Page 16 of The Mercy of Chance

E lizabeth was cataloguing winter stores in the kitchen garden, her fingers stained with earth as she sorted through turnips with the cook, when Mr Collins’s shadow fell across her work.

She glanced up to find him posed in what he seemingly believed to be an impressive attitude, his formal garb incongruous among the herb beds and vegetable rows.

She felt a lurch of not quite fear, but distress at his approach.

“Cousin Elizabeth.”

He executed a bow so deep it nearly upset a basket of parsnips.

“Your understanding of estate matters, whilst perhaps excessive in one of your sex, bespeaks an intelligence that might, when controlled and directed by a husband of sense and education, prove most advantageous to the future mistress of Longbourn.”

Elizabeth straightened, brushing soil from her apron.

“Mr Collins, you find me at a disadvantage.

These turnips require my immediate attention, and I fear they would not appreciate the interruption of a proposal, however eloquent.”

His face reddened, but he pressed on with dogged determination.

“I therefore feel it incumbent upon me to offer you the opportunity to unite your practical knowledge with my own superior position and judgement.”

“How generous,”

Elizabeth replied, her eyes dancing despite her composed expression.

“But I must decline both the opportunity and the judgement.

The turnips, you see, have decided opinions about proper management, and I should hate to disappoint them by introducing changes at this late stage in our alliance.”

“Cousin Elizabeth!”

His tone wavered between scandalised and bewildered.

“You cannot possibly prefer the supervision of root vegetables to the security of marriage to the heir of Longbourn?”

“Indeed, I can, sir.

The turnips, you see, require only that I understand their nature, whilst a husband could expect me to deny my own.”

She turned back to her work.

“I have work to do.

As do you, I believe, at your living in Kent.”

“But consider, Madam, the great advantage of combining your… unusual knowledge with proper masculine authority! Lady Catherine herself--”

“Would undoubtedly have strong opinions about turnip management,”

Elizabeth interrupted smoothly.

“However, as she is not here to share them, I must rely on my own judgement.

Good day, Mr Collins.”

He lingered, sputtering, until Elizabeth deliberately upended a basket of soil near his shoes.

He retreated hastily toward the house.

In the stillroom, he found Mrs Bennet presiding over the preservation of autumn fruits.

“My dear Madam,”

he began, clearly hoping for a more sympathetic audience.

“As a woman of discernment and maternal feeling, you must comprehend the exceptional advantages I offer.

Your daughters, whilst admirably industrious, cannot persist indefinitely in their current unseemly occupation without the protection and guidance of a gentleman of property and connection.”

Mrs Bennet sealed a jar with particular vigour.

“Can they not? How fascinating.

And yet here we are, persisting quite successfully these several years past.”

“But consider the security and elevation of position that would attend such an alliance! Indeed, Lady Catherine, in her singular wisdom, has long maintained that young ladies of good family must be promptly settled, and I venture to suggest--”

Mrs Bennet’s voice cut through his rhetoric like a well-honed knife, “I fear that Lady Catherine’s opinions, whilst no doubt fascinating to her particular circle, carry somewhat less weight in Hertfordshire than in Kent.

My daughters manage very well, sir.

Their security lies in their competence, not in marriage to one who would undo their work.”

“But Lady Catherine, in her infinite wisdom and condescension, has particularly remarked--”

“Your patroness is not mistress here.”

Mrs Bennet’s often fluttering manner hardened to steel.

“I am.

Now, if you will excuse me, these preserves must be stored before the damp ruins them.

Unless you wish to explain to Lady Catherine why we serve empty jars at dinner?”

Mr Collins retreated in utter bafflement, leaving Mrs Bennet to exchange a speaking look with her daughter through the stillroom window.

Elizabeth’s lips quirked in response.

They had weathered worse storms than one pompous parson; this too would pass, leaving them, like their preserves, intact and self-sufficient.

Finding Lydia and Kitty in the drawing room sewing that evening, Collins held forth at length upon Lady Catherine’s opinions regarding female education, estate management, and the proper deportment of young ladies of good family,

“Ah, my young cousins.

Whilst your industry does credit to your family’s reduced circumstances, surely such menial concerns might be better left to servants? Lady Catherine has most pointedly observed that young ladies should occupy themselves with delicate needlework and improving reading.

Indeed, Her Ladyship maintains that excessive attention to household matters can only result in the coarsening of feminine sensibilities.”

“Reduced circumstances?”

Lydia raised an eyebrow.

“Our profits have doubled since--” Kitty elbowed Lydia quickly to quiet her.

“My dear cousins,”

Collins spoke on, oblivious, “your charming na?veté regarding financial matters only serves to underscore my point.

When I am master here, such concerns will be handled by those better suited to them.

Now, regarding the matter of my proposal to your sister--”

“Which one?”

Lydia asked innocently.

“The one Jane laughed about, or the one that sent Elizabeth storming to the stables?”

Collins pulled himself up to his full height.

“I had hoped to find allies in you younger ladies, whose minds might not yet be fully corrupted by involvements wholly outside feminine delicacy.

But I see the taint of rebellion has spread throughout the family.”

Upon retreating from the drawing room, Mr Collins paused in the hallway.

The sound of piano music drifted from the music room, where Mary practised her daily exercises with characteristic diligence.

He smoothed his waistcoat and adjusted his clerical collar, considering his dwindling options.

Two attempts at securing a wife from among his cousins had met with unaccountable resistance.

The Misses Kitty and Lydia were far too immature to warrant his consideration, not to mention their rather sporting manner when he attempted serious discussion with them.

Lady Catherine would be most displeased at his lack of progress.

Her instructions had been clear–establish himself firmly within the family to guide them properly toward more suitable behaviours and secure for a wife the most malleable of his cousins.

Each of the elder Bennet ladies seemed more resistant than the last.

Miss Mary, however, might prove more amenable to reason.

She at least demonstrated suitable feminine accomplishments. Her plainer features and serious demeanour suggested a practical nature less likely to be swayed by romantic notions. Such qualities, whilst hardly inspiring passion, would serve adequately enough in a parson’s wife. Yes, he had been mistaken in seeking the beautiful Miss Jane Bennet. It was hardly fitting for a man of the cloth to be driven by such base instincts. As for Miss Elizabeth, his head still pounded from the effort of deciphering her meanings in her rapid and complex remarks. He ought to have considered Miss Mary from the first. She was no beauty, but her figure appeared quite adequate, and her manner of speech was at least respectful.

Fortifying himself with thoughts of Lady Catherine’s approval, he approached the music room.

The door stood ajar, framing Miss Mary at the pianoforte, her posture rigid as she executed a particularly complex passage.

“Most edifying, Miss Mary,”

he announced as the final notes faded.

“Your dedication to musical accomplishment does credit to your upbringing.”

Mary turned on the bench, her expression as composed as ever behind her spectacles.

“Mr Collins.

I was not aware you appreciated Bach.”

“Lady Catherine has been most emphatic in her pronouncements upon the improving qualities of musical study,”

he declared, stepping fully into the room.

“Although she naturally prefers more delicate selections for young ladies of breeding.

Particularly her own daughter, who would have been most accomplished had her health permitted.”

“Indeed?”

Mary’s tone remained neutral.

“I find Bach speaks more directly to matters of moral clarity than many more fashionable composers.”

Collins seized upon this opening.

“Just so! Moral clarity–a quality most essential in these troubling times.

Indeed, it is precisely this understanding of correct principles that has led me to consider… that is to say, to contemplate… a matter of some delicacy.”

He positioned himself by the pianoforte, assuming the same stance that had failed him twice before.

“Miss Mary, your evident appreciation for moral instruction, combined with your accomplishments and sensible nature, lead me to believe you might be serviceably suited to the position of a clergyman’s wife.”

Mary’s fingers stilled upon the keyboard.

“A clergyman’s wife,”

she repeated, her voice perfectly even.

“Indeed,”

Collins continued, warming to his theme.

“According to Lady Catherine’s guidance, which I hold in the highest esteem, a parsonage requires a mistress of serious disposition and practical skills.

One who understands the importance of proper example and moral guidance.”

“I see.”

Mary closed her music book with deliberate care.

“And you believe I meet these requirements?”

“Most certainly.

Your studious nature and evident preference for improving literature over frivolous pursuits suggest a character well-suited to supporting the moral tone of a parish.”

He leant forward.

“Furthermore, as the least likely of your sisters to form other attachments, practical considerations must surely recommend the security of such an establishment.”

The silence that followed stretched uncomfortably long.

When Mary finally spoke, her voice had acquired an edge that Collins had not previously detected.

“Mr Collins,”

she said, rising from the piano bench with perfect composure, “I have made a particular study of moral philosophy these past years.

Would you care to know what I have learnt?”

Collins, mistaking her response for interest, smiled indulgently.

“I should be most gratified to hear your simple observations, which I might then refine with my superior theological understanding.”

“I have learnt,”

Mary continued, removing her spectacles with one precise motion, “that true moral worth lies not in appearance or position, but in character and conduct.

That wisdom consists not in pronouncing judgements based on others’ opinions, but in forming one’s own through careful observation, biblical study, and rational thought.”

Collins blinked, his rehearsed speech momentarily forgotten.

“I have observed your character most intently these weeks past,”

Mary continued, her voice acquiring the clear, lecture-like tone her sisters knew well.

“I have noted your excessive deference to rank, your lack of original thought, your willingness to sacrifice principle for advancement, your utter ignorance of Christian doctrine, and your habitual incapability to perceive the true nature and worth of those around you.”

“Miss Mary!”

Collins sputtered.

“This is most unseemly—”

“What is unseemly,”

Mary interrupted with quiet force, “is your presumption that I, or any of my sisters, should consider marriage to a man who neither respects our capabilities nor possesses any of his own beyond reciting the opinions of his patroness.

Even Dr.

Gregory, in his ‘Legacy to His Daughters,’ whilst advocating modesty and deference, acknowledges that a woman’s judgement should not be sacrificed to mere external authority.

And Mrs Chapone states clearly that a woman must consider moral character above all in selecting a companion for life.”

Collins’s face had progressed through several interesting shades during this speech.

“Lady Catherine—”

“The opinion of someone so wholly unrelated to me would never alter mine in the slightest.

I have no wish to marry at present, Mr Collins, and were that to change, I should certainly seek a husband whose moral character I could genuinely respect.”

She gathered her music books into a neat stack.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I believe my sisters may require my assistance with the household accounts.”

She moved past him with measured dignity, leaving Collins staring after her in stupefied silence.

The pianoforte stood like a barrier, its polished surface reflecting his bewildered expression as he struggled to comprehend how the quietest, plainest Bennet sister had delivered perhaps the most devastating rejection of all.

Failing at his attempts with the ladies of the household, Collins sought out the housekeeper.

Mrs Hill was in the linen room, her experienced hands smoothing and folding fresh-scented sheets when Mr Collins found her.

She kept her face neutral as he positioned himself in the doorway, although her fingers twitched with the urge to shoo him from her domain like an overlarge crow.

“Mrs Hill,”

he began with pompous condescension, “as a sensible woman who understands the proper order of things, you must agree that the estate requires masculine governance? Indeed, Lady Catherine herself maintains no fewer than three male servants solely to oversee her household accounts.”

“Does she indeed, sir?”

Mrs Hill’s voice dripped with exaggerated deference as she precisely aligned the corners of a damask tablecloth.

“How … uneconomical of her Ladyship.

I cannot but say I find myself surprised that three gentlemen are required to accomplish what our Miss Jane manages single-handedly.”

Collins puffed up like a disturbed pigeon.

“You cannot mean to suggest that a young lady’s amateur efforts could equal the systematic approach of properly trained men?”

“Oh no, sir,”

Mrs Hill agreed, her eyes downcast but dancing.

“I would never suggest equality.

After all, Miss Jane completed last quarter’s accounts in no time and found an error in the sheep tallies besides.

Surely three gentlemen required many days to accomplish the same.

But I am sure Lady Catherine’s gentlemen are entirely… thorough.”

“Precisely!”

Collins seized on her apparent agreement, missing the glint in her eye.

“Lady Catherine has frequently remarked that feminine attention to detail, whilst commendable in its way, must be properly directed by masculine wisdom.

Why, only last Easter--”

Mrs Hill continued in her work whilst Mr Collins droned on.

As soon as he stopped for breath Mrs Hill turned to him, dropping into a deep curtsey that somehow managed to convey more irony than respect.

“I fear I must attend to the airing of the guest linens. Unless”

she added with wide-eyed concern, “you feel three footmen might accomplish it more efficiently?”

“Well, I--”

Collins faltered, perhaps suspecting he was being mocked but unable to pin down how.

“That is to say--”

“Or perhaps,”

Mrs Hill continued innocently, “you might wish to examine our linen inventory? Although I should warn you, sir, Miss Mary’s organisational methods are quite… feminine.

I fear a gentleman of your understanding might find them quite beneath his notice.”

“I— that is— Perhaps I should--”

Collins backed toward the door, his certainty visibly crumbling in the face of Mrs Hill’s relentless servility.

“Indeed, you should, sir,”

Mrs Hill agreed warmly, advancing with a stack of sheets.

“I believe Mr Bennet is waiting to consult you about… about the optimal placement of a pigsty.” She all but pushed him from the room, her curtsey managing simultaneously to usher him out and shut the door in his face.

Alone again, Mrs Hill allowed herself a small smile as she returned to her work.

Through the window, she could see Miss Elizabeth in the kitchen garden, deftly sorting turnips and no doubt planning how to avoid their unwanted suitor.

“Lady Catherine’s three men indeed,”

she muttered to herself.

“I would like to see them manage a quarter of what these girls accomplish before breakfast.”

The sound of Collins’s voice drifted up from below, no doubt expounding to some other unfortunate soul about Lady Catherine’s opinions on proper household management.

Mrs Hill shook her head and returned to her linens, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like “The Female Sailor Bold.”