My Virtual Darcy 🏆 2021 Wattys Shortlister

8 - Amends

Wow. Shout out to Mama for putting her foot in it. Desperate, much?

"You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate." Mr. Collins inclined his head, the corners of his mouth lowered with a grave expression, and his hands motioning to the walls of the drawing room, and what laid beyond.

"Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with you, for such things I know are all chance in this world. There is no knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed." Mrs. Bennet twisted the drawstring of her reticule, her head bobbing about at her own words, and at the doom they presaged.

Her interlocutor managed to straighten himself even more on his armchair. He studied Jane's features, then mine, and I came this close to opening my mouth wide for him to inspect my dentition. "I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins, and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of appearing forward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more; but, perhaps, when we are better acquainted--"

Or not. My eye rolling passed unnoticed when everyone turned to listen to the butler. As Mr. Hill announced that dinner was served, the assembly got up as one and followed the lady of the house to the dining room.

"What an interesting hall. I commend you, Mrs. Bennet, for the elegance of its decoration." We all stopped in our tracks at Mr. Collins's unexpected compliment, and Mama gave a quick curtsy, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Oh, Mrs. Bennet! The wood of this plum table is exquisite. I see a difference in shades between the middle section and the two D-shaped ends: could it be an extending furniture? How clever!"

The smile on Mrs. Bennet's lips weakened, and she glanced at her husband, befuddled by his cousin's behaviour. Was the heir presumptive openly admiring his future property?

We spread around the dining room, and I took my usual station by Jane's side, ignoring Mrs. Bennet's insisting eyes that enjoined me to sit next to Collins. I wouldn't comply with her wedding schemes. Mary stared at our mother, then at me, and with an imperceptible shrug settled down on my designated seat.

I glanced at the grandfather clock. Creative Writing would start in five minutes or so. No way I could stay during the whole meal. But then, Idris had promised to look out for our teacher's arrival, and to shake my shoulder as soon as she would enter the classroom...

"Bridge, could you fast-forward to the end of the chapter, please? I don't have much time left."

I scrunched my nose at the mixed smell of bombarded veal, peach fritters, and potato pudding. Courses succeeded to each other in a flurry of scents and colours, ending with Mr. Collins' satisfied sigh.

He turned to his left. "Mrs. Bennet, what an excellent and fulfilling dinner. I beg to know to which of my fair cousins the excellency of its cooking was owing."

The hostess' answer was sharp and haughty. "I assure you, Mr. Collins, that we are very well able to keep a good cook. My daughters have nothing to do in the kitchen."

"I beg your pardon for having displeased you. I only meant to acknowledge the quality of this meal." Mr. Collins got up with precipitation, his chair grating against the wooden floor, and startling the guests and the servants.

Mrs. Bennet gestured for him to sit back. "I am not at all offended."

Unheeding of her dismissal, the young man dived in a profound bow, his buttocks bumping and tumbling the chair behind him. It fell in front of Mr. Hill, who yelped in surprise and let the stewed beef steaks escape his hands.

Kitty and Lydia's boastful laughter resonated in the room. Mary sighed in her napkin, and shot a longing look in the direction of the library. Mr. Bennet affected to not perceive the commotion, but his eyes glistened with merriness. As for Mrs. Bennet, she glared at the poor butler. I shared a conniving grin with Jane, and gently pressed her forearm before taking my leave.

"Bridge, off."

Ms. Favreau's face was inches away from mine, a severe expression adding wrinkles to her tightened lips.

I yapped and pushed against my table, my Formica chair squeaking on the linoleum.

"Having fun, Ms. Chey? Would you rather skip my class to keep playing with that device of yours?" My teacher's unctuous words sent chills down my spine.

"No, Ms. Favreau," I whispered with a parched throat.

"I suppose that you've already written a good portion of the assignment I gave last week, and that you are at present enjoying the fruit of your labour."

I blinked. "Err, yeah?"

Her brows shot up high. "Is that a question, Ms. Chey?"

"No! I mean, yeah. Yes, Ms. Favreau, I'm almost done." Outlining my story. Almost done outlining my story.

My teacher's nostrils flailed, perhaps sensing my white lie. "If you need personal mentoring, my office hours are on the university website."

As she strode to her desk in an eerie silence, I exhaled with relief.

"Sorry. I stepped outside to take Matthew's call. He's been considering switching degrees and wanted my advice, since I transferred from Communication and Cultural Studies. When I came back, Ms. Favreau was staring at you. She forbade to wake you up." Idris apologised but did not dare turn to face me.

I answered without looking in his direction. "No harm done."

At the table behind me, Bahiriya fumbled with her pen. When it clattered to the floor, she let out an exaggerated sigh and bent to retrieve it. "I'm gonna need an intensive and extensive gaming session tonight to relax."