Page 36 of Colour My World (The Bennet Sister Variations #3)
Before supper, the girls took refuge in their mother’s sitting room while she occupied herself with correspondence and household accounts.
“Your father may tend to his odious cousin. I have not the stomach for it.”
The warmth of the fire and the soft sound of a quill scratching against paper made for a peaceful retreat from Mr Collins’s presence. When Mrs Bennet was called away to tend to household matters, they moved to the schoolroom.
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 his aire , pinchbeck coated with verdigris.
It glittered falsely, like the gilded salons Thomas Smollett had described in his Travels 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 silver aire glowed blue-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.
“As we are family”—the last word edged with frost— “we shall forego separation. Girls?” She motioned sharply towards the door.
Elizabeth followed Jane. She sensed Mary behind her.
As they withdrew, skirts whispering across the floor, Elizabeth heard her father.
“Let us continue with brandy and pleasant company.”
Another Lady Catherine declaration delayed.
She stifled a cough behind her hand, recognising the signs. Mr Collins, now seated at the far side of the room, had become the evening’s entertainment.
At the sideboard, Mr Bennet poured two measures. He handed one to Mr Collins with ceremony. The man beamed.
“Now, Mr Collins,” he said, easing into his chair, “you must permit us the pleasure of your discourse. An evening such as this would be wasted without the wisdom of Rosings Park.”
“Indeed, sir. A most singular honour to be regarded. I flatter myself that Lady Catherine's guidance has equipped me with an understanding of many matters: spiritual, social, and otherwise.”
Mr Bennet inclined his head. “No doubt. I am most curious to hear more of Lady Catherine's views on the kingdom.”
“Her Ladyship holds a most decided view on the failings of the lower classes. Indeed, just before my departure, she was lamenting the laxity of discipline amongst tenant families.”
“Fascinating.” Mr Bennet sipped his libation. “Did she offer any solutions?”
“She believes moral instruction should be compulsory. A parish must not only lead but govern.”
Mr Bennet nodded. “And that duty, naturally, falls to men of sound judgement.”
“Precisely, sir!” Collins raised his glass.
Elizabeth coughed. Jane stared into her teacup. Mary pressed her lips together.
Mr Bennet swirled his glass. “I am intrigued by Lady Catherine’s unparalleled wisdom. Tell me, has she solved the matter of free thought? I find it most irksome.”
Mr Collins blinked. “Free thought, sir?”
“Yes, the plague of independent reasoning among the populace. It seems to me that if one allows the lower orders too much latitude, they begin to expect it. A dangerous precedent.”
“A most perilous state, indeed! And Her Ladyship warns against such laxity, for it leads only to dissent.”
Bennet sighed. “A troubling prospect. And what of the clergy? Are they to lead or merely follow?”
“A clergyman must be both a guide and an instrument of his betters.”
“An instrument, indeed. And tell me, Mr Collins, does Lady Catherine play you as a harpsichord or a fiddle?”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together.
Mr Collins, his glass nearly empty, nodded along, oblivious. “Her Ladyship plays only the grandest symphony of propriety and duty.”
“A symphony, you say? Such harmonious compositions must have an audience.”
“An audience?” He chewed on the word. “Indeed. Her daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive properties.”
“Then she is better off than many girls. Is she as handsome as my girls?” Mrs Bennet asked.
He smiled widely. “She is. She is. Lady Catherine herself says that, in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the most handsome of her sex because there is that in her features which marks the young lady of distinguished birth.”
“Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at court?”
“Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her from being in town.”
Mary put her hand to her chest. “By your leave, Lady Catherine has deprived the British court of a bright ornament.”
“Yes—I mean, no—I mean…” Mr Collins blinked several times and stared into his empty glass. His aire faltered.
The game has gone far enough.
Elizabeth caught her father’s eye and shook her head—once, firmly.
“Cousin Collins, please provide me a challenge. I have a backgammon set awaiting your talents.”
Mr Collins blinked. “Backgammon? Oh. Why, of course, sir! A game of skill and strategy.” He stood and patted his waistcoat. “Lady Catherine herself once remarked upon my talent. ”