Page 10 of What Comes Between Cousins

A FTER THE GENTLEMEN from Netherfield left Longbourn, Elizabeth thought to return to her bedchamber. Not only had the day been full of revelations, of meeting a man and immediately learning he was a libertine, but a full morning in the company of Mr. Collins’s company had left her wishing for a respite. It was now clear to her that he was all that was objectionable and, furthermore, he seemed intent upon pulling one of the Bennet sisters from their suitors. While Elizabeth was not even certain she had a suitor at present, she was determined that she would not gain one in the person of her father’s cousin.

It was, unfortunately, with this determination in mind, that she was spied by the man himself as she made her way to the stairs. Elizabeth was certain he had been watching for her appearance, as he presented himself out of nowhere, and faster than a man of William Collins’s bulk should have found it possible to do so.

“Cousin Elizabeth! Come, sit with us in the sitting-room, for I have matters of which I would ask you.”

It was all Elizabeth could do not to snap at the man, but her manners overcame the crossness she felt at his persistence. Her sense of propriety also informed her that it would be churlish to take herself up to her room now when he had already spied her. With a longsuffering sigh she could not quite suppress—and she need not have bothered trying, for she was certain the parson would have remained oblivious of it—she entered the sitting-room, though she steadfastly refused to sit near Mr. Collins.

The sofa she chose was a small one on which Mary already sat, giving Elizabeth the opportunity to avoid having the gentleman beside her. Lydia and Kitty were nowhere in sight, and Jane was not far away, attending to some sewing, though she took the entrance of her sister and their guest with a frown. Mrs. Bennet also was not present, and a quick and low query of Mary revealed their mother had been summoned by Mrs. Hill to deal with some matter of the house.

“I had not thought to meet such illustrious personages as Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s nephews here, Cousin,” said Mr. Collins without preamble. “What curious chance has brought them here at precisely the time that I may be of use to them?”

Elizabeth was certain the question was rhetorical in nature, and while she could not think of what possible use Mr. Collins could be to them, she essayed to respond, regardless.

“The timing is curious, Mr. Collins. Mr. Bingley is leasing Netherfield Park, the estate which borders Longbourn to the east. Lord Chesterfield and Mr. Darcy have come to assist him since he is unfamiliar with estate management.”

“Ah, then he could not have asked anyone better to teach him than her ladyship’s nephews.” Mr. Collins paused, and he said as if he felt it required: “Except for her ladyship herself, of course. For I know of no one who manages an estate with such skill, such natural aptitude as her ladyship. Rosings must be the envy of Kent, and I am certain that her ladyship’s nephews’ properties must be similar.

“Excuse me, but where are their estates located?”

“I am surprised, Mr. Collins,” replied Elizabeth, unable to resist teasing the silly man. “I would have thought you would already know, considering how deep in her ladyship’s counsels you are.”

A slight snort from Mary nearly prompted Elizabeth to burst out laughing with her sister, but Mr. Collins took no notice. “Lady Catherine does rely on me—yes, it is true. I was to meet her nephews next spring, you understand, for they attend her ladyship every year at Easter. But her ladyship has never raised the subject of the location of their homes.”

“Ah, that would explain it,” replied Elizabeth, saying nothing more.

Mr. Collins looked at her, expectation evident in his manner, and when she did not say anything further he frowned. By contrast, Mary was shaking, her handkerchief held to her mouth as she held the book in front of her, trying to keep her composure.

“And where might that be, Cousin?” asked Mr. Collins at length.

“Oh, of course!” cried Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy’s estate is in Derbyshire, quite near the Peak District, or so I understand. Lord Chesterfield’s estate is also in the same county, though exactly where I do not know.”

“You appear to be quite well informed, Cousin. In fact, it seemed to me that you were quite friendly with both his lordship and Mr. Darcy.”

“They have been in the neighborhood for some weeks, Mr. Collins. I am accounted by some to be a witty conversationalist. I do not think it is strange that Mr. Darcy or Lord Chesterfield—or Mr. Bingley, for that matter—would seek me out to converse with me.”

Mr. Collins’s gaze flicked to where Jane sat, ostensibly concentrating on her sewing. In fact, Elizabeth was certain Jane was listening quite closely to what they were saying.

“You speak with Mr. Bingley? I had thought his gaze was fixed upon your elder sister.”

“So it is,” replied Elizabeth pleasantly. “But that does not mean he spends every waking moment glued to Jane’s side.” Mary snorted and raised her book even higher. “Mr. Bingley is a pleasant, amiable man. I find great enjoyment in speaking with him when he is not making love to my sister.”

“Then you do not have any designs on any of these gentlemen?” asked Mr. Collins.

“I think you have forgotten something, Mr. Collins,” replied Elizabeth. “As a woman, I must wait for the man to indicate his interest. I have no designs, as you call them, on anyone. Whether they have designs on me , I cannot say. I can assure you that Mr. Bingley has no designs on me, for his focus is largely on Jane.”

The parson considered that for several minutes, and then he fixed his gaze on Elizabeth, his expression faintly demanding. “I fear I must be direct, Cousin, for there is no other means by which I may obtain the answers I seek. Your mother suggested you were all but being courted by a gentleman. Though I know the gentlemen in question are above reproach, I am aware of the stratagems young ladies employ to draw men into their webs. Thus, I would warn you that her ladyship’s nephews are not men with whom to trifle. Any attempt to draw them in will surely lead to failure. I hope you are not attempting such, for if you are, I fear that you are destined to receive the severest of censure. Young ladies of your station do not become countesses.”

All teasing of the silly man aside, Elizabeth was now becoming annoyed with him. “I am sorry, Mr. Collins, but I did not hear a question in your words.

“Before you speak further, however,” said she when he opened his mouth to respond, “I must inform you that what you are insinuating is impertinent, and I have no intention of answering. You should be careful to refrain from disrespect yourself. Young ladies of my station may not become countesses, but young men of yours do not question viscounts, lest they receive the severest of reprimands.”

Elizabeth stood. “I am sorry, sir, but I have nothing more to say on this subject.”

With those words, Elizabeth left the room with Mary on her heels. Feeling all the offense of the questions of a stupid man, Elizabeth climbed the stairs and entered her room, and therein she began pacing, muttering imprecations under her breath at the parson. Mary sat on her bed and shot Elizabeth a sympathetic smile.

“I believe I have never felt so fortunate to be beneath a man’s notice because of my beauty as I do now,” said Mary. “Seeing you parrying the man’s comments and the looks he throws at you and Jane both when he thinks no one is looking is enough to put a woman off men for a lifetime!”

“Oh, Mary!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “As I have told you before, any man who cannot see your worth and, I dare say, your beauty, is not worthy of the wonderful woman he is missing. In Mr. Collins’s case, I am certain he would not recognize it if we beat him over the head with it.”

“Thank you, Lizzy.” Mary paused and then addressed Elizabeth seriously. “I do not know what either his lordship or Mr. Darcy is about, but I am certain I see more interest in you from both men than you will acknowledge.”

Elizabeth huffed, but Mary only continued. “You do speak with both men frequently, Elizabeth. You know that Mr. Collins will not appreciate it. I have little faith that he will hold his tongue, and every expectation he will speak when he ought to remain silent and embarrass you at every turn.”

A groan escaped Elizabeth’s lips, and she flung herself onto the bed, lying on her back with her legs hanging down the side. “That is what I am afraid of. I do not think there is any stopping him.”

“Short of inducing Papa to throw him from the house,” replied Mary.

The thought was tempting—oh, so tempting!

“Papa finds Mr. Collins too amusing for the present,” said Elizabeth. “Besides, he cannot simply evict Mr. Collins without a reason. I shall never hear the end of his teasing if I make such a request.”

“I was not serious in my words, Lizzy. But the fact that you even considered them informs me how much you loathe Mr. Collins’s presence.”

“I thought, my dear Mary, it was already evident.”

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M ARGARET BENNET, NEE Gardiner, was not the senseless, nervous woman everyone thought her to be. Or, to a certain extent, she was. But she was mostly concerned—frightened silly might be a more apt description—of the future and what should happen to herself and her daughters should Mr. Bennet leave the earth before their futures were assured. Her nerves were, therefore, real, though she would readily own, if asked, that she made more of them than she should. But she was not completely without sense.

In the matter of Mr. Collins, Maggie knew that he was not the brightest specimen. He was portly and homely, possessed of a streak of haughtiness which would put a duke to shame, and yet sniveled and groveled when presented with one above him in society. He also possessed an exalted notion of exactly what his position in society was. But Maggie knew that a simple parson was not of a high level of society, though they were generally respected.

Of the matter of his suitability for her daughters, Maggie was of two minds. He was, undeniably, a single man, one in possession of an apparently fine living. He was also the heir of Longbourn, and the thought of continuing to live at the estate when her husband was gone, should Mr. Collins marry one of her daughters, was a powerful lure.

On the other hand, Maggie was certain he would not make any of them a good husband. Elizabeth was too intelligent and would not tolerate the man for more than a few moments, and Jane, too beautiful—it was fortunate, indeed, that they were both already the focus of other gentlemen. Kitty and Lydia were too lively and too young, in actuality. Though Maggie had visions of Lydia making a match with Mr. Darcy, she thought the man would be forced to wait a few years for Lydia to mature. And though Maggie had suggested Kitty as a potential bride, she had thought Mr. Collins would see her immaturity and turn his attention to Mary, having no other choice. That he had spurned Mary showed him to be truly shallow.

One weakness Maggie knew she possessed, however, was the ability to speak of her daughters, and she often did so without any provocation. She was not blind to the looks Elizabeth and Jane sometimes gave her, but she could not help it. She had been blessed with girls who possessed every good virtue, and she felt it right that they be lauded for it. Thus, when Mr. Collins approached her on her return to the sitting-room, he hit on the exact topic which would encourage her to be articulate.

“Mrs. Bennet,” said he, “I must own that I am curious concerning what you told me yesterday evening. I, myself, was witness to Mr. Bingley and your eldest when we walked back to Longbourn from Meryton.”

“Ah, yes!” exclaimed Maggie her excitement taking over her tongue. “Mr. Bingley has been so very attentive to Jane. Why, he spends every moment he is able to manage in her company every time they are at the same gathering.”

Maggie continued to prattle on, and her excitement was such that she did not notice the fact that Mr. Collins said little and added nothing to her comments. But she was in her element, and the lack of a response did not bother her. Had she thought to look at the parson, she might have seen the impatience written upon his brow. As it was, she did not see anything at that time which might have given her pause.

“Yes, yes, your eldest is fortunate!” interjected Mr. Collins just as Maggie was cataloging the benefits such an alliance would bring to the Bennet family. Maggie gaped at him, thinking it was unconscionably rude for a parson to interrupt a woman when she was speaking. He should wait his turn! Did he behave this way with the people in his parish?

“While I congratulate Miss Bennet on her fortunate conquest, I must own that I am more interested in your second daughter.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Collins,” said Maggie, wondering that he had forgotten already, “but Elizabeth is not available.”

Nor would she accept you if she were , thought Maggie.

“That is unfortunate,” replied Mr. Collins. “For I have come to appreciate her liveliness and wit. It seems to me that with the correct training, and the silence which my patroness’s exalted station will most surely excite, she would be an excellent parson’s wife.

“I would never presume to interfere,” said Mr. Collins, putting his hand up to halt her tirade, “but I will own that I am curious. Can you tell me about the man who is making love to her? Perhaps I might learn from it and refine my approach, so that I may not be disappointed again in the future.”

“Of course!” said Maggie, thinking it was the most sensible thing the man had said in her presence. “Why did you not ask?”

“I believe I did, madam.”

The stiffness in his tone suggested annoyance, but Maggie could not understand it. The thought was soon thrust from her consciousness by other considerations. Here was another opportunity to discuss her daughters at length, and Maggie could hardly wait to do so.

“It was clear from the beginning that Mr. Bingley favored Jane,” said Maggie, warming to her subject. “That match was made on the very first night they met. My other girls, however, took a little longer to make their own conquests. That makes sense, of course, as they are not nearly so beautiful as my eldest.

“At first, I thought Mr. Darcy favored Elizabeth, but it quickly became clear that it is actually Lord Chesterfield who is in love with her. You should see them when they are together, sir, for they are inseparable! And he is such a wonderful man; so tall and broad-shouldered and handsome. He is much like my Lizzy, you know; he is always jovial and happy, and he says the kindest things about us.

“As for Lydia, well when Mr. Darcy realized that Lord Chesterfield had captured the heart of my second daughter, he turned his attention to my youngest, who is much like me in temperament. He is a bit of a taciturn man, but I am certain Lydia’s liveliness will soon bring him from his cocoon. She will teach him to laugh if anyone can. Now, Lydia is still full young, but I am certain in another year or two she will be ready for Mr. Darcy. And a better wife he could not find.”

As Maggie was speaking with great animation on the topic, she happened to catch sight of Mr. Collins. Though the man should have been listening to her with an unwavering fascination, the silly man was shaking his head, his movements becoming more pronounced and violent by the moment. What was he doing now?

“No, no, no,” said Mr. Collins, each repeat of the word louder. “It cannot be. I am sorry, Madam, but these fantasies you possess—for fantasies they are!—cannot ever come to pass. The nephews of my eminent patroness, marrying the daughters of a country gentleman? It cannot be! Her ladyship’s nephews are destined for much more illustrious matches than your daughters.”

“Are you suggesting my daughters are not good enough?” demanded Maggie.

“Your daughters are all that are lovely and amiable,” said Mr. Collins, the stiffness increasing by the moment.

“So they are,” replied Maggie. “I am certain there can be no impediment.”

“Surely you must see this is not sound, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Collins. “They have not the lineage, the fortune. They do not possess the connections, the nobility of spirit which would be demanded by Lord Chesterfield and Mr. Darcy. No, I am certain this all must be nothing more than your imagination.”

“Do not tell me what I have seen,” said Mrs. Bennet. She stood and glared down at the parson. “We are a respectable family, Mr. Collins. My girls are good enough for any man. Even a viscount and a gentleman with an ancient name, if it comes to that.”

Maggie turned and marched away from him. It appeared Elizabeth was quite correct about Mr. Collins; a little of his society went a long way, indeed.

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W HEN ELIZABETH DESCENDED for dinner in Mary and Jane’s company—Jane had joined them soon after they left the sitting-room—she was certain something had changed. For one, her mother, while normally voluble and loud, was quiet and watchful. In fact, rather than simply maintaining silence, she carried an injured air, much as she often did when her husband teased her. But on this occasion, though Mrs. Bennet shot injured glances, they were not directed at her husband, but at their guest.

For his part, Mr. Collins was watching Mrs. Bennet with exasperation, which turned to disapproval when Elizabeth entered the room. Furthermore, she noted that when Kitty and Lydia entered, his looks were also directed at them , though Elizabeth was amused to note that the bulk of them were reserved for herself. Elizabeth sighed—it seemed he had learned that the cousins had supposedly fixed on Lydia and Elizabeth as prospective brides.

It was evident that Mr. Collins meant to have his say, and equally obvious that Mrs. Bennet was not of a mind to allow him. Mr. Collins tried to speak several times, but Mrs. Bennet cut him off, not allowing him to say what he wished. Though it was a display of poor manners, Elizabeth could not criticize her mother in this instance, as she had no desire to hear the parson’s rants on the subject. Her father also noticed, and if his grin was any indication, he was diverted by what was happening before him.

When the family was called into the dining room, they sat in their usual places, and the food was served. It seemed Mr. Collins was not about to be denied again, for he was speaking almost as soon as they sat in their chairs.

“It has come to my attention, Cousins,” said Mr. Collins, glaring at Elizabeth and Lydia in turn, “that there is a travesty occurring beneath this very roof. Though I flatter myself that I am uniquely qualified to intervene in this matter, my presence here seems like a blessing from on high. Indeed, I must consider it to be that fortunate, for I am in a position to prevent a grave error in judgment from taking place.”

“That is, indeed, fortunate, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Bennet, his amusement with the parson cracking and showing more than a hint of impatience. “This, however, is the dinner hour, and I think we would all appreciate it if you would leave your sermons for Sundays.”

“Have you no care for the mockery of all that is right and just which is being perpetrated under your roof and, I dare say, under your very nose?”

“So far as I am aware, Mr. Collins, the Bennets are mocking no one.” Mr. Bennet winked at Elizabeth. “At least, we do not mock anyone at present.”

Mr. Collins stared at Mr. Bennet, and when it became evident he would say nothing more, the parson sniffed with disdain. Then he turned his attention to Elizabeth.

“You are setting your sights too high, Cousin. As I informed you before, Lord Chesterfield is destined for a much more illustrious bride. Only humiliation awaits you if you stay this course.” Then without allowing her to respond, Mr. Collins turned to Lydia. “And you, Cousin. You should hardly be out of the schoolroom, let alone chasing after a man of the consequence and position of Mr. Darcy. I cannot even begin to fathom what you are all thinking to be pursuing these two gentlemen in such a shameless manner. Does the credit of this family mean nothing to you all?

“No!” exclaimed Mr. Collins, his hand slapping down on the table, a loud punctuation of his words. “It shall not be. My patroness shall never allow such unsuitable matches to be made, if, indeed, this is not all just a matter of your imaginations. Lord Chesterfield will marry a woman of high character and position, and I do not doubt her ladyship will have some say in whom he marries. As for Mr. Darcy, I am afraid he is not available for you to prey upon, for he is already engaged to his cousin, Lady Catherine’s daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh!”

Mrs. Bennet gasped and Elizabeth, shocked, gaped at Mr. Collins. Could it be true? Was Mr. Darcy already engaged? In indefinable pang of loss pierced Elizabeth’s heart.

But she had no time to consider her feelings, for Mrs. Bennet cleared her throat. At first, Mrs. Bennet had appeared as stricken as Elizabeth had felt herself, but after a moment, she seemed to come to some determination.

“That is interesting, indeed, Mr. Collins, for I have it on good authority that Mr. Darcy admires at least one of my daughters.”

“He is only being kind,” snapped Mr. Collins. “He can have no more thought of one of your daughters than he might of marrying one of his dogs.”

“We have heard nothing of it.”

“Do you expect a great man to share his business with all and sundry?”

“No, indeed, we do not. But Mr. Darcy is not the type to make love to young ladies indiscriminately. Are you certain you are not mistaken?”

“I have had the matter from Lady Catherine’s own lips. From their cradles, Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh have been intended for each other by the will of their mothers.”

“Ah, a cradle betrothal!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, triumphant. “Have the marriage articles been signed? Has the proposal been offered? Has the church been booked and the day chosen? Is this agreement of which you speak legal?”

Mr. Collins’s mouth worked though nothing came out. Mrs. Bennet appeared like the cat who had got into the cream, and she smirked at the parson. It was clear he did not like her expression, for he fixed her with one so haughty that Elizabeth wondered if he thought himself to be a duke.

“It is by her ladyship’s design, Mrs. Bennet. Are her designs to be thwarted by a family of much less consequence in the world?”

“Her designs are irrelevant, Mr. Collins,” snapped Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Collins stared at her, and Elizabeth could not call herself any less surprised—she had never heard her mother speak so, nor had she ever witnessed Mrs. Bennet striking to the heart of any matter in such a way.

“What matters is if the engagement is legal,” continued Mrs. Bennet. “If a contract has not been signed, then her ladyship’s designs are naught but wishes.”

“I am afraid she has you there, Cousin,” said Mr. Bennet. All eyes swiveled to the patriarch, and it was clear he was once again enjoying himself thoroughly. “If there is no marriage contract signed, then Mr. Darcy is free to do whatever he likes, regardless of your patroness’s demands.”

By the time Mr. Bennet finished speaking, Mr. Collins was shaking his head rapidly. Elizabeth wondered if he should not be more careful, for it seemed likely to come loose at any moment.

“Her ladyship cannot be gainsaid!” cried he, desperation evident in his tone.

“Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet. “I know nothing of your patroness. But I am familiar with Mr. Darcy and Lord Chesterfield and am convinced they will act in a manner they see fit. Furthermore, my girls are good enough for anyone. I would thank you not to disparage them while you reside in my home.”

“Mrs. Bennet, I am certain you do not understand. You see—”

“I assure you, Mr. Collins, I understand perfectly. I do not wish to repeat myself.”

“Mrs. Bennet—”

“It is fruitless to argue with a woman, Mr. Collins,” interjected Mr. Bennet. “You will understand this when you marry. For now, I suspect it would be best to avoid becoming involved. In the end, what Mr. Darcy or Lord Chesterfield do is none of your concern, I should say.

“Now, if you will oblige me, I believe we should concentrate on our dinner.”

Clearly, Mr. Collins wished to do anything but oblige Mr. Bennet, but when he looked around the table to find nothing but unfriendly countenances, he subsided with a huff. Dinner was mostly silent thereafter, except for Lydia and Kitty giggling together and the occasional comment from one of the other diners. Mr. Collins, however, said nothing of note for the rest of the evening. But his dark looks told them all he had not relinquished his objections.