Chapter Twenty-Two

“I hope, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet to his wife as they were at breakfast the next morning, “That you have ordered a good dinner today, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party.”

“Who do you mean, my dear?” Mrs. Bennet queried. “I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in, and I hope my dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home.”

“The person of whom I speak, is a gentleman and a stranger.”

Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled. “A gentleman and a stranger! It is Mr. Bingley, I am sure. Why Jane, you never dropped a word of this. You sly thing! Well, I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingley. But … good lord! How unlucky! There is not a bit of fish to be got today. Lydia, my love, ring the bell. I must speak to Hill, this moment.”

“It is not Mr. Bingley,” said her husband. “It is a person whom I never saw in the whole course of my life.”

This roused a general astonishment; and he had the pleasure of being eagerly questioned by his wife and five daughters at once.

After amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he thus explained. “About a month ago I received this letter, and about a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases.”

“Oh! my dear,” cried his wife, “I cannot bear to hear that mentioned. Pray do not talk of that odious man. I do think it is the hardest thing in the world that your estate should be entailed away from your own children. And I am sure if I had been you, I should have tried long ago to do something or other about it.”

Jane and Elizabeth attempted to explain to her the nature of an entail. They had often attempted it before, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason. “I still say it is bitterly cruel to settling an estate away from a family of five daughters, in favor of a man whom nobody cared anything about.”

“It certainly is a most iniquitous affair,” said Mr. Bennet. “And nothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself.”

“No, that I am sure I shall not be. I think it was very impertinent of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such false friends. Why could not he keep on quarrelling with you, as his father did before him?”

“I see,” he hummed, as he once again perused the letter in question. “Then I shall spare you the bulk of his correspondence. The gist is that he was recently ordained, has a comfortable living in Kent, and … just listen … ‘I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence … the circumstance of my being next in the entail of Longbourn estate … concerned at being the means of injuring your amiable daughters … my readiness to make them every possible amends … I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se'nnight following.” He set the letter down and removed his spectacles. “At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect this peacemaking gentleman.”

“Well, if he is disposed to make our daughters any amends, I shall not be the person to discourage him.”

“Is he aware, do you think, of the disquiet the area has been suffering under?” Elizabeth asked. She assumed the coaches had continued their schedule, even with the violence of the radicals.

“I cannot say. But for my part, I would doubt it. From his letter he does not seem to be the sort of man that would willingly throw himself into a perilous situation.”

“We shall have to do our best to reassure him.” Jane offered. “After all, we have no reason to believe the danger has not ended, do we?”

“Perhaps he will be able to offer solace in our time of bereavement.” Lydia’s melancholy tone was most out of character for her. Their mother hurried to comfort her favorite daughter.

Mr. Collins was punctual in his arrival, and was received with great politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet, indeed, said little; but the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself.

“You are welcome in this house, sir. I trust your journey was uneventful. The weather has been fine the last days, so that must have been a great relief to you. How were the roads?” Mrs. Bennets offered the polite common banalities.

“I was terribly distressed to hear of the recent violence that has plagued this region. On the coach I was informed by a man of great authority, none other than a Lieutenant Wickham of the War Office, that several dozen soldier, even officers, had been killed at a pitched battle in a nearby town. He said that even some local gentry had been attacked. I was all astonishment. I have to ask myself if this is at all an appropriate place for a clergyman.” Mr. Collins was a tall, heavy looking young man of five and twenty. His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal.

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“I must tell you that the violence has even touched our own household.” Mrs. Bennet commiserated. “But we are certain that the threat has ended, due in no small part to the valiant, if foolhardy, actions of Mr. Bennet.”

“Can we not summon the Army to secure the neighborhood?” the Reverend asked.

“Just yesterday evening,” interjected Elizabeth, “I saw another militia battalion march into Meryton, reinforcement for the battalion already in place. I’m sure it will not be long before the new Colonel has patrols spread throughout this part of the county. The primary reason these miscreants have been so troublesome is because there are so few they can disappear in to the wilderness. Once they are found, they will be stopped.”

It took some time, but Mr. Collins eventually let himself be convinced it was safe for him to stay. At that point he divested himself of his travelling attire and allowed himself to be led in to the parlor. He had not been long seated before he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a family of daughters,

“I have heard so many fulsome reports of their beauty. But in this instance, fame has fallen short of the truth.” He added, “I have no doubt that you shall be seeing them all, in due time, well disposed of in marriage.” This gallantry was not much to the taste of most of his audience.

Mrs. Bennet who quarreled with no compliments, answered most readily. “You are very kind, sir, I am sure. And I wish with all my heart it may prove so; else they will be destitute. Things are settled so oddly.”

“You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate.”

“Ah, sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you. For such things, I know, are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed.”

“I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins … and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing forward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more, but perhaps when we are better acquainted …”

That evening at dinner, the girls found they were not the only objects of Mr. Collins's admiration. The hall, the dining-room, and all its furniture were examined and praised. His commendation of everything would have touched Mrs. Bennet's heart, but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his own future property. The dinner too, in its turn, was highly admired. He begged to know to which of his fair cousins, the excellence of its cookery was owing. But here he was set right by Mrs. Bennet, who assured him with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to apologize for about a quarter of an hour.

During dinner Elizabeth’s father led the conversation to Mr. Collins’ patroness and how the rector spent time amusing himself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments that he might adapt to ordinary occasions. Elizabeth was certain that Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as absurd as she knew her father had hoped, and he listened to the visitor with the keenest enjoyment.

After dinner, Elizabeth and her father left the rest of the family in the drawing room while they strolled into Meryton. He had a received an invitation from the new militia commander, Colonel Glover. He was gathering the principals involved in the events of the last few days. But rather than risking another attack, they were to gather in the middle of the fortified bivouac the militia had been hurriedly preparing since the attack on the Red Lion. Sentries checked their names against a prepared list before allowing them inside the stockade walls. Platoons of musket armed men stood ready or marched patrol inside the camp.

“Do you think these precautions would reassure our new cousin,” asked her father, “or send him running back to the comfort of Lady Catherine’s protection?”

“I think you should refrain from mocking your heir in public,” Elizabeth chided.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

They were welcomed into the command tent. There were a number of officers seated at a long, cloth covered table. Of those officers, Elizabeth recognized only Mr. Denny and Captain Hawthorne. On the other side were Sir William, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and seats for Elizabeth and her father.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice. As we have no reason to believe that the militants have left the area, we need to create a coordinated response plan. I am Colonel Sir John Glover, formerly of the Life Guards.” He held up the stump of his left arm. “But no more. Now, with the unfortunate demise of Colonel Forster, I am the senior battalion commander for the Derbyshire Militia. This is Major Stephen Francis, my second in command. You know Captain Denny,” There was a quiet murmur at his promotion. “Beside him is Captain Cleveland, our senior company commander. Finally, we have my new adjutant, Mr. Wickham.” He gestured to a man standing behind him, organizing a pile of folders. When he turned to face the table, Elizabeth felt a pulse of gravity propagate from Mr. Darcy, rattling dishes and papers. She turned to the man and saw his jaws clench and his hands close into fists.

She turned back to examine Mr. Wickham. What about this fellow so upset her taciturn friend? He was a very handsome man, with a fine countenance and a good figure displayed to advantage in his crisp regimentals. But Mr. Darcy was a person who could be overshadowed by no man. There had to be more to his reaction. Elizabeth decided she needed to know more about this newcomer.

“Mr. Wickham has just joined us from the War Office, where he is assigned as a liaison for this crisis.” The Colonel was looking at the lieutenant with a gimlet eye. “Currently the message from Whitehall seems to be stop the terrorists. Find out how they got gifts, if at all possible. But stop them and any others that crop up. Are there any questions about those orders?” He looked around the table. Elizabeth was astonished that Mr. Bingley was the only one looking as out of place at this obviously military meeting as she felt.

“Then let us discuss the best ways to coordinate our patrols with the various magistrates, sheriffs, and bailiffs in the area. Sir William, as Chief Magistrate, I offer you the floor …”

It was a long, but ultimately productive meeting.