And so they proceeded toward Longbourn, the parson’s quiet baritone rising like a private benediction upon the day’s happiest conclusions.
***
Mr. Bennet and Mr. Collins approached Longbourn as the last light of afternoon softened into evening, the familiar outline of the house welcoming against the fading sky. The gravel crunched beneath their feet, and the parson’s step—though now more measured than during their earlier walk—retained a buoyancy that Mr. Bennet noted with private amusement.
The door opened before they had quite reached it, and Mrs. Bennet appeared upon the threshold, her countenance alight with impatient curiosity. Behind her, in the hall, hovered the five Miss Bennets—Jane with gentle composure, Elizabeth with lively interest, Mary with solemn attention, and Kitty and Lydia scarcely able to contain their restlessness, their earlier vigil at the upper windows having afforded them a distant but tantalizing view of the gentlemen’s coming along the road.
“Well!” cried Mrs. Bennet, scarcely waiting for the gentlemen to cross the threshold. “Here you are at last! I have been in agonies—positively in agonies! Hill and I have watched the road for nearly the two hours past. And the girls—why, they have seen everything from the dressing-room window! Such a fine carriage, and two gentlemen besides Mr. Collins—pray, Mr. Bennet, do not keep us in suspense. What has passed? Is Netherfield let?”
Mr. Bennet removed his hat with deliberate calm, handing it to Hill, who hovered nearby with deferential readiness.
“My dear,” he replied, with his customary dry amusement, “you will be pleased to learn that I bring rather good news, but you will allow us first to rest for a few moments in the parlor. I should be much obliged for some tea, Mrs. Hill.”
“There are more good news girls! Make way to your father and Cousin William. Let us wait in the parlor! Rather good? What did you mean by ‘rather’, Mr. Bennet?” asked his wife, castinga searching glance at Mr. Collins, hoping that he might reveal some small detail from which to draw a clue.
Meanwhile the daughters regrouped in the drawing-room at Longbourn, waiting impatiently in an atmosphere of peculiar warmth and anticipation. The fire burned cheerfully in the grate, casting a flattering glow upon the worn but comfortable chairs, and the tea-table stood already laid with Mrs. Bennet’s most cherished china.
The ladies of the house had assembled in a state of scarcely suppressed excitement—Mrs. Bennet presiding at the urn with fluttering animation, Jane seated beside her with gentle composure, Elizabeth upon the sofa with that lively intelligence which rendered her countenance particularly expressive, Mary in a corner with a volume of sermons open upon her knee (though her attention was plainly elsewhere), and Kitty and Lydia perched together at the window, whence they had enjoyed an uninterrupted, if distant, view of the gentlemen’s arrival and departure.
The entrance of Mr. Bennet and Mr. Collins was greeted with an immediate rise in the general hum of expectation. Mrs. Bennet, who had been upon the point of voicing her impatience for the tenth time, turned with eager solicitude.
“Do sit down, Mr. Bennet, and relax! And you, Mr. Collins—we have been in the most dreadful suspense. Pray, do not keep us waiting another instant. Is Netherfield let? And to whom?”
Mr. Bennet seated himself in his favorite chair before replying, his eyes twinkling with that dry amusement which his family knew so well.
“My dear Mrs. Bennet, you may compose yourself. Netherfield is indeed let—at last, as you wished.”
Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands in an ecstasy of delight, her voice rising in pitch.
“Let! Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet—let to which gentleman? The shorter one, I am certain—the one who smiled so agreeably as he descended from the carriage?”
Mr. Collins, bowing with earnest gratification at being thus appealed to, hastened to confirm the intelligence.
“Precisely so, madam. Mr. Charles Bingley—a gentleman of the most liberal and amiable disposition—has this day signed the necessary papers. Possession may be taken within a fortnight.”
A chorus of exclamations followed—Mrs. Bennet’s the most rapturous, Lydia’s the most exuberant, Kitty’s echoing her sister’s delight with giggles scarcely suppressed. Jane colored faintly with quiet pleasure, while Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with lively curiosity. Even Mary looked up from her volume with solemn interest.
“And the other gentleman?” inquired Mrs. Bennet, scarcely pausing for breath. “The tall, grave one—Mr. Darcy, I think? He is to reside there also?”
Mr. Bennet inclined his head.
“As Mr. Bingley’s particular friend, he may stay for a time; but I do not believe they intend to occupy Netherfield together as joint tenants.”
Mrs. Bennet’s satisfaction knew no bounds; she turned to her daughters with triumphant animation.
“Together! Only think, girls—two such gentlemen in the neighborhood! And one with five thousand a year, if your letters spoke true, Mr. Collins. We must have the very best suppertomorrow—Hill has been practicing that cold roast beef with horseradish sauce these past evenings, determined to perfect the receipt you so kindly provided. She declares the third attempt quite superior.”
Hill, entering at that moment with a fresh supply of cakes, colored modestly.
“I hope it may please, ma’am.”
Jane smiled gently. “It is very thoughtful of you, Cousin, to share the receipt.”
Kitty leaned forward eagerly. “But tell us more of Rosings, Cousin William! Your letters described it so grandly, but one longs to hear it again. Does Lady Catherine truly advise upon everything—from sermons to chimneys?”
Lydia bounced upon the sofa. “And Miss de Bourgh—does she wear feathers and diamonds every day? And drive about in a phaeton with ponies?”
Mary closed her volume with grave approval. “I should particularly wish to know of the parish duties at Hunsford. Are the poor properly attended to in their moral as well as material wants?”
