Page 31 of The Shades of Pemberley

B ees were only the first step on Mr. Collins’s journey to the land of abject inanity, though Elizabeth supposed that was not quite the truth—the journey was not in its infancy, after all.

From a discussion of the bees in his gardens, the parson flitted from subject to subject, from the beauty of the grove in which his house sat, to a long and mind-numbing description of the house—he flattered himself that it was perfect for a man of his situation—to the wonders of his patroness’s home separated by only a lane from the parsonage, to any other vacuous subject that caught his attention.

Even Mr. Bennet’s interest in the ridiculous could not survive the coming days in his company, for Mr. Collins could put staring at a stone wall to shame in his ability to numb the mind to insensibility.

Anyone watching realized that Mr. Bennet could not tolerate his cousin’s presence, not even to laugh at his follies—Mr. Collins was so absurd as to make such amusement a fleeting pleasure at best. Mr. Bennet remained in their company more often than Elizabeth had expected, given his preference for his study and his books.

“There is... something about him I dislike,” confessed Mr. Bennet on an occasion only two days after the parson’s arrival. “I cannot say what it is, but I cannot shake the notion that something is at work of which we know nothing.”

“That is why you have not been as eager to dispense with his company?” Elizabeth shot him a grin. “Given the reality of your cousin’s character, I might have thought you resolved to remain in your study, even taking your meals there, all to avoid Mr. Collins.”

Mr. Bennet snorted his amusement. “Do not tempt me, Lizzy, for I might accept your offer.” Her father shook his head, as much in lack of understanding as frustration.

“You are correct, of course. I should like to avoid him, but something has kept me watchful, for there is something he has not told us.”

Elizabeth did not disagree with her father—to own the truth, she had seen something of the parson’s behavior that disquieted her, and it was not only his silliness.

After the first meal in his company in which he had directed far more of his comments at Elizabeth than she thought warranted, his attention turned toward her until most of what he said was to her.

In time, he all but ignored Elizabeth’s sisters.

While they were not averse to being free of his attention, they looked at him askance.

What man would pay so much attention to a woman who was engaged to another?

“Lizzy,” said her mother, not long after Elizabeth’s conversation with her father, “is it my imagination or is Mr. Collins showing too much interest in you?”

“I have noticed it too, Mama,” said Elizabeth.

“Then he is even more objectionable than I might have thought.” Mrs. Bennet sniffed her disdain, the old disgust for the man who would see her removed from her home returned.

“The man has said naught to me, for I would have disabused him of the notion that he might pay his addresses to you had he raised the subject.”

“Yes, Mama,” replied Elizabeth, though her mother would not understand the wry quality of her reply. “I know you would not have hesitated to inform him.”

“Then what do you mean to do?” asked Mrs. Bennet.

Elizabeth shrugged, for there was nothing to do for the moment. “I shall do nothing. Papa knows that something is off with Mr. Collins. When he has a clear indication of his meaning, Papa will speak to him.”

“Very well.”

Thereafter, Mrs. Bennet took great delight in speaking to Elizabeth about the impending wedding, and though she had never been shy about referring to those plans that had consumed her these past months, her comments were even more pointed in the company of Mr. Collins.

What the parson thought of them remained unknown to Elizabeth, for either he ignored them or remained oblivious as to the subject of Mrs. Bennet’s conversation.

Though Elizabeth doubted the insensibility required to remain ignorant, if any man could claim obliviousness sufficient to misunderstand, it was William Collins.

“Let us speak on the details of your dress, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet would say, though to Elizabeth’s sure knowledge they had spoken on the subject and acquired the gown months before. “You look divine in ivory—Mr. Darcy’s eyes will pop out at the mere sight of you, I am certain.”

“It seems you speak of something particular, Mrs. Bennet,” intoned the parson. “Is it a future function of which you speak?”

Mrs. Bennet eyed him as if she had never imagined such a loathsome specimen as William Collins. “It is an engagement ball, Mr. Collins—Lizzy’s engagement ball.”

“Oh, that is lovely, for there is nothing more exciting than a ball!”

Elizabeth exchanged a look with her mother, for she thought Mr. Collins had focused on the first part of Mrs. Bennet’s communication, ignoring or missing the second part.

“When is this momentous affair to take place?”

“The ball is scheduled for the first week of April,” said Mrs. Bennet, though seeming less than eager to share the details. “The ball will be on the third, while the wedding will be the following Monday on the sixth.”

“Then might I be so bold as to claim your first two dances?” asked Mr. Collins, turning back to Elizabeth. “Though I must return to Kent Saturday next, I may return in time for the ball.”

Hosting the parson again was not agreeable to Mrs. Bennet, as evidenced by her pursed lips and flashing eyes. Mrs. Bennet showed a little restraint, however, and said: “Do you not suppose that a woman wishes to dance the first with her future husband at her engagement ball?”

“To be certain,” replied Mr. Collins.

So saying, Mr. Collins turned his expectant gaze back on Elizabeth, his zeal apparent though not understood. Again, Elizabeth looked at her mother, who regarded her father, who sat regarding the parson as if trying to make him out. Though uncertain how to respond, Elizabeth settled for blandness.

“If you will pardon me, Mr. Collins, I do not think it would be appropriate to promise those dances to you.”

“Oh, of course!” exclaimed the parson. “How silly of me to have forgotten that nothing is yet settled. I shall, of course, withdraw my request.

“Now, Cousin, what say you of nature? As I traveled to your father’s fine estate, I noted some fine examples of groves, the fields of plenty, and a stream or two, though they are nothing compared to those surrounding my patroness’s estate, of course.

Kent is the garden of England, after all—I am fortunate to live in such lovely surroundings. ”

“I enjoy nature,” said Elizabeth, keeping her response brief to eschew inciting him. As he had proved many times, Mr. Collins needed no encouragement.

“Can you tell me more about your preferences? I noticed you walked this morning, though you were absent far longer than I might have expected.”

“I do love to walk,” said Elizabeth, all she would say.

“That is pleasing to be certain,” replied the parson.

“As my patroness has said, walking is a beneficial exercise. One cannot go amiss by maintaining one’s health by walking, eating sensibly, rising early, and leading a useful lifestyle.

As a parson, I must suppose you understand I am engaged in the parish’s management and dealing with problems when they arise.

A parson’s wife must also concern herself with such matters, for her active engagement is required to soothe bruised feelings and care for the less fortunate. ”

“It has often been said that we must clothe the naked and succor the sick,” said Mary.

Though the girl injected her usual pious tone in her comment, Elizabeth noted Mary watching the parson as if to see what he would say. When she noticed Elizabeth’s scrutiny, Mary shrugged, though Elizabeth could not mistake the mischievous gleam in her eye.

“You see aright, Cousin Mary,” said Mr. Collins.

“Then it is not much different from what we do on the estate,” added Jane. “We care for those who farm the estate for our benefit.”

“Without a doubt, Cousin Jane,” agreed Mr. Collins. “Why, my excellent patroness is no stranger to such things, for she does not hesitate to resolve disharmony, feed the poor, and oversee all within the boundaries of her influence.”

While Elizabeth did not know the identity of the man’s patroness, she sounded like a woman who was more apt to browbeat and force those disruptive elements of her domain into harmony rather than mediate.

The image of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, haughty and domineering, entered Elizabeth’s mind, and she stifled a giggle at the thought.

No doubt, Mr. Collins’s patroness was the same sort as the infamous lady, rendering the position of Mr. Collins’s wife less desirable.

From there, the situation with Mr. Collins grew even worse, if possible, for the man continued to expend all his energy on speaking to Elizabeth, having no interest in anyone else.

Several times, Elizabeth had the notion that he wanted to speak to her alone, as she construed his comments as intending to suggest they engage in private conversations.

Kitty and Lydia appeared oblivious, but Jane, seeing something in the parson’s manners she did not like, stayed close to Elizabeth, as did Mary.

“I cannot say what Mr. Collins means by importuning you like this, Lizzy,” said Jane that day on a rare occasion when Mr. Collins was distracted. “It would be best if you were not alone.”

“Trust me, Jane,” said Elizabeth. “I cannot agree more.”