Advent Calendar Day 2: Mr. Collins’s Last Supper (part 2)

Thank you for opening the second “window” on the Jane Austen Variations advent calendar! Today’s prize is part two (of three) of my Pride and Prejudice based short story Mr. Collins’s Last Supper – the tongue-in-cheek tale of how that pompous clergyman learned (too late) why gluttony is considered one of the “seven deadly sins.” In case you missed the introduction, you may want to go back to yesterday’s post before reading on.  Enjoy!

The day began like any other. Mr. Collins rose at dawn – an admirable custom learnt in his spartan youth and retained as a point of personal pride. After an hour spent closeted in meditation, cultivating what he flattered himself were high thoughts and lofty principles, he breakfasted with his wife.

“What are your plans for the day, my dear?” Charlotte inquired of him as they ate. She asked the question every morning even though there was never much mystery or even variety in her husband’s answer.

“I have a full slate of important work to do, I assure you,” he replied. “I shall be in my book room for the whole of the morning, going over the discourse to be preached on Sunday. Every word of it is already firmly fixed here in my head,” he said pointing to that appendage. “It is the presentation that still wants refining. A great deal of practice is required to give one’s speech that unstudied air, you know, but that is what sets the really accomplished orators apart from the rest.”

“Yes, so you have informed me on more than one occasion.”

“Would you care to hear it later – my sermon, I mean?” Mr. Collins asked, reaching for another portion of ham. “It would be no bother at all.”

Charlotte considered the question a moment. “I think not, my dear. I would not wish to … how shall I explain? … to dilute the impact of your words by listening in on them before they are fully prepared. Let them overtake me unawares at the proper time and place – of a sudden and in church.”

“Of course. That is only right. Though you are my wife, I mustn’t show favoritism. All my parishioners have a rare treat in store for them this week, though I say it myself.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. The message I speak of came to me in a bolt of inspiration,” he said in hallowed tones, raising his eyes heavenward. “It sprang into my mind, nearly fully formed, directly out of a chapter of Fordyce’s Sermons. I merely had to add such personal touches and illustrations from my own experience as naturally suggested themselves.”

“How convenient. Has Lady Catherine sanctioned your selection?”

“Your scruples do you credit, my dear,” he said, patting her hand, “but you should know by now that I never venture an opinion from the pulpit without her approval. She has already scrutinized the text point by point and given her kind approbation … provided I make the changes she advised.”

“Are there many to be made this week?”

“Only so many as are perfectly reasonable and as I have grown accustomed to expecting.”

“Her Ladyship is exceedingly attentive to detail.”

“Very true, my dear. Nothing is beneath her notice. She makes even the minutest concerns of her neighbors her business. Is that not the soul of charity itself?”

Charlotte was saved from the task of contriving an answer to this question by a timely distraction. The bell at the door sounded – the back door used by servants and tradesmen.

Mr. Collins exhibited more than usual interest in the ordinary occurrence, going so far as to suspend his meal and his conversation in order to incline his ear in the direction of the noise. The patter of feet and a muted exchange of words could be heard. Mary, the household’s young maid-of-all-work, then appeared with a large, irregularly shaped parcel wrapped in brown paper.

“This just come from Rosings, madam,” she announced. “Compliments of ‘er Ladyship.”

A beatific smile overspread Mr. Collins’s countenance. “Excellent,” he murmured.

“What is it, Mary?” Charlotte inquired.

“A joint of mutton, madam, or so says the footman who brung it. He also says as I am to cook and serve it this very day,” Mary added fretfully. “Ladyship’s orders.”

“How peculiar.” Charlotte turned to her husband. “Do you have any knowledge of this, Mr. Collins?”

“She is the soul of charity!” he sang out. “Did I not say so less than five minutes ago? And here is yet another confirmation of it.”

Charlotte sighed. “Very well, Mary,” she said. “You had best take that to the kitchen and see to it at once. Set aside your other chores for now.”

“Yes, madam, as you wish.” Mary bobbed a curtsey and went.

“Now, Mr. Collins,” his wife continued, “please contain your raptures a moment and give me an answer more to the purpose. What is this about? Why, pray, is her Ladyship sending us meat?”

“Really, my dear Charlotte, you surprise me. Such kindness should not be questioned. No reason beyond virtuous benevolence is required for one Christian in a state of plenty to give to another who is in want.”

“Yes, but where would Lady Catherine get the notion that we are in want?” Charlotte received no answer other than the elevated eyebrows and vacant look of her husband, which spoke volumes. “Ahhh. I perceive that this is your doing, Mr. Collins.”

“Well, perhaps I did chance to mention to my noble patroness that our larder had grown rather thin, and that mutton was your particular favorite. That is all.”

“Oh, Mr. Collins! You have done much more than that. You have insulted my housekeeping, sir, and you have told two falsehoods besides. As you well know, we are in no danger of going hungry here, and mutton is your favorite, not mine!”

“Well, there is something to what you say, my dear. Still, you must admit it has been a good long while since we had such a lovely joint of meat at our disposal. If Lady Catherine deigns to make us a gift of one, who are we to deny her the gratification of demonstrating her generosity? It is one of those distinctions of rank that she likes to have preserved.”

Mr. Collins paid little mind to his wife’s scolding. He could not allow himself to be weighed down by worldly concerns – the solvency of household accounts, stores of food, or even attacks on his personal behavior – not when the Lord’s work and Lady Catherine’s wishes demanded his every attention. Dipping into a jar brought fresh only that morning from his reputedly impoverished pantry, he spread a quantity of marmalade onto a heel of brown bread. This Mr. Collins carried off to the privacy of his book room to enjoy later.

Mrs. Collins, who had known her husband’s limitations from the beginning, understood the futility of pursuing the matter with him any further. Being of a thoroughly practical turn of mind, she set her momentary irritation aside in favor of more productive employments.

Charlotte first ventured to the kitchen to see what mischief Lady Catherine’s contribution had created there. Mary was as industrious a maid as the mistress of any household could hope to employ, but she was not at her best when beset by unexpected circumstances. The unforeseen arrival of an overnight guest had been known to throw her into a state of near panic. The appearance of a leg of mutton at the door might prove nearly as harrowing.

Charlotte smoothed Mary’s ruffled feathers as best she could. “Never mind about the ironing,” she told her. “I shall be happy to help you with that later. As for the chicken, it will keep till tomorrow. Devote yourself to that joint of meat, Mary. Lady Catherine desires that we eat mutton today, and therefore, mutton we shall eat.”

Defiance, or even delay, was unthinkable. Although Charlotte could not (as her husband did) consider Lady Catherine’s interference a mark of charity, she did accept it as part of the bargain she made when she agreed to marry Mr. Collins. Lady Catherine was accustomed to having her instructions obeyed without question, and she kept a watchful eye on all her subjects for signs of insubordination. Indeed, no sooner had Charlotte settled in the parlor to address herself to some mending than she received the herald of the great lady’s arrival.

Charlotte heard her husband calling her name, his hurried footsteps approaching in the hallway. “There you are,” he said, bursting into the room, nearly out of breath. “Make haste, make haste, for her Ladyship is here! I have just seen her carriage from my window.”

“Oh, yes? Then she is very welcome,” Charlotte responded, continuing at her work.

“No, no, my dear, that will not do at all! She is with her daughter, and only stopping at our garden gate. We must go out to them at once; we dare not keep them waiting.”

“Very well,” said Charlotte, rising to do as she was bid. She laid her sewing aside, pulled a shawl about her shoulders, and followed her husband from the house.

The two ladies from Rosings waited without, ensconced in a barouche-landau, one of several carriages belonging to the estate. Lady Catherine sat stiffly erect on the side facing the parsonage. From her elevated situation, she sited down her aquiline nose to observe the Collinses’ approach. Miss Anne de Bourgh sat beside her, nearly lost in shadow.

Mr. Collins gave a low bow when he reached them, and offered a speech of welcome with many thanks for the honor of their visit and many apologies for not having greeted them more speedily. So thorough was his discourse on these topics that there remained not a word for Charlotte to add, and no room to add it in any case.

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Lady Catherine at last, “that will do, Mr. Collins. I will speak to you more later, but it is your wife to whom I must address my present business.”

Mr. Collins nodded his acknowledgement and silenced himself at once.

Charlotte stepped forward and gave Lady Catherine her polite attention.

“Now, Mrs. Collins, I trust you received the parcel I sent over early this morning.”

“I did, your Ladyship, and I thank you. It was a very thoughtful gift, and it is this minute in the oven under Mary’s careful supervision.”

“I am glad to hear it. See that she does not ruin it by overcooking. I will not have a perfectly aged joint of my best mutton spoilt by carelessness.”

“No, madam.”

“Nor will I have it said that I allowed a clergyman’s family under my care go hungry,” she continued with more energy. “But really, Mrs. Collins, I must insist you keep a closer watch on your budget from now on. The living I provide your husband should be more than adequate. I defy anyone to argue otherwise. So, unless a servant is thieving from under your nose, I can only conclude that this current shortfall is the result of some gross mismanagement on your part.”

Charlotte, who had been expecting some charge of this sort, was careful not to let any hint of vexation be heard in her answer. “It will not happen again, I assure you, Lady Catherine.”

“See that it does not. I take my responsibilities to this parish very seriously, and I never begrudge charity where it is due. I am no miser. Ask anyone. However, there is a limit. I cannot be expected to stand in the breach for every case of negligence and bad judgment in the county. This one wants a bit of meat for the table; that one needs milk for the baby. Why, I should be eaten out of house and home if I allowed that sort of thing to be perpetuated. I will not have it, Mrs. Collins! Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly, madam. As I said, this error will not occur again.” She turned a pointed look upon her husband. “Will it Mr. Collins?”

He shook his head resolutely. “No, no, indeed, Lady Catherine. We are greatly indebted to you for your generosity in our hour of need. Such kind condescension is rarely met with. But we shall never trouble you to repeat it. You will have no cause to concern yourself with my wife’s housekeeping again. You have the word of your most humble servant on that.”

“Very well. There is no need to grovel. I give this correction for your benefit, not mine. As long as you have both learnt your lesson, we need say no more about it. Mr. Collins, you will wait upon me later as we discussed. And for heaven’s sake, come promptly. I cannot abide tardiness, as well you know.” Not wanting or expecting a reply, Lady Catherine called for the coachman to drive on.

The Collinses remained silent in the immediate wake of the carriage’s departure. They watched the elegant equipage as it rejoined the road for Hunsford village and presently vanished from their sight behind the hedgerow. Only then did Charlotte voice the mildest measure of her opinion on what had passed. Though naturally modest, and further reduced by two years of marriage, her pride demanded that much.

“That was most unpleasant,” she said.

“I see what you mean, my dear,” said Mr. Collins, “but we mustn’t blame Lady Catherine.”

“Indeed, I do not blame her.”

“Of course not. How could anybody find fault with the very picture of virtue and respectability? She is the sort of woman whom it would be impossible for one to regard with too much deference. As for any unpleasantness, I daresay it will soon be completely overshadowed.” Just then, an agreeable breeze wafting from the direction of the kitchen arrived, confirming this opinion. Mr. Collins hoisted his nostrils high into the air to better capture the enticing aroma. He inhaled with eyes reverently closed. “What a fine dinner we shall have today! I fancy you will soon thank me for arranging it, my dear.”

He returned to the house with a light step, humming a little tune as he went…  (now read conclusion here)