Page 15

M r. Collins was everything his letter suggested him to be and more. A tall, heavy-set man garbed in a vicar’s cassock stood in front of the Bennet’s home at exactly two o’clock in the afternoon. His collar was slightly damp with sweat, his shoes and the hems of his pants were splattered with mud and his overlong, waxy hair was carefully combed over to hide the bald spot that seemed to be growing in size on the crown of his head.

He smiled genially at frail-looking Mr. Hill when the elderly man opened the door,

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bennet!” Mr. Collins greeted enthusiastically, reaching over to grab the butler’s hand and shaking it vigorously with both of his, “What a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance, sir. Though, I hope you do not mind me saying, you do look quite a bit older than what I pictured in my head.”

Mr. Hill, who was almost twenty years Mr. Bennet’s senior in age, pursed his lips in ill-hidden offence, “Mr. Collins, I presume? Come in, sir. I shall let the master know that you have arrived.”

Mr. Collins blinked in surprise, but before he could say another word, Mr. Hill turned around and left in the direction of the study. A stray giggle was heard coming from somewhere in the entryway, and Collins looked around, his eyes landing on five ladies, each prettier than the last, half-concealed behind the baluster of the principal staircase. The girls were clearly attempting to hide, though they were not doing a very good job of it. Still, Mr. Collins supposed it would be only gentlemanly to pretend he did not notice them. Instead, he stood straighter, sucking in his belly and tried to smooth the wrinkles of his clothes, though his efforts made little difference. He had not been given a long enough leave of absence by his patroness for this excursion, and in an effort to make the most of his time with the Bennets, he had decided to not take any breaks on his journey to Hertfordshire from Kent. This meant he had travelled on a stagecoach for almost fifteen hours straight and was now quite potently smelling of horse and body odour as a result.

Still, he was now at Longbourn, the bequest that would be his on the occasion of the current master’s departure from life, and five beautiful young ladies of differing charms were gazing down at him with coy-ish smiles on their lovely faces. At the end of the day, Mr. Collins supposed, the pain his poor back had suffered from all the bumps and dips in the road was well worth it considering the veritable heaven that awaited him.

“Ah, Mr. Collins, it is very good to see you.”

Mr. Collins was surprised to see the man that was walking towards him. He had always assumed Mr. Bennet to be around his own father’s age, considering he was father to four fully grown women, but the man that greeted him did not look much older than forty. His hair was only just starting to grey, and the crow's feet around his eyes, though present, were faint. Thomas Bennet appeared lighter on his feet than even Mr. Collins himself, and was overall quite hale and hearty looking.

Mr. Collins could admit, at least to himself, that he was not quite happy about this little fact.

He plastered a smile on his face nonetheless, and stepped forward to greet the gentleman among whose many daughters he was determined to choose his bride.

“Mr. Bennet. Jolly good to meet you.” Collins shook the man’s hand, and handed over his hat and briefcase to the elderly man from earlier who trailed behind his master. Collins had mistaken him for his cousin earlier, an embarrassing faux pas, maybe, but understandable enough, he supposed. Rather, the elderly man was the housekeeper. It was his first time encountering a male housekeeper who was not Lady Catherine’s butler. The Bennets were apparently wealthier than he had previously assumed.

“Girls, come down now. Introduce yourselves to our guest!” Mr. Bennet called for the ladies standing behind the baluster still. A couple of them giggled when they realised they had been caught, but all of them obediently made their way downstairs.

Collins catalogued them one by one as they descended. The first lady was a quaint beauty, with spectacles covering half her face and a few freckles dotting her nose. What her face lacked, however, she made up with her tall height and lovely figure. The next lady was prettier, and her face was fashionably pale. Her dress, however, was too was frumpy and thick and covered almost every inch of her body, doing her physique no favours. The third lady was young even in Collins’ eyes. Perhaps no older than fifteen, though you would not surmise so from the gown she was wearing. The neckline of her dress was low enough to require her to wear it with a fichu (though there was not one in sight) and the dress itself was at least a size too small. Her blonde hair was like spun gold and styled elaborately in ringlets and intricate braids. She certainly grabbed his attention, though not for very long.

The last two Bennet sisters were undoubtedly the cream of the crop. They were two sides of the same coin- possessing completely contradictory charms but equally beautiful. The taller one was blonde and buxom, with gentle blue eyes and a shy smile. Her cheeks bloomed like roses and her lips reminded him of those statues of baby cupids he often saw in his church.

The shorter one was more slender but still well-formed. Her dark hair and eyes were shiny and her mouth- pink and full- was enchanting. Collins smiled widely at the both of them, his earlier exhaustion leaving his body in the face of such beauty.

Then, he did the math.

“Forgive me, I was under the assumption that you had four daughters, Mr. Bennet.”

“Ah, yes.” Mr. Bennet agreed, then motioned to the dark beauty that had caught his eye so effortlessly, “This is Elizabeth. She is my late brother’s daughter. She lives with her late mother’s parents in Wrexham, but is currently visiting.”

Ah. An orphan.

It was a shame, but Collins had no choice but to eliminate her from his candidate list of future brides. A young girl needed the guidance of her parents, especially that of her father, to blossom into a proper lady. Collins might not have attended his cousin’s funeral (his father, alive and well at the time, would have never allowed it), but he knew that Christopher Bennet had died young, possibly when his daughter was just a child. Lord only knew what kind of influences the lack of a fatherly figure had had on the woman.

Such a waste of a pretty face. Collins almost felt sorry for her. After all, what good was beauty on a woman so unmarriageable?

“My condolences, cousin.” Mr. Collins addressed Elizabeth with all the sympathy he could muster for her future as a spinster.

Elizabeth smiled sharply, and simply responded, “Thank you.”

One by one, Mr. Bennet introduced Mr. Collins to the rest of his charges- There was the bespectacled Mary Bennet, the frumpy Catherine Bennet, the provocative Lydia Bennet, and the positively angelic Jane Bennet.

By the time the introductions were done with and the party had settled in one of the two morning parlours, another woman, older but still quite beautiful, came bustling into the room,

“I hope you will forgive me for not greeting you at the door, Mr. Collins, but I was just so busy directing the servants for tonight’s dinner. You understand how they can be, do you not?”

“Of course.” Mr. Collins said even though he actually could not. At the parsonage, with his income, he could only afford to keep one maid-of-all-work. Nor was the dinner menu at his own home so varied or extensive that it would need managing. He had, of course, often witnessed Lady Catherine shout orders at her maids any time she thought up a dish she wished to eat. The cooks more often than tended to drop whatever it was they had been in the middle of cooking to start again from scratch.

Again, the thought entered his mind, that the Bennets were a lot wealthier than he had previously considered. Their manor was extensive, their furniture well-made and sturdy. The pieces of art and paintings hanging from the walls looked expensive and the tapestries draped around the glass windows were dyed in bright, rich colours.

This was how the Bennets were living while his father, and his grandfather had spent their entire lives toiling over half an acre of land as tenant farmers. Though he had originally come to Longbourn to reconcile with his extended family, Collins found himself relating to his father’s resentment instead.

Collins shook his head. Instead of dwelling on the past, he paid attention to the women around him. Almost from the moment he had entered the house and had been introduced to his cousins, he had decided on his future bride. Jane Bennet was the most beautiful of the bunch, her manners were angelic, her movements were graceful, and her demeanour was timid. Not only would she be a perfect wife of a vicar, she would also be a woman he could proudly introduce to his esteemed fastidious patroness.

The topic of discussion had moved from the weather, to textiles, to fashion, and had somehow landed on books. Miss Elizabeth was narrating to her cousins the plot of some adventure novel whose title Mr. Collins could faintly remember being mentioned by Lady Catherine’s nephew, who was in the military during one of the three dinners Mr. Collins had been honoured to attend. Collins barely stopped himself from showing his distaste. What coarse and masculine taste the lady had, though, he supposed, nothing better could be expected from a parentless child.

Instead of allowing the girl to further disturb the rest of the ladies’ minds with such an inappropriate topic, Mr. Collins decided to interject and change the subject to something much more apt for the fragile ears of gentlewomen,

“I am sorry to say, Mrs. Bennet, but I do find the current subject of conversation to be quite inappropriate for the company present. Perhaps, it would be better for me to read a book to the young ladies present instead.” Collins interjected, causing Lizzy to stop mid-sentence. The Bennets all turned to look at him, some frowning, while some just looked surprised at his audacity. Only Mrs. Bennet smiled, happy to accommodate any and all of Mr. Collins’ discourtesy if only to make sure he chose one of her daughters to marry. She planned to push for either Mary or Kitty. Jane and Lydia were too good for him, and Lizzy was not her daughter,

“Of course, Mr. Collins. You are very good, sir, for wanting to entertain your cousins when you must be so tired from your long journey.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Bennet. I am only doing my duty as a man of God.” Straightening his posture and clearing his throat, Mr. Collins stood and walked over to the small bookcase placed across from the mantlepiece. He a h! -ed satisfactorily when he found the literature he was looking for,

“I am certain my dear cousins will find this book to be much more to their taste.” He said, and took a seat, this time on the abandoned ottoman that just happened to be in the centre of the room, a copy of James Fordyce’s Sermons for Young Women in his hands, “Sermon One, On the importance of Female sex, especially the younger part: I will– that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety- ”

The Bennet girls looked at each other. The room was thick with the stench of Mr. Collins’ sweat, and oppressive with the sound of his monotone voice. Despite the expressions on their faces not shifting, each of them knew what the other was thinking.