Chapter Four

E lizabeth scoured her memories, trying to recall a single instance when she had displayed even a minor hint of encouragement to her cousin, Mr Collins. She perceived his voice, as if from a distance, as he rambled on about how her refusal of his marriage proposal must be a form of flirtatious encouragement.

Her conversation with Charlotte at the ball, of how flowers and birds preened to attract the most desirable mate or honeybee, ran through her mind, further drowning out the explaining drone of Mr Collins. Had she been unknowingly encouraging him? Had her sprightly conversation—a quality of hers that surely everyone must recognise as something she shared with all whom she met—been misconstrued as singular to him? It would take a person of remarkably dim intellect to make such an assumption.

Her eyes rose up to the solemn, flat, round face of Mr Collins. There were no pauses in his sermon that Elizabeth could take advantage of to further attempt to disabuse him of the idea that she would ever wed him.

Elizabeth gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping this unpleasantness would pass in the same manner of a stubbed toe that will eventually stop throbbing. When she cracked her eyelids open again, to her amazement, the scene before her had become more abominable, not less. He was on one knee before her and grasped her hand in his. Leaping into a pause in his talk, Elizabeth gave her reasons again. She employed every art of conversation to rephrase her refusal in many ways, hoping that another avenue might prove more successful in convincing her blockhead of a cousin that she was indeed in earnest.

It was a fruitless endeavour. "You are uniformly charming!" Mr Collins cried. "I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both your parents—"

Elizabeth felt an angry revulsion bubble up in her chest that threatened to manifest by boxing Mr Collins's ears. Standing hastily and pulling her hand forcefully out of his, Elizabeth turned her back on Mr Collins and left the room in all haste.

When Mrs Bennet confronted Elizabeth about her refusal of Mr Collins, true fear as to whether she had acted rightly began to nag at her.

"This will not stand!" Mrs Bennet had hissed in Elizabeth's face. "Who exactly do you think you are to be refusing such a man?"

"Mama, you would not wish to observe one of your children unhappily wed, I am certain. Mr Collins would not be able to make me happy, and I am sure that I could not do so for him."

"You have always been such a wilful, ungrateful child. If you believe for one moment that you will have any place in a home of mine—after this display—you are gravely mistaken. Should your father die tomorrow, you will be turned out by me! Whether you starve or fall into some mischief, it will be nothing to me."

"I have long been aware that you consider me to be the least in your estimations of your children. And am I to understand that, should the need arise for us to make our way in the world without Papa, or Longbourn as a home, you will cast me off? The only thing that allows me the roof over my head is the fact that my father lives? Is that truly what you are saying to me?"

Mrs Bennet hesitated, her resolve to such a definitive statement apparently wavering as she twisted her handkerchief tightly between her hands. However, anger must have overcome her better nature. With a foot stomp that was reminiscent of Lydia, Mrs Bennet nodded and proclaimed, "Yes, I will cast you off! The moment after your father is buried."

"Surely, Mama, you cannot be in earnest with such a proclamation! It flies in the face of all maternal goodness, to cast out a child because she refuses to condemn herself to a life of wretched misery." Elizabeth moved around the table between them in the parlour. The deathly quiet of the rest of the house told that many ears were listening to this little drama that loomed large in the life of Elizabeth. Her younger sisters were not bickering over a pretty scrap of ribbon. The pianoforte was not being subjected to the austere, artistic efforts of Mary. Elizabeth noted with a sinking heart that even her father, who could typically be relied on to keep Mrs Bennet in some semblance of rationality, was nowhere to be seen. What could he do? If her mother made a vow that she would execute upon his death, what power would he have to protect her? This was a matter to be resolved between Elizabeth and Mrs Bennet.

She placed her hand gently on the rigid forearm of her mother, the sinews beneath the fabric of her mother's gown were taut with rage and displeasure. "I would never cast you out, dear mother. I implore you to look beyond the tumult of the moment and act with wisdom and care. Words spoken now cannot be taken back at some future date. All will hear your proclamations. The love of a mother for her daughter should be your guide, not the rapacity to retain Longbourn, even at the expense of one of your children." Elizabeth lowered her voice to a strained whisper. "For it would kill me, to marry such a man as Mr Collins, so ill-suited for me in every conceivable way. I would wither and die."

Elizabeth thought she perceived some softening in the countenance of her mother, some melting of her hard-heartedness by the workings of the natural feelings of a parent towards their child. It was short-lived. All former steel of displeasure returned to Mrs Bennet's face.

"I have said my piece. You have, since the moment of your coming into the world, made it your sole pleasure to derange my nerves and destroy my peace! It was your wretched curse upon me that caused no male heir to be brought forth. You have no compassion for my happiness, Lizzy, and so I have no further interest in your future."

Elizabeth felt something inside her cease. A door was closed. It would never be reopened. All knowledge of maternal succour and interest—what little of it she had experienced over the course of her twenty years—came to an end with the passing of that moment. Elizabeth's heart hardened, and she felt herself adrift with no mooring to give her peace and steadiness. To her own future security, she could not think. The loss of a parent was felt more keenly than any other more practical concern.

Elizabeth turned and trudged slowly upstairs to her bedroom. Her limbs felt weighted down as if with lead. Her sorrows were real and deep.

At some point, Jane came in and attempted some words of comfort. "You need not worry, Lizzy. If you never wed, you will always be welcome in my home, if I am fortunate enough to be made an offer."

"To be comforted by the thought of always looking to others for any sort of food or bedding does not quite suit my spirit. But I suppose I shall have no choice. You heard our mother. I am an unwelcome child."

Jane winced at this harsh, but honest observation. "But you are a most welcome sister! I could not do without you."

Elizabeth smiled weakly at this statement, imagining there was more kindness than truth to it. Jane was sure to be loved and appreciated by people with sense wherever she went. The Bingley sisters were able to acknowledge Jane's goodness and beauty, even if they perhaps would not particularly wish to have her as a sister-in-law.

"I am certain that our mother will be talked into rationality by our father, you may rely upon it. Here, Charlotte is downstairs condoling with Mama over her—well—her disappointment. Charlotte is even being so very obliging as to direct Mr Collins in some conversation. She attempts to introduce some more cheering topics to him."

"Like extolling the virtues of his right honourable patroness?" Elizabeth asked with a small laugh in her voice.

Jane brightened at seeing Elizabeth able to jest. "I do believe I heard some discussion on the cost of the new stable doors that the horses of Rosings Park are enjoying."

"What a preposterous cousin we have. To be so overtly proud of such a trifling bit of information. To imagine my mother would wish me to commit to years of listening to such nonsense! Does she know me no better than this?"

"I must say that you gave our cousin no encouragement. Mr Collins was gravely mistaken in his estimation that a proposal to you would be welcomed."

"Thank you. It gives me some small comfort that you, who are so good, should believe me to be blameless. I must say, though, I would greatly appreciate absolution from one who is not so irreproachable. A scoundrel saying I have nothing to be ashamed of would do more to ease my conscience!"

"Oh, Lizzy, I am glad to see you able to tease me."

"You have cheered me exceedingly. I suppose a girl would rather have too many proposals of marriage than too few."

With a shake of her head at Elizabeth's attempts at humour, Jane pulled a rolled-up bundle of papers from under her shawl. "Here. Charlotte brought this from her brother. It is that science periodical that you so enjoy reading."

Elizabeth sat up out of her forlorn slouch and took the papers eagerly. She untied the wiry hemp twine and felt a surge of happiness as the latest instalment of A Journal of Natural Philosophy, Chemistry, and the Arts unfurled in her lap . A sigh escaped her lips as she saw that on the cover was a bold drawing of the Great Comet streaking across a sky of inky black. It was a humorous portrayal, for three people were looking out of the window and the caption warned of neck damage from staring at the comet for too long.

Elizabeth shook her head and laughed as she pointed it out to Jane. "What fun! There is certain to be many observations and new ideas in this one. You, Charlotte, and Henry have gone a long way towards easing my heart on what I may recall as the worst day of my life."

After a hug from Jane, Elizabeth opened the journal and settled into a restful state of happy anticipation.

Several hours passed. Only occasionally did a resurgence of Mrs Bennet's angry protestations reach her ears.

Elizabeth read every article twice, enjoying the debates as to what the comet consisted of. No longer were they arguing whether the comet came from earth, or was a reflection of the earth, or was made entirely of fire. There seemed to be a general consensus that it was some sort of rock that originated from elsewhere.

With a sigh of contentment, Elizabeth turned to the very last section of the journal. There were usually some advertisements for various scientific instruments, amusing devices that could not possibly work, and openings for employment. There was an address to send away for plans to construct one's own underwater vessel for safety and attacking enemies. Elizabeth shook her head with a smile, imagining herself emerging from the Longbourn pond in an underwater, horseless carriage and the cries of amazement that would follow. One promising sounding invention was a metal barrel in which food could be made to last for a very long time. The ‘tin can' was heralded to be the wave of the future for armies in foreign lands, exploration voyages on ships, and ease of hunger during times of crises.

"I should not wish to hear the opinion of Mrs Hill on this invention, if such a thing truly exists."

Elizabeth's eyes were drawn to the very last listing.

In earnest search of a bold, able-bodied, young lad to aid in the transport of a scientific device to America. Must depart these shores at once on the sailing ship the Jolly Sparrow out of London on October 1st. Must have basic scientific knowledge, able to read, write, and cipher. Must be in good condition physically and properly mannered. Apply by letter to — Street, London.

There was so little information as to what the equipment was, what sort of scientific knowledge would be needed, and—perhaps the most glaring omission—what the pay would be. Elizabeth shook her head as she imagined the sort of crazed, elderly scholar who must have made up such an awkwardly worded advertisement, thinking he had done a right decent job of it. Who in their right mind would actually answer such a ridiculous plea?

Elizabeth fell onto her back and gazed at the ceiling, pressing the journal to her chest. Her heart felt light and full of wonder. What fun it would be, to voyage to America on some new venture never tried before. How extraordinary!

She had just made up her mind to go downstairs and share the funny little paragraph with Charlotte, Jane, Mary, and her father when a fresh volley of abuse directed at her from her mother's lips reached her ears. Through the wooden floors, Elizabeth could distinguish the words ungrateful…broken her mother's heart…die of shame in the hedgerows…should cast out disobedient children .

Elizabeth's smile vanished. Mrs Hill came in with a tray for her dinner.

"Here you are, Miss Lizzy. Pay no mind to what you hear downstairs. We are all in agreement with your father. If you had married that fellow, Collins, the lot of us would never have spoken to you again. Imagine a sharp, pretty thing like you, tied up with that clumsy ox of a man." Hill placed the tray down on the table beside Elizabeth's bed with an angry clatter. "She will simmer down, as always. You keep your strength up and eat a good dinner. Those greens are fresh from the garden."

"Thank you, Hill. You are always so thoughtful. Do you know that I just read an article about food being preserved for months, perhaps years, in little metal barrels?"

Hill shook her head with a low, long laugh. "Now, go on—none of your teasing! Who would want to eat such nastiness?"

"If one were travelling to the top of the world—or the bottom—where there is little to eat, it would seem like a feast fit for a king."

"Top of the world? That's not likely, is it? Surely something grows, something hardy like. Such as turnip greens or potatoes."

"I have heard that both poles are inhospitable, freezing places. Nothing but ice, rocks, and wind."

Mrs Hill shook her head and left, too busy to speculate further on such a fantastical subject.

As Elizabeth lay back down on her bed, the journal still pressed next to her heart, a warm pleasantness spread through her. Her cheeks felt rosy with it. An unaccountable smile spread across her lips. The very paper under her hands felt almost hot to the touch.

She sat up. Her mind was resolved. A remarkable plan began to assemble in her imagination. This advertisement would be answered. By none other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.