Thank you again for your comments and follows. Always excited by my email alerts. Whether these updates are on a coffee break, with tea and cookies before bed, or just a midnight distraction to help you fall asleep, may it always be a pleasant read. That's what I like in things I read anyhow.

To sullhack: It's very scary to think what people didn't know back then! I have read articles about Queen Elizabeth I, and what may have caused her death. And all for the sake of fads and fashion of the era. History is an eye-opener, isn't it?

Chapter 12

Any of the evils that transpired at Netherfield had finally caught up with Mrs. Bennet's hearing. Of course, everyone was slow to rise that morning, and breakfast was served late to accommodate. The last to come down for breakfast, the most listless and sluggish of them, Kitty accepted the rebukes awaiting in her mother's parlour. Some tonic for the headache was given in, and swallowed just as readily. Unfortunately, Mrs. Bennet did not adhere to the sentiment that preventative measures proved more valuable than any remedies, apologies, or punishment. Scoldings ensued on her careless, greedy appetite for all the punch she had to drink last night and earlier that morning.

"Imagine if Mrs. Long had observed such behaviour. Her daughters and nieces scarcely drink any wine, let alone spirits."

"Oh Mama, please, I feel ill. I'd like to go back to bed."

"If you can dance and drink punch all night, you're certainly up for the task of sitting in the parlour like a lady of your position ought to; though I will say, you have a long way to go as far as becoming a lady." Since this did not stir enough reaction in her daughter, she added: "Furthermore, we have a guest in the house. A member of the clergy! What should Mr. Collins say if he had witnessed all your trips to the refreshment table?"

"That's hardly a fair statement, Mama! Lydia probably had as much to drink as I had-"

"Oh nonsense! She's perfectly fine. She's tired like all of us are, but not suffering after effects of liquor."

Rescuing Kitty from dissolving into tears, Lizzy heard and came into the parlour. Probably the best remedy for the younger sister was her older sister taking up her own griefs to her mother. Indeed, Lizzy looked thoroughly cross.

"Really Mama, why on earth did you force Mary to go to the ball last night?" charged Lizzy. "I just came from her. She's in a lot of pain and back in bed."

"What are you talking about?"

"She was indisposed last night. That's why Mr. Bingley offered her to sleep in that back parlour. She was very unwell. Had I any idea of it, I would've brought her home."

"Oh Lizzy, don't scold me and try my nerves. Mary was perfectly well. She performed at dinner, did she not? I daresay, she would not have had strength for it otherwise."

"Whatever the case, she was hardly fit to go. She ought to have been allowed to stay-"

"After all the money I spent on those fine new clothes for her? Heavens! I have such ungrateful children." Both sisters chanced looks at each other, defeated by the vanity of their mother's reasoning. Though Lizzy had her own opinion of Kitty's merriment, these trials by family released her. "There are times, it seems to me, that Mary over-exaggerates her predicaments. After all, I've had to deal with them plenty in my life, and you girls will have to as well. She's not special in that way."

"Her pain deserves as much consideration as your own nerves, madam."

"As to her situation, it is all in hand. Mr. Jones and I have deliberated upon a new prescribed tonic, which seems to be working quite well. As long as she takes it, she should have less discomfort now… You'd do yourself a great service, Lizzy, if you leave me to decide the best for my daughters, and not quarrel so often about it. Your husband will not appreciate such an attitude. Do you not think so, Kitty?"

"I don't know what you mean, Mama," shrugged Kitty. Having tried to distract herself, she had taken up needlework with weak fingers.

"Lizzy knows what I mean."

Instead of fighting it, the subject changed to something more neutral. Or at least, Lizzy attempted to change it by talking of the ball, and commenting on whether they might see Charlotte Lucas at some point during the day. Mr. Collins put an end to it by his sheepish entrance. With odd, discomfiting smiles and high-spirited solemnity, he petitioned Mrs. Bennet for a private audience with her daughter Elizabeth at this course of the morning. Kitty's aching temples were suddenly relieved, completely discharged from any further reprimands, now that her mother was swept up in happy anticipation. Of course, she was quickly ushered from the room, despite all of Lizzy's protests that Kitty or her mother might stay.

Whenever a man solicited a private audience, propriety dictated that the standard be the man request the parents' permission to address the the lady he wished to marry. Such was Mr. Collins' way; any practical man would see the benefit of having one conversation instead of two separately. He may state his intention and be granted the blessing of mother or father with a mere yes. Kitty sought out Lydia as quickly as she could get away, and both sisters retreated to the shrubbery outside the parlour window. How fortunate that the weather had not turned too cold, discouraging their mother from opening the window in the first place. They did not miss too much in the scramble.

"For almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life." From that sentence, the youngest sisters were privy to every word between them. Oration began with his reasons for marrying, first in generalities, then the particulars. Generalities were rather a bore. If his patroness had not sanctioned anything, Mr. Collins would've likely refrained from entering the marriage state. Singing her praises and singling out qualities of Lizzy that would appeal to her ladyship drew a slight moan of disgust from Lydia: "If he's that taken with the old lady, why doesn't he just marry her himself?" she whispered. Kitty hushed her, eager not to be discovered. When it came to the details about the marriage and the status of the family, delicacy had been the intention, much to his credit; the fact it was made mention of at all, however, meant he had thought too much about it. One of the most romantic episodes of a girl's life, yet to come for Kitty or Lydia, was rendered quite bland and revolting, especially when Mr. Collins so tenderly called her 'my dear cousin.' Of course, it almost set them off in giggles when he prepared to assure his dear cousin, in the most animated language, the violence of his affections.

Then Lizzy spoke. Her response to his speeches would not disappoint the sentiments of her younger sisters. In the moment, neither could care less whether Lizzy said no or yes; it was pitifully funny to listen to him while she tried to make her reply politely. When she finally declared it impossible to accept, it almost seemed as if he didn't hear. Some preposterous notion about elegant females refusing addresses two or three times before accepting proposals. Where in the world this fancy was born eluded all three hearers. Lizzy would not hear of its persistence. "Upon my word, sir, your view is an extraordinary one after my declaration." Lydia choked a bit, turning pink and slowly to red. Heaven forbid had Mr. Collins set his sights any younger than Mary, the refusal he'd have received from either sister would've stripped him of all dignity. Upon the matter of Longbourn, she absolved him of any duty towards the family, and asked that the matter be considered finally settled. About to quit the room, she was stopped by: "When I do myself the honor of speaking to you next on the subject, I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given me…"

The overbearing tone of voice reached beyond the room. For two or three seconds, they supposed their cousin was about to launch into a scolding sermon, or assuming the role as future husband, assert himself with disciplinary action. Lydia edged closer, attempting to peak better through the curtain. Though this turn of events disturbed him, he rallied himself by downplaying any thoughts of cruelty and earnest hopes that she meant to increase love through suspense. Also once more, the reminder of the entail. What a galling thing to hear that though a lady may be beautiful in looks and character, she is foolish to believe that no other man will think so. That you are unhappily too poor to be worth the notice of another gentleman, reconsider the decision. And of course, you are a sensible, modest creature, so you know all this and cannot be serious in your rejection. Even though not Mr. Collins' exact words, the force of which could not mistakenly be taken for a threat. The more he insisted, the more he insulted. Lizzy tried once more to appeal to his better feelings, giving thanks for the honour, but begged the compliment of being taken for her own word. "My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to plague you," she command, "but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart."

No outcomes would've been changed had Mr. Collins chosen to accept the word of his cousin's as the same as her father, except maybe she'd have respected him for it. So self-assured of his own success, he expressed that the sanction of their parents would not fail of making him acceptable in her eyes. They heard no more of Lizzy's voice, having exit the room altogether. Mr. Collins stood there in feelings unknown to them; whether dumbfounded, pained, or angered, could not be determined. To be sure, having a lady walk out on a proposal, so exhausted of civility, was not the most satisfying conclusion of matters.

"What conceit!" growled Kitty. They'd waited at least a couple minutes before peaking, finding the parlour empty. "I wonder that Lizzy kept a civil tongue in her head. Why, if it were me, I'd have walked right up and struck him for such high-minded airs and graces. 'My noble connection with the family of de Bourgh are circumstances highly in my favour.' He sounded quite petulant!"

"Perhaps the most unromantic proposal that I've seen or read in any novel," Lydia snorted. "Poor Lizzy. Her first beau, first suitor, and Mr. Collins is nothing to boast of; what a shame. I cannot blame her."

"Mama will blame her. Oh dear, Mama will be outraged when she hears this. Perhaps this would be the ideal time to make an escape to Meryton."

"Why should we? I've not done anything wrong," protested Lydia. "And I'm not going anywhere. I want to see and know all that happens."

Kitty blinked. "What do you suppose will happen?" she said incredulously.

"I'm sort of curious if Mama will persuade Lizzy to accept him. I'm not saying I'd like her to be. Lord, I cannot blame Lizzy for giving him marching orders. But Mama is the general. If she will have her way, and Papa makes no bones about it, Lizzy may be forced into marriage."

"Why should she be? They cannot really force her, can they?"

"Who's to say? I've read about it happening often enough. In the noble and more wealthy families especially; marriages are arranged so often. When sons and daughters don't obey, they're disinherited."

"Sounds a bit drastic. Really Lydia, a little family like us? Longbourn is no grand palace. We're not princesses, with dowries and kingdoms. I don't see Mama has much authority in this, unless our father agrees."

"There's only one way to find out."

The usual maid went upstairs to attend Mary, sneaking around with a soft foot and trying not to clank the wash basin or tea tray. Having taken another dose of the dubious tonic, Mary's cramping pains were lessening while sensitivity to sound escalated to its heights. Sarah apologized for any noise that was unavoidable, gathered the discarded linens in the closet, and opened the window back up again. Mrs. Bennet had not detected disobedience just yet. After some inquiries, Mary sat up in bed to prepare for the tray. Her stomach had settled tolerably enough for food.

"May I fetch you anything else, Miss Mary?"

"No thank you."

"I shall get on the linens right away."

"Sarah… Have you seen Mrs. Bennet this morning?"

"Briefly, miss. Last I saw, she and Miss Kitty were in the parlour, along with Miss Elizabeth."

"Perhaps when she's not preoccupied, may you ask her to come see me?"

With a tiny bow of compliance, the maid set upon her duties. For all the events of the prior evening, Mary could not obtain the oblivion of mind the tonic had always delivered. Even while she measured out her next dose, Captain Carter's voice whispered in her ear. The transparent liquid disappeared into water as easy as nothing. It tasted no different than before the dropper. Until the dullness overtook her head, the cramps continued to throb and stab. All the pressure made her want to bend in half and scream, cry in agony. Nothing had worked on the pain like this did, nothing else. The idea of going without it now, frightening. The suspicion of what she was swallowing, more and more uncomfortable.

Everyone in the neighborhood heard about the families unfortunate enough to discover either a father, brother, a clerk, or farm hand was a drunk. The whole family had to live with that one person's habits and its consequences, no different than if they nursed the bottle themselves. Wives or sisters went about their days and years, never to receive calls from their neighbors and only be seen at church. Only the rector could be respectably seen calling on the family, and the drunkard. Sometimes, the family name was redeemed if they refused any toleration, thereby turning that offender from the house. Hard decisions to be made. Heartbreaking regardless of dependence or affection for the family member. Everyone was punished by it. And this was merely drink: wine or ale, maybe whiskey. And these were the consequences for men that overindulged. What scandal and ostracism awaited the woman who was guilty of this?

Mary shuddered to imagine it. Controversy surrounded the person who procured and abused opium substances, to the ruination of health, life, and one's economy. She struggled to shake the nagging fear, hoping to wash them away as she washed her face. Then, there came a few shrieks from downstairs, followed by Sarah's footsteps racing upstairs.

"Oh Miss! Beg your pardon, but I don't think it likely you'll talk to your mother very soon."

"What's the matter, Sarah?" Mary winced, rubbing her ears.

"It's quite an uproar downstairs. Mrs. Bennet is very upset. Mr. Collins has apparently proposed to your sister."

"Lizzy?"

"And from what we all hear, she's refused him."

"Refused Mr. Collins?"

If not for being so indisposed, the curiosity to learn all would've stirred her as much as Kitty or Lydia, to proceed downstairs. What could she do that would be useful? Who to be useful to? Mrs. Bennet was nowhere in her thoughts. Primarily, all sympathies embraced her cousin, who must have prepared and steeled himself for this type of special occasion. He'd offered her sister a position and opportunity, when he might have chosen anyone else. It was kindness enough to think about making amends to the family, when he owed the current Longbourn family no filial duty. His father had been a persecutor, while he had extended peace.

"Perhaps you ought to be back in bed, Miss Mary. You still look weak, and a bit distressed."

"I am… shocked."

Mary also considered Jane's scheme the other day, the attempt to bring Mr. Collins and herself together. Apparently, it came to nothing. Now, the real question, what did this mean for Mary? Surely, Mr. Collins was not entirely lost to the family, simply because Lizzy was so foolish. Remembering the ball at Netherfield, there was also the recollection of Lizzy, as well as Lydia and Kitty, talking about Mr. Wickham. Lydia even chided her older sister with a promise, that she would not keep Wickham to herself the entire evening. His presence at the ball, to be her greatest joy, had been thwarted. What was so special about the man? He was just like the rest of them, perhaps with one exception.

Having regained the bedside and settled herself back in the sheets, Mary tried to ask more of the maid without results. Sarah was not a busybody sort of servant; all the better a servant to have, one that doesn't listen at doors and overhear private conversations. Mary even shamed herself for desiring her to do so. Of course, if she were to wait long enough, Lydia and Kitty would supply all details, relieving the suspense. The bell rung below stairs, which summoned Lizzy to the library. That interview between parents and headstrong daughter did not last so long. Everyone throughout the house could hear a cry of despair from Mrs. Bennet, betrayed by them both.

"Why Charlotte!" From the window, Mary heard Lydia at the front door. "What do you do here?"

"I've come to see Eliza," replied Charlotte. "I thought we might walk."

"Oh Charlotte, you'll hardly believe it! Mr. Collins has made Lizzy an offer, and what do you think? She won't have him!"

Then Kitty appeared: "Heavens! Mama is absolutely beside herself! Oh good morning, Charlotte. Have you heard the news? Lizzy has refused to marry Mr. Collins."

"Well, I'm very sorry for him. Though, I cannot say I'm surprised. Perhaps I ought to go."

"No, please don't go!" exclaimed Lydia. "Mama will be pleasanter company with you around in a time of crisis."

Of course, just like Lydia to extend hospitality to a caller and air private family business at the same time. Mrs. Bennet, in a few minutes, would be doing the same herself, calling for aid from Miss Lucas to reason with her ungrateful child. What Mary did not expect was the shriek of agony to come, not from herself, but her mother downstairs. With all her soul and might, at the top of her voice: "I've done with you Miss Lizzy! I'll never speak to you again!" Everybody wanted to be somewhere else, including poor Mr. Collins, the heart of this division. His proposal was withdrawn shortly after. Lizzy set off on a long walk alone with Jane. Lydia and Kitty hung about the drawing room, as they were conferred the duty of tea and callers while their mother wept in private. That left the four of them, the two sisters, Mr. Collins and Charlotte Lucas to make shift under turmoil.

It's kind of difficult not to read or write Mrs. Bennet, and not think of Harriet Oleson, but this part of the novel is a rare exception. They don't belong in the same category, but get Mrs. Bennet heated and angry enough, I see it come out a bit: the scariest, shrewish, most unlikable character in TV history. "Oh for heaven's sake, Nels!" "Oh my dear Mr. Bennet, you're wanted immediately! We're all in an uproar!"

Have a good weekend all!