The Poisoned Proposal (Book 3)
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Elizabeth Bennet wondered how she had come to have the misfortune to be walking next to the stupidest man in England. She was making her way towards Meryton—the nearest village to her home at Longbourn House—and with her were her four sisters, as well as the man in question: their cousin, Mr Collins. He had arrived a mere two days ago, but already Elizabeth was wondering how she was to survive the duration of his stay.
It was not that she did not have an appreciation of the absurd—indeed, she had a healthy sense of humour and shared her father’s fondness for observing the follies of others, as well as taking delight from the ridiculous. Mr Collins, however, combined within him such an absurd lack of sense with such an irritating pomposity of manner that it would challenge even the most hardened connoisseur of fools to find pleasure in his company.
Elizabeth knew that she should attempt to show more patience with their guest. Her elder sister, Jane, was always taxing her to be more tolerant and, in truth, Elizabeth wished she could be more like Jane—always seeing the good in others and finding points to appreciate, even within the most disagreeable of personalities. But she knew that she was not like Jane. On the contrary, their personalities were as different as night and day. She watched Jane now, walking beside Mr Collins, her beautiful countenance serene as she patiently listened to him boast of the sermons he delivered to his parish back in Hunsford.
“...and I flatter myself that my sermons exude the most perfect symmetry of any you will find in England—neither too quick, nor too slow, with as many verbs as nouns within the sentences and with just the right mixture of grandeur and humility as befits a clergyman of my station.”
“They do indeed sound admirably balanced, sir,” said Jane politely.
“Yes! And as my patroness, the esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh, honours me with her condescension at every sermon, I feel it is my duty to show my gratitude for her attentions by demeaning myself with abject servitude. Furthermore, as a clergyman, I feel that it is my duty to establish the...”
Jane must have the patience of a saint! Elizabeth thought as she walked along beside them. If she had to listen to Mr Collins mention Lady Catherine de Bourgh one more time, she feared that she would lose all sense of propriety and say something less than courteous to their cousin.
She sighed. Perhaps one of the reasons for her increased vexation was the fact that she could sense Mr Collins singling her out for his attentions and it supported a dreadful suspicion which was growing in her mind. Mr Collins had made it clear in the letter which had preceded his arrival that he was very sensible of the injury he was doing to his fair cousins by being the fortunate person to inherit Longbourn, their family home, in the event of Mr Bennet’s death. It was an unpleasant prospect which had cast a pall over the family for as long as Elizabeth could remember. Their father’s estate was entailed to the male line only and since there had been no sons born into the family, Elizabeth and her sisters—together with their mother—could be rendered homeless by the rightful heir taking over the estate.
But Mr Collins seemed eager to make amends and had come upon the perfect plan for atonement. Elizabeth had overheard him confess his intentions to Mrs Bennet this morning. He had decided that it was time to take a wife and, as a means of redressing the injustice, Mr Collins was determined to choose a wife from among his fair cousins. This plan was received with great joy by Mrs Bennet, whose sole ambition in life was to arrange good marriages for her daughters. She praised Mr Collins warmly for his thoughtful consideration and eagerly encouraged him to pay his suit to her daughters. However, she did caution him that Jane—the eldest—was currently being courted by another young man and was likely to be very soon engaged.
To Elizabeth’s horror, she had heard Mr Collins cheerfully move his first choice from Jane to herself. Nothing could have induced her to marry such a man and Elizabeth dreaded the situation arising when she would be forced to say so. She knew that her refusal would greatly upset her mother, who cared not whom she married, as long as that marriage was one of respectability and comfort. To all purposes, Mr Collins was a good match. Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s patronage ensured him a comfortable living with a respectable income and an enviable position within the community. It would be impossible for Mrs Bennet to understand Elizabeth’s heart and how such material benefits paled in the face of a marriage with no respect or love.
But perhaps it would not come to that, Elizabeth reminded herself with determined optimism. Her cousin had not proposed yet and she would do everything in her power to prevent such a proposal. She was interrupted in her reverie by the man himself, who sidled close to her and said:
“Cousin Elizabeth, we have not had the pleasure of hearing your dulcet tones in the past few minutes. Do you find the walk too wearying for conversation?”
“Not at all, sir,” said Elizabeth. “I was merely enjoying the landscape in silence. It is pleasant to see such agreeable scenery after the dreary rain of the past few weeks.”
“Ah, yes,” said Mr Collins, rubbing his hands together. “Though I would not have been surprised had you expressed a fatigue which prevented you from conversing easily. I flatter myself that I am a great walker—particularly as I have had ample opportunity to improve my stride by taking daily walks in the grounds of Rosings Park, the estate of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. But we do not all have my skills. I understand that ladies are often of such a delicate constitution that daily exercise can be quite overwhelming. Such is what I have often told Lady Catherine when discussing the limited activities of her daughter, Miss Ann de Bourgh. Indeed, Miss de Bourgh is a true lady and, even when travelling most of the distance in her little phaeton, she finds most outings extremely wearying and requires several days of rest to recuperate after each event.”
“I assure you, sir, I am not one of such females,” said Elizabeth indignantly. “I frequently walk about the countryside and enjoy the exercise greatly.”
“I am delighted to hear that, Cousin Elizabeth!” Mr Collins beamed. “Such a characteristic would be particularly valuable in a clergyman’s wife, who would need ample energies to tend to her parish. Indeed, as Lady Catherine herself said to me: ‘Mr Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person.’ I have the fervent hope of finding a lady with just such characteristics—combined with the beauty as displayed in your delightful person—to lead to the altar soon as my future wife,” he said, with a meaningful waggle of his eyebrows.
Elizabeth hastily tried to back out of the hole that she had dug for herself. “I... I fear you’re mistaken, sir. My energies are directed towards much more selfish pursuits. Indeed, I feel that I would be most unsuitable for the role and I do not think I would fit Lady Catherine’s ideals for a clergyman’s wife in the least.”
“My dear cousin, your modesty does you credit!” said Mr Collins. “But I cannot imagine that her ladyship would disapprove of you. Your candid humility adds to your charms.”
“I beg you to believe me, sir,” said Elizabeth desperately. “It is not false modesty which leads me to speak thus. I am relating the truth of my temperament with the utmost honesty and I beg that you pay me the compliment of believing what I say.”
“Ah, but I know that it is the established custom of your sex to say one thing when they mean the exact opposite.”
“Upon my word, sir, that is an arrogant assumption! There are some, perhaps, who might employ such devious arts, but I am not one of them. Believe me when I say that I always speak directly and from the heart.”
“Oh, you behave with just the sort of charming coyness that I would expect from your sex, my fair cousin!” gushed Mr Collins.
Elizabeth gritted her teeth. She wanted to scream. Was there ever a more obtuse man alive? She saw that in the course of their conversation, they had fallen behind the rest of the party and she hastened her steps now to catch up with them. Perhaps once in the company of her other sisters, Mr Collins might be diverted by them and leave her in peace for a period. She could hear him huffing and puffing next to her as he attempted to keep pace with her steps and thought wryly of his earlier boast of being a great walker.
Elizabeth caught up with her sisters just as they were approaching the stone bridge which spanned the river on the outskirts of Meryton. The river had become swollen from the recent rains and grey water surged along its banks. But the stone bridge was built high over the waterway and there was little danger of them getting their feet wet. Indeed, there was ample space on the banks beneath the bridge and, during drier times, many congregated there to fish, enjoy the shade, and perhaps even observe the comings and goings of travellers above, without needing to show their presence. At present, however, the water level had risen so high that Elizabeth wondered if there was any section of the bank beneath the bridge which was not submerged and could still shelter someone in the archway.
The next moment, her question was answered when a tall figure suddenly appeared from the shadows beneath the bridge and swung himself over the parapet to stand before them.
Kitty and Lydia gave stifled screams, whilst Mary clutched her book of sermons before her, as if holding a shield. Jane moved closer to Elizabeth, her hands seeking her sister’s for reassurance, as Mr Collins let out a cry of horror and staggered backwards.
The stranger drew out a pistol and levelled it at them as he smiled and drawled that time-honoured phrase beloved of highwaymen:
“Stand and deliver!”