And Elizabeth, for all her cleverness, would listen.
Two
It was Friday afternoon when Mr. Collins arrived at Longbourn, punctual to the hour he had announced in his first, floridly apologetic letter.
His arrival was heralded by the unmistakable crunch of wheels on the gravel drive, the unhurried clop of a hired horse, and the excited squeals of Kitty and Lydia, who raced to the window to spy on their cousin.
Elizabeth stood back with folded arms, exchanging a wry glance with Jane.
“He has brought only one trunk,” Jane whispered, ever gentle. “He means to stay, but not indefinitely, at least.”
“Small mercies,” Elizabeth replied.
The modest hired chaise rolled to a halt. The door swung open, and Mr. Collins descended carefully, one gloved hand on the handle as though even this commonplace act deserved solemn decorum.
Mr. Bennet stepped out to greet him on the front path, amusement glinting in his eyes.
“Mr. Collins, welcome to Longbourn,” he called, with an ironic gravity only Elizabeth would have detected.
Mr. Collins responded with a bow of excessive depth, nearly losing his hat in the process. He was slightly shorter than average and a touch stout, a young man of five-and-twenty with a grave, self-important air that his stiff black coat and elaborately folded white cravat did nothing to soften. His features were large and not ill-formed, but arranged with an unfortunate pompous solemnity that declared at once his conviction of moral superiority.
“Mr. Bennet, sir!” he exclaimed in tones of breathless reverence, recovering his hat with a flourish. “It is—I assure you—the greatest honour of my humble life to stand upon this threshold, seeking reconciliation, familial affection, and mutual Christian duty!”
He paused to cough slightly, as if overcome by the grandeur of his own words, before straightening with an awkward stiffness that made his bow seem almost mechanical.
Mr. Bennet offered a polite nod, though his mouth twitched.
“Indeed. We are delighted to receive you, Cousin. I trust your journey was comfortable?”
“Most tolerable, sir,” Mr. Collins assured him with grave satisfaction. “I considered it my duty to bear every mile as a tribute to familial harmony. The road was…somewhat uneven, but such minor discomforts are but reminders of the trials sent to strengthen our patience and humility.”
Mr. Bennet lifted a brow slightly.
“How admirably you bear them.”
At this, Mr. Collins puffed with pride, clutching his hat to his chest in a pose of devout humility.
“I can only strive, sir, to model myself on the example of my illustrious patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who insists upon the virtues of patience, propriety, and correct behaviour in all her fortunate dependents.”
Elizabeth, standing just inside the hall, heard every word and exchanged a look of wide-eyed amusement with Jane.
Next to them, Mrs. Bennet was in a fever of self-importance, smoothing her gown, pinching colour into her cheeks, and directing Hill to stand ready with tea.
“He is our relation, Lizzy,” she hissed, “and our future benefactor. I expect you to be gracious. No smirking. No sarcasm.”
Elizabeth inclined her head with solemn insincerity. “Mama, I shall be the very model of docility.”
Sophocles watched all this from his favoured perch on the windowsill, eyes half-lidded but attentive. His tail flicked once at Lydia’s shrieking, once more at Kitty’s giggling.
When the door finally opened to admit their cousin, Mr. Collins entered with all the humility of a man convinced of his own virtue.
He was of middle height, rather grave in expression, though with a certain self-conscious air of satisfaction. His black coat was cut in a six-years-ago fashion, his cravat was elaborately knotted but still crooked, and he held his hat pressed to his chest like a shield.
“Cousins,” he declared, making a stiff bow so low he nearly dropped the hat, “I am most grateful to be received in this—this amiable abode of domestic comfort. I assure you, I come in a spirit of duty, humility, and Christian reconciliation.”
Mrs. Bennet beamed as if he had offered a royal pardon. “We are so very pleased to welcome you, Mr. Collins. May I present my daughters? Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia.”
Mr. Collins performed another round of jerky bows, muttering compliments that grew more entangled with each name.
