Page 10 of A Mismatched Compromise

“I trust,” he said to no one in particular, “that everyone is in satisfactory health this morning, given the remarkable events that transpired last evening. I must beg you all, however, to not mistake my description of those events as ‘remarkable’ to mean that I view them without cause for concern, for I must admit that I am deeply unsettled.” He held up one finger before anyone could reply, indicating that he had not yet finished, and continued. “You might mistake my lateness in descending downstairs as a lack of concern, but I have been much occupied, since very early this morning, in composing a letter regarding these most startling affairs to Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

“Have you indeed?” said Mrs Bennet, trying out the words as if she were unsure what sort of emphasis she should give them. She was ensconced behind the teapot, and at the mention of Lady Catherine, she looked up with rather more attention than she generally gave to Mr Collins’ pronouncements.

“I have,” said Mr Collins, leaning back in his chair and examining his fingernails with the satisfaction of one who has done his duty. “You will understand, I am sure, that Lady Catherine takes a close and personal interest in the affairs of those connected to her, and it is entirely natural — I would even say it is imperative — that she be informed with all appropriate haste of anything that might affect or reflect upon those individuals. Mr Darcy, of course, is a close associate of Mr Bingley, and I am in the most unique and fortuitous position of being part of your family as well as serving as a close associate of Lady Catherine’s, and it is therefore my duty — it is, in fact, a most sacred obligation — to ensure that I provide Her Ladyship with the most complete and accurate information at my disposal. I sent the letter out to post when I came downstairs, and I expect a reply within a sennight, if not earlier, and I feel confident that it will contain her most forthright thoughts on the matter.”

He paused, seeming to expect a reaction. Elizabeth looked at him and thought rather crossly that he resembled a sleek, satisfied spider in the middle of a web that he did not realise actually belonged to a much larger, hungrier spider.

“I am certain that it will,” she said, hoping that would bring an end to the topic.

That was a vain hope. Mr Collins spoke on, sharing at great length his thoughts on the ball, the persons he had encountered there, the great pleasure he had felt upon meeting Mr Darcy and the great interest with which Mr Darcy had regarded his conversation (Elizabeth had to hide her first genuine smile of the day at that thought), the behaviours expected of young ladies of good family and the ways in which his cousins had fallen short of those ideals, and finally his warm thoughts regarding the excellent character and fortitude of Mr Bingley.

It was fortunate for them all, Elizabeth reflected as he droned on, that Charlotte had come to call, as her calm, quietly supportive presence was the only thing keeping her quiet and well-mannered in the face of Mr Collins’ lecture. Charlotte sat quietly, watching Mr Collins with an expression of careful blankness that he doubtless interpreted as close attention, but which Elizabeth knew to be a polite mask behind which Charlotte was most likely thinking any number of other things.

Then Mr Collins caught Elizabeth’s attention by announcing that he must add his thoughts to “the matter of this new betrothal.”

“You will not be surprised, I am sure, to hear that I have given this matter considerable thought,” he began, clearing his throat. “And while I cannot help but be pained by the — how shall I put it — the irregularity of the circumstances under which this engagement came about, I am also aware that in such times the reputation of the family must be our first consideration. It is with that in mind that I have decided to offer a solution that I believe will be of benefit to all parties.”

“A solution?” Elizabeth repeated, surprised. Was the world indeed so topsy-turvy that Mr Collins of all people would be the one to help her find a way out of this deplorable situation?

“Indeed,” he said, smiling in benediction upon them all. “I have given my deepest consideration to this problem, and have come to believe that the wisest course of action — the best course, perhaps the only course — would be for me to add legitimacy, as a clergyman, to this engagement by celebrating a double wedding. Yourself and Mr Bingley,” he said, nodding at Elizabeth, “and Miss Bennet and myself,” he said, turning to incline his head graciously at Jane.

The room was silent, and Elizabeth wondered how she could have thought for even the barest second that Mr Collins would have anything helpful to add.

Jane’s face moved through a myriad of expressions — shock, confusion, dismay, and that particular type of horror unique to those who are too gentle to speak their minds plainly but find themselves in a situation that they can escape only through plain speaking. All of these expressions moved across her lovely features in a matter of seconds. “Mr Collins,” she began, her voice strangled, “I — that is, I am very — the thought is appreciated, but — that is, I mean to say —”

“Not at all, not at all,” said Mr Collins warmly, smiling approvingly at what he interpreted as maidenly confusion and appreciation. “Perhaps we can have the wedding breakfast here, where both of you were brought up and where our children will…”

It was at this moment that Mrs Bennet, who had been sitting very still since the words “double wedding” had left Mr Collins’ mouth, came back to life.

“Yes, well,” she said, rather loudly, in the bright, slightly desperate tone she used when attempting to redirect a conversation. “That is a most lovely idea — a double wedding! What a charming notion, Mr Collins. How generous! How thoughtful! Of course, Jane is — Jane will be…” She caught herself, looking at her eldest daughter who was looking back at her with helpless appeal. Elizabeth saw those calculations that were so much a part of her mother’s outlook on the world as she looked from Jane’s lovely face to Mr Collins’ round, self-satisfied one. She looked around the room, her gaze landing with some purpose on Mary, who sat apart from the group with a book. “Perhaps, Mr Collins, you might consider Mary. Mary, come sit here by me.”

Mary slowly lifted horrified eyes to meet her mother’s determined gaze. “I am quite comfortable where I am, thank you, Mama,” she said.

“Come and sit here this instant,” Mrs Bennet scolded, her cap wobbling as it was wont to do when she grew flustered. “Mr Collins, have you had the opportunity to converse at any length with Mary? She is a most serious-minded girl, very well-read and concerned with proprieties. Just the sensibility the wife of a clergyman must possess.”

Mr Collins blinked uncertainly at Mary. Mary sat at her mother’s side, staring grimly at the floor, her back ramrod straight, firmly signalling that she was present under protest.

“I have indeed observed Cousin Mary’s studious disposition,” Mr Collins said, recovering slightly. “Most commendable, I’m sure. However, I confess that in the matter of a wife, I have arrived, through a process of considerable reflection, at the idea of —”

“Mary plays the pianoforte,” Mrs Bennet interrupted loudly. “She is most accomplished. Perhaps she could play for us now, so that you can see —”

“Mama,” Mary said very quietly, her face somehow pale and red at the same time, “please, do not.”

“She is also quite devoted to the subject of moral conduct,” Mrs Bennet pressed on, fully committed to her course of action. “Why, just this morning at breakfast she shared the most thought-provoking reflections on the importance of commitment to a successful marriage. She is very sensible like that.”

“That is most commendable,” Mr Collins hedged. “But… Miss Bennet,” he said, turning determinedly to Jane, “as I was saying, I have given the matter very careful thought, and I cannot help but feel that all parties would be best served by the initial arrangement I proposed —”

“Mr Collins.” Elizabeth couldn’t sit through any more of this. Jane was pale, Mary looked like she would soon weep with embarrassment, and Elizabeth herself had had quite enough. “Jane is not able to accept your most generous offer. She is, in fact, refusing it.”

Mr Collins turned toward her, astonished. “I beg your pardon?”

“She has been refusing for the last several minutes. I understand that she has not been as direct as you require, but I am happy to help you understand that her answer is no.”

“Elizabeth!” Mrs Bennet’s voice trembled with warning.

“Mr Collins deserves a clear answer, Mama,” Elizabeth said, her voice pleasant even as her smile hardened. “It is only right, in the face of his generosity.”

“She is quite right; I do deserve a clear answer, and —” Mr Collins stopped suddenly, seeming to realise that the clear answer he had been provided was not what he was expecting. His colour rose above his collar. “I see,” he said awfully, drawing himself up. “I see. I must say, I am shocked — most shocked — at the ingratitude. Lady Catherine will, I am quite certain, have thoughts on this — yes, she will have a great deal to say, I am sure, on the subject of a family who refuses an offer made in the spirit of generosity, from one willing to associate himself with them despite the rather appalling events of last night—”