5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Mary watched as Elizabeth hurried away to Jane's door, calling that the gentlemen had come. She squared her shoulders and left her room, going in to Kitty and Lydia. Lydia was lying on her bed, kicking her feet boredly in the air as she looked at fashion plates, while Kitty sat sadly in the corner, sewing quietly and occasionally pausing to sniff and dab at her eyes with her handkerchief.

"I need your help," Mary said flatly. "I need you to make me pretty."

"La!" Lydia sat upright and burst out laughing. "You, pretty? That will be the day!"

"Lyddie, don't be mean!" Kitty was ashamed of not standing up for herself the day before.

"Yes, Lydia. ‘An empty vessel maketh the most noise.' If you've got nothing helpful to say, shut up ."

Lydia's mouth dropped open at Mary's stern words.

Kitty looked at Mary with new respect. "Mary, why do you want to be pretty?"

"Lizzy won't marry Mr. Collins," Mary shrugged. "I am quite sure neither of you want to, so I intend to do it myself. I'm not as pretty as Lizzy, and though I believe myself to be best suited for the task in terms of like-mindedness, it seems that Mr. Collins, as many men, prefers a pretty face. Perhaps he will be more receptive if I try harder, though vanity is my despite."

"You want to marry Mr. Collins?" Lydia burst out. "La, how droll!"

"Shut up, Lydia!" Mary and Kitty snapped in unison.

"Do you want to stay here at Longbourn?" Kitty asked her then. "Or would you like to go and live with me and Mama in that poky spare room at Aunt Phillips'?"

"Pah, I shall marry a handsome officer and want for nothing..."

"You should want for everything!" Kitty had grown up a good deal in the last day. "With no money of your own, you and your officer should be living in the gutter, and you will be earning your bread on your back in six months, I'll warrant!"

"Kitty!" Mary said, shocked, and Kitty shook her head.

"Begging your pardon, Mary, but it's the truth. None of the officers would look at Lydia if she were not a daughter of Longbourn anyway, not as anything more than a light-heeled wench. For I know what you've been telling them, Lyddie, that Longbourn is far wealthier than it appears and our father has secret dowries for all of us. How do you think one of your so-handsome officers would treat a lying wife, eh? With a whip, that's how!"

Lydia was silenced for once in her life. Kitty's reproach got through to her as no one else ever had, and she stood up and came over to Mary.

"You would marry Mr. Collins?" she said quietly, all traces of mocking gone from her attitude.

"If he will have me," Mary was not at all confident that he would. She was just not pretty enough. He'd turn his gaze on one of the others, or insist on Lizzy, or toss them all out.

"He'll think you're pretty when we're done," Lydia declared. "You're too tall for one of my dresses, and too thin for Kitty's."

Kitty glared at the insinuation that she was plump, but then Mary was a slender reed in comparison.

"What about Jane's blue muslin?" Lydia said then. "You've got the same blue eyes as Jane, after all. Go and get it, Kitty, while I start on Mary's hair." And in a moment she had Mary sitting down, unrolling her unflattering bun and starting to brush it out. "A shame you've such straight hair, Mary, but some pretty braiding will do..."

Kitty glanced at Mary, and then, confident Lydia did actually intend to help, went to find Jane's dress.

Mary scarcely recognised herself in the mirror half an hour later. Not that she could see herself too clearly anyway, for Lydia had firmly confiscated her glasses. She did not dare ask how Lydia and Kitty had attained such expertise with hair and lacing, nor what on earth Lydia was doing with that fine paintbrush and some soot from the chimney around her eyes.

"No matter what happens, don't cry," Lydia exhorted as she pushed Mary out of the door, "or you'll get black streaks all down your face!"

Black streaks? No, Mary did not want to know. She made her way down the stairs, hoping she would not run into anyone along the way, and to the library door. It was firmly closed, and she took a moment to steel herself and knocked twice.

Two or three minutes passed with no reply, and Mary summoned her courage and knocked again, louder.

"Come in!" a voice called a moment later, and she turned the door handle and entered timidly.

Mr. Collins was most displeased to be awakened from a noontime nap by a knock on the door. He had been dreaming most pleasantly of Elizabeth, of pressing her against him, of her soft sweet voice calling his name. Aroused and irritated, he remained seated behind his desk as the door opened in response to his summons and Miss Kitty came in.

No – wait, that wasn't Kitty! Kitty was a good deal plumper. This girl had a delicately slender figure, more like Jane, but she had Kitty's coronet of chestnut braids. For a wild moment Mr. Collins wondered if there was a Bennet sister he hadn't yet met, and then he went through a logical process of elimination. Too tall to be Lydia or Elizabeth. Too dark to be Jane. Too thin to be Kitty.

"Miss Mary?" he blurted in surprise. "Why – why are you wearing colours?" It was the first thing that came to his mind.

"I am afraid I have grown too tall since we mourned our grandmother Gardiner, Mr. Collins. Sarah is even now letting down the hems of my mourning dresses. They should be ready by tomorrow." She lifted her hands to show black gloves and black ribbons twined around her wrists. "This is the best I can do today, but sir, I need to speak with you."

She wasn't wearing her glasses, and for the first time Mr. Collins thought how much like Jane she looked, although her hair was darker. He gestured to the chair opposite his own.

"Please have a seat, Miss Mary." At least she always showed him proper respect and deference, even if she was the least attractive of her sisters. Recalling Jane's words the previous evening, he inquired: "Do you require a chaperone, Miss Mary?"

Startled, Mary blinked long lashes at him. "Why, I don't believe so, Mr. Collins. A woman's reputation is a fragile thing, but you are now the head of my family. I don't believe I am endangered by your presence."

A pity Jane and Elizabeth didn't feel the same way, Mr. Collins thought sourly, refusing to admit even to himself that perhaps they had been justified. "Thank you, Miss Mary. In what way can I assist you today?"

"Mr. Collins." Mary steeled herself, and made herself speak slowly and clearly. How she wished she could clearly make out his expression, but without her glasses it was impossible. "It is my understanding that you came to Longbourn at the behest of your noble patroness with the intention of choosing a bride from among your cousins, in your wisdom and beneficence, to compensate in some small way for the circumstances of the entail."

"Yes," Collins said, a little foggy on why Mary should be asking him such a question.

"It is further to my understanding that, Jane being already likely soon to be engaged in a most advantageous match, that you selected Elizabeth, as being next in age, as your potential partner, and that you have been..." Mary carefully selected the next word, "wooing Elizabeth with a view to marriage."

"Yes," Mr. Collins agreed.

"With all due respect, Sir, I think you have made the wrong decision. I have lived with Elizabeth all my life, and though I love her dearly, I believe that she would not be at all suitable as your wife."

Startled, Collins rocked back in his chair. He steepled his fingers together. "Go on," he said finally. "Why do you say that?"

"Sir, Elizabeth is pert and forward in her opinions. She would not show you the proper respect due to your education, your position as a clergyman and your status as head of this household." Mary looked, she hoped, straight into his eyes. "And, Mr. Collins, she does not care for you."

He was, briefly, knocked back on his heels by that. Surely Elizabeth liked him! But then – she was always off for a walk whenever he tried to talk to her. Her mother always had to require her to stay in the room. And if she had been encouraging Mr. Darcy...

"Mr. Collins, I am about to be very forward," Mary said then. "I am aware that I am not the prettiest of my sisters. But I respect you deeply and I would always esteem your word and your opinion. I am willing to be guided by you in all things, and I ask only that you reconsider your choice in the light of what I have told you." She fell silent, red-faced.

"I see," Mr. Collins said finally, sitting back in his chair and looking at Mary. He'd never bothered before, thinking her too plain to be worth the effort. And yet she wasn't plain at all, was she? She didn't have Elizabeth's voluptuous curves, though. Indeed, she was positively flat-chested. She did, however, offer him respect, the only one of her sisters apart from the gentle, amiable Jane really to do so. Indeed, she had sought him out several times for religious instruction since his arrival at Longbourn.

Yet, it was thoughts of Elizabeth that roused him, shameful though it was to admit it. Thoughts of Elizabeth's plump bosom, her bright eyes, her ready laugh. He had only Mary's word for it that Elizabeth didn't care for him, and indeed, if he could but separate her from Darcy she would have little choice...

"I will consider what you have said, Miss Mary," he said finally. This, he realised, was a situation in which he could not lose. Even if Elizabeth did marry Darcy, Mary had just offered herself up on a plate. She did well enough when she bothered to primp, it seemed, and at least she would be obedient to him. "Nothing, of course, need be decided for some time yet."

"Of course, Sir," she said promptly. "We are at your disposal."

Mr. Collins couldn't resist a little lecture. "I appreciate that your thoughts are for my future comfort and for that of your family, Miss Mary," he said, "but it is not well done of you to promote yourself at Elizabeth's expense."

She started, going a little pale, and her eyes wide.

"Nor should you be out of your room at this time unless wearing full mourning garb. This conversation could have waited for another time, when you are able to appear more appropriately attired."

Mary could feel her lips beginning to tremble. Do not cry, do not cry , she chanted silently to herself. "I am always pleased to be guided by you, Mr. Collins," she tried very hard to keep her voice under control.

"A point very much in your favour, to be sure. You may be excused."

"Thank you, Sir," she rose and bobbed him a hasty curtsy, and Collins watched her walk away. She moved like Jane, he realised, lithe and flowing .

"Miss Mary?" he said as she reached the door.

"Sir?" she turned back to look at him.

"You do look pretty in blue, though. I am glad to have seen you wear that dress."

For the first time he had ever seen, Mary smiled. And it was dazzling. For just an instant the whole room seemed bathed in sunlight: and then she was gone.