'Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry,' Liza chanted to herself. She pressed her eyes tightly shut in an attempt to keep out the unwanted tears.
'Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.' It was the single thought she repeated mentally, knowing that if she allowed herself to think of anything else at all – either pleasant or not – she would break apart into a weeping, sobbing mess.
'Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.' She shook and pinched herself bitterly, fighting the treacherous salty drops that pulled between her closed eyelids and now threatened to roll down her cheeks.
'Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry!' And unable to stay a moment longer in that room where he had been, she rushed out. Losing her carefully controlled, rational calm for the first time in years, Elizaveta Benetin sprinted away from the house where he had thrown every possible insult at her, and burned her with his lustful disapproving eyes as if she were nothing more than a whore.
As Longbourn came into view, Liza slowed down to a leisurely walk, and carefully regulated her breathing. In and out. In and out. She soon stopped panting, and her heart rate fell back to a semblance of normal. And if there was still a storm inside her aching head, she was sure no one could tell.
She pulled on her masterful smile.
Then pulled back her slender shoulders.
And the girl who walked into the front garden of Longbourn was healthy, bright, and cheerful. She was the same smart, controlled, selfish creature who had led a most perfect life for twenty- four years. She no longer knew or cared for the chauvinistic pig who had offered to purchase her body.
But Liza's newfound comfort was not meant to last long. For she beheld, right there in the garden, the one proposal that was almost as preposterous and insulting as the one she had been subjected to half an hour before.
Mr. Edmund Collins was on one knee, and his short-fingered greasy hands were holding tightly onto the pale right hand of Miss Charlotte Lucas.
"Charlotte!" Liza called, and rushed to the couple. Her despair was easily audible in her voice.
Charlotte glanced up, and colored.
"Elizaveta." She seemed at a loss of anything else to say.
"Charlotte – wh… what is going on?"
Charlotte drew a deep breath, before answering calmly: "Mr. Collins has made me a most generous offer of marriage." Then she pulled on an insincere smile, and continued cheerfully: "You may congratulate me, my friend."
Mr. Collins grinned, and began rising to his feet. "So you accept, my lady?"
Before Charlotte had a chance to confirm, Liza suddenly stepped right between the two young people.
"Wait!" She turned first to Collins: "This is a very important decision, Mr. Collins. You would excuse me, if I wish to speak with my friend before she gives you a final answer."
"Miss Benetin –"
"But Liza – "
But she did not give either of them a chance to finish. She turned to Charlotte, and spoke in a grave tone that brooked no opposition:
"A few words, Charlotte. Please."
And with a firm grasp on her friend's wrist, Liza led the disoriented Charlotte away.
"Charlotte, are you out of your senses?!" She yelled as soon as they were sufficiently removed from the unwanted Mr. Collins.
"Elizaveta, I ask you not to take that tone with me."
"Oh, come on! Don't act all stuffy and offended. You knew I would not approve of this, of course you did! I had guessed there was something you weren't telling me from the way you left this morning..."
"Nonsense. I was not keeping anything from you. I have nothing to be ashamed of, Liza!"
Liza shook her head.
"You were already planning this at the ball, were you not? Now that I think back to it, you had two dances with that man last night… Tell me, was he not set on proposing to Mary?"
"He was," Charlotte replied grumpily and turned away.
"And?"
"And he did."
"She rejected him?" Liza exclaimed, unable to keep the joy out of her voice.
"Apparently."
"Good girl!"
"Liza, you are being unreasonable. If you don't fancy Mr. Collins, that is no reason to wish to prevent everyone else from marrying him."
Liza sighed. "Charlotte, can you really say that you do fancy Mr. Collins?"
"He is well-positioned in society, with Lady Catherine de Bourgh's patronage, and he will inherit Longbourn upon Mr. Bennet's death. I dare say I will be very comfortable with him."
"I did not ask whether you fancied his money, Charlotte. Do you fancy the man himself?"
"I have no strong feelings towards him either way. But that is hardly relevant."
"Hardly relevant?! Charlotte, how can you possible speak that way?"
Charlotte huffed irritably. "Elizaveta, just because you have men like Mr. Darcy pining after you, you seem to have some pretty-colored notions of love and matrimony. Not everyone is as fortunate as you."
"Do not mention that name," Liza whispered.
"What did you say?"
"Do not ever say that man's name in my hearing," She repeated slightly louder. Her words were still soft and quiet, but imbued with unusual firmness. And the cold determination that shone from her eyes sent a chill down Charlotte's back.
"I – I'm sorry. Is anything the matter?"
"No." At Charlotte's continued quizzical look, she added reluctantly: "It is nothing of any import, Charlotte. I have my reasons for disliking that man, and I wish you never to mention him in my hearing again. Understood?"
Charlotte nodded. Too stunned by her friend's unexpected hostility to press any further.
The determination remained in Liza's tone, even when the hatred receded, as she turned back to her purpose: "Now about Mr. Collins, Charlotte. I see that before I arrived, you were set on accepting his proposal of marriage. I will not attempt to dissuade you, because even if I succeed, I would run the risk of facing your lifelong resentment as a result. Instead, I only ask one thing: postpone your decision until you visit his parsonage and meet Lady Catherine. Ask him to take you on a visit, with your parents perhaps, before you sign a lifelong contract. Please, I urge you as your friend: see what that life would be like, before committing to it irrevocably."
Charlotte saw the genuine concern in Liza's eyes, and heard the reasonable arguments her friend made. Elizaveta's proposition seemed sound and logical, so she took Liza's hand in hers, and replied:
"I thank you for your concern, Elizaveta. And even though I know my answer already, I will do as you suggest. You are right: it cannot hurt either way." Then she smiled, and added: "Would you like to come with me?"
"Thank you, Charlotte!" Liza exclaimed, and at last let out a relieved sigh. She hugged her friend tightly to her breast, and felt an overwhelmingly warm, fuzzy feeling – at having saved one soul from a miserable life.
But as Charlotte's words sank in, Elizaveta's countenance darkened. While the thought of accompanying her friend on a visit to Kent, and meeting the ridiculous – and hence invariably amusing - Lady Catherine de Bourgh was very appealing, Liza suddenly remembered about the illustrious lady's nephew. And the thought of seeing him again was all but pleasant. No, she never wanted to behold that man again – he incited in her far stronger feelings of hatred than anyone else ever had.
"Charlotte, perhaps…" But she stopped herself when she saw Charlotte's questioning gaze. 'How can I explain to Charlotte that I cannot come, without telling her everything?'
"What is it, Liza?"
Elizaveta leveled her breathing, and ordered herself to thinking rationally. Remembering the storyline of Pride and Prejudice more carefully, she recalled that Elizabeth Bennet ran into Mr. Darcy in Kent in April, at Easter time. And at present, it was only the end of November. He would have no reason to be there. And suddenly, the thought of an excursion to Kent was once again tremendously appealing. It would get her away from Hertfortshire – from this place where she had already suffered plenty of misery, from those haunting memories of her time at Netherfield Park, and from the somber reminders of the things she had been subjected to hearing that very morning at Lucas Lodge.
Nothing could possibly be better for restoring her cheerfulness, than some jolly laughter inspired by a good little dose of Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
And so she smiled back at Charlotte, and pronounced quite excitedly:
"Nothing, Charlotte, nothing at all. I will be very glad to accompany you. Oh, what a pleasant trip it shall be!"
Tand then…
Fields, valleys, prairies.
Trees, houses, horses.
Yellowing leaves, withering flowers, soft droplets of rain.
Liza smiled at it all, marveling at the varied, beautiful landscapes spanning out in front of the carriage window.
She drew a deep breath, and relished in the cool autumn air, so soft yet crisp, and with a tint of amber.
A gentle smile touched the corners of her lips. And a bubbling happiness planted itself warmly in her chest.
She wanted to dance; she wanted to sing, she wanted to live.
'At last!'
That month and a half in Hertfortshire were the most oppressive in her life. And now, how glad she was to be free! To live again, to laugh again.
It had taken all of two weeks since Collins' inopportune proposal – but now, at last, they were arriving in Kent. Now, at last, Liza was leaving Hertfortshire. 'To never return.'
Of that, she was already certain. Prior to their departure, she had spoken to Sir Lucas, and shared her determination to quit their home after the trip. He attempted to persuade her to reconsider. But she was easily the more stubborn of the two, and after a few words of regret, he consented. He gave her the two thousand pounds left by her father, and his own blessing.
To be honest, the last two weeks of her stay at the Lucas Lodge were nowhere nearly as distressing as the first month. The morning after his offensive proposal, Liza was gratified to know that Mr. Darcy had urgently quit Netherfield Park. What was more – Mr. Bingley remained, and his attentions to Jane increased with each day. Everything was going smoothly.
Still, Liza was glad to quit the place that invoked in her such saddening, maddening memories.
"There it is! The magnificent estate of her Ladyship, my noble patroness Catherine de Bourgh!"
Liza looked in the direction Mr. Collins was pointing, and suppressed a laugh. There, right before her eyes, stood the most ostentatious home she had ever seen. It was not merely large, it was gigantic. But it was not magnificent – it was ridiculous. The over-ornate columns and buttresses gave it a shallow, cheap Las Vegas look. There was nothing elegant about Rosings Park. Liza Benetin had always envisaged that estate as presumptuous and ludicrous. And to her cheerful amusement, it did not disappoint.
"Oh my!" She exclaimed with fake amazement. "What a grand estate indeed! Charlotte, have you ever seen such refined taste?" And she slyly elbowed her friend.
Charlotte blushed. Over the past few weeks, she had come to know her intended fiancé better, and became increasingly embarrassed by his preposterous grandeur and ridiculous antics. She was almost beginning to second-guess her decision to marry Mr. Collins, but would not let such silly thoughts enter her mind. She had never been a romantic; a comfortable life was all she required. And she could have that with Mr. Collins, however lacking that man's intellect might be.
And it was certainly lacking.
To her chagrin, Mr. Collins carried on speaking in a most slimey, saccharine tone:
"Indeed, Miss Benetin, Rosings Park is magnificent. It is, I am sure, the grandest estate you will ever behold. Just think of the honor you have – to stay in such proximity to such a great estate! And the condescension that Lady Catherine has shown to me is even more impressive. She has visited my parsonage in person on numerous occasions, and even made most amazing suggestions as to the running and improvement of my humble abode. What is more, I have already dined at Rosings Park twice in the last three months!"
Liza was now having trouble suppressing her snickers. And despite the uncomfortable look and rosy blush of embarrassment on her friend's face, she could not resist the temptation to egg Mr. Collins on:
"Oh my! That is indeed a marvelous honor. Is there any chance, Mr. Collins, that we might be invited to dine at Rosings during our stay?" She gave a broad smile that belied the sarcasm of her words.
Mr. Collins beamed with pride, and set up straighter, at having such a receptive audience. He then turned his expression more serious, and answered gravely:
"I rather doubt it, Miss Benetin. Lady Catherine is so far beyond us in rank and stature, that it would be imprudent to expect an invitation. If she does choose to honor us with – not dinner, but perhaps a tea at her mansion – it will be a most marvelous privilege. But do not make yourself uneasy, my fair friend; to bring you pleasure, I shall do everything in my power to secure an invitation to Rosings." Here he bowed lightly, and smiled in what he must have thought was a flirtatious manner.
Liza smiled back briefly, and immediately turned away, to spare the man the sight of her openly laughing at his absurdity.
Charlotte was, by this point, utterly embarrassed. She mentally cursed Mr. Collins for his lack of understanding, and wished fervently that he could somehow be persuaded not to speak. But she then scolded herself for such ungenerous thoughts towards her future husband, and resolved to behave more kindly towards him – even if Liza was set on exposing his ridiculousness and mocking it so persistently.
That resolution proved incredibly difficult to maintain over the days and weeks that followed.
Each new day revealed a novel aspect to Mr. Collins' silliness. It was becoming increasingly unbearable for Charlotte. And even Liza appeared to lose her initial interest in making fun of the man. She now exposed his character faults merely to make Charlotte reconsider the match. And Charlotte was growing angry at her friend for such cruel, cunning attempts.
Some five days into their stay at the parsonage, Charlotte's younger sister, Maria Lucas, hurriedly burst into the sitting room where the two girlfriends were engaged in embroidery and chatter.
"Oh, Charlotte, Elizaveta! Pray make haste and come into the dining room, for there is such a sight to be seen! I will not tell you what it is. Make haste, and come down this moment!"
Charlotte and Liza exchanged questioning glances, and hurried downstairs. To their utmost disappointment, the sight that had so excited young Maria was nothing more than an elaborate carriage in the parsonage driveway.
"And that is all?" Liza began to question the young girl incredulously, but then she beheld the elderly lady exiting the carriage. Her attention turned immediately to the newcomer, her hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity.
The lady of Rosings Park exceeded Liza's expectations just as much as the manor itself.
Her gown was so large and pretentious, that Liza sardonically wondered how the lady could even walk. The mismatched precious stones that adorned her neck, her shoulders, her head, her arms, her ears, her dress – and absolutely everything else – were so ostentatious that it was marvel she could stand under all the weight. And yet stand she did – and with so much uprightness, her chin held so high – that she appeared as if she was ready to fall over backwards any minute.
But the best were the lady's manner. She exited her carriage quite regally, and then brusquely stepped into the parsonage, as if she entirely owned the place. She threw one disapproving look at the assembled people, and without waiting for introductions, addressed Collins' in a disgruntled, impatient tone:
"Which is your little lady, Collins?" At this, her nose rose marginally higher, and Liza thought she heard a slight snicker of disgust.
Trembling under his noble patroness's stern gaze, Collins hurried to take Charlotte's hand.
"Allow me to introduce, your Ladyship, my friend and fiancée, Charlotte Lucas."
Charlotte frowned at the presumption the man displayed. She had made it quite clear that her visit to Kent was meant as a means to get to know him better – and to decide whether or not she wished to enter a marriage with him. She emphasized several times that she had not made any final decision with that regard. And yet here he was – introducing her as his future well.
"Very well, very well," Lady Catherine muttered under her breath. "I suppose she will do. A plain, quiet sort of girl, nothing special. Not too much spirit, but hopefully sufficient breeding. And a gentlewoman, I suppose?"
Charlotte, who was normally of a pleasant, mild temperament, found herself positively seething. 'How dare this woman speak of me in such a manner – and when I am right before her eyes?!'
Yet Collins continued as if nothing happened, and as if no insult had been done to the woman he was supposedly wooing.
"Oh yes, Lady Catherine, most certainly a gentlewoman. Her father, Sir Lucas, has been presented at St. James' Court. He is also visiting here, but is not at home at present."
Charlotte's estimation of her intended future husband, however low it may have fallen over the past several weeks, had never been quite as awful as it was now. Here he was, completely oblivious to the slight cause to her – and on the contrary, eagerly taking the side of this insulting lady! 'Is this what life with him will always be like?' She began wondering seriously.
"And who is this?" Lady Catherine's shrill voice asked, as her eyes landed on Liza.
Without giving the silly man a chance to speak again, Liza gave a light curtsy. But that gesture of politeness was belied by a slight lift in her chin. The message was quite clear: she was not intimidated; she was not inferior. Lady Catherine lifted her eyebrows lightly at such a display.
"Miss Elizaveta Benetin of St. Petersburg, madam. And you are?"
Even if she was perfectly, entirely, completely aware of the lady's identity, the question was absolutely necessary. It screamed loud and clear that to Liza this woman was nothing. That in this room of people whom Lady Catherine chose to slightly, mock, and despise, there was at least one who did know – and hardly cared to know – who she was.
Liza's words achieved their purpose. Lady Cathedine narrowed her eyes as she beheld the girl for several seconds, debating whether to honor her with a response.
This young girl before her was slim, young, and unpleasantly beautiful. She comported herself with poise and confidence. She moved with grace, and was dressed with elegance. She was from abroad, and not from that hole that was Hertfortshire countryside. Perhaps she had even been at the Russian court…
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh."
The words were contrite and forced; but they were there nonetheless. Liza gave an equally court nod, and then pressed her lips tightly together – so as to avoid smiling at her victory. Elizaveta Benetin: 1; Catherine de Bourgh: 0.
The next hour was passed in conversation exclusively between Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins. If it could even be termed a conversation… a monologue, perhaps, would be more fitting.
Lady Catherine gave grumpy instructions about the changes Collins should be making to the house, the garden, the servants, the furniture. She criticized everything, and praised nothing.
Collins could not manage anything more than eager nods of agreement at his patroness's every condescending word. He attempted at first to offer his effusive gratitude, but Lady Catherine was not in a mood to listen to his simpering. So he had to content himself instead with busying himself in writing down, in minutest detail, her ladyship's every invaluable suggestion.
Liza observed the two, and could hardly suppress her amusement. Collins' absurdity she already knew well. But Lady Catherine was a novelty. And adding to Liza's delight was the nagging suspicious that the bulk of her ladyship's impertinent suggestions and complaints were due to her, to Liza. Lady Catherine was undoubtedly irritated at encountering a person whom she could not easily intimidate – and of whom she knew not what to make. So she took out her frustration on those that were more vulnerable. By acting as the divine queen reigning over Collins' parsonage, her somehow sought to assuage her wounded sense of grandeur by confirming her full control.
And so it was with a slight smirk tugging at the corners of her lips that Liza noticed Lady Catherine looking directly at her as she at last took her leave, and pronounced brusquely:
"I shall see you at tea tomorrow, at Rosings Park."