Cold.I’ll fetch you some fresh hot, sir.”
“Thank you, Molly.”Her kindness had brought me out of my ghastly fugue state.“What a good girl you are.”
She coloured and bobbed.“Thank you, sir.Ain’t nothing but what the mistress would expect.”
She was right, perhaps, but all the same I made a mental note to leave her an extra tip on my departure.
Despite the dreadful start, the day passed rather quickly.The young ladies of the family had departed for Meryton by the time I came down and so I was left to eat my breakfast in the company of Mrs Bennet, who was sympathy itself and who soon became quite animated upon the subject of her daughter Mary and what a quiet, biddable, amiable girl she was.I was glad to converse upon any subject that was not Miss Elizabeth and, in any case, Mrs Bennet was easy company for she talked enough for two people and all I must do was to nod and agree from time to time.
Later, the girls arrived home and a letter came for Miss Bennet from Miss Bingley.The Bingleys, I gathered, had quit Netherfield Hall.Miss Bennet seemed not much distressed by this news, but from Mrs Bennet’s reaction I guessed that one of the gentlemen from the Hall—though whether Mr Bingley or Mr Darcy I did not know—was the one she had been expecting to make an offer for Jane.It was hard on the poor lady to have had hopes of seeing both her eldest daughters settled, and to find that neither were.But, as she said, the Bingleys would be back.
To my great relief we were to dine with the Lucases and departed to Lucas Hall in the middle of the afternoon.Miss Lucas approached me as soon as we arrived with the express intention of showing me some seed catalogues and I spent quite an enjoyable afternoon with her in the perusal of these delightful publications.
After dinner, while the others talked or drank port, or played some rowdy game, I found myself seated near the fireside with Miss Lucas.Lady Lucas and Mrs Bennet were nearby, but so deep in conversation it was clear they did not notice our presence.
“Tomorrow is your last day with us, sir.”Miss Lucas spoke quietly enough, but her tone, I felt, had steel in it.She had been friendliness itself at dinner, and I could not think what I could have done to earn her displeasure, so I merely agreed.
“In an hour or two you will be going back to Longbourn with the Bennets and I may not see you again for—well—I do not know when I may see you again,” she observed.
“Alas,” I said.“That is true.”
A silence fell between us, though what with the crackle of the fire, and the whistling of the wind outside, and the chatter and laughter from the gamesters—chiefly from Lydia and Kitty—and the matronly murmur from the ladies on the other side of the fire, it felt quite comfortable, until, that is, Miss Lucas burst out, “Mr Collins, I…I must speak,” and immediately fell silent again.
