First Impressions (4 & 5)
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Title: First Impressions (4/13, 5/13)
Fanverse: First Impressions
Blurb: Mr Collins chooses the companion of his future life, Mr Wickham tells of his tragic, tragic life, the Netherfield Ball happens, as does some minor inbreeding.
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Chapter Four
Henry and Jane left on Sunday, to the relief of nearly all concerned; Miss Bingley, in particular, was so pleased that she embraced Jane and even held out her hand to Henry.
The next day, Mr Bennet informed his wife that they were to expect a guest - a stranger.
"It is Mr Bingley, I am sure!" trilled Mrs Bennet. "Why, Jane - you never dropped a word of it, you sly thing!"
However, it was not Mr Bingley, but rather, a Mr Collins, one of Mr Bennet's distant cousins. His father, an ignorant, small-minded man, had quarrelled with Mr Bennet over some trifle, and the families had been estranged ever since. However, the death of the elder Mr Collins had freed the younger to make peace with his relations.
He wrote:
As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures of good-will are highly commendable, and must be acceptable to you and, particularly, your amiable daughters - but of this hereafter.
Henry's eyebrows shot up.
The rest of the letter was written in a similar manner, and the family immediately fell to discussing it.
"He must be an oddity, I think," said Henry, smiling. "I cannot make him out. - There is something very pompous in his style. Can he be a sensible man, sir?"
"No, I think not," Mr Bennet said in a tone of the utmost satisfaction.
The letter had been sent over a month earlier, and responded to a fortnight after that; Henry, though perfectly understanding the trials of life with his mother, looked at Mr Bennet in mixed exasperation and amusement.
Mr Collins arrived that afternoon, as promised. He was a tall, heavy-set man of about Henry's age, formal and grave, but very loquacious.
"My dear madam," he said, bowing deeply to Mrs Bennet, "I have heard much of your daughters' beauty, but in this instance, fame has fallen short of the truth. I do not doubt of your seeing, in due time, all of them well-disposed in marriage."
Kitty and Lydia giggled; Mary blushed; Jane exchanged a startled glance with Henry.
"You are very kind, sir, I am sure," simpered Mrs Bennet.
His kindness did not end there. He examined the hall, the dining-room, even the furniture with minute care, and praised them all. Mrs Bennet's heart was so touched that she retracted everything she had ever said against the whole tribe of Collinses.
After dinner, Mr Bennet beamed at his young relation and encouraged him to speak about the lady who had been so generous as to bestow the Hunsford living upon him.
"Oh!" cried Mr Collins, with a look of ecstatic reverence, "I have never before in my life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank! such affability and condescension I have experienced from Lady Catherine! She has graciously pleased to approve of both the discourses I have had the honour of preaching before her, and twice invited me to dine at Rosings! Why, she sent for me only last Saturday, to make up her pool of quadrille!"
Mr Bennet's eyes widened. "Her pool of quadrille? That must have been a very great honour for you."
Henry, standing behind his father's chair, felt an urgent need to examine the nearest window.
"Oh, yes," Mr Collins said. "She is reckoned proud by many people I know, but I have never seen anything but affability in her. She has always spoken to me as she would any other gentleman - why, she made not the slightest objection to my joining the society of the neighbourhood, or leaving the parish for a week or two, to visit my relations. She even condescended to advise me to marry as soon I can, provided I choose with discretion; and, once, she paid a visit to my humble parsonage, where she perfectly approved all the alterations I had been making, and even vouchsafed to suggest some herself! - some shelves in the closets upstairs."
Mr Bennet had chosen his subject well; Mr Collins' praise of his patroness took up about an half-hour - an half-hour in which Mary and Mrs Bennet listened with the acutest attention, while Henry avoided his father's tranquil gaze and tried not to laugh. He did not quite trust himself to speak.
Mr Collins had been brought up in such subjection and retirement as to give him a sort of humility, and very little understanding. He had continued these habits at Cambridge, and likely would never have amounted to anything, had not sheer luck brought him to the notice of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Due to said prosperity, and the recommendation of Lady Catherine, he intended to marry; and the reports he received of his cousins' beauty had persuaded him that he should seek a reconciliation with the Longbourn family, and choose a wife from among Mr Bennet's four daughters, if they were as handsome and amiable as he had heard.
Naturally, he first settled upon Miss Bennet, the eldest and loveliest, and the next morning, hinted as much to Mrs Bennet.
She was all smiles. "As to my younger daughters," said she, "I cannot take upon myself to say - I cannot positively answer - but I do not know of any prepossession. My eldest daughter - I might just mention - I feel it incumbent on me to hint, that she will likely be very soon engaged."
This placed him into something of a quandary; Mary, of course, ought to come next, but he had not come to Longbourn to marry a plain girl. On the other hand, she was not repulsive, and he wished to oblige Lady Catherine, and himself, by marrying, much more than he wished for a raving beauty.
After all, so many handsome girls were brought up with high expectations; even if he did find one, she would likely make an extravagant, scatterbrained housekeeper - not at all what Lady Catherine had advised him to find. Mary was just the sort of quiet, decorous creature she would approve of - and she had been attentive, more than any of the others. Very likely she was in love with him.
Yes, he would choose Mary; with his guidance, she would make a very agreeable companion. "Miss Mary is an excellent young woman," he said.
Mrs Bennet fervently agreed. Mr Collins was nothing to Mr Bingley, of course, but then Mary was nothing to Jane or Lydia. He was quite good enough for her.
Mr Bennet, never a sociable man, was by then so exasperated by the constant noise in his house that he asked Mr Collins and Henry to accompany the girls to Meryton. Mr Collins gladly assented, unaware that Mary had decided to stay home, while Henry trailed after his sisters and cousin with rather less pleasure.
They had barely reached Meryton when they caught sight of an officer with whom Henry was vaguely acquainted. At his side was a strange young man, so strikingly handsome in every feature, except for a strangely misshapen nose, as to capture the attention of every lady in the place.
Mr Denny, the officer, introduced his friend as Mr Wickham. They were all standing together and talking with great animation, when they heard the sound of horses, and saw Bingley, his sister, and Catherine all riding down the street. Bingley immediately began to address Jane, and Catherine had just decided that she would not look at Henry, when their eyes fell on the stranger.
Miss Darcy stared, her cheeks flushing; Mr Wickham turned white. However, after a few moments, the latter touched his hat and the former just deigned to nod her head; and shortly thereafter, the oblivious Bingley rode off with his sister and her friend.
After visiting Mrs Phillips, who invited her relations and the officers to return the following evening, they walked home. Henry took advantage of the opportunity to tell Jane what he had seen.
"I do not - I am sure -" She looked bewildered. "I cannot think what it means."
Neither could Henry, until Mrs Phillips' party.
Mr Wickham was popular with all the young women; but Lydia was the happy girl by whom he finally seated himself. Henry, knowing his sister too well to trust her with such a specimen as Mr Wickham, made sure to play at their table, though he could not bring himself to attend much to Lydia's idea of flirtation.
"- Miss Darcy?"
Henry glanced up from his cards.
"Oh, a few weeks," said Lydia carelessly. "She's frightfully rich, I hear. Maria Lucas told me she has her own estate, even though she isn't married."
Wickham lowered his voice. "Yes - it is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum."
"Clear? Is that after taxes and grandmothers and things?" asked Lydia.
"Oh, yes. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself - for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy."
Henry's eyes widened.
"You have? How terribly exciting!" said Lydia. "You must tell me all about it."
However, she showed no interest in listening even to him. He had scarcely opened his mouth when she exclaimed over a prize, and then over a bet, and soon was so engrossed as to have no attention to spare for anything else.
Wickham turned to Henry, and said after a moment of hesitation, "You look surprised, Mr Bennet - as well you might be, after seeing the cold manner of our meeting yesterday. - Are you much acquainted with Miss Darcy?"
"As much as I ever wish to be," Henry said. "I have spent four days in the same house with her, and I think her very disagreeable."
"I have no right to give my opinion as to her being agreeable or otherwise," replied Wickham. "I am not qualified to form one. I have known her too long, and too well, to be a fair judge."
These fine sentiments notwithstanding, he returned to the subject shortly thereafter.
"Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession - I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the lady we were speaking of just now."
"Indeed!" cried Henry.
"Yes - Mr Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere."
Henry frowned. "How can that be? How could his will be disregarded? - why did you not seek legal address?"
"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law." Wickham sighed, adding, "A woman of principle could not have doubted the attention, but Miss Darcy chose to doubt it - or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short anything or nothing. A lady's judgment of such matters is perhaps over-particular, but I cannot accuse myself of having really done any thing to deserve to lose the living. But the fact is that she hates me."
Henry could scarcely believe his ears - yet it all accorded so neatly with his own opinion of her. He had not, perhaps, thought her unprincipled; but he could not be surprised that the bad temper, which governed her every action, and which she herself had admitted to, might lead her to even worse faults. "She deserves to be publicly disgraced!" he said hotly.
"I daresay she will, sometime or other," said Wickham, "but not by me. It is unjust, perhaps, but one cannot speak of a lady as one would of a gentleman - however shameless she might be. Yet even if that were set aside, I could not do it. Till I forget the father, I can never defy or expose the daughter."
Henry acknowledged the awkwardness of his position and added, "But what can have been her motive? What could have induced her to behave in such a manner?"
"A thorough, determined dislike of me," said Wickham. "When she was no older than Miss Lydia, I received such proofs of her cold heart and ungovernable temper, as should have ensured that I could no longer be surprised at anything she did to me; I can only suppose that my unreasonable partiality for her blinded me to her true nature. My own weakness, I am afraid to say, has given her many opportunities to inflict her malice, which she would not otherwise have had."
"Your partiality for her?" said Henry, feeling as if his eyes were about to start out of his head. Somehow, her beauty and her friendships notwithstanding, it seemed impossible that anyone could like her more than he did.
Wickham sighed. "Her father brought me up at his own expence, you know - we were always together as children, and not only at lessons. I cannot think of her without being grieved by a thousand tender recollections - we were inseparable companions until Mr Darcy sent us off to school. I still wonder what happened in those years, to turn her into the creature I found when I returned to Pemberley." He fell silent, his eyes distant. "I fell in love with her the moment I saw her coming down the stairs, and she gave me every reason to suppose she returned my feelings. You must know the ways in which a woman encourages a man's affections."
A line appeared between Henry's brows. "I suppose so," he said, glancing away. He was only too happy to hear of Miss Darcy's misdeeds, but somewhat uneasily felt that he could not like Wickham. Something about the other man did not sit quite right - he was too theatrical, too ingratiating.
Henry considered these for a moment, then dismissed them as the habits of a man whose comfort had always depended on the favour of others. He still did not like him, but some irritating mannerisms hardly excused Miss Darcy's perfidy.
"We had talked of waiting, of breaking the news to her father, even of how we would live; I really believed the matter all but settled. But when I finally worked up the courage to ask for her hand, she -" Wickham permitted himself a small, humourless smile. "She laughed. It was, she said, beyond belief that I should dare raise my eyes to her. Had I really believed that she would suffer such a degradation as marriage to the son of their steward?"
Henry winced. "If those were her feelings, why did she permit your suit to continue so far?"
"To crush my hopes, she necessarily had to raise them," said Wickham, his smile twisting into a grimace; "that was her intention all along. It was all done to punish me, from the very beginning. I suppose she must have resented me for years. Had Mr Darcy liked me less, his daughter might have liked me better; but he always regretted that he had no son, and I believe looked upon me as a sort of substitute. She had not the temper to bear the preference which was often given me."
"I have heard of women who pretend to the sort of elegance that consists of tormenting respectable men," said Henry, "but I never thought to meet one. Her disposition must be dreadful."
"I will not trust myself on the subject," said Wickham. "I can hardly be just to her."
Henry's mind went back to her previous depredation. "And she was not content with this, but ruined your career in the church, as well?"
Wickham nodded. "That was over five years later, but yes. I do not suppose she will ever be wholly satisfied."
"I must say," said Henry, horrified despite himself, "I had not thought Miss Darcy so bad as this. Though I have never liked her, I had not thought so very ill of her - I had supposed her to be despising her fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect her of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!" He paused. "However, I do remember her boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of her resentments, of her having an unforgiving temper."
"That sounds exactly like her. She would be proud of it; indeed, almost all her actions may be traced to pride; - and," Wickham added, with an expression of such conscious nobility that Henry was forced to hide a smile, "pride has often been her best friend. It has connected her nearer with virtue than any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent; and in her behaviour to me, there were stronger impulses even than pride."
Henry, having recovered his countenance and his sympathy, stared. "Can such abominable pride as hers, have ever done her good?"
But for whatever reason, Wickham was determined to give Miss Darcy her due. She was a hospitable hostess, and a benevolent mistress of her estate; she gave her money freely - not only to her equals and dependents, but to the poor; and some affection for the younger Miss Darcy, coupled with a great deal of pride in her accomplishments, made her a kind, attentive, and careful sister to her.
"What sort of girl is Miss Georgiana?" asked Henry. He had heard Miss Bingley mention her more than once - and, even more frequently, Miss Darcy herself, though Henry had preferred not to dwell on those occasions.
Wickham shook his head. "I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy." He sighed. "But she is too much like her sister, - very, very proud."
They moved to other subjects, and after awhile the whist party broke up; but, when Mr Wickham chanced to overhear Mr Collins' gloating praise of Lady Catherine, he turned to Henry in surprise.
"Is your relation very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh?" he said in a soft voice.
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh has lately given him a living," replied Henry. "I hardly know how Mr Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long."
Wickham hesitated, then said, "You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters; consequently that she is aunt to Miss Darcy."
Henry looked at him in some surprise. "No, indeed, I did not," he said. "I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday. I had heard Miss Darcy's Christian name from Miss Bingley and Miss Lucas, but that is all."
Wickham smiled, with a trace of bitterness. "Although Lady Catherine's daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have almost as large a fortune as Miss Darcy, her ladyship's nephew will be all but penniless when he inherits the earldom. It is believed that Miss Darcy will marry her cousin - all the family wish for it, whatever the price."
"The price?" repeated Henry, amused. "The price of enduring marriage to Miss Darcy?"
"Not exactly," said Wickham, and changed the subject.
Chapter Five
The next day, Henry told Jane about Miss Darcy's cruelty to Mr Wickham, as regarded the living.
"Oh dear," said she. "I cannot think Miss Darcy so unworthy of the Bingleys' regard; yet I cannot imagine that such an amiable young man as Mr Wickham could invent such a story! It is quite impossible."
"I cannot think what there is to be gained by telling me," Henry said.
Jane's eyes brightened. "They have both been deceived, I daresay, in some way or other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them, without actual blame on either side."
"Very true, indeed," said Henry, laughing; "and now, dear Jane, what have you got to say in behalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the business? - Do clear them too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of somebody."
"Laugh at me as much as you choose, but you shall not laugh me out of my opinion," Jane said stubbornly.
They were interrupted by the arrival of the Bingleys themselves, who came to deliver a personal invitation to their ball. It was to take place on the following Tuesday; and caused such a furore of excitement at Longbourn, that Henry spent the rest of the week cravenly hiding in his father's study.
Mrs Bennet had filled Jane's head with the hope that Mr Bingley would open the ball with her, though she could not bring herself to expect it.
"I suppose he will dance first with Miss Darcy," she said. "Miss Bingley thought so, at any rate - and it would be only proper."
Henry looked at her, but could not trust himself to speak.
However, he ushered his family into the carriage with unusual haste. When they arrived at Netherfield, he glanced hurriedly about the room. All the officers but Wickham were present; Bingley, his sisters, and his brother-in-law were smiling and shaking hands with their guests; and - yes, Catherine and Charlotte had their heads together as usual.
Henry made a beeline for Miss Darcy as soon as he properly could. "I beg your pardon," he said, a little out of breath, "but may I request the honour of your hand for the first set, Miss Darcy?"
"I -" Catherine flushed, either with anger or embarrassment, but stammered, "I - er - you may."
Henry stared at her. "Thank you," he said blankly.
For some reason, her usual audacity failed her; she dropped her eyes, excused herself in an inarticulate murmur, and fled to the other side of the room.
"I am peculiarly reminded of your plan to spoil Harriet Long's gown," Charlotte said, sotto voce. "How old were you? Eight or nine?"
"Seven," said Henry, and turned his horrified gaze on her. "Did she just accept me?"
"I presume that was not, in fact, your intention in asking her?"
"Of course not! If she had rejected me as she ought, she could not dance with anybody else - and Bingley would be free to open the ball with Jane."
She looked fascinated. "And, if she dances with you, he is not free to do so? - forgive me, I fear I have missed some aspect of your strategy."
Henry's scowl broke into a smile. "You are quite right, of course. It is all for Jane's sake. I may comfort myself with that."
"Indeed."
He had an half-formed expectation that Miss Darcy would renege on the engagement, but his hopes had only begun to rise when he saw her coming toward him with a purposeful expression.
They took their places in the set, Henry still in a state of utter bemusement; all his neighbours seemed equally astonished by the event. After dancing in silence for some time, Henry decided that conversation would be a greater punishment for her, and said,
"The music is rather slow."
"It is," Miss Darcy agreed.
He was quiet for several minutes. Then he directed his half-laughing gaze toward her, and said, "It is your turn to say something now, Miss Darcy. - I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples."
She smiled up at him. "I will say whatever you wish me to say."
"Very well. - That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. - But now we may be silent," said Henry, unable to avoid the impression that she was thoroughly enjoying herself. There was something in her expression well beyond her usual serenity; she looked happy.
He remembered the pain with which Wickham had talked of her; no doubt she felt not the slightest shame for anything she had done, and slept with as clear and untroubled a conscience as Jane.
Perhaps she was not the equal of a Montoni or Lovelace; they did not abound in reality. Yet, as Henry looked at her and danced with her, he could not escape the conviction that, in her quiet, well-bred way, Catherine Darcy was as monstrous as any of them - a monster of ordinary life, who could torment a man without hesitation or regret, destroy his chances of worldly prosperity, and then be received into every house in the kingdom.
"Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?" she was saying dryly.
"Sometimes," said Henry. "One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as as possible."
"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case," said Catherine, her eyebrows rising, "or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"
Henry laughed. "Both; for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. - We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."
"This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure. How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say." Her voice sharpened. "You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."
No longer amused, Henry said only, "I must not decide upon my own performance."
She did not respond to this, but after they had gone down the dance, said, "Do you and your sisters very often walk to Meryton?"
"Yes, we do." He could not resist the temptation to add, "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."
Miss Darcy's mouth compressed to a thin line. For a moment she was silent; then she said, "Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends - whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain."
"He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship," replied Henry, looking directly into her chilly blue eyes, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."
A look of haughty composure came over her features. "Oh, I rather doubt that," she said.
On the following morning, as Mrs Bennet sat with Kitty and Mary, Mr Collins addressed the former with all the dignity at his disposal.
"May I hope, madam, for your interest with your fair daughter Mary, when I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the course of this morning?"
Mary gave a conscious blush, and Mrs Bennet immediately replied,
"Oh dear! - yes - certainly. I am sure Mary will be very happy - I am sure she can have no objection. - Come, Kitty, I want you upstairs."
They were gone in a trice; and, when Henry and Lydia, who had each tossed and turned the entire night, and slept through much of the morning, finally ventured downstairs, they were greeted with the happy news.
Mr Collins had made Mary an offer, and she had accepted him.
Lydia never attended to either of them; she thought it all a great joke, and very much ruffled her prospective brother's feathers by saying so.
Henry was not on intimate terms with Mary; she was probably his least favourite amongst his sisters - but, nevertheless, she was still his sister, and he still loved her. He certainly could not think of her married to such a man as Collins with any degree of complaisance. Yet nothing could be done now; Jane hoped they would be happy, and Mr Bennet refused to intercede. Henry's only comfort was that Mary seemed to feel a genuine respect for Mr Collins, without cherishing many illusions about their future.
"I - I wish you joy," said he.
On the following day, Catherine and Lydia declared their intention of walking to Meryton, to see the officers and ask after Wickham. Jane's brow furrowed.
"I shall remain at home, with my mother and my betrothed," said Mary complacently.
Mrs Bennet and Mr Collins smiled with about equal pleasure, and the latter embarked upon a speech which nobody attended to.
Henry, meeting Jane's eyes, quietly excused himself and joined Mr Bennet in the library. He had little hopes that his disapproval of Kitty and Lydia's behaviour, that anybody's disapproval, could bring his father to act, yet the attempt must be made. In exchange for his trouble, however, he received only an injunction to accompany them.
"If they have the wit God gave a gnat, they will behave themselves better under your eye than I have ever seen them do under mine. A doubtful proposition, I know, but I am not a wholly unnatural parent. I continue to hope for some glimmers of sense."
Henry did not quite trust himself to speak, but accordingly followed his sisters to Meryton. Wickham met them as they entered the town, made himself agreeable to all three girls at once, and loudly declared that business in town had tragically kept him away from the ball.
He must have caught Henry's sceptical glance, for after they all arrived at Mrs Phillips' house, he admitted, "I found as the time drew near, that I had better not meet with Miss Darcy; that to be in the same room, the same party with her for so many hours together, might be more than I could bear."
Henry turned his head away, but managed to say in a level voice, "How very prudent."
Wickham and Chamberlayne, another officer, walked back with them to Longbourn. Unsurprisingly, Mrs Bennet accepted the compliment in raptures, and proved to be a worse chaperone than none at all. Henry sighed, and remained to watch his sisters.
Not long after their arrival, Jane received a letter from Netherfield. Henry saw her expression shift to one he could not interpret; saw her read it several times - saw that even after she had put it away, her attempts to behave with her usual cheerfulness were decidedly unconvincing.
As soon as Wickham and Chamberlayne left, he followed Jane upstairs and she read him the letter.
It was from Miss Bingley; the entire party had returned to town, and did not intend to return. The manifold attractions of Miss Georgiana Darcy, a younger, more accomplished version of her sister, were dwelt upon with loving attention.
"What think you of this, my dear Hal?" cried Jane. "Is it not clear enough? - Does it not expressly declare that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister? that she is perfectly convinced of her brother's indifference, and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means (most kindly!) to put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?"
Henry stared. "Yes, there can; for mine is totally different. - Will you hear it?"
"Most willingly," said Jane, in a small voice.
"You shall have it in a few words. Miss Bingley sees that her brother is in love with you, but wishes him to marry a Miss Darcy. Perhaps the elder sister's indifference persuaded her to try her luck with the younger; in any case, she follows him to town in the hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he does not care about you."
Alas! They had unhappy confirmation when Lady Lucas and her daughters called; Miss Darcy had written to Miss Lucas.
My dear Charlotte, her letter read,
I am very sorry, but we must refuse your father's invitation. Mr Bingley has gone to London, where he shall probably remain for some time, and his brother and sisters have decided to join him, that he may stay at Mr Hurst's house in Grosvenor Street. I will, of course, be returning to my own house and my own sister.
I do not anticipate our visiting Hertfordshire again soon, or perhaps ever. Although I have not enjoyed my sojourn in your country - I lack certain feminine graces, and I found my situation uncongenial in a number of respects - I shall miss your company. Intelligent intercourse of any kind is rare enough, and I believe I may say that I enjoyed the entirety of ours.
Were it possible, I should very much like to see you again, at the opera or the theatre, or even here at Darcy House. However, as you have yet to leave Hertfordshire, I consider that a highly unlikely event; therefore, I hope you will feel at liberty, but not under obligation, to write to me at any time.
Yours, very sincerely,
Catherine Darcy
They soon had opportunity to read another, rather more diverting, letter. After the engagement was announced, Mr Collins returned to Hunsford - to prepare the house, he said, though Henry suspected that gaining Lady Catherine's blessing figured largely in his plans.
Although they were forced to scrape by without his sparkling presence, he did his best to fill the breach by writing to Mr Bennet:
Dear sir,
My gratitude knows no bounds. Not only did you open your home to me, with as much kindness and hospitality as anybody could desire, overlooking the estrangement between yourself and my late honoured father without a moment's hesitation, but the gift you shall present to me shortly hereafter is a pearl beyond price. - I refer, of course, to my dear Mary. I can scarcely conceive what you must feel, to endure such a loss - but your equanimity would be the wonder of sages.
Again and again, I thank you for the many kindnesses I have received, and gladly anticipate the day when I may call myself your son. My father, I am sure, is now elevated to such a stature that he has no regard for insignificant earthly quarrels, so I have no doubts that he will forgive what may seem a breach of filial devotion.
I hope to see you all again on Monday fortnight, for Lady Catherine so heartily approves my marriage, that she wishes it to take place as soon as possible - which I trust will be an unanswerable argument with my amiable Mary to name an early day for making me the happiest of men.
Yours &tc,
William Collins
Mr Collins arrived back at Longbourn in due course, and so did the wedding-day. It was a quiet affair - the bride looked well - her brother's smile never faltered.
Shortly before their departure, Mary pulled him aside.
"Henry," said she, grasping his hands with sudden urgency, "you will come and see me, will not you?"
Discomposed, he said, "Oh! yes, of course. I intend to go to town in the spring. I can easily come down to Hunsford for a little while."
"No. Henry, you must come for longer than that, a proper visit. A few weeks at Easter, if it is convenient; I have already spoken to Mr Collins, Henry, and he said Lady Catherine could have no objection -"
"Mary -"
The hands clasping his were trembling. "It would be a great comfort to me, Hal," she said quietly.
He only hesitated a moment. "Then of course I shall."
Title: First Impressions (4/13, 5/13)
Fanverse: First Impressions
Blurb: Mr Collins chooses the companion of his future life, Mr Wickham tells of his tragic, tragic life, the Netherfield Ball happens, as does some minor inbreeding.
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Chapter Four
Henry and Jane left on Sunday, to the relief of nearly all concerned; Miss Bingley, in particular, was so pleased that she embraced Jane and even held out her hand to Henry.
The next day, Mr Bennet informed his wife that they were to expect a guest - a stranger.
"It is Mr Bingley, I am sure!" trilled Mrs Bennet. "Why, Jane - you never dropped a word of it, you sly thing!"
However, it was not Mr Bingley, but rather, a Mr Collins, one of Mr Bennet's distant cousins. His father, an ignorant, small-minded man, had quarrelled with Mr Bennet over some trifle, and the families had been estranged ever since. However, the death of the elder Mr Collins had freed the younger to make peace with his relations.
He wrote:
As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures of good-will are highly commendable, and must be acceptable to you and, particularly, your amiable daughters - but of this hereafter.
Henry's eyebrows shot up.
The rest of the letter was written in a similar manner, and the family immediately fell to discussing it.
"He must be an oddity, I think," said Henry, smiling. "I cannot make him out. - There is something very pompous in his style. Can he be a sensible man, sir?"
"No, I think not," Mr Bennet said in a tone of the utmost satisfaction.
The letter had been sent over a month earlier, and responded to a fortnight after that; Henry, though perfectly understanding the trials of life with his mother, looked at Mr Bennet in mixed exasperation and amusement.
Mr Collins arrived that afternoon, as promised. He was a tall, heavy-set man of about Henry's age, formal and grave, but very loquacious.
"My dear madam," he said, bowing deeply to Mrs Bennet, "I have heard much of your daughters' beauty, but in this instance, fame has fallen short of the truth. I do not doubt of your seeing, in due time, all of them well-disposed in marriage."
Kitty and Lydia giggled; Mary blushed; Jane exchanged a startled glance with Henry.
"You are very kind, sir, I am sure," simpered Mrs Bennet.
His kindness did not end there. He examined the hall, the dining-room, even the furniture with minute care, and praised them all. Mrs Bennet's heart was so touched that she retracted everything she had ever said against the whole tribe of Collinses.
After dinner, Mr Bennet beamed at his young relation and encouraged him to speak about the lady who had been so generous as to bestow the Hunsford living upon him.
"Oh!" cried Mr Collins, with a look of ecstatic reverence, "I have never before in my life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank! such affability and condescension I have experienced from Lady Catherine! She has graciously pleased to approve of both the discourses I have had the honour of preaching before her, and twice invited me to dine at Rosings! Why, she sent for me only last Saturday, to make up her pool of quadrille!"
Mr Bennet's eyes widened. "Her pool of quadrille? That must have been a very great honour for you."
Henry, standing behind his father's chair, felt an urgent need to examine the nearest window.
"Oh, yes," Mr Collins said. "She is reckoned proud by many people I know, but I have never seen anything but affability in her. She has always spoken to me as she would any other gentleman - why, she made not the slightest objection to my joining the society of the neighbourhood, or leaving the parish for a week or two, to visit my relations. She even condescended to advise me to marry as soon I can, provided I choose with discretion; and, once, she paid a visit to my humble parsonage, where she perfectly approved all the alterations I had been making, and even vouchsafed to suggest some herself! - some shelves in the closets upstairs."
Mr Bennet had chosen his subject well; Mr Collins' praise of his patroness took up about an half-hour - an half-hour in which Mary and Mrs Bennet listened with the acutest attention, while Henry avoided his father's tranquil gaze and tried not to laugh. He did not quite trust himself to speak.
Mr Collins had been brought up in such subjection and retirement as to give him a sort of humility, and very little understanding. He had continued these habits at Cambridge, and likely would never have amounted to anything, had not sheer luck brought him to the notice of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Due to said prosperity, and the recommendation of Lady Catherine, he intended to marry; and the reports he received of his cousins' beauty had persuaded him that he should seek a reconciliation with the Longbourn family, and choose a wife from among Mr Bennet's four daughters, if they were as handsome and amiable as he had heard.
Naturally, he first settled upon Miss Bennet, the eldest and loveliest, and the next morning, hinted as much to Mrs Bennet.
She was all smiles. "As to my younger daughters," said she, "I cannot take upon myself to say - I cannot positively answer - but I do not know of any prepossession. My eldest daughter - I might just mention - I feel it incumbent on me to hint, that she will likely be very soon engaged."
This placed him into something of a quandary; Mary, of course, ought to come next, but he had not come to Longbourn to marry a plain girl. On the other hand, she was not repulsive, and he wished to oblige Lady Catherine, and himself, by marrying, much more than he wished for a raving beauty.
After all, so many handsome girls were brought up with high expectations; even if he did find one, she would likely make an extravagant, scatterbrained housekeeper - not at all what Lady Catherine had advised him to find. Mary was just the sort of quiet, decorous creature she would approve of - and she had been attentive, more than any of the others. Very likely she was in love with him.
Yes, he would choose Mary; with his guidance, she would make a very agreeable companion. "Miss Mary is an excellent young woman," he said.
Mrs Bennet fervently agreed. Mr Collins was nothing to Mr Bingley, of course, but then Mary was nothing to Jane or Lydia. He was quite good enough for her.
Mr Bennet, never a sociable man, was by then so exasperated by the constant noise in his house that he asked Mr Collins and Henry to accompany the girls to Meryton. Mr Collins gladly assented, unaware that Mary had decided to stay home, while Henry trailed after his sisters and cousin with rather less pleasure.
They had barely reached Meryton when they caught sight of an officer with whom Henry was vaguely acquainted. At his side was a strange young man, so strikingly handsome in every feature, except for a strangely misshapen nose, as to capture the attention of every lady in the place.
Mr Denny, the officer, introduced his friend as Mr Wickham. They were all standing together and talking with great animation, when they heard the sound of horses, and saw Bingley, his sister, and Catherine all riding down the street. Bingley immediately began to address Jane, and Catherine had just decided that she would not look at Henry, when their eyes fell on the stranger.
Miss Darcy stared, her cheeks flushing; Mr Wickham turned white. However, after a few moments, the latter touched his hat and the former just deigned to nod her head; and shortly thereafter, the oblivious Bingley rode off with his sister and her friend.
After visiting Mrs Phillips, who invited her relations and the officers to return the following evening, they walked home. Henry took advantage of the opportunity to tell Jane what he had seen.
"I do not - I am sure -" She looked bewildered. "I cannot think what it means."
Neither could Henry, until Mrs Phillips' party.
Mr Wickham was popular with all the young women; but Lydia was the happy girl by whom he finally seated himself. Henry, knowing his sister too well to trust her with such a specimen as Mr Wickham, made sure to play at their table, though he could not bring himself to attend much to Lydia's idea of flirtation.
"- Miss Darcy?"
Henry glanced up from his cards.
"Oh, a few weeks," said Lydia carelessly. "She's frightfully rich, I hear. Maria Lucas told me she has her own estate, even though she isn't married."
Wickham lowered his voice. "Yes - it is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum."
"Clear? Is that after taxes and grandmothers and things?" asked Lydia.
"Oh, yes. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself - for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy."
Henry's eyes widened.
"You have? How terribly exciting!" said Lydia. "You must tell me all about it."
However, she showed no interest in listening even to him. He had scarcely opened his mouth when she exclaimed over a prize, and then over a bet, and soon was so engrossed as to have no attention to spare for anything else.
Wickham turned to Henry, and said after a moment of hesitation, "You look surprised, Mr Bennet - as well you might be, after seeing the cold manner of our meeting yesterday. - Are you much acquainted with Miss Darcy?"
"As much as I ever wish to be," Henry said. "I have spent four days in the same house with her, and I think her very disagreeable."
"I have no right to give my opinion as to her being agreeable or otherwise," replied Wickham. "I am not qualified to form one. I have known her too long, and too well, to be a fair judge."
These fine sentiments notwithstanding, he returned to the subject shortly thereafter.
"Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession - I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the lady we were speaking of just now."
"Indeed!" cried Henry.
"Yes - Mr Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere."
Henry frowned. "How can that be? How could his will be disregarded? - why did you not seek legal address?"
"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law." Wickham sighed, adding, "A woman of principle could not have doubted the attention, but Miss Darcy chose to doubt it - or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short anything or nothing. A lady's judgment of such matters is perhaps over-particular, but I cannot accuse myself of having really done any thing to deserve to lose the living. But the fact is that she hates me."
Henry could scarcely believe his ears - yet it all accorded so neatly with his own opinion of her. He had not, perhaps, thought her unprincipled; but he could not be surprised that the bad temper, which governed her every action, and which she herself had admitted to, might lead her to even worse faults. "She deserves to be publicly disgraced!" he said hotly.
"I daresay she will, sometime or other," said Wickham, "but not by me. It is unjust, perhaps, but one cannot speak of a lady as one would of a gentleman - however shameless she might be. Yet even if that were set aside, I could not do it. Till I forget the father, I can never defy or expose the daughter."
Henry acknowledged the awkwardness of his position and added, "But what can have been her motive? What could have induced her to behave in such a manner?"
"A thorough, determined dislike of me," said Wickham. "When she was no older than Miss Lydia, I received such proofs of her cold heart and ungovernable temper, as should have ensured that I could no longer be surprised at anything she did to me; I can only suppose that my unreasonable partiality for her blinded me to her true nature. My own weakness, I am afraid to say, has given her many opportunities to inflict her malice, which she would not otherwise have had."
"Your partiality for her?" said Henry, feeling as if his eyes were about to start out of his head. Somehow, her beauty and her friendships notwithstanding, it seemed impossible that anyone could like her more than he did.
Wickham sighed. "Her father brought me up at his own expence, you know - we were always together as children, and not only at lessons. I cannot think of her without being grieved by a thousand tender recollections - we were inseparable companions until Mr Darcy sent us off to school. I still wonder what happened in those years, to turn her into the creature I found when I returned to Pemberley." He fell silent, his eyes distant. "I fell in love with her the moment I saw her coming down the stairs, and she gave me every reason to suppose she returned my feelings. You must know the ways in which a woman encourages a man's affections."
A line appeared between Henry's brows. "I suppose so," he said, glancing away. He was only too happy to hear of Miss Darcy's misdeeds, but somewhat uneasily felt that he could not like Wickham. Something about the other man did not sit quite right - he was too theatrical, too ingratiating.
Henry considered these for a moment, then dismissed them as the habits of a man whose comfort had always depended on the favour of others. He still did not like him, but some irritating mannerisms hardly excused Miss Darcy's perfidy.
"We had talked of waiting, of breaking the news to her father, even of how we would live; I really believed the matter all but settled. But when I finally worked up the courage to ask for her hand, she -" Wickham permitted himself a small, humourless smile. "She laughed. It was, she said, beyond belief that I should dare raise my eyes to her. Had I really believed that she would suffer such a degradation as marriage to the son of their steward?"
Henry winced. "If those were her feelings, why did she permit your suit to continue so far?"
"To crush my hopes, she necessarily had to raise them," said Wickham, his smile twisting into a grimace; "that was her intention all along. It was all done to punish me, from the very beginning. I suppose she must have resented me for years. Had Mr Darcy liked me less, his daughter might have liked me better; but he always regretted that he had no son, and I believe looked upon me as a sort of substitute. She had not the temper to bear the preference which was often given me."
"I have heard of women who pretend to the sort of elegance that consists of tormenting respectable men," said Henry, "but I never thought to meet one. Her disposition must be dreadful."
"I will not trust myself on the subject," said Wickham. "I can hardly be just to her."
Henry's mind went back to her previous depredation. "And she was not content with this, but ruined your career in the church, as well?"
Wickham nodded. "That was over five years later, but yes. I do not suppose she will ever be wholly satisfied."
"I must say," said Henry, horrified despite himself, "I had not thought Miss Darcy so bad as this. Though I have never liked her, I had not thought so very ill of her - I had supposed her to be despising her fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect her of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this!" He paused. "However, I do remember her boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of her resentments, of her having an unforgiving temper."
"That sounds exactly like her. She would be proud of it; indeed, almost all her actions may be traced to pride; - and," Wickham added, with an expression of such conscious nobility that Henry was forced to hide a smile, "pride has often been her best friend. It has connected her nearer with virtue than any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent; and in her behaviour to me, there were stronger impulses even than pride."
Henry, having recovered his countenance and his sympathy, stared. "Can such abominable pride as hers, have ever done her good?"
But for whatever reason, Wickham was determined to give Miss Darcy her due. She was a hospitable hostess, and a benevolent mistress of her estate; she gave her money freely - not only to her equals and dependents, but to the poor; and some affection for the younger Miss Darcy, coupled with a great deal of pride in her accomplishments, made her a kind, attentive, and careful sister to her.
"What sort of girl is Miss Georgiana?" asked Henry. He had heard Miss Bingley mention her more than once - and, even more frequently, Miss Darcy herself, though Henry had preferred not to dwell on those occasions.
Wickham shook his head. "I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy." He sighed. "But she is too much like her sister, - very, very proud."
They moved to other subjects, and after awhile the whist party broke up; but, when Mr Wickham chanced to overhear Mr Collins' gloating praise of Lady Catherine, he turned to Henry in surprise.
"Is your relation very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh?" he said in a soft voice.
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh has lately given him a living," replied Henry. "I hardly know how Mr Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long."
Wickham hesitated, then said, "You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters; consequently that she is aunt to Miss Darcy."
Henry looked at him in some surprise. "No, indeed, I did not," he said. "I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday. I had heard Miss Darcy's Christian name from Miss Bingley and Miss Lucas, but that is all."
Wickham smiled, with a trace of bitterness. "Although Lady Catherine's daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have almost as large a fortune as Miss Darcy, her ladyship's nephew will be all but penniless when he inherits the earldom. It is believed that Miss Darcy will marry her cousin - all the family wish for it, whatever the price."
"The price?" repeated Henry, amused. "The price of enduring marriage to Miss Darcy?"
"Not exactly," said Wickham, and changed the subject.
Chapter Five
The next day, Henry told Jane about Miss Darcy's cruelty to Mr Wickham, as regarded the living.
"Oh dear," said she. "I cannot think Miss Darcy so unworthy of the Bingleys' regard; yet I cannot imagine that such an amiable young man as Mr Wickham could invent such a story! It is quite impossible."
"I cannot think what there is to be gained by telling me," Henry said.
Jane's eyes brightened. "They have both been deceived, I daresay, in some way or other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them, without actual blame on either side."
"Very true, indeed," said Henry, laughing; "and now, dear Jane, what have you got to say in behalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the business? - Do clear them too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of somebody."
"Laugh at me as much as you choose, but you shall not laugh me out of my opinion," Jane said stubbornly.
They were interrupted by the arrival of the Bingleys themselves, who came to deliver a personal invitation to their ball. It was to take place on the following Tuesday; and caused such a furore of excitement at Longbourn, that Henry spent the rest of the week cravenly hiding in his father's study.
Mrs Bennet had filled Jane's head with the hope that Mr Bingley would open the ball with her, though she could not bring herself to expect it.
"I suppose he will dance first with Miss Darcy," she said. "Miss Bingley thought so, at any rate - and it would be only proper."
Henry looked at her, but could not trust himself to speak.
However, he ushered his family into the carriage with unusual haste. When they arrived at Netherfield, he glanced hurriedly about the room. All the officers but Wickham were present; Bingley, his sisters, and his brother-in-law were smiling and shaking hands with their guests; and - yes, Catherine and Charlotte had their heads together as usual.
Henry made a beeline for Miss Darcy as soon as he properly could. "I beg your pardon," he said, a little out of breath, "but may I request the honour of your hand for the first set, Miss Darcy?"
"I -" Catherine flushed, either with anger or embarrassment, but stammered, "I - er - you may."
Henry stared at her. "Thank you," he said blankly.
For some reason, her usual audacity failed her; she dropped her eyes, excused herself in an inarticulate murmur, and fled to the other side of the room.
"I am peculiarly reminded of your plan to spoil Harriet Long's gown," Charlotte said, sotto voce. "How old were you? Eight or nine?"
"Seven," said Henry, and turned his horrified gaze on her. "Did she just accept me?"
"I presume that was not, in fact, your intention in asking her?"
"Of course not! If she had rejected me as she ought, she could not dance with anybody else - and Bingley would be free to open the ball with Jane."
She looked fascinated. "And, if she dances with you, he is not free to do so? - forgive me, I fear I have missed some aspect of your strategy."
Henry's scowl broke into a smile. "You are quite right, of course. It is all for Jane's sake. I may comfort myself with that."
"Indeed."
He had an half-formed expectation that Miss Darcy would renege on the engagement, but his hopes had only begun to rise when he saw her coming toward him with a purposeful expression.
They took their places in the set, Henry still in a state of utter bemusement; all his neighbours seemed equally astonished by the event. After dancing in silence for some time, Henry decided that conversation would be a greater punishment for her, and said,
"The music is rather slow."
"It is," Miss Darcy agreed.
He was quiet for several minutes. Then he directed his half-laughing gaze toward her, and said, "It is your turn to say something now, Miss Darcy. - I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples."
She smiled up at him. "I will say whatever you wish me to say."
"Very well. - That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. - But now we may be silent," said Henry, unable to avoid the impression that she was thoroughly enjoying herself. There was something in her expression well beyond her usual serenity; she looked happy.
He remembered the pain with which Wickham had talked of her; no doubt she felt not the slightest shame for anything she had done, and slept with as clear and untroubled a conscience as Jane.
Perhaps she was not the equal of a Montoni or Lovelace; they did not abound in reality. Yet, as Henry looked at her and danced with her, he could not escape the conviction that, in her quiet, well-bred way, Catherine Darcy was as monstrous as any of them - a monster of ordinary life, who could torment a man without hesitation or regret, destroy his chances of worldly prosperity, and then be received into every house in the kingdom.
"Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?" she was saying dryly.
"Sometimes," said Henry. "One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as as possible."
"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case," said Catherine, her eyebrows rising, "or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"
Henry laughed. "Both; for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. - We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."
"This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure. How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say." Her voice sharpened. "You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."
No longer amused, Henry said only, "I must not decide upon my own performance."
She did not respond to this, but after they had gone down the dance, said, "Do you and your sisters very often walk to Meryton?"
"Yes, we do." He could not resist the temptation to add, "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."
Miss Darcy's mouth compressed to a thin line. For a moment she was silent; then she said, "Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends - whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain."
"He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship," replied Henry, looking directly into her chilly blue eyes, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."
A look of haughty composure came over her features. "Oh, I rather doubt that," she said.
On the following morning, as Mrs Bennet sat with Kitty and Mary, Mr Collins addressed the former with all the dignity at his disposal.
"May I hope, madam, for your interest with your fair daughter Mary, when I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the course of this morning?"
Mary gave a conscious blush, and Mrs Bennet immediately replied,
"Oh dear! - yes - certainly. I am sure Mary will be very happy - I am sure she can have no objection. - Come, Kitty, I want you upstairs."
They were gone in a trice; and, when Henry and Lydia, who had each tossed and turned the entire night, and slept through much of the morning, finally ventured downstairs, they were greeted with the happy news.
Mr Collins had made Mary an offer, and she had accepted him.
Lydia never attended to either of them; she thought it all a great joke, and very much ruffled her prospective brother's feathers by saying so.
Henry was not on intimate terms with Mary; she was probably his least favourite amongst his sisters - but, nevertheless, she was still his sister, and he still loved her. He certainly could not think of her married to such a man as Collins with any degree of complaisance. Yet nothing could be done now; Jane hoped they would be happy, and Mr Bennet refused to intercede. Henry's only comfort was that Mary seemed to feel a genuine respect for Mr Collins, without cherishing many illusions about their future.
"I - I wish you joy," said he.
On the following day, Catherine and Lydia declared their intention of walking to Meryton, to see the officers and ask after Wickham. Jane's brow furrowed.
"I shall remain at home, with my mother and my betrothed," said Mary complacently.
Mrs Bennet and Mr Collins smiled with about equal pleasure, and the latter embarked upon a speech which nobody attended to.
Henry, meeting Jane's eyes, quietly excused himself and joined Mr Bennet in the library. He had little hopes that his disapproval of Kitty and Lydia's behaviour, that anybody's disapproval, could bring his father to act, yet the attempt must be made. In exchange for his trouble, however, he received only an injunction to accompany them.
"If they have the wit God gave a gnat, they will behave themselves better under your eye than I have ever seen them do under mine. A doubtful proposition, I know, but I am not a wholly unnatural parent. I continue to hope for some glimmers of sense."
Henry did not quite trust himself to speak, but accordingly followed his sisters to Meryton. Wickham met them as they entered the town, made himself agreeable to all three girls at once, and loudly declared that business in town had tragically kept him away from the ball.
He must have caught Henry's sceptical glance, for after they all arrived at Mrs Phillips' house, he admitted, "I found as the time drew near, that I had better not meet with Miss Darcy; that to be in the same room, the same party with her for so many hours together, might be more than I could bear."
Henry turned his head away, but managed to say in a level voice, "How very prudent."
Wickham and Chamberlayne, another officer, walked back with them to Longbourn. Unsurprisingly, Mrs Bennet accepted the compliment in raptures, and proved to be a worse chaperone than none at all. Henry sighed, and remained to watch his sisters.
Not long after their arrival, Jane received a letter from Netherfield. Henry saw her expression shift to one he could not interpret; saw her read it several times - saw that even after she had put it away, her attempts to behave with her usual cheerfulness were decidedly unconvincing.
As soon as Wickham and Chamberlayne left, he followed Jane upstairs and she read him the letter.
It was from Miss Bingley; the entire party had returned to town, and did not intend to return. The manifold attractions of Miss Georgiana Darcy, a younger, more accomplished version of her sister, were dwelt upon with loving attention.
"What think you of this, my dear Hal?" cried Jane. "Is it not clear enough? - Does it not expressly declare that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister? that she is perfectly convinced of her brother's indifference, and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means (most kindly!) to put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?"
Henry stared. "Yes, there can; for mine is totally different. - Will you hear it?"
"Most willingly," said Jane, in a small voice.
"You shall have it in a few words. Miss Bingley sees that her brother is in love with you, but wishes him to marry a Miss Darcy. Perhaps the elder sister's indifference persuaded her to try her luck with the younger; in any case, she follows him to town in the hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he does not care about you."
Alas! They had unhappy confirmation when Lady Lucas and her daughters called; Miss Darcy had written to Miss Lucas.
My dear Charlotte, her letter read,
I am very sorry, but we must refuse your father's invitation. Mr Bingley has gone to London, where he shall probably remain for some time, and his brother and sisters have decided to join him, that he may stay at Mr Hurst's house in Grosvenor Street. I will, of course, be returning to my own house and my own sister.
I do not anticipate our visiting Hertfordshire again soon, or perhaps ever. Although I have not enjoyed my sojourn in your country - I lack certain feminine graces, and I found my situation uncongenial in a number of respects - I shall miss your company. Intelligent intercourse of any kind is rare enough, and I believe I may say that I enjoyed the entirety of ours.
Were it possible, I should very much like to see you again, at the opera or the theatre, or even here at Darcy House. However, as you have yet to leave Hertfordshire, I consider that a highly unlikely event; therefore, I hope you will feel at liberty, but not under obligation, to write to me at any time.
Yours, very sincerely,
Catherine Darcy
They soon had opportunity to read another, rather more diverting, letter. After the engagement was announced, Mr Collins returned to Hunsford - to prepare the house, he said, though Henry suspected that gaining Lady Catherine's blessing figured largely in his plans.
Although they were forced to scrape by without his sparkling presence, he did his best to fill the breach by writing to Mr Bennet:
Dear sir,
My gratitude knows no bounds. Not only did you open your home to me, with as much kindness and hospitality as anybody could desire, overlooking the estrangement between yourself and my late honoured father without a moment's hesitation, but the gift you shall present to me shortly hereafter is a pearl beyond price. - I refer, of course, to my dear Mary. I can scarcely conceive what you must feel, to endure such a loss - but your equanimity would be the wonder of sages.
Again and again, I thank you for the many kindnesses I have received, and gladly anticipate the day when I may call myself your son. My father, I am sure, is now elevated to such a stature that he has no regard for insignificant earthly quarrels, so I have no doubts that he will forgive what may seem a breach of filial devotion.
I hope to see you all again on Monday fortnight, for Lady Catherine so heartily approves my marriage, that she wishes it to take place as soon as possible - which I trust will be an unanswerable argument with my amiable Mary to name an early day for making me the happiest of men.
Yours &tc,
William Collins
Mr Collins arrived back at Longbourn in due course, and so did the wedding-day. It was a quiet affair - the bride looked well - her brother's smile never faltered.
Shortly before their departure, Mary pulled him aside.
"Henry," said she, grasping his hands with sudden urgency, "you will come and see me, will not you?"
Discomposed, he said, "Oh! yes, of course. I intend to go to town in the spring. I can easily come down to Hunsford for a little while."
"No. Henry, you must come for longer than that, a proper visit. A few weeks at Easter, if it is convenient; I have already spoken to Mr Collins, Henry, and he said Lady Catherine could have no objection -"
"Mary -"
The hands clasping his were trembling. "It would be a great comfort to me, Hal," she said quietly.
He only hesitated a moment. "Then of course I shall."