Page 24 of Such Low Connections

“…dubious birth…”

The whispering really was everywhere, here at Netherfield Park as well as in Meryton every time he walked out. Careless with punch and merriment, the words were even more clearly audible at tonight’s ball, and the impudent stares even harder to ignore. The supposedly respectable inhabitants of Hertfordshire invited here tonight were not even bothering to hide their ill-bred curiosity.

The scene in the nearby music room was no easier on Darcy’s nerves, and he winced to hear the mechanical playing and doleful singing of the middle Bennet daughter. All around the pianoforte, other young ladies stood rolling their eyes and waiting their turn in vain.

“Mary Bennet has sung for a full half hour!” he heard one small freckled girl complain.

“Has it really been so long?” her companion enquired.

“It certainly feels that way!” replied the first girl, causing much hilarity and mocking attention towards the figure at the pianoforte.

“It feels so to me too,” remarked a grey-haired man in silver spectacles, who had been watching events unfold with curious detachment. “Ah, well, I suppose I must say something.”

Darcy’s lip curled as he recognised Mr Bennet making his way to the keyboard to finally terminate the unwanted and poorly received performance. Why was the man doing so little to rein in his unruly family? Did he really find their undignified behaviour and consequential humiliation a laughing matter?

Thinking briefly of Jane and Elizabeth Bennet, Darcy felt a twinge of compassion. This was tempered, however, by concern for Charles Bingley. Whatever the beauties and virtues of Jane Bennet, could they truly compensate for tying himself to such a family as the Bennets? Maybe Darcy had a duty to discourage the match after all, regardless of his preoccupation with his own personal predicament.

While seriously considering this step, Darcy felt a plucking at his sleeve and moved from the doorway, assuming that someone was trying to pass. The plucking only continued, however, and Darcy turned his head to see who was trying to attract his attention so assiduously.

At first, there appeared to be no one there, and he almost walked away. Then, Darcy realised that an odd man in clerical dress was standing beside him but had bowed so low as to render himself briefly invisible.

“Mr Darcy of Pemberley!” said the man excitedly before he had even raised his head, briefly giving the appearance that he was addressing the floor. “I am Mr Collins.”

Darcy frowned. Who was this clown, and what did he want?

“Yes?” he said tersely.

“I am honoured, truly,” the absurd cleric stated as he straightened himself with an odd flourish and smiled at Darcy with far too much enthusiasm and too great a display of teeth. “To finally meet the great man himself, after hearing so much of you from Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is an unexpected boon indeed.”

Darcy stared blankly at the man’s damp and obsequious face. Aside from having some unspecified connection with his aunt, he could guess nothing of the man’s identity or his purpose in making this approach. Under Darcy’s stony glare, the clergyman hesitated only briefly and then spoke again in fulsome tones.

“I am pleased to be able to tell you that when I left Kent almost two weeks ago, my noble patroness Lady Catherine was in good health and very pleased with the operation of the flues in the main hall at Rosings Park.”

“What?” Darcy remarked in astonishment, still unable to make any sense of the encounter.

“I felt it my duty to assure you that, for the sake of Lady Catherine, I am entirely at your service during my stay in Hertfordshire, although I must caution that I leave tomorrow for Hunsford once more. Until then, however, you will find me with my cousin Mr Bennet and his gracious wife and daughters at Longbourn…”

“Good evening, sir,” said Darcy, frostily taking his leave.

Baffled by anything else the clergyman had said, he had at least understood Mr Collins to be some relative of the Bennet family. Knowing this much, he supposed that nothing else should surprise him in the man’s want of propriety and sense.

Though, Darcy recalled with both irritation and dark amusement, the man had also said he had the patronage of Lady Catherine. Such being the case, his own family was perhaps equally to blame — a fact that was hardly cheering.

Wherever he turned tonight, Darcy seemed to find something to irk him. He wished he could simply retire to his rooms, but out of respect for Bingley, he felt it his duty to remain at the ball until at least the first wave of guests departed.

Unfortunately for Darcy, that likely would not be for some hours yet.

In a gloomy mood, he walked towards the ballroom and immediately saw Bingley and Miss Bennet sailing together across the dance floor in a waltz, their faces shining with happiness. At least someone here was enjoying themself tonight, he reflected, and changed his mind again about the idea of trying to turn Bingley away from this latest object of admiration.

“Oh, I do hope the next is a reel!” declared the sword-stealing Bennet daughter. Darcy noticed the weapon was now reunited with its owner, who was escorting her back to the dancing. “I should love to dance a reel, Denny.”

Turning his back on the pair, Darcy’s eyes followed the dancers, although his mind saw nothing but the reeling of thoughts inside his own head. Red coats seemed everywhere tonight, but Darcy had noted early on that none of these contained the contemptible figure of Mr George Wickham.

Darcy had apprised Bingley of his unfortunate history with Wickham in the broadest terms, but he knew it would never have been possible to exclude a single officer without giving rise to comment. That suggested that Wickham had voluntarily excluded himself from the party.

Had he decided that discretion was the better part of valour? Unlikely. George Wickham was an unprincipled coward, and it was more probable that he simply lacked the courage to face Darcy after all that had occurred last year.

On the one hand, it was a relief not to see the man he despised. On the other hand, part of Darcy had wanted the chance to confront Wickham tonight and demand to know whether he was the source of these infernal rumours that were dogging him wherever he went. He had paid off, or frightened off, George Wickham before. He could do it again…