Page 51

29 th November, 1812

Dear Lady Catherine,

I trust that this letter finds you and Cousin Anne well.

For the last six weeks, I have been residing with my friend Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Park, an estate in Hertfordshire.

Two days ago, Mr. Bingley hosted a ball. During the first dance, a clergyman named Mr. Collins fell and struck his head, rendering him unconscious. I discovered, to my surprise, that you recently provided Mr. Collins with the living at Hunsford and thus he is your rector.

While Mr. Collins has regained consciousness, he sustained a mild brain injury from his fall. He is currently under the care of a local apothecary who states that he is not well enough to travel back to Kent. Thus, he must stay in Hertfordshire for at least a few more days.

I hope and trust that you will manage the necessary arrangements in your parish; indeed I have no concerns, knowing that you more than anyone else can arrange for the proper care of the families in your community.

Respectfully,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Darcy read over the letter once again, and, certain that he had provided enough subtle flattery, sealed and addressed it. It was appropriate to send information about Mr. Collins’s situation to his autocratic aunt, but he did not wish for Lady Catherine to become involved in the man’s care. Given the clergyman’s fragile mental state, it was advisable that he stay far away from his haughty patroness. She was all too likely to attempt to scold him into good health and humor, which was absurd.

Really, in her own autocratic way, Lady Catherine was absurd.

He walked out of his sitting room and down the stairs; the butler accepted his letter with a gracious nod of the head and the assurance that the letter would be sent out that day.

It was ten in the morning and Darcy trusted Bingley would be ready for a trip to Meryton. They had agreed to visit the bookstore together; Darcy, because he loved books and wished to feed the bibliographic yearnings of both himself and Mr. Collins, and Bingley because he enjoyed a good ride on a good horse on a decent November day.

Darcy passed Mr. Collins in the hall; the latter was making his way toward the library with a determined expression. A footman was walking behind the rector ensuring that he came to no harm.

There were raised voices in the drawing room, one of them Miss Caroline Bingley’s, and Darcy entered the room with caution.

“I absolutely insist that he leave, Charles!” the lady cried out, her face roughly the color of a semi-ripe tomato. “How can you even think of allowing such a man to stay here in my home? He insulted me most vilely!”

“Mr. Collins is ill, Caroline,” Bingley replied, his expression a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “You must not take his words too much to heart. Oh, Darcy, there you are.”

Darcy cringed inwardly as he stepped forward boldly, “Good morning, Bingley, Miss Bingley.”

“He must return to Longbourn!” Miss Bingley fumed, clearly too distracted to greet Darcy with her typical coquettish enthusiasm.

“May I ask what has occurred?” Darcy inquired with trepidation.

“That wretched clergyman called me a … a ... swine!” Miss Bingley snarled, her already pink face reddening further. “A swine!”

“Now Caroline,” Bingley said in a soothing tone, though his friend could tell he was swallowing a smile, “I do not think that is entirely what he meant. He said something about a fair woman and he was clearly referring to you. He clearly was making an obscure parallel ...”

“Between me and a pig, yes!” the woman shrieked loudly, her eyes flashing in outrage. “Charles, I insist that you send him away. I will not stay in a house where I am insulted by such a lout!”

Darcy shook his head in dismay, “Indeed, Miss Bingley, I do regret that you experienced such discourtesy. It is not fair for you to be exposed to such unkindness in your own home. I do not believe Mr. Collins is deliberately being rude, but he is somewhat addled.”

“There, you see, Charles! Mr. Darcy agrees with me!”

“You are right that Mr. Collins should not stay here any longer,” Darcy said gravely, provoking a delighted smile from his friend’s sister. “You must be protected from further indignities. I will escort Mr. Collins to London this afternoon. He can stay with me in my London home. It would probably be best if he was seen by my physician …”

“Leave?!” Caroline interrupted, her blue eyes wide with horror. “No, Mr. Darcy, no! I did not mean ... Mr. Collins is not your responsibility, sir, but the Bennets’! He must go to Longbourn!”

Pemberley’s master shook his head decidedly, “It will not do. Longbourn is a smaller home with a large family already in residence. They do not have the servants or room to care for Mr. Collins adequately.”

“But why should you be responsible for such a man? He is only a clergyman, after all! You are a noble gentleman, the master of a great estate. He is not worthy of your notice, Mr. Darcy.”

This was said with such confidence that Darcy felt his heart quail within him. Is that what Miss Bingley truly thought of him, that he was so caught up in his own pride and position that he was indifferent to the needs of those inhabiting the lower classes?

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my aunt who lives in Kent, installed Mr. Collins as rector of the parish under her care, Miss Bingley. I do have a responsibility for the man.”

The woman blinked at him in astonishment but responded swiftly to mitigate the damage, “Mr. Darcy, I do apologize for my outburst. Of course Mr. Collins can stay. As you say, the poor man is confused from his brain injury. I am quite at peace with his presence, I assure you.”

Darcy could not resist, “Are you quite certain, Miss Bingley? I can easily take him away …”

“No, no,” she responded firmly, a saccharine smile plastered on her face. “He must stay. I insist!”’

***

“What exactly did Mr. Collins say to your sister?” Darcy demanded as their horses walked briskly out of Netherfield’s main gate onto the road which led toward Meryton.

Bingley, who had obviously been swallowing his merriment, let forth a guffaw of laughter at this query.

“That is a good question, Darcy,” he replied when he had recovered himself. “But first, I must set the stage, if I may. Caroline accosted me in the drawing room after breakfast and began complaining bitterly — about the weather, about the cook here at Netherfield, about the dullness of the countryside, about the local society in general and the Bennets in particular. Regrettably, she has taken a strong dislike to Miss Elizabeth, though I do not know why. In any case, she was whining vociferously when Mr. Collins unexpectedly walked into the room. For such a big man, he is surprisingly light on his feet, though Caroline’s strident voice was loud enough to drown out a cavalry charge. He strode into the room, fixed her with his somewhat beady eyes, and quoted …”

Bingley screwed up his forehead, “‘As a jewel of gold in a swine’s snout, so is a fair woman without discretion.’ I do not know exactly where that comes from, but it was entirely apropos.”

Darcy laughed, “Perhaps the Bible? I do not recognize it, but the Scriptures seem to be Mr. Collins’s favorite point of reference.”

“Which is entirely appropriate given his profession,” Bingley agreed jovially. “I suppose I oughtto be horrified that my own sister was so roundly insulted, but I find I am not. To be sure, Caroline had it coming.”

“Mr. Collins certainly has a penchant for speaking the bald truth,” Darcy agreed, his amusement shifting to gratitude. “I appreciate your acceptance of such a man in your household, Bingley.”

“Nonsense, Darcy,” Bingley said cheerfully. “The poor man was injured in my house and he is a harmless enough fellow, not to mention I relish the sheer entertainment value of his straightforward speeches. I would not dream of sending him away. If I am very fortunate, his presence plus Caroline’s disgust with Hertfordshire will cause my dear sisters to depart for London. I would no longer have a hostess, of course, but I believe I would be happy to forego entertaining if I did not need to listen to Caroline and Louisa complain.”

“Are you quite happy here, Bingley?”

“I am very happy. I hope you are as well?”

Darcy gazed around thoughtfully. Late November was not the best time to admire the Hertfordshire countryside but it was a splendid place with its soft and rolling hills and its great stands of ancient trees.

“I am happy, yes. I prefer the country to Town, though I admit I would not have thought you as pleased as I to eschew the society of London.”

Bingley patted his horse’s neck affectionately, “I am not like my sisters, Darcy. I do enjoy London parties and balls, but I also enjoy smaller affairs, and the companionship of so called simpler people who are often far more charitable than the members of the haut ton . I am very attracted to Miss Bennet, as you know, and my attraction is due to more than just her great beauty. She is a very kind person, Darcy. She never makes sarcastic remarks about others; indeed, her speech is always generous. In fact, I have found that as my appreciation for her personality has grown, my opinion of her beauty has grown in equal measure.”

Darcy shook his head slightly, “I hope you will not take this amiss, Bingley. I agree that Miss Bennet is a charming and beautiful woman, but I do not think she is in love with you.”

“Do you not?” Bingley asked worriedly, his face turning toward his friend. “She seems to like me well enough.”

“She may like you, my friend, but surely you wish for more than mere liking from a wife?”

Bingley frowned, “If she does not love me, she will not accept my offer, surely.”

“It is almost certain she will accept your offer,” Darcy insisted. “Mrs. Bennet clearly is desirous of marrying her daughters off as quickly as possible. You, with your great wealth, must seem like a plum ready to be plucked. Longbourn is entailed, you know.”

“To Mr. Collins,” Bingley countered shrewdly, “and Miss Elizabeth was extremely clear that she would not accept an offer from Mr. Collins in spite of the entail. I believe Miss Bennet to be a very honest woman; if I decide to offer for her, I will be certain of her true feelings. In any case, it is of no account now. I am not planning to offer for her immediately.”

Darcy said nothing more. It seemed that Miss Bingley was right about that, at least; her brother believed himself in love with Miss Jane Bennet. On the other hand, Bingley had fallen in and out of love before; truly, so long as his friend did not make a hasty decision, all would be well.

***

“I will have the volumes packed up carefully and brought to Netherfield by this evening, Mr. Darcy,” the owner of the book store assured him warmly.

Darcy nodded with pleasure. He adored book stores, especially visiting a new shop for the first time, and had spent a happy hour browsing the shelves before purchasing three histories, a book on estate planning, a book on economics during the Elizabethan period and an entire set of Matthew Henry’s Biblical commentaries. He had pondered purchasing the commentaries for a few minutes before finally deciding to purchase. He already owned the entire set, but the volumes were at Pemberley in the great library, and this particular collection was offered at a wonderful price. He had assuaged any guilt by contemplating Mr. Collins’s potential enthusiasm. The rector would no doubt relish reading the books and afterwards they could be sent to Darcy’s London House, which had its own library.

“Are we finally permitted to leave, Darcy?” Bingley asked with a long suffering groan.

Darcy chuckled unrepentantly. Bingley had dragged him to so many society functions that Darcy found it quite enjoyable to subject his friend to a full hour in a bookstore.

“Yes, we can depart.”

The two men stepped down into the street and walked toward their horses just as three red coated militia, accompanied by a group of adoring young ladies, walked into view around a corner. Darcy lifted his head and stiffened; one of the officers was George Wickham, and the woman – girl, really – hanging on his arm was the youngest Bennet, Miss Lydia. He frowned as Wickham’s gaze met his own; for a moment, the steward’s son looked startled, but then any concern melted away into a look of sly insolence.

Darcy broke eye contact and swung onto his horse, his good mood quite ruined.