She hurriedly dropped a curtsey and did her best to explain and introduce herself. Unable to wait and see who had called, Mrs Bennet came into the hall, and for once, Elizabeth was glad of her mother’s ability to make five words do the work of one. “Lizzy, what are you doing here? You ought to be at Netherfield with Jane. Oh, I do hope nothing is wrong. She is not worse, is she? Do I need to come at once? Though how I am to get there with the horses at the farm, though of course you must have come by carriage, for surely you did not walk at this time of night!”
All this time, Mr Collins was standing there, hat in hand, an uneasy social smirk on his face, trying to get a word in. Elizabeth glanced out of the front door, and to her horror, she saw the captain walking up the drive, one of the coach lamps inhis hand. For some reason, she could not bear him to hear this commotion. “No, Mama,” she broke in, wincing at the rudeness. “I have been to Hatfield with Captain Darcy’s sister, and I just called in to see how Papa is doing.” Then gesturing towards her perspiring cousin, she added, “And this is Mr Collins, who has just arrived.”
As she had hoped, the introduction served to distract her mother, and she managed to bundle Mrs Bennet and her cousin into the drawing room just as the captain arrived on the doorstep, looking concerned. From the room behind her, she could hear Mr Collins intoning his concern for Mr Bennet, and she turned to Hill, who was still waiting at the door.
“Now, don’t you go fretting, Miss Elizabeth,” said Hill comfortably. “Your father is no worse and maybe even a little better. He’s missing you, o’ course, but he’s all right for the time being. Now you’d best get back into the carriage before your mother comes looking for you.”
Impulsively, Elizabeth leaned forward and kissed the older woman on the cheek. “I shall be home tomorrow, I promise,” she said and stepped back out into the night, taking the captain’s proffered arm.
“I hope nothing is wrong,” he said as they slipped their way up the muddy road towards the coach.
“I really must apologise for dashing out like a madwoman.” she replied. “I thought that gentleman was a doctor, and instead it is only my cousin Mr Collins. I am afraid I rather lost my head.”
“Do I take it you and Miss Bennet will be leaving us tomorrow?” he asked as he helped her back into her seat in the carriage. Miss Darcy and the maid were both now awake and hurried to wrap Elizabeth back up in the shawls and rugs.
“It is time we were getting home. My father is missing me, and my mother will need all the help we can give. I fear I have rather forgotten where my duty lies.”
As the coach started up again, Miss Darcy hurried to express her thanks and apologies for having kept her from her home, but the captain merely nodded. “I shall ask Bingley to have the carriage ready for you tomorrow,” he said.
They sat in companionable silence as the carriage trundled heavily over the road to Netherfield. Elizabeth was very tired, and however hard she tried, she could not bring her thoughts under good regulation. It was most unfair to judge a man from such a brief meeting, but she could not help suspecting that the new arrival at Longbourn would add little to their family circle. This was the man her father believed she ought to marry; she shivered and drew the shawls more tightly around her shoulders.
CHAPTER FIVE
Elizabeth and Jane left Netherfield the next morning, followed by the insincere pleadings of Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley that they must stay at least another week. However, a much more sincere invitation from Mr Bingley ensued, and they agreed to return to Netherfield after services on Sunday for a small luncheon party in honour of Miss Darcy’s birthday.
That invitation—and the fact that Mr Bingley accompanied them back to Netherfield on horseback—was probably all that stood between the sisters and their mother’s loudly voiced indignation. By the time Mr Bingley left, having refused Mrs Bennet’s invitation to dine in view of all the guests at Netherfield, that lady had managed to convince herself that a match between him and Jane was all but complete, and her conversation was dedicated to working out how soon he would propose and how quickly the wedding could take place.
Elizabeth attempted to protest that nothing of the sort had been decided and that nobody could gauge Mr Bingley’s intentions at this early stage of his acquaintance with Jane, but she found herself curiously reluctant to remind Mrs Bennet of the family’s current, precarious position.
She and Jane went in to visit their father and found him, if anything, a little stronger, though complaining of the cold and damp despite the fire roaring in the hearth. When Jane went to remove her bonnet and coat, Elizabeth lingered, for she could see that he wished to speak to her.
“I understand you met Mr Collins last night, my dear,” he said. She nodded. “I wish I had never spoken to you about him,” he continued with surprising vehemence. “The man is nothing but a fool and, what is worse, a fool who cannot hold his tongue. He has been in here prating about Christian resignation, as though I have not lain here for the last three months contemplating what must come. There must be an alternative. There must!”
He paused to cough, his whole body shaking. “I should never have mentioned marrying him! He is not a man you could respect, never mind love. We must rely on this Mr Bingley or perhaps some other gentleman. But you must promise me…” He could not continue. His man, Jessup, came in to administer the cordials that gave him a little relief, and Elizabeth slipped out, promising to return later if her father were well enough.
She knew the truth, even if her father refused to recognise it. There was no alternative, and she could not give him any promise that removed what might well be her family’s only hope of a respectable establishment.
Dinner was unusually quiet that evening. Lydia and Kitty were at their aunt Philips’s for the evening, Mary was even less talkative than usual, and Jane was looking tired and pale. Mr Collins filled the silence with talk. He was determined to be pleased with everything, from the dinner itself to the china on the table, and had not the sensitivity or perhaps the intelligence to comprehend how this might be seen by the woman whose husband he seemed about to supplant. When not appearing to gloat over his inheritance, he spoke in glowing terms of hispatron, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whom he described as the pattern of all the amiable virtues, but whom Elizabeth thought sounded like a bully of the worst sort.
“… For there is not a farm, no, nor a cottage on her estate where she is not thoroughly acquainted with all their little business, nor one where she has not given the benefit of her advice and ensured that that advice has been taken in every respect. Indeed, in my own little rectory, she has completely reorganised the bedrooms and insisted that I terminate the lease on the glebe land to a farmer of whose morals and political views she does not approve.”
Elizabeth had a vision of herself perpetually curtseying to a woman who bore a startling resemblance to an older Miss Bingley and had to grit her teeth not to say something cutting, which he would probably not understand until later, if at all. Jane kept her eyes on her plate most of the evening and retired early, pleading a headache; Mary rushed out with her, and Elizabeth was left to keep the peace between an oblivious Mr Collins and an increasingly irritated Mrs Bennet.
The next day was more of the same. Mr Bennet, who had invited the man there in the first place, could stand very little of his company and soon packed him off with Mr Lester, the steward, to view the estate. That gentleman, who had originally hoped for a permanent position with Mr Bennet’s heir, soon realised that any such post would be insupportable and revenged himself by dragging Mr Collins through every slough and mire in the neighbourhood. When the clergyman eventually arrived home, he climbed from the gig, mud to the eyebrows and frozen to the bone.
After a subdued dinner, Elizabeth cut short his conversation by suggesting he read to them all. However, his choice ofNight Thoughtsby Edward Young soon reduced them all to such low spirits that they were glad to retire early to escape him. Elizabethwas the last to go to bed, having called into the kitchen at her mother’s request to check on the morning’s breakfast. As she went past Mary’s little room, the door, which was difficult to latch properly, swung open to reveal Mary on her knees beside the bed.
Mary looked up as the door opened, and Elizabeth was shocked to see her sister, blinking myopically, her cheeks wet with tears. She slipped in quickly and shut the door. Mary wiped her eyes with her fingers and looked around for her spectacles, which Elizabeth found on her dresser and handed to her.
“Can you tell me what is wrong, dear?” she asked softly.
Mary, who had seemed to regain her equilibrium, burst into tears once more and flung herself into Elizabeth’s arms. “Kitty and Lydia say I ought to marry Mr Collins,” she sobbed. “And if I do not, we shall all be poor, but I cannot, Lizzy, I cannot!”
“Why should you have to marry Mr Collins?” asked Elizabeth, glad that that gentleman was quartered at the other end of the house.
“They say it is because I am dull, like he is, and because I like reading sermons and…and …conduct books. But that is only because I want to know what is right, but, Lizzy, I cannot marry him. I cannot. His hands are all wet, and Lydia told me about babies, and I cannot do that with Mr Collins! I cannot!”
No, you cannot. But I may have to.Shaking herself, Elizabeth looked down at the younger girl in her arms and realised that she and Jane had left Mary too much to her own devices. With no one to guide her, a father who ignored her, and a mother who did not understand her, Mary had tried to make her own path and, not surprisingly, had made a poor fist of it. She hugged her sister and tried to reassure her.
