Page 8 of The Meddling Matlocks (Pride & Prejudice Variations)
Chapter Eight
The Bennet household bustled with the peculiar energy of impending company. Mrs Bennet flitted about the parlour, straightening cushions that did not require straightening and directing the maid to dust imaginary specks off the mantelpiece. Elizabeth, for her part, was attempting to focus on some long-neglected embroidery, though her stitches grew increasingly erratic as her thoughts wandered. Mr Collins, their much-discussed cousin and heir to Longbourn, was due to arrive at any moment, and Elizabeth could not help but feel a vague sense of foreboding.
“Now, Lizzy,” Mrs Bennet chirped, her eyes glinting with an enthusiasm Elizabeth found wholly unwarranted, “do sit up straight, my dear. First impressions are so very important, and we must show him that we are a family of genteel accomplishments.”
“Of course, Mama,” Elizabeth replied with a complaisant smile, though she suspected Mr Collins’ opinion of their gentility would remain unaffected by the angle of her spine.
Before Mrs Bennet could offer further advice on deportment, the sound of carriage wheels crunching against the gravel drive reached their ears. A moment later, Mr Collins was announced by Hill, the housekeeper, and entered the room with all the pomp and ceremony one might expect from a man who fancied himself a paragon of clerical dignity.
Elizabeth rose politely, only to be greeted by a bow so elaborate that it seemed to defy the laws of human anatomy. Mr Collins’ tallish frame bent low, his heavy-set figure swaying precariously like an overburdened branch in a strong wind. When he finally straightened, his face was flushed a rather alarming shade of pink, though he appeared entirely unperturbed.
“How delighted I am to make your acquaintance at last!” he began, his voice a curious blend of self-importance and obsequiousness. “My esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has often impressed upon me the importance of familial connections, and it is with great pleasure that I find myself among such amiable relations.”
“How kind of you to say so, Mr Collins,” Mrs Bennet gushed, her cheeks glowing with maternal pride. “We are most happy to welcome you to Longbourn.”
Elizabeth inclined her head slightly, biting back the retort that threatened to escape. Amiable relations , indeed. She had known the man for all of thirty seconds, and already she felt the pressing desire to flee the room.
Mr Collins, oblivious to Elizabeth’s inner turmoil, launched into a lengthy monologue extolling the virtues of Rosings Park, Lady Catherine’s grandeur, and, most puzzlingly, the moral benefits of boiled potatoes. Elizabeth listened with a mixture of fascination and horror, exchanging occasional incredulous glances with Jane, who sat serenely by the window.
“Ah, Miss Bennet!” Mr Collins exclaimed suddenly, turning towards Jane with an almost theatrical flourish. “I must say, your beauty far surpasses even the glowing accounts I have received. Indeed, I can scarcely imagine a more angelic countenance!”
“Thank you, sir,” Jane replied softly, and that was all the encouragement Mr Collins appeared to need to attempt to monopolise her attention.
“Mama,” Elizabeth said softly, “do you think that wise? Mr Collins will be rather disappointed to fall in love with Jane only to discover that Mr Bingley is first in her affections.”
“You are quite right, Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet agreed, and soon after she was drawing Mr Collins aside to advise that “Jane is quite spoken for, Mr Collins. We have every reason to believe she will soon be most advantageously engaged.” Her tone carried just enough triumph to render her meaning unmistakable.
“Spoken for?” Mr Collins repeated, blinking rapidly as if the words required additional processing. He paused, his expression shifting from disappointment to calculation with unsettling speed. His gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on Mary (who was engrossed in a book) and Lydia (who was fidgeting impatiently), before settling at last on Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his tone acquiring an air of solemnity that made her stomach churn, “it would appear Providence has guided my attentions to you instead. What felicity to find another young lady of such evident intelligence and charm within the same family!”
Elizabeth stared at him, momentarily robbed of speech at this ghastly result of her advice to her mother. Of all the absurdities she had endured thus far, this surely ranked among the highest. Providence? Surely no divine entity would sanction such a fate as becoming the object of Mr Collins’ regard.
“How fortuitous indeed,” she managed at last, her voice steady despite the rising tide of incredulity. She shot a pointed glance at her mother, whose approving smile only deepened her dismay.
“Yes, yes,” Mrs Bennet tittered, clapping her hands together. “Lizzy is a very clever girl, Mr Collins, and quite accomplished, I assure you.”
“Indeed, I can readily perceive it,” Mr Collins declared, his chest puffing out with an air of magnanimity that nearly obscured his lack of subtlety. “It is clear to me that Miss Elizabeth possesses all the qualities one might seek in a wife of good sense and propriety.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, willing herself to remain composed. The urge to laugh, or perhaps scream, was almost overwhelming. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the embroidery hoop in her lap, wishing fervently that she could stab something other than the fabric before her.
The clinking of cutlery and the polite murmur of conversation finally gave way to the quiet scrape of chairs being pushed back, signalling the end of dinner. Elizabeth rose from her seat with as much composure as she could muster, acutely aware of Mr Collins’ gaze following her every movement, his expression a mix of reverential awe and self-satisfied expectation.
“Elizabeth,” Mrs Bennet’s voice seized her attention before she could make her escape to the sanctuary of the parlour. Her mother’s hand, light but insistent, curled around her arm. “A word, my dear.”
“Of course, Mama,” Elizabeth replied smoothly, though the glint in Mrs Bennet’s eye set her nerves on edge. That particular look rarely heralded anything she wished to hear.
Mrs Bennet steered her towards the far corner of the room, where the flickering glow of candelabras cast an uneven light over the wallpaper. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, though the dramatic flair with which she darted glances at the rest of the family made it seem as if she were plotting some grand espionage.
“Now, Lizzy, I must speak to you about something most important.” Her tone was laden with significance, and Elizabeth braced herself, already regretting whatever maternal wisdom was about to be imparted.
“Indeed, Mama? And what could be so pressing that it could not wait until after Mr Collins has completed his oration on our most excellent boiled potatoes?” Elizabeth’s lips twitched despite herself, but her jest did nothing to deter Mrs Bennet.
“Do not be impertinent, child,” her mother chided, fanning herself with exaggerated purpose, although the room was hardly warm. “This concerns you directly. Lady Matlock,” she paused for effect, as if invoking the name of royalty, “has taken quite a liking to you.”
“Lady Matlock?” Elizabeth echoed, her brows lifting in genuine surprise. This was not the turn she had expected the conversation to take. “She has been very kind, it it true.”
“Do not be absurd, Lizzy! With your charms, it is no wonder she found you agreeable.” Mrs Bennet looked positively triumphant, as if this development were solely the result of her own parental stratagems. “And it is fortuitous indeed, for I have it on good authority,” here she leaned closer, as though imparting a state secret, “that the Matlocks possess several livings within their gift.”
Elizabeth blinked at her, utterly at sea. “Several livings? And what has that to do with me?”
“Really, Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet tutted, exasperated by her daughter’s apparent obtuseness. “Do you not see? If you were married to Mr Collins, you could recommend him to Lady Matlock for one of those livings! She admires you, after all. It would be an easy matter to secure her favour.”
“An easy matter?” Elizabeth repeated, her voice rising slightly, though she quickly tempered it when her mother gestured frantically for her to keep her voice down. “Mama, are you suggesting I cultivate a friendship with Lady Matlock purely to advance Mr Collins’ career?”
“Why, yes, of course!” Mrs Bennet declared, as if it were the most reasonable proposition in the world. “It is only prudent, my dear. Think of how advantageous it would be, for him, for you, for all of us!”
Elizabeth stared at her mother, a mixture of disbelief and indignation swirling within her. “You cannot seriously expect me to form relationships based on such calculations.”
“Calculations?” Mrs Bennet gasped, clutching at her chest as though Elizabeth had mortally wounded her. “Oh, Lizzy, you do vex me so! You never think of the practicalities, the realities , of life. A wife must consider her husband’s interests as well as her own, particularly when they align so neatly!”
“Practicalities, is it? Perhaps I shall suggest that Mr Collins direct his attentions to Lady Matlock herself then, though I doubt even his sycophancy would endure her scrutiny.” Elizabeth’s dry tone earned her a sharp glare from her mother.
“Do not be pert, Lizzy,” Mrs Bennet scolded, though her affront was tempered by a glance over her shoulder to ensure no one else had overheard. “You are quite determined to be contrary. I should think you would thank me for taking such pains to secure your future.”
“I cannot thank you for encouraging me to treat Lady Matlock as though she were some pawn in a game of social advancement. It is a mercenary way to view friendships, Mama, and I will not stoop to such calculations.”
“Mercenary?” Mrs Bennet repeated, the word sparking fresh outrage as her voice rose an octave. “How can you say so? Is it mercenary for a wife to consider her husband’s prospects? To ensure that her children are well provided for? Such considerations are only prudent, I assure you!”
“Prudent,” Elizabeth echoed, her lips curving into a wry smile. “And here I thought prudence involved honesty and integrity, not currying favour under false pretences.”
“Do not twist my words, child!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink, a sure sign of both frustration and offence. “It is not false pretences! Lady Matlock has already shown a preference for your company. There is nothing untoward about fostering such a connection. Indeed, it would be to everyone’s benefit.”
“Everyone’s but mine,” Elizabeth retorted sharply, the edge in her voice cutting through the air like a blade. She took a measured breath, forcing herself to speak more evenly. “Mama, even if I were inclined to endure Mr Collins’s company long enough to marry him—which I most assuredly am not—the matter of Longbourn would render all this scheming entirely unnecessary. When he inherits, there will be no need for additional livings or favours from Lady Matlock or anyone else.”
“All the more reason to secure his attentions now!” Mrs Bennet countered, her hands clasping together in earnest entreaty. “Once you are married, you will have every opportunity to guide his interests, to influence him for the good of our family.”
“Guide his interests?” Elizabeth’s brows shot up, her incredulity plain. “I would sooner guide myself into a nunnery than spend my life attempting to steer Mr Collins! And let us be clear, Mama: when he marries, it shall not be to me. I must insist you direct his attentions elsewhere.”
“Insist?” Mrs Bennet gasped, clutching at her handkerchief as though to steady herself from the shock of such defiance. “Oh, Lizzy, you do not know what you are saying. You will regret this stubbornness, mark my words!”
“Stubbornness or self-respect, call it what you will,” Elizabeth replied coolly. “But I mean what I say. Mr Collins will find no encouragement from me, and I trust you will do what you can to prevent him from further embarrassing himself, and me, by continuing his attentions.”
Mrs Bennet sat in stunned silence, her mouth opening and closing as though searching for a suitable rebuttal. Elizabeth did not wait for one; her patience, much like her mother’s arguments, had run dry. She turned and stormed out of the room.
Mrs Bennet’s heels clicked sharply against the wood floor as she followed Elizabeth into the hallway, her lace cap quivering with indignation. “Foolish and selfish!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying the kind of dramatic pitch that made Elizabeth wince. “I have never been so confounded by one of my own daughters, Lizzy. Do you not see how ungrateful this is?”
Elizabeth turned, her brow arching in amusement rather than contrition. “I was under the impression Mr Collins believed himself to be the benefactor in this proposed arrangement. Surely it is he who ought to be thanking me for advising him to seek happiness elsewhere, as he will not find it with me.”
“Do not be impertinent, child!” Mrs Bennet snapped, though her expression betrayed a flicker of confusion at Elizabeth’s logic. She dabbed at her temples with her handkerchief, muttering something about nerves and ungrateful daughters before rallying herself to a new line of attack. “Well, if you are determined to throw away this opportunity—and mark my words, you will regret it—I suppose Mary might do just as well. She is a sensible girl, after all, even if she does lack a certain... vivacity. And she has always taken such an interest in sermons and moral improvement, qualities Mr Collins holds in the highest esteem!”
Elizabeth felt some qualms at this plan, but considering the alternative might be her mother continuing to push Mr Collins on herself, contented herself with a noncommittal hum which her mother nevertheless took for agreement.
“Very well,” Mrs Bennet declared with a sniff, straightening her posture as though to prepare herself for battle. “I shall do what I can. But mark my words, Lizzy, you will regret refusing him when you see Mary happily settled and yourself left behind!”
Elizabeth offered no reply other than a slight bow of her head, her expression carefully neutral as she turned towards the parlour door. A faint hum of voices reached her ears, and she hesitated for only a moment before pushing open the door.
“Ah, Fordyce’s Sermons ,“ came Mr Collins’s thick, pompous tones, rising above the crackle of the fire in the hearth. “A work of unparalleled wisdom, Miss Mary, and one which I often consult in my own humble endeavours to lead a virtuous life.”
“Indeed, sir,” Mary replied, her voice solemn and low with enthusiasm. She held the leather-bound volume reverently in her hands, her cheeks faintly flushed with what Elizabeth could only describe as scholarly fervour. “It is a text that illuminates the path to righteousness, though I confess there are passages that require deeper reflection to fully grasp their meaning.”
“How true,” Mr Collins said, nodding so vigorously that his chin nearly disappeared into his cravat. “You possess an admirable discernment, Miss Mary. Few young ladies today take such care in cultivating their minds and spirits.”
Elizabeth glanced at her mother, whose face had lit up. Attempting to suppress her laughter, she leaned close to Mrs Bennet and murmured, “It seems you needn’t direct Mr Collins’s attentions after all. He appears to have found his muse.”
“Shh!” Mrs Bennet hissed, though her delight was evident in the glint of triumph in her eyes. She gestured for Elizabeth to remain silent as they both watched the scene unfold.
“Perhaps,” Mary continued thoughtfully, “we might discuss the chapters on humility, Mr Collins. It is a virtue I hold in great regard, yet one that is often misunderstood in its application.”
“An excellent choice, Miss Mary,” Mr Collins enthused, clasping his hands together. “Humility is indeed the cornerstone of Christian character. Shall I read aloud? My voice has often been commended for its clarity and resonance during scripture readings.”
“By all means,” Mary agreed, her gaze fixed upon him with an intensity that made Elizabeth wonder if her sister might actually swoon from sheer admiration.
“Well,” Elizabeth whispered to her mother, unable to resist adding one last observation, “it seems Mr Collins has finally discovered a captive audience.”
“Captive or not,” Mrs Bennet whispered back, her smile wide, “this may be the answer to all our prayers!”
The morning air was crisp and invigorating, carrying with it the promise of a brisk solitary walk free from the oppressive confines of Longbourn—until Lydia bounded into the parlour, bonnet askew and cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Come, Lizzy!” she exclaimed, already tugging at her sister’s arm. “Let us walk to Meryton! I am certain there will be news of the regiment, and perhaps even an officer or two lounging about!”
Elizabeth, who had just resolved to spend the morning in quiet solitude, hesitated for only a moment before recognising the opportunity for escape. Mr Collins, who was somewhere in the house (likely extolling the virtues of Lady Catherine de Bourgh to anyone who would listen), would surely not venture out on such a frivolous errand. And though Mr Collins had given Mary the benefit of his attention for a full half-hour the evening before, his eyes had lingered on Elizabeth, and he had later abandoned Mary to continue his attentions to Elizabeth in a most unwelcomely persistent manner.
“Very well,” Elizabeth said, rising swiftly. “Jane, will you join us? Mary?”
“Of course,” Jane replied, her smile as serene as ever.
“I suppose I might as well,” Mary muttered with a shrug.
As their party gathered in the hallway, however, Elizabeth’s hopes for freedom were dashed by the sudden and unwelcome appearance of Mr Collins himself. His heavy steps echoed as he approached, clutching his hat in one hand and wearing an expression of determined affability.
“Ah, my dear cousins!” he declared, bowing low enough to nearly knock over a side table. “I could not let such charming company embark upon a walk unchaperoned. Allow me the honour of accompanying you.”
“That is hardly necessary,” Elizabeth began, her tone sharpened by instinctive dread. But Lydia, oblivious to nuance and anything resembling tact, clapped her hands in delight.
“Capital idea, Mr Collins! You shall keep Lizzy company while Kitty and I scout ahead. Come along, Kitty!” And with that, the youngest Bennets darted through the door, giggling like schoolgirls escaping a governess.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Collins intoned, stepping closer and offering his arm with an air of solemnity better suited to a funeral than a stroll to Meryton. “Shall we?”
Elizabeth glanced around for any possible reprieve, but Jane merely gave her a look of quiet sympathy, looping her own arm through Elizabeth’s other side. “We shall all walk together,” Jane said gently.
“Yes,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath, “how fortunate we are to enjoy such... togetherness.”
As they stepped onto the lane leading towards Meryton, Lydia and Kitty darted ahead, their laughter ringing out as they speculated on which officers might appear at the shops. Mary trailed along behind, her posture stiff and her gaze fixed resolutely on the ground. Elizabeth could not help but notice the sullen downturn of her sister’s lips, nor the occasional glances Mary sent in Mr Collins’s direction, glances that grew darker each time he addressed Elizabeth with what he no doubt imagined to be gallant attentions.
“How delightful it is to observe the rural charms of Hertfordshire,” Mr Collins remarked, gesturing grandly at a nearby hedge. “One can scarcely imagine a landscape more conducive to contemplation, or, indeed, conversation with one so charming as yourself, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth replied, keeping her voice as dry as the dust beneath her boots. “Though I suspect the hedge offers fewer opinions than I.”
“Ah, but your opinions are most enlightening,” Mr Collins countered, entirely missing the jest. “Lady Catherine herself values lively discourse; I daresay she would find your observations most agreeable.”
“Lady Catherine must be starved for entertainment,” Elizabeth murmured, earning a stifled laugh from Jane, who tightened her hold on her sister’s arm in silent solidarity.
“Perhaps,” Jane ventured diplomatically, “we might discuss something less... exalted than Lady Catherine. The weather, for instance! It is quite fine today, is it not?”
“Exceedingly fine,” Mr Collins agreed, though his eyes remained fixed on Elizabeth with a fervour that made her long to hide behind the nearest hedgerow.
Meanwhile, Mary trudged a few paces behind them, clutching a small book as though it were both shield and weapon. Each step seemed heavier than the last, and Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt despite herself. It was not her fault, after all, that Mr Collins’s affections shifted as easily as the wind, but she could not help wishing they might shift back to Mary—or, ideally, to some distant parish where neither sister need suffer his attentions.
“Look! A red coat!” Lydia’s voice rang out like a peal of triumphant bells, cutting through the crisp morning air. She quickened her pace, her bonnet ribbons streaming behind her as she darted ahead of the group, leaving Kitty scrambling to keep up. “It’s Mr Denny, oh, and who is that very handsome gentleman with him?”
Elizabeth, who had been studiously attempting to ignore Mr Collins’s incessant commentary on the moral benefits of walking, glanced up with mild curiosity. Her gaze settled on the figure approaching them: a tall, dark-haired gentleman, his posture confident and his stride easy.
“Good heavens,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath, “an Adonis. Just what Lydia needs, a new object for her exuberance.”
“Indeed,” Jane murmured beside her, her tone amused but tinged with a sisterly weariness. They exchanged a knowing glance, united in their shared concern over Lydia’s unbridled enthusiasms.
Lydia had soon persuaded Lieutenant Denny to introduce his friend, a Mr Wickham, who was apparently in the process of joining the regiment, which immediately had Lydia declaring how fine he would look in a red coat. Elizabeth winced, but Mr Wickham was perfectly gracious and charming despite Lydia’s mis-step.
“Mr Wickham,” Elizabeth returned as he was presented to her, inclining her head. His charm was undeniable, but there was something in the studied grace of his manner that set her on edge.
“Are you newly arrived in Meryton, Mr Wickham?” Jane asked politely, ever the picture of decorum.
“Indeed, Miss Bennet. I have joined Colonel Forster’s regiment and am quite looking forward to becoming acquainted with the neighbourhood—and its most charming inhabitants.” His eyes lingered on Elizabeth with a look that might have been flattering, had it not felt so deliberate.
“How very fortunate,” Elizabeth said dryly, though a corner of her mouth twitched in reluctant amusement. She was about to ask him about where he had come from when the sound of approaching hoofbeats drew everyone’s attention.
“Mr Bingley!” Jane exclaimed softly, her face lighting up with pleasure as two gentlemen came into view on horseback. Mr Bingley waved cheerfully as he dismounted with ease, his boyish enthusiasm undiminished by the formality of his attire.
“Miss Bennet!” he called as he approached, his expression as radiant as the morning sun. “What a delightful surprise! I was just riding to Longbourn to inquire after your health.”
“How very kind of you, sir,” Jane replied with a soft smile, her voice warm enough to make even the autumn breeze feel mild.
But while Mr Bingley’s entrance was all sunshine and light, his companion’s was a thundercloud looming on the horizon. Mr Darcy sat stiffly astride his horse, his jaw tight and his complexion ruddy. His dark eyes were fixed on Mr Wickham with such intensity that Elizabeth half-expected sparks to fly between them.
“Mr Darcy,” she greeted cautiously as he dismounted and moved to stand beside Bingley. His curt nod was acknowledgment enough, though his gaze never wavered from Wickham, whose previously unshakable composure now seemed precarious at best. The colour had drained from his handsome face, leaving him pale beneath his tan.
Finally, Mr Wickham inclined his head in what might have been deference—or defiance. Mr Darcy did not return the gesture. The tension crackled between them like a brewing storm, and Elizabeth’s sharp eyes darted between the two men, wondering if they knew each other.
“I trust you are enjoying this fine morning, Miss Bennet?” Mr Bingley said, oblivious to the growing tension.
Elizabeth barely heard Jane’s soft reply. Her attention remained firmly fixed on the silent battle unfolding between Darcy and Wickham. Whatever history lay between them, it was clear that it was neither simple nor amicable. As Wickham’s smooth facade slipped ever so slightly and Darcy’s fists clenched at his sides, Elizabeth felt a pang of unease amidst her growing intrigue.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” she thought, her mind already whirring with possibilities. What secrets lay hidden beneath these polished exteriors? And how, she wondered, did they involve the enigmatic Mr Darcy and the dashing Mr Wickham?