Page 96 of Colour My World
Jane sat between Kitty and Lydia, patiently guiding them through their reading exercises. Mary, book in hand, sat beside them. Elizabeth offered help when Jane’s attention was elsewhere. The afternoon passed pleasantly.
Only at dinner did Elizabeth’s comfort wane. Seated across from Mr Collins, she found it impossible to ignore hisaire, pinchbeck coated with verdigris. It glittered falsely, like the gilded salons Thomas Smollett had described in hisTravels Through France and Italy, all veneer and ornamentation concealing decay beneath.
A passage stirred in her memory:
How often hath the eye been dazzled with a gilded prospect, where there was nothing but emptiness within? The outward show, like fool’s gold, may sparkle, but it is never the measure of worth.
Mr Collins was just such a spectacle.
He droned on about Lady Catherine: her delicate muslins, her superior hedge placements, her unparalleled wisdom in regarding the precise angle of a dining chair. His words dripped like tallow from a guttering candle—cheap, greasy, and soon congealed into waste.
“Gracious heavens!”
Elizabeth blinked away her reverie. Mr Collins was staring. Mouth open. Eyes wide.
“Your—your eyes.”
Silence gripped the table. He fumbled his fork. His gilded sheen dulled; the verdigris spread.
He cleared his throat. “I-I recall,” he chuckled weakly, “that the Reverend Dr Bartholomew Linton, an estimable man if little known beyond his parish, once cautioned against the mark of unnatural variance.” His gaze flicked to Elizabeth. “That is—”
“A troubling disposition, you say?” Her father’s voice was mild. Elizabeth swallowed.
Lydia’s spoon clattered. Kitty stared. Even Jane had stiffened.
Mr Bennet set down his knife with deliberate care.
Mr Collins adjusted his collar and carried on. “Indeed, sir. It is a most curious thing! I have heard tell of it but never witnessed it myself, one eye of one colour, another of a second, or both shifting in hue. It is written in the good reverend’s discourse on the matter—ah, yes! —that such peculiarities were once regarded with suspicion. Even among those of learning.”
“Learning.” Mr Bennet tapped the tablecloth, slow and even. “Then we are to heed the musings of a provincial clergyman who has, by all evidence, spent more time spying on his neighbours than preaching to them.”
Mr Collins paled. “I-I only meant—”
“And do tell me, sir,” Mrs Bennet said, “what misfortune do you suppose has befallen my Lizzy, marked as you say she is?” She forcibly set down her wineglass.
His mouth opened, then closed. He licked his lips and looked around.
Elizabeth could feel the hostility.
Jane spoke. “Mr Collins, surely—”
“Oh, it is nothing, Jane,” Mary said. Her silveraireglowedblue-white.
Mary is incensed. And astonishingly, on my behalf.
“I wonder if Mr Collins intends to draft a letter to Lady Catherine. She will be most eager to hear of the unnatural variance at Longbourn.”
Mr Bennet let out a single bark of laughter. The thunder on his face did not lift.
Mr Collins swallowed. “I-I should not think it necessary to trouble Her Ladyship.” His hand trembled. Wine spilled onto the table linen.The verdigris had spread further.
“How fortunate.” Mary held his gaze until he dropped his eyes to his plate.
Mr Bennet leant back in his chair. “Well, then. If that matter is settled, let us eat.”
* * *
Mrs Bennet rose. Dinner, by her command, had ended.
