Lydia Read Online Free PDF Page B

congratulations to Mr. Collins, then hurried out again moments later and ran into Father’s library. The bell rang. Hill was sent to fetch Lizzy, who walked past us and into the library with her jaw set and her eyes positively blazing.
    We waited.
    The library door flew open. Lizzy came out, smiling even though Mamma was scolding her. Mr. Collins steppedforward. Mamma tried to grab him with one hand while tugging with the other at Lizzy, who shrugged her off and swept back up the stairs to where Jane stood waiting on the landing.
    â€œShe has rejected him,” Mary whispered in awe.
    Mr. Collins went out for a walk. Kitty began to cry.
    Mamma complained bitterly all morning. To Father when he ventured out of the library, to Jane and Kitty and Mary and me, to Hill, to Charlotte Lucas when she arrived to spend the day with us. Mamma alternately pleads with Lizzy and threatens her, painting a picture of what life will be like for us if Mr. Collins gets away.
    â€œThe inheritance!” she cries. “Longbourn! The workhouse, the streets, guaranteed poverty the moment your father dies!”
    â€œI am not planning on dying yet ,” Father says, but Mamma ignores him.
    â€œWhat will become of us, with such ungrateful daughters!”
    Lizzy’s hands shake as she busies herself with her stitching, and her neck is red, as always when her temper is up, but once when she thought no one was watching I saw her mouth curl into a smile.
    It is evening now. Charlotte has gone home, and we are all gathered quietly in the drawing room. I am writing. Mamma, Jane, Lizzy and Kitty are sewing, Father is reading the newspaper, and Mr. Collins sits before the fire pretending to look at a book, radiating gloom and offended pride. No one dares say a word. Every so often, Mamma heaves a reproachful sigh in Lizzy’s direction and tries to look like someone starving to death in the gutter (a considerable challenge as she is almost as plump as Aunt Philips). Lizzy ignores her.
    Mary just came in, looking even paler than usual, with her hair pulled back and wearing her best spectacles. She sat beside Mr. Collins and asked him what he was reading. He muttered that it was Saint Augustine, and Mary asked, would he not read out loud to us?
    We were all astonished, but Mr. Collins drew himself up like a drooping plant that has suddenly had a drink of water, and grasped his book more firmly.
    â€œ The world is a book ,” he announced. “ And those who do not travel read only one page .”
    On and on he goes. I cannot believe Mary is subjecting us to this. What point can there possibly be? I am glad Lizzy isn’t marrying him, even if it means she wins Wickham. Lizzy and Mr. Collins! He is not just mean and ugly, he is so, so dull. How could I ever have wished it for her? But then . . . what if no one else wants to marry us? Jane will soon be twenty-three. Before long it will be too late for her, and we are none of us as beautiful or amiable as her. Where will we live, when Father dies and Mr. Collins turns us out? Is it better to be poor than stuck for ever with Mr. Collins? I don’t want to live on the charity of others, and never have nice things or go anywhere and live always with my sisters . . .
    No – one way or another, I will have the life I want. And in the meantime, I am not going to think about it.

Thursday, 28th November
    M r. Collins disappeared straight after breakfast on another long walk. The rest of us went into Meryton, where we found Wickham already returned from London, talking to Denny outside Savill’s. He smiled gloriously at each of us as we approached, but then, after offering to walk us home, he spoke only with Lizzy. They walked together ahead of us, and I followed straight behind, glowering. Lizzy was wearing her new noisette pelisse, with rose-pink gloves and bonnet. I wish I had asked for a pelisse, too, instead of my new red cloak. A close-fitting pelisse is so