dreadfully ill, your ladyship!” Mr. Collins was almost grovelling in desperation. “Mrs. Collins says her fever is high and she will not be able to travel for days — many days, possibly.”
“Nonsense! The girl is young and strong; she can certainly undertake a trifling journey to London. See to it at once. I shall even contribute the use of my coach to accomplish the journey.”
Proud of her magnanimity, Lady Catherine stood, certain the interview was completed and that she had once more imposed her will on her parson. But unbeknownst to her, deep within the breast of that subservient parson actually lurked the remnants of the man he might have become if not for the overbearing, almost bullying, nature of his illiterate and miserly father. Mr. Collins came slowly out of his unconscious, subservient posture, standing erect and straightening his shoulders.
This I cannot do, he thought, though he was still terrified. Such an unchristian act is simply too much. I cannot…I just cannot do it.
“Lady Catherine…” He attempted to put as much firmness as possible into his voice, and his attempt must have had some success since her head came up sharply at the unaccustomed tone in his voice.
“Lady Catherine,” he said, when he had her attention. “I cannot permit Miss Elizabeth to make such a journey in her present condition. She must be allowed to remain at least until her fever is gone.”
Lady Catherine stared at him in shock for some moments, unable to comprehend the sense of his words. When the import of his statement finally sank in, her complexion purpled.
“What did you say?” Her voice was dangerously low, almost a hiss, and Mr. Collins paled at the menace in her tone. However, he had gone too far to retreat, and he tried to hold his voice steady as he replied.
“I cannot force Miss Elizabeth from my home when she is so ill, your ladyship. She must be allowed to regain her health before hazarding the journey to London.”
“And this is your last word, Mr. Collins?” Her voice was icy, and the poor man felt sorely tempted to relent and take back his words. But he had really gone too far to retreat, and he only nodded.
“Very well, then. I cannot force you in this matter since you will not oblige me. You are dismissed.”
But as he turned to go, Lady Catherine had the last word as she virtually always did.
“I am most seriously displeased, Mr. Collins!” she announced harshly. “Most seriously displeased indeed!”
It was a rather frightened young man who took his leave of his fearsomely intimidating patroness, backing away and bowing continually until he left her study, wondering all the while whether he had just brought to an end the valuable living for which he had previously been so thankful.
After all, he thought miserably, there is more than one way to interpret ‘you are dismissed.’
Friday, April 10, 1812: Hunsford Parsonage, Kent
The shadows were beginning to lengthen when Elizabeth next woke, and she was dreadfully thirsty. She stifled a groan as she sat up and swung her feet to the floor; her back and shoulders hurt, and she felt a fatigue she had never before experienced. Her headache was diminished but was by no means gone. She swallowed and grimaced at the sour taste in her mouth and the sharp pain in her throat.
I really do feel terrible, she thought blearily, as she poured herself a glass of lemonade. I wish I could tell myself I am not ill, but it is impossible.
She looked up at a gentle knock on the door, and Charlotte entered at her invitation. “How are you feeling now, Eliza?”
“Perhaps a little better.” Elizabeth grimaced at the rasp in her voice and the pain in her throat. She quickly took a long drink, trying to soothe the pain, and her throat did feel better, but swallowing still hurt.
“I really do not like being ill,” she said plaintively. “I feel terribly foolish for saying I do not get sick, and I know I am not coping well. No, no, do not
“Nonsense! The girl is young and strong; she can certainly undertake a trifling journey to London. See to it at once. I shall even contribute the use of my coach to accomplish the journey.”
Proud of her magnanimity, Lady Catherine stood, certain the interview was completed and that she had once more imposed her will on her parson. But unbeknownst to her, deep within the breast of that subservient parson actually lurked the remnants of the man he might have become if not for the overbearing, almost bullying, nature of his illiterate and miserly father. Mr. Collins came slowly out of his unconscious, subservient posture, standing erect and straightening his shoulders.
This I cannot do, he thought, though he was still terrified. Such an unchristian act is simply too much. I cannot…I just cannot do it.
“Lady Catherine…” He attempted to put as much firmness as possible into his voice, and his attempt must have had some success since her head came up sharply at the unaccustomed tone in his voice.
“Lady Catherine,” he said, when he had her attention. “I cannot permit Miss Elizabeth to make such a journey in her present condition. She must be allowed to remain at least until her fever is gone.”
Lady Catherine stared at him in shock for some moments, unable to comprehend the sense of his words. When the import of his statement finally sank in, her complexion purpled.
“What did you say?” Her voice was dangerously low, almost a hiss, and Mr. Collins paled at the menace in her tone. However, he had gone too far to retreat, and he tried to hold his voice steady as he replied.
“I cannot force Miss Elizabeth from my home when she is so ill, your ladyship. She must be allowed to regain her health before hazarding the journey to London.”
“And this is your last word, Mr. Collins?” Her voice was icy, and the poor man felt sorely tempted to relent and take back his words. But he had really gone too far to retreat, and he only nodded.
“Very well, then. I cannot force you in this matter since you will not oblige me. You are dismissed.”
But as he turned to go, Lady Catherine had the last word as she virtually always did.
“I am most seriously displeased, Mr. Collins!” she announced harshly. “Most seriously displeased indeed!”
It was a rather frightened young man who took his leave of his fearsomely intimidating patroness, backing away and bowing continually until he left her study, wondering all the while whether he had just brought to an end the valuable living for which he had previously been so thankful.
After all, he thought miserably, there is more than one way to interpret ‘you are dismissed.’
Friday, April 10, 1812: Hunsford Parsonage, Kent
The shadows were beginning to lengthen when Elizabeth next woke, and she was dreadfully thirsty. She stifled a groan as she sat up and swung her feet to the floor; her back and shoulders hurt, and she felt a fatigue she had never before experienced. Her headache was diminished but was by no means gone. She swallowed and grimaced at the sour taste in her mouth and the sharp pain in her throat.
I really do feel terrible, she thought blearily, as she poured herself a glass of lemonade. I wish I could tell myself I am not ill, but it is impossible.
She looked up at a gentle knock on the door, and Charlotte entered at her invitation. “How are you feeling now, Eliza?”
“Perhaps a little better.” Elizabeth grimaced at the rasp in her voice and the pain in her throat. She quickly took a long drink, trying to soothe the pain, and her throat did feel better, but swallowing still hurt.
“I really do not like being ill,” she said plaintively. “I feel terribly foolish for saying I do not get sick, and I know I am not coping well. No, no, do not
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