Page 29 of Mr Collins in Love
“I think…” I spoke slowly and quietly, for I was not used trusting my impulses with any other than Jem, and my heart was beating fast.“I mean…when I first saw you, I thought that you were gathering stones for your fernery and I…I think that now you have enough.”
“You don’t understand,” she said.
“I think I do.”
“No.No!”She made an odd, unladylike gesture with both hands, as though she would shove me away, though she did not touch me.
I was somewhat vexed to be considered obtuse when I was merely trying to be tactful.I drew myself up.“Miss Polkington, I believe Idounderstand why you are here, but?—”
“But you don’t!”
“I don’t really believe you are here to gather stones for your fernery.”
“I know that!You said that to be kind.Youarekind, sir.But I…I do not deserve it.You…you would not speak to me if you knew.”She hung her head.
I was glad she thought I was being kind, but a familiar heaviness was settling over me for it was clear we were talking at cross-purposes.Still, she did not know I understood she was there to drown herself in the lake.Honestly, I despaired of making any person other than Jem understand me.I either pointed out matters that were too obvious, or I was so subtle as to have my meaning completely misunderstood.Well then, I must be obvious.
“I know why you are here,” I said.“You want to drown yourself in the lake.But you must not, Miss Polkington.Indeed, you must not.”
“It is better so, sir.”
She was not without dignity as she said this, raising her chin and looking me in the eye.It occurred to me that I could offer to marry her now that Mr Barson would not have her.She would be grateful, perforce, and therefore humble and unlikely to cause trouble for Jem or to gainsay me in household matters.But Lady Catherine’s horrified expression popped into my head.She would not consider any of the Polkington girls suitable for a clergyman’s wife now.And, in any case, Miss Polkington’s love of ferns could easily extend to vegetables.Besides, I had already posted the letter to Mr Bennet.Of course, I could not offer.
“No, no,” I said.“I know you have been cruelly shamed and disappointed, but you are young, Miss Polkington, and will recover.If you will not think of yourself, please, I beg you, think of your family.Or of all the good works you might do.And some decent man may yet make you an offer.Of course it will not be Mr Barson, and it may indeed be someone you have heretofore considered beneath you, but, I ween, you?—”
“You don’t understand.”She seemed to wilt.“I can never marry.I am wicked.I have had such sinful thoughts.”
“Yes,” I said, with what I felt was commendable patience.“Self-murder is a great evil.But you have not done it yet.”
“No,” she said.“It is not that.”
I was lost.“Then what?”
“I…I…” Her face went red.“I wished her dead.”
My confusion, if anything, grew greater.Who was she talking about?Had Mr Barson found another so soon?“Who?”
“Her.Patricia.My sister.”
“Oh, I see!”I found myself smiling slightly in relief that we finally understood each other.She misunderstood.
“You think the situation amusing, sir?”
I stopped smiling.“Certainly not.Nothing could be further from my mind.”
“You smiled.”
“Only at your foolishness.”
“Did you not hear me?I wished her dead.Dead.I wished that instead of running off with that awful, awful man, she had died.That’s what I wished.That she had been kicked by a horse or died of a fever…and we…we would have mourned her and we would have buried her.And…Mr Barson…would have…have held my hand, perhaps, and beensorryfor me and we would have been sad but then he would have married me, and we would have gone on with our lives, and instead everything isruinedand my sisters will likely never marry either and Mama spends all day in bed crying and will not eat and my aunts do not visit…and…do you not see?”
“You wished her dead.And you think that makes you so wicked that it would be better if you died too.”
She frowned, as if hearing it so plain in the mouth of another made it suddenly less sensible, but she said, “Yes.”
“I think you not so much wicked as logical.”
A wave of colour crossed her face and she glared at me with an expression almost of horror.“Logical?Logical!”
