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Longbourn, Book Room - Mr Collins

M r Collins paced the book room, his nervous footsteps echoing in what had been his cousin’s sanctuary.

Though he now called it his study, Mr Bennet’s presence lingered in every corner - in the worn leather chairs, the carefully arranged books, even the faint smell of tobacco that still clung to the curtains.

His hands twisted together as worry gnawed at his carefully ordered existence.

He had always preferred life to be simple, predictable.

He liked to be told what to do and then do it as best he could.

Lady Catherine had told him to marry one of his cousins, which had seemed simple enough.

Elizabeth was not as pretty as Jane, but she would do well as his wife. He was really looking forward to it.

But then her father had to die, which meant of course he was now the master of Longbourn, which had meant a small delay in the wedding, but that Lady Catherine would understand.

His wife-to-be was a gentle creature, with a soft heart.

Which was a credit to her parents and it would serve her well, with her dealing with the poor.

But when he thought about her youngest sister!

He had still not been able to find her, and he had been to every inn in the neighbourhood and the surrounding area.

But there was no sign of them! He did not want to go to London, for he knew the sort of place that she would be in-he had heard talk of such places, houses that men and women could live in who were not married.

They were not godly places, normally surrounded by fallen women and street urchins, filth and dirt.

Where men went to take their pleasures of the flesh, drink and cards, Inns specialist in that sort of behaviour.

No, he was not going to be going into somewhere like that.

Lady Catherine must have received his letter by now.

His fingers trembled at the thought - surely she would know what to do, how to extract him from this increasingly uncomfortable situation.

She had never failed to direct him before.

He would take pity on his cousins, of course, they could live in a small cottage-he had seen one that would do very well in the grounds.

It would require a bit of fixing up, but it would hold the five remaining Bennet ladies and indeed the youngest, if she came back, and he would find another bride.

No, he would not expect his new wife to have to deal with his cousins’ shame.

The youngest would have to live in London with the Aunt and Uncle.

That was much better. Then no one could say he was not doing his Christian duty by his cousins.

He would allow them a few months to sort themselves out and remove their belongings from the house, which would give him time to find a curate to take over the duties at Hunsford, as he would obviously have to find someone who was acceptable to Lady Catherine.

Now if only Lady Catherine would write…

* * *

Monday, 23rd of March 1812

Longbourn - Elizabeth

Elizabeth was continuing to keep as busy as possible, and all of the arrangements were done for her father’s funeral.

She had started sorting out her father’s book room.

No matter what else happened, he would not be using the room any longer.

Mrs Gardiner and her sisters all agreed it was best and were grateful for something useful to do to take their minds off the situation, while they waited for news from London-which they were hoping they would receive soon.

They were engaged in this task when a carriage drew up to the front door.

The size carriage was impressive and none of the ladies recognised the coat of arms or livery of the servants.

Some speculation took place as the ladies, realising that they were about to receive company, made their way into the drawing room.

Kitty had only just closed the door when they heard voices.

“When is Mr Collins expected back?” said a stern voice. It took a moment or two for Elizabeth to recognise who it belonged to. It seemed a lifetime ago, that ball in London, where, with the music playing merrily, she had met Lady Catherine. But it seemed that the honour was about to be repeated.

“I am not sure Ma’am. The ladies are in the drawing room, if you would just wait here-” Hill said with forced politeness.

The ladies in the drawing room quickly took their seats. Mrs Gardiner shooting a quick glance at Elizabeth as if to confirm what she was thinking, she mouthed “Lady Catherine?”

Elizabeth could only nod, feeling the blood drain from her face as the implications of Lady Catherine’s presence crashed over her.

Her fingers gripped the back of the nearest chair, grateful for its solid support as her world threatened to tilt once again.

She felt completely calm, but at the same time anything but calm.

It felt like she should have been screaming, as if that was what the world was expecting from her at that moment.

But instead she simply sat in the drawing room of the house that used to belong to her father and that now belonged to her fiancé, a man she could not stand and who was searching for her missing sister in all of the places they had already looked.

While her mother hid upstairs refusing to deal with the world, the man that she actually loved was doing everything he could to return her sister to them, so that she could marry another man.

And now his aunt and her fiancé’s patroness was here for some unknown reason.

“No, I will not wait here!” Lady Catherine replied as she started walking down the corridor, “Is this the drawing room?”

Hill rushed forward to be able to announce her before the great lady pushed past her again.

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” Hill announced, her usually steady voice betraying a slight tremor as the imposing figure swept past her into the drawing room.

The ladies within rose as one, the rustle of their mourning dresses seeming unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.

The sharp tap of Lady Catherine’s walking stick against the floorboards punctuated each step as she advanced into the room.

Elizabeth felt her spine stiffen involuntarily - this was not the controlled environment of a London ball where they had last met, but her own home, still heavy with grief.

Elizabeth, as the only one who had been introduced to Lady Catherine, smiled slightly, ready to receive their guest with a pleasure she did not feel and all of the politeness she could muster.

Lady Catherine swept into the room, her imperious gaze taking in every detail with obvious disapproval. “This is a very small drawing room,” she pronounced, each word falling like a judgment. She sat down in what had been Mr Bennet’s favourite armchair by the fire.

The Bennet ladies and Mrs Gardiner were all still on their feet. Not sure how to deal with this loud unexpected guest in the house, who did not seem interested in introductions or common politeness.

Elizabeth broke the silence after a moment, her voice carefully controlled. “Would you care for some tea, Lady Catherine?”

“Since I am required to wait for Mr Collins to return,” Lady Catherine declared, as if conferring a great favour, “you, Miss Bennet, can instruct your cook to make me some tea. I brought some tea leaves with me.” She gestured imperiously to her maid.

“I have found that other teas are vastly inferior to this blend - British East India Company only brings in a small amount. My maid will assist your cook to prepare it properly. I cannot abide improperly brewed tea.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrow arched slightly as she rang the bell, though she kept her expression neutral. The quiet chime seemed to echo in the tense silence.

Hill appeared almost instantly, as if she had been hovering nearby.

“Hill,” Elizabeth said with deliberate calm, her eyes meeting her old servant’s sympathetic gaze, “we would like some tea to be served. Lady Catherine has brought her own tea leaves. Her maid will… assist… with the preparation.”

Hill’s eyes widened slightly, but she hurried away with the dignity of a long-serving servant who had weathered many such moments.

The silence stretched uncomfortably until Mrs Gardiner, with the quiet authority of a gentlewoman accustomed to London society, addressed their unwelcome guest.

“Lady Catherine,” she said, executing a perfect curtsey, “I am Margaret Gardiner, aunt to the Misses Bennets. Might we inquire as to the purpose of your journey? We understand you wish to see Mr Collins?”

Lady Catherine’s head snapped up, her expression suggesting she found it extraordinary that anyone would dare question her movements. Her fingers tightened on the arm of Mr Bennet’s chair.

“I need to speak to Mr Collins urgently,” she replied, her tone dismissive. “That is all you need to know.”

Mrs Gardiner, unruffled by this display of aristocratic disdain, persisted with gentle determination. “Perhaps we might be of some assistance while you wait?”

Lady Catherine, who until now had been surveying the room’s furnishings with obvious disapproval, turned her full attention to Mrs Gardiner with glacial hauteur.

“Mrs Garwood,” she pronounced with deliberate incorrectness, “I am here to speak to Mr Collins. And I will speak to Mr Collins.”

“Lady Catherine-” Mrs Gardiner’s usually gentle voice held an edge of steel.

“I have no interest,” Lady Catherine cut across her words with practised authority, “in speaking to you, Mrs Garwood, or to Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth and her aunt exchanged meaningful glances, years of shared understanding passing between them in that brief look.

Mary retreated behind her book while Jane bent over her needlework with unusual concentration.

Kitty studied the carpet’s pattern as if it held the secrets of the universe.

The silence stretched until, mercifully, the sound of approaching footsteps announced tea’s arrival.

Hill entered bearing the tea tray herself, her spine straight as a ramrod - a clear sign of her determination to maintain the household’s dignity in the face of such high-handed treatment.

The Longbourn china might not match the splendour of Rosings Park, but it would be properly served, each piece arranged with precise care on their best silver tray.

Elizabeth caught the slight tremor in Hill’s hands as Lady Catherine’s maid stepped forward to take control of the service, but the older woman’s face remained impassive.

She had served the Bennets for over twenty years; she would not be cowed by a lady’s maid, no matter how grand her mistress.

Behind her followed Lady Catherine’s maid, her pinched expression suggesting she had found the Longbourn kitchen wanting.

With exaggerated care, she measured out the precious tea leaves, added precisely heated water, and watched each drop of cream and grain of sugar as if preparing a royal feast. When she finally presented the cup to her mistress, her reverence suggested she carried the crown jewels rather than mere china.

The Bennet ladies and Mrs Gardiner sipped their own modest tea in silence, the slight having been delivered too deliberately to acknowledge. The minutes stretched endlessly as they waited for Mr Collins, the only sounds the clink of cups and Lady Catherine’s occasional imperious sighs.

Elizabeth’s mind was racing as she watched Lady Catherine imperiously sip her precious tea from the Longbourn china.

What could be so urgent that would bring such a grand lady from Kent without warning?

And where was Mr Collins? He should have returned to the house by now for his usual brief respite from his perfunctory search for Lydia.

The whole situation felt wrong, like a storm gathering on what should have been a clear day.

Elizabeth caught Jane’s eye across the room and saw her own unease reflected there.

Lady Catherine shifted in Mr Bennet’s chair - her father’s chair - and Elizabeth felt a fresh wave of grief and anger wash over her.

The great lady’s presence seemed to emphasise everything that had changed at Longbourn, every loss they had suffered.

Yet they must all sit here and pretend this was a normal social call, when clearly it was anything but.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, marked only by the clink of china and Lady Catherine’s increasingly impatient sighs .