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Mr Collins laid down his pen. His sermon was not coming easily today. He had a great deal of other parish business to attend to, but had been struck with a fervour of academic interest, and had decided to strike while the iron was hot to proceed in completing his sermon. It would need to be finished and in some measure of readability in order for Lady Catherine to run her gaze over it before it was delivered, in any case. He sighed. He did not know any other patrons who took such an avid interest in the delivery of sermons in their parish as Lady Catherine did. At first, he had found her active interest quite a comfort and an encouragement. He had been new to ministry then, only recently arrived from his studies. But in the long months and years since, her interest had become, although he hesitated to use the word, interference.
He glanced skywards, as if his thought might have been heard as a criticism, and immediately repented of the uncharitable notion. No, she was not interfering. She was eager to be involved, that was al. It was the mark of a fine, Christian lady that she took such an interest in the spiritual formation of those who lived on her estate. How many other Curates could boast of such an interest? He would be grateful, rejoice that he worked hand in hand with so devoted a patroness.
Suitably encouraged, he returned to his sermon, finishing it with a flourish, and set about copying it carefully in his most legible hand. That had been one of Lady Catherine’s first notes on his sermons upon his first arrival at Rosings: that she was sure the content was ultimately uplifting and encouraging, but she could not be certain be sure, due to the untidy nature of his hand, she had abandoned reading it partway through and would wait to hear it delivered in person that Sunday. He flushed, even now at the recollection of her comments. He had striven ever since to write so legibly that she might never make such a criticism again, and she had not. His lips turned down at the corners. Instead of its presentation, she had restricted her commentary to the content of his sermons, with no more encouragement than he had received at first. Still, there had been nothing greatly troubling or contentious in the passage or any of the three biblical commentaries he had so far consulted. She would be happy, surely.
There was a knock at the door and he glanced up, surprised to see one of Lady Catherine’s own servants.
“Oh, dear!” he declared, hastening his writing. “Does she wish to see the sermon already? It is quite finished, I am merely - merely -” In his haste he dripped a fat blob of ink onto the page and hissed in frustration, dabbing at it with the sleeve of his shirt and transferring the stain from paper to sleeve quite expertly, alas.
“No, sir,” the Rosings servant said. He stepped forward and handed a note to Mr Collins, who took it with consternation, unfolding it cautiously. When he saw that its contents were an invitation for Mr Collins, Mrs Collins and their guest to join them in dining at the great house at Rosings, and not the criticism he had half-expected, his smile grew.
“Delightful!” He reached for a fresh piece of paper and began to dash off a note, pausing only to reign in his enthusiasm lest it rendered his words unreadable. “Please tell Lady Catherine that our party would be delighted to join them at dinner, and reassure her that I will bring my finished sermon with me too, so that she might peruse it at her leisure.”
He passed the note back to the servant, searching for a penny he might give the young man for his troubles. He found a button, but at last a stray coin emerged from the detritus on his desk, so he pressed it into the man’s hand, and bid him be on his way. His mood cheered by this unexpected invitation, he returned with pleasure to his sermon, finishing it with a flourish, and deciding that the ink stain was not so very noticeable as to require the whole thing be written out again. The cock on the mantle of his small study chimed, and he determined it would be time for tea, and, if he left now, he might get home with time to spare to tell his wife of their changed plans for the evening. Another thought struck him. His cousin must have arrived by this hour, too. What providence that upon her very first evening in Hunsford Elizabeth Bennet would be treated to dine at Rosings. This was quite an honour, and he must ensure his cousin was aware of the great welcome his host favoured them with. How could he have ever thought Lady Catherine de Bourgh interfering? She was not! Not in the least. She was merely interested in the goings on in her locale, and how could he fault such a commitment to her responsibilities? If only all landowners acted thus, how many more souls might be preserved!
With a jaunty step, he began the walk home, determining to call on a couple of parishioners who were taken ill, and thus fulfil his pastoral duties early. There would be plenty to do before leaving for Rosings, for despite he and Charlotte having been often to call on Lady Catherine at the big house, this would be their first such visit in company with Elizabeth, and he dearly wished for his cousin not to embarrass either herself or him. He recalled Elizabeth as being clever: too clever, often, for he knew his patroness was not over-fond of young ladies who were educated. He must remind Elizabeth to defer in sharing her opinions to ensure they fell in line with Lady Catherine’s, or, better yet, not to speak at all unless their hostess addressed her directly. He drew a breath. Yes, that would be best. She might do well to mimic Charlotte, for his young wife seemed almost instinctively to have learned that should she remain seen, and not often heard, she would rise in Lady Catherine’s estimation.
His first destination was soon upon him, and all thoughts of the evening ahead flew from Mr Collins’ mind, so absorbed was he in sharing a blessing with the ailing family before him. In spite of his father’s supposition, in spite of himself, even, William Collins was a born clergyman, and whilst his preaching left a great deal to be desired - with or without Lady Catherine’s nimble editorial eye - he had a true heart for his parish, and spent himself quite freely on their behalf.
“Come, Mrs Smith,” he began, as a harried wife ushered him into her sitting room. “Do not stand on ceremony on my account. How does your husband fare? I have not seen him at Church this past fortnight...”
***
“AND JUST OVER THAT small ridge lies Mr Collins’ church,” Charlotte remarked, as the two girls walked a little further. “It is such a pretty building, and I do not suppose he will be there by this hour, so we might proceed without fear of-of disturbing him.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. If she had not known her friend better she would have presumed Charlotte had intended to say we might proceed without fear of seeing him, but surely that was a nonsense. Charlotte would not refer to her husband in such a way, surely? Dismissing hr concern, Lizzy took in a deep breath and surveyed their surroundings, admiring the elegant greenery that persisted in sheltered Kent, despite the cold winter weather.
“What excellent walking you shall have here, Charlotte!” She bumped her shoulder affectionately against her friend’s. “When you are not happily ensconced at home, I mean.”
“It is true, I am fond of my home,” Charlotte smiled, before correcting herself. “Our home, I mean. You see, Mr Collins is so very busy that quite often a whole day passes where we scarcely even notice one another’s presence!”
Elizabeth’s concern must have shown in her features, for Charlotte hurried to reassure her.
“Oh, you need not think it a bad thing! No, for we are quite content in our way.”
Elizabeth said nothing, but could not help but notice the slight note of dismay that coloured her friend’s words. Charlotte had gone to great pains to reassure her friend that all was well and that she was quite content in her life in Kent, but Elizabeth was no fool. The home was to be rejoiced over, certainly, and Charlotte’s pride in her private parlour was evident, but there was something missing from the picture that indicated all was not entirely well chez Collins. And how could it be? When Mr Collins was so...Mr Collins! Elizabeth resisted the urge to throw her arms around her friend’s shoulders and shake her. Was she, even now, regretting the decision she had made? For all her pragmatism, Charlotte was a young woman still and the thought of being yoked with such a fellow for the rest of her days must weigh heavily upon her.
“And what of Lady Catherine de Bourgh?” Elizabeth asked, at length selecting a topic that might interest both ladies, albeit for different reasons. “Is she as you imagined?”
“Even more so!” Charlotte said, glancing over her shoulder as if for reassurance that the ladies were quite incapable of being overheard by any spy pledging allegiance to her husband’s patroness. A sly smile crept onto her features and, for the first time since her arrival in Hunsford, Elizabeth saw a glimmer of her old friend emerge once more from the canvas of a young wife and mistress. “Oh, Lizzy! You cannot imagine what it is like. We are summoned there every so often - far more than I should choose to go, and for so long at a stretch! Why, it is never a short visit. First, there must be an exchange of pleasantries, then an exchange of news, and all the while Lady Catherine is scrutinizing us carefully, as if she might deduce some secret in our faces we are hiding with our words. She holds very tightly to the living at Hunsford, you see, and likes to be very involved in the day to day running of the parish.” Charlotte’s voice took on a mocking wobble as she imitated Lady Catherine so comically that Elizabeth could not help but draw a full and amusing picture of her cousin’s wealthy patroness.
“Still,” Charlotte said, slipping her hand through the crook of Elizabeth’s arm. “You shall witness it all for yourself first-hand, for I do not doubt we shall make a call on them before the week is out.” Her eyes sparkled with fun. “Prepare yourself, Lizzy, for I do not doubt Lady Catherine will be highly interested to discover the nature of the young lady come to visit from Hertfordshire.”
“I cannot imagine why!” Elizabeth said, shrinking a little under this suggestion. She had come intent on observing Lady Catherine, little realising, nor even imagining, that she, herself, would face similar scrutiny. “She has not heard of me, surely!”
“Not heard of you?” Charlotte crowed. “Oh, my dear Lizzy! You recall meeting Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, do not you? Why, he is Lady Catherine’s nephew! And such a connection, Mr Collins could not wait a moment before making mention of.”
Lizzy blinked, nonplussed, and Charlotte shifted into character once more, this time as that of her husband, rather than their patroness.
“And do you know, Lady Catherine, my cousin Elizabeth was seen to dance with him once - no, now that I think upon it I am sure I recall it being more than once. Yes, indeed! I stake my reputation against it being more than once that my cousin - my own cousin, Miss Elizabeth Bennet - was seen to dance with your nephew, Mr Darcy.” She ended this recitation with a snorting, simpering laugh that was so perfect an example of Mr Collins that Elizabeth laughed, before sobering quickly.
“Charlotte! You cannot mean to say that your husband insinuated that Mr Darcy and I were - friends?” her lips pursed over the words, as if the notion itself tasted bitter in her mouth. “Why, that is hardly true at all!”
“My dear Lizzy, when did truth ever prevent a connection being exploited?” Charlotte was scornful, now, and Lizzy felt a sudden urge to press her further on the matter.
“But there is no such connection,” Elizabeth began, but before she could say more, a voice rose on the wind to greet them, and both ladies glanced up, surprised to be hailed by a gentleman, and not merely one gentleman but two, on horseback.
“Good afternoon, ladies!” the first called, raising his hand in a wave.
Lizzy squinted, for he was in shadow, but she could not place the figure and turned a questioning glance towards Charlotte, who had straightened and seemed likewise puzzled.
“Forgive me for startling you! I wondered if either of you might be Mrs William Collins?”
Charlotte’s anxiety relaxed into a tentative smile, but before she could confirm her identity, the stranger had glanced behind him, exchanging a look they could neither see nor decipher with his friend. “And another of you a Miss Bennet? Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
This was surprising indeed and both young ladies exchanged their own glance, first surprise, then suspicion.
This pantomime must have been amusing to witness, for the stranger roared with laughter.
“Dear me, what a mess I have made of things. Here you are, happily out for a walk together and not wishing to be hailed from horseback by a stranger. Forgive me.” He bowed, low enough that his horse was forced into a quickstep to compensate for the shifting centre of gravity. “My name is Colonel Fitzwilliam. I believe you are acquainted with my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
His laughing blue eyes lit on Elizabeth, and he grinned.
“And lately with my cousin, who lags behind. Given sway, I do not doubt he would have had us continue without stopping, but I thought it far more pleasant to stop and be introduced. Come on here, Darcy and say hello to your friends!”