Chapter Seven Back to Previous Chapter The next morning proved much too cold and wet even for such ardent sportsmen as the Netherfield gentlemen, and they were forced to stay inside. To a man of Henry's active disposition, such confinement was difficult. He was amply entertained by one of Mrs. Radcliffe's charming works for a while, and spent some time composing a long and witty letter to Catherine, but he soon grew restless. Darcy had spent the morning writing business letters, Bingley had been in consultation with his steward, Miss Bingley with the housekeeper, and the Hursts doing goodness knew what; thus they were now happy with more sedentary pursuits. Bingley and Hurst were engaged in a seemingly never-ending game of cards, and the ladies in singing duets and trying to wrench Darcy's attention from his book. Henry paced the drawing-room and stared out the windows at the rain. He politely negatived a request from Bingley to join the card-game, and idly glanced through a pile of books that Darcy had brought from the library, but was unable to find anything worthy of his attention. Miss Bingley's singing was a constant irritation and he thought with longing of how much he would have enjoyed Elizabeth's company on such a day. Thinking of Elizabeth brought her parting words to his mind: "You must come to dine at Longbourn. Wait not for an invitation; simply appear some afternoon around four and you will be sure to be asked to stay. I think my father would enjoy your company." He pulled out his watch and checked it: it was just four now. "I think I shall pay a call on the Longbourn family," he said suddenly. "Would anyone care to join me?" Bingley looked up with a smile, and seemed about to voice an acceptance, when Darcy said, "Miss Bennet and her sister have only just returned to their home yesterday. I am sure they would prefer to have time to visit with their family. And Miss Bennet is still recovering from her illness. I dare say such a visit would be most unwelcome." He turned a page in his book and continued to read. "Besides, it is a great deal too dirty," cried Miss Bingley, irritated at Henry's suggestion and gratified at Darcy's refusal. "The lanes will be impassable." Caroline's words compelled Henry to action. "I dare say that I can go on horseback very well," he said. "The rain seems to have let up, and horses can always walk a muddy lane where a carriage might not go. Gentlemen, I again invite you to join me." Darcy remained silent, and Bingley looked from one of his friends to the other and finally said, "I think not, Tilney. You may take one of the saddle-horses, of course, if you are determined to go." "I am, and I thank you for your generosity, Bingley." Henry went to his chamber to retrieve his boots, and a servant was ready with his hat and greatcoat by the time he came downstairs. He was surprised to see Bingley waiting in the entry to see him off. "Please give my best wishes to Miss Bennet," he said in a low voice. "Tell her that we shall certainly call within the next few days, when we are sure that she is quite recovered from her illness." "Bingley, will not you reconsider accompanying me? I am sure the Bennets would be delighted to see you." "I cannot very well go off and leave my guests to entertain themselves, and Darcy does not wish to go." Henry nodded. "You are correct, of course. You do not mind that I am leaving the company this afternoon?" "Of course not. Just--just remember to give Miss Bennet my message." "I shall not forget, my friend." Bingley grinned at him, and it was as if the sun had finally come from behind the clouds. Henry hid a grin of his own and went out to where a groom stood with a saddled horse. The ride to Longbourn was indeed dirty, but Bingley's horse was a good one, and they managed the trip in good time. Henry swung his leg casually over the saddle in front of him and slid gracefully to the ground in a single motion. He handed the horse's reins to a groom and looked up at the house. It was not as large as Netherfield Park or Northanger Abbey, and certainly not as magnificent as Pemberley, but it was solid and attractive. Henry rang the bell and presented his card to the butler, who disappeared for a few moments and came back to conduct him into the drawing-room. "Mr. Tilney!" cried Mrs. Bennet, rising to greet him. "We are so happy that you came to call today!" Henry was all astonishment. Mrs. Bennet had never before shown him more than the barest civility. The lady continued to speak. "You must meet our cousin, Mr. Collins, who has just now arrived. He is a clergyman, like you!" A tall, heavy-looking young man of five and twenty rose from the chair next to Miss Bennet and made an elaborate bow. "Mr. Tilney and I are already acquainted. We were at Oxford together." Tilney nodded his head rather coldly in the other man's direction. He well remembered William Collins; at Oxford, he had been dismissive and supercilious with his fellow students, all of whom disliked him heartily. He had further alienated his peers by carrying stories of the misbehaviour of the other undergraduates to the proctors, thereby currying favour for himself. He constantly boasted of how the Church would be no more than a temporary career for him, as he was destined to inherit a great estate in Hertfordshire. He must be the cousin Elizabeth had spoken of who was to inherit Longbourn. "How delightful! Then you must dine with us, Mr. Tilney. I am sure that you and Mr. Collins have a great deal to talk about." Collins simpered and bowed and said he was "very glad," and Henry managed to mutter an acceptance that did not sound overly rude. His eyes met Lizzy's, which were dancing with unexpressed humour, and this improved his mood greatly. He took a seat and glanced up to find Mr. Bennet watching him gravely. Henry had not previously had an opportunity to become closely acquainted with Elizabeth's father. At the informal dinners that they had both attended, they had not been seated together, and in the latter part of the evening, Mr. Bennet usually sought out the card tables or the host's library while Henry made himself agreeable to the young ladies present. Mr. Bennet was a tall man, and his hair had mostly turned white, although it showed signs of previously having been as dark as Henry's own. He had a long, sardonic face, a brown skin, and dark eyes that showed intelligence and humour. The two men gazed at each other for a long moment, and then Mr. Bennet's face relaxed in a small smile, as did Henry's. Henry felt as if he and Mr. Bennet had the same sort of silent communication that he shared with Lizzy, and thought that he liked the older man very much and would enjoy becoming acquainted with him. Collins had not stopped speaking since he had returned to his seat. "Mrs. Bennet, may I extend my most sincere compliments on having such a fine family of daughters. I have heard much of their beauty, but, in this instance, fame has fallen short of the truth. I have no doubt of you seeing them all in due time well disposed of in marriage." Miss Lydia Bennet, who had been whispering with her sister Kitty, rolled her eyes at this gallantry, but her mother was delighted. "You are very kind, sir, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it may prove so; for else they will be destitute enough. Things are settled so oddly." Collins replied in his pompous manner, "You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate." Mr. Bennet shifted impatiently in his seat at this remark, and Henry was sympathetic. Imagine seeing one's fortune and this fine house entailed away from one's own family to such a man as Collins! "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--" He was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls smiled on each other. Henry was no less glad, as Collins' rather bald hints and the intensity of the gaze he directed to the eldest Miss Bennet made him uncomfortable, and, judging by her blush and downcast eyes, it made Miss Bennet uncomfortable as well. I must warn Bingley that he has a rival! he thought in some amusement, although he did not consider Collins a serious threat to his friend's chances. Collins led the way into the dining room with Mrs. Bennet on his arm. Mr. Bennet took in his eldest daughter, and Henry was delighted to find Elizabeth on his arm. "My father has been looking forward to this visit greatly," she whispered to him as Collins loudly extolled the virtues of the hall, the dining-room, and the furniture within it; Henry could not escape the feeling that Collins was inventorying the contents of his future inheritance. "He hoped that Mr. Collins would not be a sensible man, and I believe all his fondest wishes have been answered." Henry laughed. "From what I remember of Collins from Oxford, your father will be greatly entertained by his guest this evening, as will we all." He held Elizabeth's chair while she seated herself, and took his own place across from Collins, at Mr. Bennet's left hand. The dinner also received Collins' highest admiration. "Pray tell me, Mrs. Bennet," he said, helping himself to yet another portion of roasted beef, "to which of my fair cousins' domestic skill is this delightful meal owing?" Mrs. Bennet replied with some asperity, "We are very well able to keep a good cook, and I assure you that my daughters have nothing to do in the kitchen, unlike the daughters of some of our neighbours." "My dear madam, I beg your pardon. I am sure that I did not mean to displease you." In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to apologise for about a quarter of an hour. During dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants were withdrawn, he observed, "Mr. Collins, you seem very fortunate in your patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attention to your wishes, and consideration for your comfort, appear very remarkable." "Lady Catherine de Bourgh?" exclaimed Henry. "She is your patroness?" "Oh, yes," said Collins, fixing him with a supercilious gaze. "And who is the grantor of your living, Mr. Tilney?" "I hold a family living that was granted by my father," said Henry. "The parish is called Woodston, in Gloucestershire." "But your family does not live in the parish?" "No. My father's holdings are quite extensive." Henry was not given to boasting of his father's wealth, but he was entirely given to setting down puffed-up fools a peg or two. "Yes, well," said Collins, somewhat deflated, "you have heard of Lady Catherine? I am not surprised that you have, for she is a daughter of the Earl of --------, and her estate, Rosings Park, is one of the finest in the country--" Henry, sensing a lengthy panegyric to the merits of Lady Catherine, interrupted him rather rudely with, "Yes, Lady Catherine is the aunt of my very good friend Fitzwilliam Darcy." Mrs. Bennet and her two eldest daughters cried out their astonishment. "Have you met Lady Catherine, Mr. Tilney?" asked Jane. "No, I have never met her, but Darcy speaks of her occasionally." He decided that it might be best not to elaborate on the exact content of those conversations. Mrs. Bennet said to Collins, "Mr. Darcy is staying in the neighbourhood at Netherfield Park with his friend Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bingley's sisters and brother-in-law, as is Mr. Tilney." "Indeed, madam!" cried Collins. "Then I must pay my respects to Lady Catherine's nephew! I hope that I can rely on you for an introduction, Mr. Tilney?" Henry silently cursed Collins for putting him in the position of being forced to introduce such a pandering fool to his friend. "We shall have to see if the opportunity for such an introduction presents itself," he said. Collins seemed wholly satisfied with his answer, however indefinite. "You must tell Lady Catherine that we have been acquainted with her nephew," said Mrs. Bennet. "I am sure that will raise you in her good opinion." "I am sure, madam, that I have never in my life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank -- such affability and condescension, as I have myself experienced from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously pleased to approve of both the discourses which I have already had the honour of preaching before her. She has also asked me twice to dine at Rosings, and sent for me only the Saturday before, to make up her pool of quadrille in the evening. Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many people I know, but I have never seen any thing but affability in her. She has always spoken to me as she would to any other gentleman; she made not the smallest objection to my joining in the society of the neighbourhood, nor to my leaving his parish occasionally for a week or two, to visit my relations." Henry had always regretted that Woodston had no resident squire, as such a person perhaps would have been a companion, a friend to relieve his solitude at the parsonage; however, listening to Collins' discourse, Henry decided that no squire was better than such a one as Lady Catherine. Collins continued to speak. "She has even condescended to advise me to marry as soon as he could, provided I chose with discretion," he added, glancing at Miss Bennet with an expression that he probably thought complimentary, which Henry reflected made him look as if his dinner had not agreed with him. Then he glanced sharply at Henry and added, "Mr. Tilney, are you a married man, sir?" "I am not yet married, but I am engaged, sir." Collins was delighted; this Tilney was no rival for the hand of the lovely Miss Bennet. "Excellent, excellent! Lady Catherine says, and I agree, that all clergymen should marry. It not only sets the example for the parish, but it ensures that the parson is a settled man. I am sure that you would agree, sir. The Church is such a wholesome profession for a married man, as Lady Catherine says. Her condescension, sir, beyond anything that one of my station could hope for, I cannot praise more highly. She once paid me a visit in my humble parsonage, where she had perfectly approved all the alterations I have been making, and had even vouchsafed to suggest some herself: some shelves in the closets up stairs." Elizabeth, seated next to Collins, suddenly coughed and brought her napkin up to cover her mouth, her eyes sparkling in Henry's direction. "That is all very proper and civil, I am sure," said Mrs. Bennet, "and I dare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?" "The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence." "I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?" "She has one only daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property." "Ah!" cried Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, "then she is better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?" "She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that in point of true beauty, Miss De Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex; because there is that in her features which marks the young woman of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her making that progress in many accomplishments which she could not otherwise have failed of; as I am informed by the lady who superintended her education, and who still resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends to drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies." This was quite a different picture of Miss de Bourgh than that presented by Darcy, who had described his cousin as "thin, rather plain, rarely goes into company" in a completely disinterested tone of voice. Mrs. Bennet, however, was clearly fascinated by the wealthy and mysterious Miss de Bourgh. "Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at court." "Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea, and you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her." He leaned toward Mr. Bennet and Henry with a confidential air. "These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay." "You judge very properly," said Mr. Bennet, "and it is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study?" Elizabeth choked once again into her napkin, and Jane hastily raised her glass of water to her lips. "They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible." Henry could resist no longer. "In that case, sir," he said, his countenance as grave and composed as Mr. Bennet's, "may I suggest that you take the time to rehearse these little elegant compliments whilst gazing at yourself in a mirror? Do you not agree, Mr. Bennet, that the aspect of one's countenance only reinforces the sincerity of one's words?" "Indeed, Mr. Tilney. The expression is everything. I add my recommendation to Mr. Tilney's. I believe that practice is necessary to making such compliments felt as they truly should be." Mr. Bennet's face was all seriousness, but his eyes twinkled with humour that was reflected in Henry's own. "Oh, yes, Mr. Bennet," said Henry, his face still grave. "I agree. A great deal of practice is necessary, I think. You should not even delay until you return to your home, Collins; you must begin directly. It is never too soon to make yourself perfect in these compliments; you never know when they may be required. There is a looking-glass in your chamber here at Longbourn, I trust?" "Oh dear," said Elizabeth in a strangled voice. "I seem to have dropped my spoon." She dove under the table to retrieve the item, and had another choking fit while doing so. Jane shakily refilled her water glass and gulped at it in an uncharacteristically unladylike manner. Collins did not notice these interruptions, but gazed at Henry with deep consideration. "I believe you are correct, Mr. Tilney. I shall take your advice, sir. I shall assemble a small store of compliments--you know, the sort that all ladies like, that will do for many occasions--and I shall rehearse them in the looking-glass. I thank you, sir! You are most kind!" "My pleasure," said Henry, sure that Collins had absolutely no idea what real pleasure his foolish conversation had given in more than one quarter. Elizabeth had sat up in her chair once more, her face rather flushed, and she looked pleadingly at Henry as if begging him to stop. Henry smiled at her with his eyes, then glanced over at Mr. Bennet. The older man sat with his elbow resting on the table, his chin propped on one hand, looking at Henry approvingly. Two pair of dark eyes exchanged unsmiling sparkles of humour, and once again there was that strange sense of communication between them. When the ladies withdrew, however, all the humour came to an end. Mr. Bennet's excellent port made Collins even more loquacious, and after thirty minutes of listening to his guest sing the praises of Lady Catherine, Miss de Bourgh, and Rosings Park, both Henry and his host were happy enough to go into the drawing-room for tea. When tea was over, Mr. Bennet, weary of his cousin's chatter, asked him if he would care to read aloud to the ladies. Mr. Collins readily assented, and a book was produced; but on beholding it (for everything announced it to be from a circulating library), he started back, and begging pardon, protested that he never read novels. Kitty stared at him, and Lydia exclaimed. "Mr. Tilney, surely you will support me in this," cried the beleaguered Collins, mistakenly thinking he had found an ally in Henry. "Surely you, as a clergyman, do not support the reading of novels by young ladies!" "On the contrary," said Henry. "I enjoy a novel very much myself. I can hardly condemn a young lady for wishing to read one." "But surely, sir, you do not recommend that your fiancee read such books?" "Miss Morland has read a great many novels, and with pleasure. I have cautioned her against taking fictitious stories too much to heart, and she has learned to enjoy novels without being negatively affected by them." Collins certainly did not need to know the rest of Catherine's adventure with the works of Mrs. Radcliffe. "I do not scruple to confess myself greatly surprised!" cried Collins. "How can you countenance such behaviour in your future wife? Lady Catherine says, and I concur, that the reading of novels has contributed to the general lack of morals in our generation, and that the authors who produce such trash should be severely censured." "You would censure the authors of novels, sir? I cannot agree. Although their productions have afforded more extensive and unaffected pleasure than those of any other literary corporation in the world, no species of composition has been so much decried. From pride, ignorance, or fashion, their foes are almost as many as their readers. And while the abilities of the nine-hundredth abridger of the History of England, or of the man who collects and publishes in a volume some dozen lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a paper from the Spectator, and a chapter from Sterne, are eulogized by a thousand pens, there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them. I cannot support it, nor the common practice today of censuring young ladies who read such novels, making them ashamed of an activity which provides such wholesome enjoyment. 'Oh! it is only a novel!' the young lady will say, while she lays down her book with affected indifference, or momentary shame. 'It is only Cecilia, or Camilla, or Belinda;' or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language. Now, had Miss Lydia Bennet or Miss Catherine Bennet presented you with a volume of the Spectator, instead of a novel, how readily you would have given their reading-matter your approval; though you must agree, Collins, that the chances must be against those young ladies being occupied by any part of that voluminous publication, of which either the matter or manner would not disgust a young person of taste: the substance of its papers so often consisting in the statement of improbable circumstances, unnatural characters, and topics of conversation which no longer concern anyone living; and their language, too, frequently so coarse as to give no very favourable idea of the age that could endure it." Collins stared at him, as did the two youngest Miss Bennets. Mr. Bennet, who had followed the whole conversation with a grave countenance that did not match the sparkle in his eyes, said only, "Perhaps you would like to read to the ladies, then, Mr. Tilney?" "With pleasure, sir!" cried Henry, and Kitty hastened to hand him the book, which proved to be one of Miss Edgeworth's works. Collins, somewhat offended although he professed himself perfectly sanguine, turned to Mr. Bennet and offered himself as his antagonist at backgammon. Mr. Bennet accepted the challenge, observing that he acted very wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling amusements. After a half hour or so, Lydia and Kitty grew tired of Miss Edgeworth, and gave Henry leave to lay the book aside. He took a seat next to Elizabeth, who was engaged with her needlework. She glanced up at him gravely. "You are very impertinent, Mr. Tilney," she said. "Teasing Mr. Collins in such a way, and encouraging my father in his own bad behaviour! I sensed that you two would get along, but I had no idea how well!" "Miss Bennet, surely you cannot expect me to pass up such an opportunity to amuse you and your sisters. I should not be able to call myself a gentleman otherwise, and I am sure the Mr. Bennet feels the same way." "Oh, yes," said Elizabeth archly, "I am quite sure that was your intention, to amuse me and my sisters! Your altruism is commendable, sir." "I thank you, madam." In such enjoyable conversation with Elizabeth and, later, with Jane, the evening passed quickly. Henry finally excused himself and called for his horse. The entire family accompanied him to the door, where he bowed to the ladies and Collins. Mr. Bennet, to Henry's great surprise, held out his hand. "You may call at Longbourn anytime, Mr. Tilney," he said. "I should like that very much, sir," Henry replied. "I cannot stay in Hertfordshire much longer; my duties call me back to Woodston. However, I hope to see you again before my departure." "Yes, well." The older man turned back to the house with a dismissive wave, and Mr. Collins and the ladies followed him. Henry mounted his horse and turned to ride away; but as he glanced back at the house, he saw Mr. Bennet's face at the library window, smiling at him. Continued in Next Chapter ~ Table of Contents By A Lady Comment on this story Home ~ Site Map ~ Contact Original Images and Content Copyright © 2002 by Margaret C. Sullivan. All Rights Reserved.