Pemberley (21 page)

‘Now we are all family,' said Sir William, ‘for, Mrs Darcy, I must count you a cousin now that Charlotte has married into Longbourn – we await your reactions to the momentous news in Mrs Bennet's letter of yesterday.'

‘I would not dream of telling Mrs Long,' said Lady Lucas with a virtuous air.

Elizabeth was finally compelled to confess she had no idea what Mrs Bennet's news could be – though she dreaded what she thought it
must
be; and that was the approaching marriage of her mother and Mr Kitchiner. She would be asked for her blessing and she would not be able, she knew, to grant her mother's wish.
Taken up with these distressing thoughts, she did not properly hear Lady Lucas's next words.

‘She will be twice the dowager of Pemberley!' said Sir William, in agreement with his wife. ‘Mrs Bennet may well take precedence over Lady Catherine at St James's now, would you not concur, cousin Elizabeth?'

‘What is that?' said Elizabeth.

‘Why – that Miss Mary Bennet will marry Master Roper! They had no sooner been separated, at the end of their visit to Pemberley – than Master Roper wrote to propose marriage to Mary! And she always in her spectacles too!' cried Lady Lucas. ‘Mrs Bennet is in seventh heaven. But she did not know you were gone from Pemberley; she must have written to you there – that must be the reason!'

‘Mrs Bennet will be delighted that, whatever may happen,' said Sir William in a solemn tone, ‘her line will continue at Pemberley!'

Elizabeth expressed herself astonished at the news; but said she wished her sister and Master Roper well.

‘They are for ever in the library, Mrs Bennet tells me,' said Lady Lucas.

‘The Darcy family is known for a strong interest in the arts,' said Sir William. ‘Why, only the other day, in London, I saw Mr Darcy come out of the opera house with a young lady – a singer or dancer, I would wager – and the lady who was the sister – at Netherfield?'

‘Miss Bingley,' said Elizabeth.

The following day, Elizabeth was reading in the parlour when Mr Collins came in and addressed her in a manner which was unfamiliar to her.

‘My dear cousin Elizabeth, it is with the very greatest delight that I welcome you to Longbourn. I wish you to be fully aware of this.'

Elizabeth replied that she much appreciated the chance of being in her old home again; and of renewing acquaintance with Charlotte's relatives and other residents of Meryton.

‘We set no limits on the duration of the visits of our guests. At Rosings, it goes without saying, Lady Catherine can hardly permit herself this lax approach: she has dignitaries of all kinds as visitors; and even the Prince, I believe, has stayed at Rosings.'

‘Indeed,' said Elizabeth, who could not see where this conversation was leading.

‘
She
has to delineate the dates and expectancy of the duration of her guests' abode with her.
We
may extend to a cousin such as yourself a more generous portion of time than it would be in her ladyship's power to appoint.'

‘I can certainly give you a day for my departure,' said Elizabeth, ‘if this would be of assistance to you, Sir.'

‘It could be helpful,' said Mr Collins. ‘Dear Charlotte will be confined – as you know – and Sir William and Lady Lucas have done me the honour of accepting an invitation to stop over here during this time. I have much to attend to here. You have seen the new woods I plant at Longbourn, I trust?'

Elizabeth replied that she had barely had the opportunity of inspecting Mr Collins's improvements.

‘The park here is very small,' said Mr Collins, ‘but it will have its scope enhanced greatly by the woods – all of miniature trees which I plant in the form of battles. Over there' – and Mr Collins strode to the window and pointed to the empty park – ‘there will be Waterloo! A perfect formation of the troops, with the defeat of Napoleon symbolised by a leaning tree supported by timbers. And a line of trees against the horizon – the retreat from Moscow! What do you think of it, cousin Elizabeth?'

Elizabeth said she thought the idea was very fine, though she found it hard to keep a straight face.

‘My heirs will know how Mr Collins marked his age at Longbourn,' said Mr Collins.

Elizabeth thought of the enjoyment her father would have had, at this ridiculous proposal; and then she thought how he would have hated the despoliation of his park; and she sighed.

‘Cousin Elizabeth, I know your afflictions. You will understand that I have sympathy for your plight. Our Lord extended his pity to Mary Magdalene. I may do the same for you.'

‘What?' said Elizabeth.

‘It is painful to discuss these matters further,' said Mr Collins. ‘I hope you will not be inconvenienced by moving from your room today. It must be prepared for Lady Lucas; and both Charlotte and I know you will prove most adaptable. We have made up Mrs Moffat's old room – it is behind the kitchen, as you know – and we are sure you will be most comfortable there for the remainder of your stay.'

If Elizabeth had not understood Mr Collins at first, she now saw only too well what had transpired. She learnt much on the subject of marriage. For Charlotte, her good friend Charlotte, had confided her secrets to Mr Collins, as Elizabeth did not think she could. And yet, why should she not? She was his wife. She had married, not for love, but to get herself a husband and a home: none the less, her first loyalty was to her husband and she had told him of Elizabeth's estrangement from Darcy, her lack of a secure
future. Mrs Darcy was a poor relation now. Mrs Moffat had been housekeeper at the time of Mr Bennet. To be moved to her room could only be seen as a reflection of this.

‘You may regret certain of your decisions,' said Mr Collins, with an odious smile. ‘If you recall, cousin Elizabeth, I was punctilious in the extreme when it came to consideration of your family at Longbourn. I wished to keep your mother happy, and your sisters with a roof over their heads. I asked for your hand in marriage. You may repent at leisure the course of action decided on then.'

‘Mr Collins,' said Elizabeth, rising from her chair and going to the door, ‘I shall pack my bags and leave Longbourn immediately.'

Here Charlotte came in and asked if the doctor had come yet, for she fancied she had heard voices in the hall.

‘Cousin Elizabeth informs us regretfully that she leaves us today,' said Mr Collins.

‘No!' cried Charlotte, whose sense of friendship and hospitality was shocked. Elizabeth could see she was sincere, and that nothing had been concocted between husband and wife to effect her removal from their house. ‘Lizzy, you shan't go yet! Why, you have only just come!'

The maid came in and announced that Dr Carr had arrived.

‘Oh, I had better go upstairs now,' cried Charlotte. ‘Lizzy, you look so pale, you should see Dr Carr when he has finished with me. Promise you will!

‘I should like a word with the medical man myself,' said Mr Collins, ‘for I feel a fit of sneezing come on, when I plant my trees. He must supply me with a tincture, for I cannot read a book when sneezing – it blows away all the pages!' With this, Mr Collins left the room abruptly.

Elizabeth and Charlotte did not look each other in the eye. Charlotte was agitated, and came to throw her arms around her friend.

‘I did not mean to do you harm, Lizzy! Mr Collins has spoken to you, has he not? I did not mean to tell him so much. Promise you will stay – as long as you wish!'

But Elizabeth, after promising that she would come and see Charlotte in an hour's time, when she had been examined by the doctor and had had her rest, said only that she would go for a walk and return to say farewell to her friend. It was a fine day; she would set out in the direction of Netherfield.

The walk across fields to the house Mr Bingley had rented when first he came to Hertfordshire recalled painfully to Elizabeth the time Jane had been ill at Netherfield; how Mrs Bennet had prayed her eldest daughter would catch a husband, as well as a head-cold, by riding out in the rain in the direction of the house where the eligible Mr Bingley had decided to reside; and how Mr Bingley's sisters had jeered at her muddy shoes and the hem of her skirt that had trailed in the puddles. It was painful – today was as wet on the ground as it had been then. But she needed to reflect; to return to the place where she had first met Mr Darcy; and to confront her future with some of the courage and candour she imagined her sister Jane would bring to a similar situation. She must learn not to be hurt by the remarks of such as Mr Collins. She must leave this world, with its fashion and conceits; she must find herself by caring for others.

So thinking, Elizabeth stopped by the gate that led into the park at Netherfield. She saw it was unlocked; and she walked through into long grass that had not been grazed by cattle or sheep in months, if not years. Was Netherfield Hall not let, then? were her words, and the music on the piano, and the games of cards they had all played of an evening, preserved here, not supplanted by successive tenants until they were no more than a shadow in the fabric of the house? It was a ghostly thought; and Elizabeth shivered as she walked up through the park to the parterre, and the garden – also overgrown and neglected. It was a fine day, cold and bright. She would not linger, but she would permit herself a glimpse of the ballroom, where she had first gone in hope of meeting Mr Wickham – and the recollection sobered her further.
She could recall – yes – the snub administered by Mr Darcy, that she was only tolerably good-looking, and certainly not worth being introduced to; she could smile at the picture of Jane dancing with Mr Bingley. But she had found Wickham agreeable in the extreme, had she not? And, leaning forward and staring in at the dark and empty room, the chandelier and unpolished parquet floor of the room where the future had first shown itself – for the two Bennet girls at least – she was bound to admit she could be as wrong as anyone, when it came to love.

Elizabeth walked quickly away from Netherfield. When she arrived at Longbourn, Dr Carr and Charlotte were in the hall Charlotte bade him farewell until the following week. She cried out in alarm when she saw her friend. ‘Lizzy! You are shaking with the cold! And you are not well. Have you seen a ghost? I have never seen you like this.'

Dr Carr was pressed to give relief to Elizabeth – who was indeed half fainting from the effects of her expedition to Netherfield Hall. He escorted her gently to her room as Mr Collins looked on, shaking his head and remarking repeatedly that he had pressed dear cousin Elizabeth to stay indefinitely at Longbourn and not to tire herself as she did.

Despite all the pleas of Charlotte, Elizabeth announced she would leave Longbourn the next day – when a good night's rest and the ministering of her friend had taken away some of the strain of the preceding days. Mr Collins, who came to her room to offer apologies, was thanked, but firmly dismissed. Only his information that Mrs Bennet was known to have returned safely from Manchester and was now ensconced in Meryton Lodge caused her to postpone her departure for London, for a short while. For it would be inconceivable to go directly from Longbourn to London without visiting her mother. Besides, Mrs Gardiner's friend Mrs Wood had not replied to Elizabeth's letter yet, and she did not know if she had lodgings to go to, in London.

Charlotte wept when Elizabeth accepted the offer of the pony cart, to go down as far as Meryton; and begged her for the hundredth time to overlook her indiscretion with Mr Collins.

But indiscretion it was not, thought Elizabeth, as she waved farewell from the trap. Marriage is such; there are no secrets in a marriage – except in mine.

Mrs Bennet received Elizabeth coldly. ‘I do not know which room you will have, I am sure! Mary comes today, from Barlow Kitty goes to Lydia and they all go to Bath, where she will find more amusement than there was at Pemberley, that is for certain. Mary shall have the room next to mine. You had best go in the study, Lizzy!'

Elizabeth said that she was happy to sleep anywhere. She would leave for London soon, and wished to be no trouble at all.

‘You will see Mr Darcy in London, I hope,' said Mrs Bennet.

‘No, I go to aunt Philips, if she will have me,' came the reply.

‘Aunt Philips! You are the most foolish and wilful girl I have ever known! What would Mr Bennet have said of this scandalous behaviour? What will become of me, if you and Mr Darcy are estranged? Will he want to keep me on in Meryton Lodge? Have you considered this, Elizabeth?'

Elizabeth admitted she had not. Nor was she disposed to fluster her mother further with tales of a town house in Holland Park and a fashionable season; when Mrs Bennet was accustomed only to Bath. However, this was the time – and she knew she must not flinch from it – to ask Mrs Bennet of her matrimonial intentions. ‘Did your visit to Manchester go well, Mama? Do you still intend to wed Colonel … Mr Kitchiner?'

‘Mr Kitchiner is the most arrogant, insolent and detestable man it is possible to meet,' cried Mrs Bennet. ‘I would not dream of marrying him – and I told him so outright.'

Elizabeth could not refrain from a sad smile at this parody of the state of her own feelings for Mr Darcy.

‘His sister is as conceited and vain as he is,' continued Mrs Bennet, ‘and they are venal too, the pair of them! I would have ended without a stick of furniture or the clothes on my back! They had a scheme that I sign over my four thousand pounds to them now – and receive an annuity, with the residue to go after my death to my unmarried daughters. They are scoundrels, Lizzy – and I will thank you to allow no mention of Mr Kitchiner or his sister in Meryton ever again.'

Elizabeth said she would tell no one in Meryton; and that she would not be there, in any case, in the foreseeable future.