Page 26 of Mr Collins in Love
“What lie?”My head was beginning to ache a little, as it never did usually when I was with Jem.“I will treat her with kindness and look after her always, as a husband should.And if she is decent and thoughtful and quiet about the house—you know, like Milly, or Mrs Fowke—then I am sure I shall esteem her most highly, as I do them.”
He looked at me oddly, but said no more, and I was relieved to drop the subject and to speak of more interesting matters, such as the fact that one of the young apple trees had not one but three cankers, and whether it would be better to try to cure it or whether we should cut our losses and dig it out.
It was not until we had discharged our various duties in Pettiford and were halfway back to Hunsford that he said in a low voice, “You’re resolved, then, to marry?”
His confusion bewildered me, for I had thought I had made it quite clear on the outward journey, but I explained all over again, and then once more, until I felt I was Obvious Collins indeed.
“But nothing will change, Jem,” I assured him.“I promise.Your position in my household is assured.”
“Aye, thank you.”
His tone was oddly formal, but I again thought the matter at an end, when he muttered, “I’ll lay some things will change, choose how.”
I waited for him to elaborate but he did not, so I asked, “Which things do you mean?”
“You know,” he said.
A spark of vexation lit in my belly for the situation I faced was difficult enough and while I had been trying all morning to school my apprehension, the dread of the ghastly adventure I should soon have to undertake was setting in: strangers to meet, unfamiliar food, dancing, and so on.I had no patience for guessing games, especially not with Jem, who was usually a refuge from such foolery.
“If I knew, I would not ask,” I said, somewhat testily.
“You know,” he said again, and then, as if realising how unhelpful this was, immediately added, “What we have been doing.Down by the brook.Frigging.”
“Oh, that.”We drove on, perhaps a quarter mile, while I tried to understand his reasoning.Eventually, I asked, “But why should that stop when I am married?”
He made an odd shrinking movement, like a horse twitching its skin to rid itself of a fly.
“Well…well…wouldn’t be right, would it?”he said.
“Of course, what we do is a private thing.We both know that.We would nottellher.My wife, I mean.”
“No, no.Coursenot.Don’t mean that.”He had gone bright red and appeared to be sweating, although it was not warm.In fact, a cold breeze had sprung up from the east.“I mean…if you’re married…well, it’d be lying, wouldn’t it, because you promise her.You say, ‘forsaking all others’ and you promise it.And so that’s what she thinks you’ll do.”
“Others?But you’re not ‘others’.You’re…you’re…Jem.MyJem.The marriage vows aren’t…aren’t…” I found my words dwindling away.
“Ain’t talking about the likes of me?”
I was silent because that most horrid of sentiments—sudden realisation—was sweeping over me, laying bare a terrible landscape.
“But, Jem, it’s not that I want to marry her, but I must pretend I do.I must say and do all the right things.Don’t you see?So, can we not simply pretend about that too?It does not seem so very different.”
“Don’t know,” he muttered, but a hundred yards later, he added, “Isdifferent, though, ain’t it?When we stay quiet about something we done, we both know it.Ain’t no lie between us.You had a wife,shewouldn’t know.”
“But I have to lie, to get through life.I lie all the time, to everyone but you.I lie about what I want and what I like.I lie about who I am and what I believe.Because I must.And, lately, I have lied for you too, and for George and Milly and Mrs Fowke, because you are my folk and I love you and I wish us to all continue as we are for as long as I can contrive it, because the rectory is the only home I have ever had, and it is your home too, and theirs.
“And I do not know what Lady Catherine would do to us if she became truly angry with me.But I fear it.I fear it most terribly.She could, perhaps, not take the living from me without difficultly, yet even that she could do.She knows the bishop.He is her cousin by marriage, did I tell you?And there are other things she could do.Quiet words in certain quarters.A particular look when she speaks of me.She could turn the parish against me simply by driving past without waving her hand.I don’t understand why that should be so, and yet it is.So, yes, I must tell lies to get through life, and I do my best to make sure nobody finds out they are being lied to, and I do my best to atone for my existence by doing my duty as best I can.”I took a deep breath.“I thought you knew all this.”
He pushed his hat back and scratched his hair furiously.“Idoknow.Youhavegiven me a home.You always were loyal.To a fault, maybe.But…a wife.I don’t know.It’sdifferent, somehow.Itis.It’s some poor little maid as don’t know nothing.”
“She won’t know nothing,” I corrected.“She will have met me and I will be certain to describe Hunsford and the rectory in great detail so she may make as informed a decision as possible.”
“Won’t meetyouthough, will she?She’ll meet the rector of Hunsford, what don’t approve of novel-reading and what spends half his time thinking up compliments to Lady Catherine when he’d like to run a mile from the old besom.”
My hand rose unbidden in alarm, as if to ward off a blow.“Jem!Dear me!You must never,eversay such things.You don’t know who might be listening.”
I peered around, but saw naught but fallow fields and a few rooks tumbling in the air.
“All right, all right.”Jem said.“No one’s listening or I wouldn’t have said it.But you can’t deny what I say is true.This Miss Bennet; she won’t meet the real you.”
