“Then I must suppose she is a prominent woman?” asked Mrs. Bennet, perhaps in desperation to insert a word into the parson’s monologue.
“Of course, for she is the most preeminent lady in all the land,” agreed Mr. Collins. “I received my ordination last Easter and thus have experienced a most marvelous year under her ladyship’s tutelage. You will understand when I say that I lose no opportunity to praise her beneficence, for I could never imagine such affability as her ladyship bestows on me daily.”
“Then I hope you do not miss her to excess, Cousin.”
Mr. Bennet’s dry comment, though Elizabeth suspected Mr. Collins could understand nothing of such humor, was intended to close the subject. In this, he perhaps underestimated Mr. Collins’s nose for the absurd.
“Not at all, Cousin. For you see, I have come here for a specific purpose, one, I cannot but imagine, you will all find agreeable. There is, at Longbourn, something I could not find in any other location, happiness I am eager to claim.”
“You refer to the estate?” asked Mr. Bennet. “It is, after all, your inheritance.”
“It is, but I refer to a more personal matter,” demurred the parson. “I shall speak of it anon.”
None of them missed the significant glance from Mr. Bennet, though the parson did not notice it. It appeared their apprehension about Mr. Collins’s reasons for coming to Hertfordshire was confirmed.
Yet Elizabeth could not help but feel that something was off about him, a vague sensation that extended beyond his being an oddity. What it could be, she could not say, but something niggled at the back of her mind, whispering that he was not saying everything. When Mr. Collins then turned to Elizabeth, the feeling grew.
“Tell me, Cousin, what do you think about bees? I have many in my gardens at Hunsford, you know, for my patroness advised me to procure them and directed their placement behind my excellent parsonage.”
Chapter XIV
Bees 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 remainin 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. “Youarecorrect, 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 offwith 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.
