Page 20 of Such Low Connections

“Might I escort you in a turn around the garden, Cousin?” asked Mr Collins. Elizabeth stifled a sigh. Lydia and Kitty giggled from the side of the room, though whether at his obsequious smile or his too-deep bow, Elizabeth could not say.

The heir to Longbourn had turned out to be a newly ordained clergyman of some five-and-twenty years. He possessed an unfortunate personality and manner, which managed at once to be over-formal and over-familiar, all while conveying no good sense whatsoever.

To Elizabeth’s dismay, Mr Collins also seemed quickly to have taken a particular interest in her company on his arrival, a fact only made more alarming on overhearing his confession to Mrs Bennet that his conscience would be easier for choosing a bride from among her daughters.

The week that Mr Collins had now spent at Longbourn had seemed long to most members of the Bennet family, but particularly to Elizabeth.

“Thank you for your kind offer, Mr Collins, but we are going to visit our Aunt Philips in Meryton now,” Elizabeth answered his invitation, continuing to put on her cloak and shoes in the hallway with her sisters. “We will not be back for some time. She is hosting afternoon tea and cards for the officers of the militia. It was all arranged long before we knew you were coming here.”

“You should take Mr Collins with you,” proposed Mrs Bennet, to barely covered groans and sighs from Lydia and Kitty. “He is family, after all, and I know my dear sister will be eager to make his acquaintance. I told her all about you the last time we met for tea, Mr Collins.”

“Yes, do take Mr Collins with you,” chimed in Mr Bennet. “It would be very much for the best from my perspective.”

“Your solicitude for my entertainment is much appreciated, dear sir,” pronounced the younger man, clasping Mr Bennet’s hand without troubling himself to read the expression on his face. “I had looked forward to further discussion with you on the best practices of country clergymen, but I am sure we can continue our conversation another time.”

“Doubtless,” agreed Mr Bennet. “I am very much afraid that we will. Well now, Lizzy, Jane and all the rest of you, take Mr Collins away, give him his tea and do not bring him back before supper.”

With this ambiguous benediction, the meaning of which was entirely wasted on its object, Mr Collins donned his coat and scarf and prepared to follow his cousins to Meryton.

∞∞∞

“Why doesn’t he just go away?” muttered Lydia, with a baleful glance towards Mr Collins, presently distracted by a deep discussion on Fordyce’sSermons to Young Womenwith Mary, the only sister who appreciated his company. “It is not like anyone wants him here. He will only ruin the party.”

“Lydia, you must be polite,” Jane chided. “Mr Collins is Father’s guest and the heir to Longbourn. We must make him welcome for Father’s sake.”

They had almost arrived in Meryton, with few minutes remaining before their arrival at Mr and Mrs Philips’ house.

“And our own,” Elizabeth added with a sigh, glad that she had finally been able to politely foist him onto Mary after enduring his unwanted attentions for most of the walk, “bearing in mind the future day Mother is so sure that we could be thrown out into the street.”

“Never mind, Lizzy,” Kitty comforted her. “We shall soon have food and cards and dancing, and all the officers will be there, including Mr Wickham, whom I know you like especially.”

“We all like Mr Wickham, Kitty,” Elizabeth told her with some sternness of manner. “You must not ascribe any particular liking to me. He is simply a most amiable young man with open and engaging manners.”

“Must you always be so sensible, Lizzy?” complained Lydia. “You sound just like an old maid, and you’re not yet even one-and-twenty. I shall not be half so staid as you when I am your age.”

“Perhaps that is a great pity, Lydia,” Elizabeth observed as they came to Mrs Philips’ front door, her reply ignored by Lydia but receiving an answering glance of agreement from Jane.

To Elizabeth’s great annoyance, Mr Collins now left Mary’s side and joined her again so that she must be the one to introduce him to their aunt, and give some impression of being particularly attached to or responsible for him.

Within five minutes, Mr Collins was rabbiting on again about his patroness in Kent — the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh — and all the kindnesses she had apparently bestowed on the grateful Mr Collins. Lady Catherine and her house, Rosings Park, were very much his favourite topics of conversation and now far too familiar to all the residents of Longbourn.

The interest or understanding of his audience always appeared secondary to Mr Collins’ compulsion to talk, and Elizabeth had to stifle her yawns as well as explain multiple misunderstandings to her aunt.

When the handsome and personable Lieutenant Wickham smiled sympathetically at her from the other side of the room, Elizabeth could not help smiling back. Mr Wickham seemed to possess such quick and easy understanding for a young man, as well as the admirable skill of putting all acquaintance at ease within minutes of meeting them. A more direct contrast to Mr Collins could hardly be imagined.

From the lieutenant’s expressive and intelligent eyes, Elizabeth perceived the distinct impression that he wished to speak to her quite as much as she wished to speak to him. Surely, she had done her duty to her cousin by now and might follow her own inclination for company?

Excusing herself as unobtrusively as she could, Elizabeth left Mr Collins and Mr Philips in an involved and entirely pointless account of Lady Catherine’s opinions on how her cottagers ought to keep their hens, and her kindness in informing them that pigs ought to be fed on the riches scraps available.

“You looked as though you required rescue,” remarked George Wickham, meeting Elizabeth in the centre of the room and nodding subtly towards Mr Collins. “I understand from your younger sisters that you might be suffering from a surfeit of your cousin’s company.”

“Some conversations are unnecessary, and others need only be repeated once or twice. Not everyone, however, understands and observes these simple rules of social discourse,” Elizabeth explained lightly.

She hoped that Lydia and Kitty had not been too indiscreet in sharing all their family business with the officers here tonight, but such hope seemed all too likely vain. Truly, they were their mother’s daughters.

“Then I shall ensure that all my conversation with you this afternoon is either purposeful or novel,” Mr Wickham promised with a small bow and a handsome smile, before offering an arm to escort her over to the refreshment table.

They took tea together and spoke in simple terms for a few minutes of the doings of the regiment, the most recent dance at the assembly rooms, and the ball that was soon to be held at Netherfield Park by Mr Bingley and his sisters. After a short pause, Elizabeth realised that Mr Wickham was looking at her thoughtfully.