Mr. Collins arrived like Apollo, golden. The speck of his carriage entered view at sunrise and the two–carriage and sun–maintained an even pace, so that by the time the sun was directly above Longburn, Mr. Collins was upon it.9
Eager to finally behold the widely reported “character” of his cousins’ shared countenance, he stepped down from his car to, instead, the entire Bennet family deep in bow. Mr. Collins lowered himself to kneel in front of each Bennet, both to give proper thanks as well as to find a good angle to get a glimpse of each face, Mr. Bennet’s included. By the time he passed through the doors of Longbourn like a May afternoon brightens through a cloudy morning, his knees were as dusty as a broom (used).
***
Mr. Collins excused himself and was shown to his room (that he might change his pants). The five sisters sat, fidgeting in ecstasy, as they waited to be summoned to dinner. The two youngest exchanged lustful whispers; Mary rehearsed a selection of bible verses and sermons under her breath; Emmy and Mary Jane, meanwhile, sat in fecund silence, clasping each other’s hands. At length, Mary Jane turned to Emmy and smiled.
“I am happy for you, Emmy,” said she. “He has a nice look about him, he is tall and has a good thick middle.”
Emmy grinned through her nerves. “It is a bit shocking, actually seeing him after merely imagining for so long. Though perhaps he feels the same about all of us?”
“I am sure he very much likes what he sees,” said Mary Jane warmly. “Of course, looks are not everything!”
“Easily said by our most beautiful sister,” said Emmy, teasing fondly, “I see you took a bit of extra trouble with the comb this evening.”
“No, Emmy, I shan’t let you deflect with your flattery–this is your moment for happiness.”
They sat in mutual affection and admiration until their middle sister’s shadow crept over, eclipsing them.
“Emmy, Mama says I am to take the lead with Mr. Collins to-night.” Mary stared down intensely; an excess of saliva was evident.
Before Emmy had the chance to “what the fuck”, the bell was rung for dinner.
***
Cleansed in both outfit and spirit, Mr. Collins took his seat with pleasure. Finally able to observe his family unencumbered, he locked eyes with each Bennet so that he might ascertain towards whom he should first unleash his flattery. Ah! There: the combed one. He leaned in.
“Dear Cousin–”
“COUSIN–” Mary interjected.
Mr. Collins turned smoothly, as if on a rotary display. “Yes?”
“I have awaited your person most urgently, for I have a question. In Fordyce’s sixth sermon, he divides the accomplishments of the Virtuous Woman into three classes: Domestic, Elegant, and Intellectual. Is this, perhaps, in reference to the Holy Trinity?” ”
A reverent hush fell upon the dinner table, broken only by the sound of Mrs. Bennet slapping her husband’s hand away from a bowl of potatoes. The air between Collins and his middle cousin crackled with the heat of intellectual foreplay. Tempus Collinsi.10
“A fine question, dear Cousin. May I presume, as an admirer of the Domestic Virtues, that I am to commend you on this excellent cookery?”
Mrs. Bennet, unable to help herself, began to correct Mr. Collins (they were perfectly able to keep a good cook), but no opening for such commentary was provided.
“Of course, perhaps the better line of inquiry might be, is there not a Fourth class? I put it to you that there is also the Virtue of Moisture. Remember Deuteronomy 32:2: ‘My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech shall distil as the dew, as the small rain upon the tender herb, and as the showers upon the grass’–”
Am I allowed to write that, as far as the dining room chairs are concerned, it was monsoon season in Longbourn?
The Marys writhed with delight; all but Emmy, whose troubled gaze searched for meaning in her parents’ inscrutable faces. What was the meaning of her being so unceremoniously displaced by a junior Mary? Had she done something to dishonour them? Mr. Collins’ dissertation continued, though Emmy could not focus on it.
“–and Jesus Christ Himself walked on water!”
“So His feet would have been damp as well?”
“Not necessarily! You see–”
Emmy signalled to her father with a loud cough. He offered her the bowl of potatoes. She winced.
“ – fatty moisture, too! Forget not Job 29:6: “When I washed my steps with butter, and the rock poured me out rivers of oil–’”
Emmy scribbled a note on her cloth napkin, crumpled it, and threw it under the table towards her father. Alas, when he opened it, it was merely a smudge of gravy. He placed it in his pocket.
“–this is also why I do not read novels.”
Mr. Bennet, unable to determine what had so troubled his favourite, still knew a conversational exit when he heard one.
“Well,” he began, “that about satisfies my appetite for preaching this evening. Mr. Collins, do tell us more about this generous patroness of yours.”
Mrs. Bennet picked up the baton, “I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?”
Anime eyes a-sparkling, Mr. Collins wasted no time in singing the praises of both Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her only daughter Anne, the heiress to Rosings Park and a great fortune. The three youngest Marys sat enraptured, imagining how proximity to such a family might influence their prosperous futures. Mary Catherine supposed that her “almost sharing a name” with the great lady would immediately ingratiate her, leading to many visits and ample opportunities to avail herself of the grand pianoforte at Rosings; Mary Lydia foresaw a lavish send off to their honeymoon–somewhere exciting like Kent, or Wales–before settling into a life of privilege; whatever Mary imagined, however, must be a mystery to us, for her mind is shrouded in a heavy curtain that not even her sisters dare peek behind–we can perhaps surmise that a great deal of wear and tear would be entailed upon the instruments of Rosings (and Mr. Collins’s loins).
Mary Jane’s serene countenance betrayed both a dutiful sense of awe at her cousin’s connections as well as a premature departure from the beds of Netherfield. This bewitched Collins even further, and he directed much of his excitement toward her (“Think of it, dear cousin–a shelf for all your book!”)–this excited Mary’s sense of competition, and she attempted a rejoinder with every particular that was shared. Alas, Mary did not have Emmy’s ease of conversation, and frequently what followed a new morsel of information from Mr. Collins was a blustery, “I know! Isn’t that crazy?”
Once the volley of conversation had reached a fevered and uneven pitch, Mr. Bennet thought it wise to separate the parties. He invited his cousin to join him for an after dinner drink, and the women retired to the drawing-room, where Emmy finally had the opportunity to interrogate her mother.
“Mama,” she hesitated a moment, afraid of her own impertinence, but continued, “Mama, I should like to know why it is that you have put Mary forward with Mr. Collins, when I am second eldest and next in line to be married after Mary Jane and Mr. Bingley. Do I do wrong?”
Mrs. Bennet guessed that Emmy probably had, but that was by the by.
“My dear, it is nothing like that. We simply felt that your sister Mary needed a little extra–help–that you and the others do not require. And with Mr. Collins so eager to make amends for this wretched entailment, and particularly interested in finding a bride among you girls, this seemed our best opportunity to see her settled.”
She then spoke for the better part of an hour on the unfairness of entailments, the hideousness of this entailment in particular, the look Mary sometimes has in her eye which makes her mother uncomfortable, before finishing with what Emmy would, years later, realise was a very slapdash primer on what to expect on your wedding night. By the time Mr. Bennet and Mr. Collins joined the ladies in the drawing-room, Emmy felt utterly befogged. However, devoted as she was to resolving the family’s plight, she decided her only choice was to cooperate, and stand aside.
Still, late at night, one particular feature of her mother’s argument nagged away at Emmy. Mary needed help? But–Mary is amazing!
Isn’t she?
IT WAS MONSOON SEASON IN LONGBOURN