Young Miss Fiennes had remained in the nursery during their cousin’s arrival the previous afternoon; she had since plied her mama with questions and pleaded to make the gentleman’s acquaintance.
“I should be delighted to know her. Will you tell me of her?”
Elizabeth described her daughter with a fond precision, and Mr Collins listened intently. When she had finished, he clasped his hands together. “A delightful child indeed. ’Tis a shame she never knew her father.”
If only you knew,Elizabeth thought. Most pitied her daughter for that supposed deprivation; Elizabeth knew it the greater mercy. She gave thanks daily that Elinor would never know the man whose final writings had unmasked him so completely. The plans he had set down on the night of his death exposed a heart without pity and a mind bent only on control; their memory could still chill her even now.
Such remarks as Mr Collins made—those made by those she did not hold dear, those whose opinions did not signify—had ceased to sting, and she let the remark pass without comment.
After breakfast, the little party prepared for their excursion. Elizabeth fetched Elinor from the nursery, promising Miss Lane she would have her returned before her afternoon rest. Elinor’s curls danced as she bounded down the stairs beside her mother. “Pray, Mama, I should like to have a peppermint!
“If you are very good, I shall buy you one. Now, let us tie your bonnet and secure your cloak—’tis chilly out of doors.” Elinor stood patiently as her mother helped her with her gloves. “There, these will keep you warm. Let us find your aunts.”
“And Cousin Collins!” cried Elinor with delight.
“Did I hear my name?” Mr Collins appeared at the parlour door. “Dear me! Who is this fashionable young lady?” He stooped with exaggeratedceremony. “Mrs Fiennes, will you present me to the enchanting little creature by your side?”
Elizabeth’s smile softened; such courtesy towards her daughter always touched her more deeply than she cared to show. “Mr Collins, this is Miss Elinor Fiennes. Ellie, this is Mr Collins—your grandpapa’s cousin.”
Elinor bobbed an unsteady curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, sir!” she offered politely. “Are you coming with us?” She rose and fell upon the tips of her toes in anticipation.
“I am, Miss Fiennes. A parson’s life allows little leisure, so I shall relish the exercise.” Mr Collins straightened his frame and tugged on the lapels of his coat.
Jane and Mary soon approached as they put on their gloves. Together they quitted Longbourn and set off towards Meryton. Mr Collins and Mary lagged a few paces behind, engaged in earnest discourse, whilst Jane and Elizabeth each took one of Elinor’s small hands. The little girl’s laughter rippled through the crisp morning air, and Elizabeth’s heart warmed at the sound; every step reminded her of the joy her daughter brought and how much she loved her.
Meryton was alive with motion—carts clattering over cobbles, horses snorting, and townsfolk bustling between shopfronts, baskets filled with goods over their arms. Scarlet coats flashed amongst the humbler attire of the local populace. Elinor tugged at her mother’s arm, eyes wide in delighted anticipation of sweetmeats and ribbons.
“Patience, Elinor,” Elizabeth admonished gently. “All good blessings come to those who exercise patience in waiting.”
“George Horne?” Mr Collins’s brows lifted. “I recall something very like it in one of his sermons. I had no notion you were interested in such works, Mrs Fiennes.”
“I believe I read it somewhere—or perhaps I heard from Mary. She is the true proficient in such matters. I only repeat what she often tells me.”
At this, Mary coloured modestly, and Mr Collins regarded her with renewed admiration. Elizabeth observed them, noting to herself that, if her cousin’s attention should settle on Mary, it might at last bring her sister a measure of notice and contentment long denied by the general populace. Her family, of course, found nothing wanting in the young lady and could only be pleased with Mr Collins' attention.
They returned Elizabeth’s books to the lending library, but did not leave that establishment empty-handed; each of them also selected a few volumes for the week ahead. Afterwards, they called at the milliner’s where four lengths of ribbon were chosen for Elinor. Elizabeth’s gaze fell upon a length of silver and blue silk, two inches wide. She touched the smooth surface with a wistful hand.
“Go on, Lizzy.” Mary’s tone held gentle encouragement. “It is not as if you lack the means. You purchase so little for yourself. I dare say it would look very well with your blue ball gown. Will you not buy the ribbon and re-trim it?”
The suggestion was tempting. Making purchases still unsettled her; she knew too well the reason for that unease, though she preferred not to dwell on it. Her hand trembled slightly as she carried the spool to the counter. “Three yards, if you please.”
Guilt pricked her conscience; it was a frivolous purchase. As she waited, Fiennes’s scolding voice echoed in memory. She banished it with effort. The proprietor cut the silk, together with those she had chosen for Elinor and wrapped them neatly. Elizabeth paid, tucked the parcels into her basket beside the books and turned away, relieved to have the errand done.
“Now may we get a peppermint stick?” Elinor’s entreaty made the adults laugh, and they agreed at once, Mr Collins leading the way to the confectioner’s, describing his favourite treat to the girl as they went.
“Barley-sugar sweets are the finest of all,” he assured her. “My mother used to bring them to me on occasion. Lemon and orange are my favourites—though raspberry is most excellent also.”
Elinor made a face of clear dislike. “I do not think they would be nice at all,” she insisted. “Peppermint sticks aremyfavourite; they last the entire walk home!” Her look of disgust gave way to anticipation as they neared the shop.
“Have you never tried another kind?” Mr Collins asked with great seriousness. “How are you to know what you like if you do not try anything new?”
His innocent question left Elinor momentarily nonplussed. “I suppose I could try,” Elinor admitted slowly. “Only if Mama lets me.” She turned towards Elizabeth with hopeful eyes; no doubt the thought oftwotreats inspired her pliant change of heart.
“Very well,” Elizabeth said with indulgent amusement. “You may try a barley-sugar sweet as well—but only one.”Miss Lane will not thank me for it,she thought, smiling inwardly. Elinor was to take a rest as soon as they returned to Longbourn, and sugary confections would not aid the effort.
Elinor clasped Mr Collins’s hand as they entered the confectioner’s shop, promising to taste his favourite and judge for herself. Jane followed close behind, her eyes alight with amusement, whilst Mary came to Elizabeth’s side.
“He is very good with children,” she observed in a low voice, her gaze following their cousin. “It is most admirable.”
