Chapter Twenty-Six

The last week had been uncomfortable for Elizabeth. There were several causes for this ongoing, and increasing, distress. The most obvious was the steady rain that lasted most of the week. It made the necessary patrols most unpleasant. She could use her gift to ensure that neither she nor her compatriots suffered any illness due to the cold, late autumn precipitation. But nothing could make extended excursions in the downpour an experience to be relished. The continuing disappointment of finding no sign of their quarry just made the situation worse.

Unpleasant as the downpour was, the most distressing aspect of the situation was that her numerous patrols left her too much time for contemplation of the two men that plagued her current existence. Mr. Darcy was avoiding her, and Mr. Collins was pursuing. With the man from Derbyshire, it was difficult to discern if the avoidance was deliberate on his part, as the current patrol schedule had them slotted opposite each other. She guided many of the day patrols, while he was in charge of the night. But there were meetings for reporting and planning where they were both in attendance. She recalled a discussion she had with Jane, just two evenings prior.

“I am certain of it,” Elizabeth argued. “There can be no mistake. He barely said two words to me at the meeting, beyond his civil, if reserved, greeting.”

“But have not you often commented that he is not a voluble man?” Jane asked, trying to put the situation in the best light. “I have always found him to be pleasant enough, if a little shy in company.”

“He spent the night refusing to meet my eyes, like Lydia avoiding a scolding when she was a girl. I am loathe to lend credence to Mr. Wickham’s assertion that Mr. Darcy might already be engaged. But …”

“If both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley have warned us against this Wickham fellow, I think we should take anything he says about the others with some reservations.”

“I agree. And even though I try to disregard Wickham’s words, I began to fear that Mr. Darcy’s avoidance is caused by hiss feeling of guilt for his emotional betrayal of his alleged fiancé, or by his shame over his indecorous behavior towards me.”

“Has he offended you?” Jane asked, her hand on Elizabeth’s arm.

“Not as such, but…”

“But you have feelings for him. And you think he may have feelings for you. If that is the case, then he cannot be engaged. As you thought, Mr. Wickham is not to be believed.”

“But Mr. Collins confirmed the report.” Elizabeth almost wailed. “And he has not even met Mr. Darcy yet. He can have little reason to deceive.”

“Perhaps he is simply mistaken.”

“It is a hopeless situation, Jane. And as long as Mr. Darcy is avoiding me, I cannot even apply to him for clarification.”

“Not that you would ever think of confronting him with such a question. It would be most improper.”

“And could lead to nothing but mortification for both of us, no matter the answer.” The younger woman slammed her fist into her pillow. “It is all so frustrating.”

“Does it pain you very much, dearest?”

“In truth, I cannot even say I know my own feelings. And I hate not knowing.”

“What of Mr. Collins? Is he still pursuing you so diligently?” Jane asked, trying to draw a smile from her sister, knowing she shared their father’s appreciation for the absurd, and his opinion of his heir.

Elizabeth did smile. “He is the opposite of Mr. Darcy in every way. While I cannot pin the one down to speak, I can hardly venture downstairs without encountering our cousin and being drawn into a long, if one-sided, discussion … on the beauties of Rosings, the possible future of Longbourn, or the merits of a certain modest parsonage in Kent. He has already asked me for the first two sets at the Netherfield Ball. I could not refuse, as much as would like to have done so.”

“He is not a subtle man, but I believe he means to see to the future security of our family.”

“I will give him that much, but must I be the sacrifice on the altar of security? We are not so poor as to be without hope of ensuring comfortable futures without him.”

“No, we are not. And you should never sacrifice your happiness.”

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“It is fortunate, then, that you are getting along so well with your Mr. Bingley. Your future happiness, at least, seems set.”

“Lizzy!”

But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humor. By the evening of the Netherfield Ball, she was ready to put aside her uncertainties and join in what she dearly hoped would be a most enjoyable diversion for all. She entered the drawing-room at Netherfield to find it full to near capacity, or perhaps a bit more. She could see officers and almost all the four and twenty families of which her mother had boasted some weeks ago. There were signs that tragedy had struck in the black armbands on the red coats and the muted colors some, like Lydia or Mr. James, exhibited in memory of the recently lost. But there was an air of gaiety, sounds of music and laughter floated on the breeze.

“My Dear Cousin, I trust you have remembered that you had given me the honor of the first two sets. I stand ready to oblige you when you are … er, ready.” Mr. Collins seemed uncertain of the proper forms in this situation but, as the next set was about to begin, he held out his arm to her once Elizabeth had shed her cloak and hat.

“I thank you,” Elizabeth replied, allowing herself to be led onto the floor. The first set brought a return of her earlier distress. It was a half hour of pure mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologized instead of attending to his steps, and often moved wrong without being aware of it. The experience gave her all the shame which a disagreeable partner can give. For all the misery of the first set, the second was infinitely worse.

It started much the same as the earlier set. Mr. Collins seemed to be more involved with ensuring that everyone had seen him in his finery and with a Flower of Hertfordshire on his arm, than with paying attention to his partner. Elizabeth felt it incumbent upon herself to begin some form of polite discourse.

“Do I recall correctly that you will be leaving us on Saturday?” She began when the movements brought them together. “I trust you’ve found Longbourn to be everything you may have hoped.”

“Everything about my sojourn has surpassed my wildest imaginings. The only element I might desire had been different was the cruel necessity that has compelled your absence from home for so much of my stay. I must admit, I have cherished every moment we have had together.”

“Please, Mr. Collins. You’ll make me blush.”

“Do I recall correctly that your gift encompasses both healing and the encouragement of crop growth?”

She looked nonplussed, then said, “Indeed.”

“And you have been increasing the fertility of both the crops and the livestock on the estate for several years?”

“I have played a small role.”

“Do you care for bees?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I must admit I have a small talent with apiculture, and I was thinking that Longbourn might benefit, in the future of course, from the addition of several hives. And your gift has the potential to increase the yield even beyond my meager efforts.” Mr. Collins was so enjoying his vision of a happy future; he had not realized how his voice was carrying across the dance floor.

In vain did Elizabeth endeavor to check the rapidity of her cousin's words, “Sir …”

“A lovely synergy. A symbol of our future.” He rhapsodized, as if from his pulpit. Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy was looking at her with his stoniest countenance.

“Please, Mr. Collins! You are too precipitous!” She stopped in the middle of the floor, horrified at his statements and how they must be taken by any that heard them. “Excuse me, I suddenly feel faint. I believe I need to sit for a moment.” She started for the edge of the room. A moment later her partner rushed after her and took her arm solicitously.

Elizabeth cast her eyes around the room, searching for Mr. Darcy. She had no idea what she wanted to say to him, but she had to say something. “Please, let me bring you a drink, some punch or lemonade?” Mr. Collins’ service was neither desired nor needed, but anything that removed him from her proximity was blessing. She sent him on his errand of mercy.

Charlotte approached her friend, her face full of concern. “Are you well? It is most unusual for you to suffer from dizziness.”

“I was just suddenly overcome.”

“Is … is there something you may wish to tell me, as your friend?”

“You heard what he was saying?”

“I’m afraid most of the room has heard what he said.” Charlotte lowered he voice. “Do you not have an understanding? You mother has been speaking to all the neighborhood as if your match was a foregone conclusion.”

“We do not, nor can I think I would ever agree to such an arrangement.” Elizabeth was livid at her mother’s indiscretion. “What am I going to do? Tell me Charlotte, whatever can I do?”

“Are your feelings … elsewhere engaged?”

“I … honestly I cannot say. I do not know myself anymore.”

“Are any of your sisters interested in Mr. Collins?”

“What?”

“Your family has precedence with regards to Longbourn’s future. But if none of you can bring yourself to settle for Mr. Collins, send him to me.”

“What!” Elizabeth had to struggle to keep her voice quiet in her astonishment. She took her friend’s arm and led her though a door to the terrace overlooking the garden behind the house. She turned to her friend and urged, “Tell me plainly what you mean.”

“I am twenty-seven years old. If I do not marry soon, I will likely never marry and will remain a burden on my family. I am not romantic like you or Jane. I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins's character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him could be as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state.”

“So, you think we can simply pass him to you, like an umbrella?”

“No, but if you can … hint him in my direction, it would be better for all of us.”

“Ah, there you are, cousin,” Mr. Collins came through the door, two cups of lemonade in hand. “Ah, Miss Lucas. It was very kind of you to help my poor cousin to a breath of fresh air.”

“Charlotte is always very kind. She has been an ideal partner these last years.” Elizabeth said, truthfully.

The older woman blushed modestly. And the parson offered her a simpering smile.

“Here you are Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet came out the same door, “What are you doing out here? Oh! Mr. Collins! … and … and Charlotte? What …”

That is when the guns fired, and a jet of flame lit up the night.