The way Mary regarded him, Elizabeth thought she might forswear Fordyce now that Mr. Collins had recommended him; if she did, the entire family would rejoice, for Mary’s comments were seasoned with little homilies written by the old-fashioned author.
“Might I assume you also possess a copy of his sermons?” asked Mr. Collins of Elizabeth. “As you are an excellent young lady of taste and discernment, I cannot but suppose you have the highest reliance in his advice.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, “but I have never cared for Fordyce. His writings are a relic of a bygone and less enlightened age.”
While Elizabeth might have supposed that Mary would protest such characterization, she said nothing, contenting herself with closing her book and focusing her attention on the conversation. The parson, Elizabeth noted, appeared perplexed by Elizabeth’s response.
“I am certain I do not know to what you refer, Cousin.”
“Fordyce was an idiot,” said Elizabeth, not holding back her opinion. “His views were so puritanical and restrictive that any woman who lives under them must consider her situation akin to slavery.”
“Oh, I would not go so far as that,” said Mary while Mr. Collins gave the impression of a fish. “There is, to be certain, a pompous tone in his writings, and he is far too judgmental and restrictive to be certain, but I believe his ideas have some merit. The danger to women who do not behave themselves in our society is real.”
The significant glance Mary directed at Lydia did not escape Elizabeth’s attention, though the girl herself had no notion of it. That was for the best, for Lydia would not take such censure without response, and Elizabeth had no desire to witness an argument. Lydia was livelier than she ought to be, but the girl was not without restraint.
“That is a singular opinion of a man I consider enlightened!” exclaimed Mr. Collins, discovering what existed of his wits. “When you reflect on the benefits of adherence to his counsel, I am certain you will wish to reconsider your misguided stance.”
“Your assurance is unwarranted, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, testier than she had intended.
The parson regarded her with suspicion. “I have seen your propensity to enjoy the written word, Cousin. Pray, tell me what you like to read.”
From this, Elizabeth expected Mr. Collins wished to deplore her tastes, decry them as unsuitable for a woman, and perhaps browbeat her into accepting his interpretation of what was proper. In this, Elizabeth suspected he had not abandoned his hope of persuading her to his view. If he wished to know, Elizabeth had no qualms about informing him, for his disapproval was nothing to her. When she named a few volumes she considered favorites, the man proved her suspicions correct.
“Thisis what you read?” Mr. Collins tsked and shook his head in dismay. “I suppose it is no surprise you would consider such reading material acceptable, given the man who raised you. However, I advise you, dear cousin, to think better of it and accept my counsel to focus your attention on more worthy works, for a woman must be knowledgeable only of those things that she can understand.”
“I assure you, Mr. Collins,” scowled Elizabeth, “that I do not lack understanding. As for your comment about my father, I care little, for so long ashedoes not disapprove of my reading material, I shall not concern myself with your opinion.”
Haughty was the only word to describe Mr. Collins’s reaction. “Your obstinacy will do you little good, for I shall know how to act. My patroness will not endure such insolence, I assure you.”
A frisson of unease worked its way up Elizabeth’s spine, for she had heard such language before, and the implications were not at all pleasant. As Elizabeth was not about to endure his promises of retribution, she stood and glared at him.
“Unless you have forgotten—which I suppose is possible given how little you pay attention to what anyone else says—I will never be under your authority and will never so much as lay eyes on your patroness. Thus, I shall do as I like.”
With that, Elizabeth left the room, unwilling to endure the man any longer. The desire to absent herself from the house settled in Elizabeth’s breast, and she gathered her bonnet, gloves, and spenser from Mrs. Hill and took herself out of doors to a path she often walked when unsettled. William was to come that day, but Elizabeth judged she had enough time to work off some anger before he arrived.
For the first part of her walk, all went according to plan, though she had not yet walked far. As her anger against Mr. Collins simmered, Elizabeth set a quick pace, skirting Longbourn village to the north and striking out on a path that would lead in a loop back to Longbourn. How it might have gone had she continued to walk, she could not say, but after a few moments, she came to a break in the trees and stopped for a few moments to close her eyes and take in the sounds of nature, feel the sun on her face, and perhaps gain a little composure. That was when she heard approaching footsteps.
“What do you mean by following me?” demanded Elizabeth, the white-hot furnace of her anger returning at the sight of the parson on the path behind her. “Are you witless?”
Though Mr. Collins’s glare darkened at such language, he paid no attention to it. “There is more to be done to reform your character than I thought.” The man sniffed his disdain. “If the need were not so great, I would wash my hands of you.”
The suspicion that entered her heart in the house now returned to Elizabeth. “What do you mean? My father has already told you of my engagement—there is nothing you can do, even if thisneedof which you speak is so urgent.”
“Urgent it is, for my patroness has required it of me, and I can do nothing but obey.”
“Your patroness is as bacon-brained as are you, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, injecting every hint of insolence in her voiceshe could muster. “How can a woman I do not know have any interest at all in my doings?”
Fury settled, descending like a red haze over Mr. Collins, for Elizabeth’s insults did the trick. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh is the wisest, most intelligent woman in all the land! Take care to say nothing to malign her, for you will pay the price of it when we are married.”
Elizabeth watched the witless man, the truth now in the open. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was this man’s patroness? The past days of his insistence now made sense.
“We shall never be married!” spat Elizabeth. “Have you heard nothing my father has said to you?”
“Oh, we shall be married,” said the parson. Though he glared at her and tried to appear resolved, his authority was that of a constipated goat. “My patroness has required it of me.”
“You already said as much,” said Elizabeth. “What I do not understand is why she concerns herself with my doings.”
“Because you have set your sights too high. Lady Catherine intends her daughter for Mr. Darcy—shewill be the mistress of his estate as has always been her destiny.”
