Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody (8 page)

Poor Mr Collins was by now the colour of Elizabeth’s gown. ‘Please . . . this is a most indelicate situation. I have taken advantage of Mr Bingley’s hospitality most
grievously. You must forgive me, ladies…’ He attempted to scrabble to his feet, but only succeeded in hitting his bald head upon the underside of the table.

‘But Charlotte, did you even ever consider the consequences?’ Elizabeth said with passion. ‘What would happen if you got with child?’

Mr Collins turned an even deeper shade of puce. ‘Please rest assured, you need have no worries on that score,’ he mumbled, his eyes fixed upon the floorboards. ‘I Missed
Again.’

Elizabeth was not sure whether to be insulted or amused. Not an hour before, Mr Collins had been making protestations of love to her, and assuring her of the strength of his affections in no
uncertain terms. Yet here he was, getting his leg over Charlotte Lucas under a console table. She felt no jealousy, however, only relief; if Mr Collins truly had transferred his affections to
Charlotte, she would no longer have to entertain the prospect of becoming his mistress.

She heard footsteps approaching behind her and hurriedly dropped the tablecloth, anxious that her best friend’s disgrace remain undiscovered for at least a few more moments.

A husky, familiar voice murmured, ‘Titbits?’

She whirled round and was once again caught in the mesmerizing gaze of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.

‘If you must demean me by calling me by a pet name,’ she declared with what she hoped was hauteur, ‘I would rather it was anything but
that
.’

Mr Darcy seemed amused. His grey eyes danced with merriment as he held out a plate laden with sugared almonds, sugared plums and deep-fried cheese balls.

‘I was referring to
these
titbits, Miss Bennet.’ He looked so smug, so pleased with himself, Elizabeth was once again roused to anger.

‘What is it with you and food?’ she burst out.
Damn her cheap stays, they were ridiculously flimsy!
Blushing, she tucked her bosom back into place.

‘What is it with you and food?’ she repeated, this time without bursting out.

Mr Darcy’s expression darkened. ‘Do not ask me that, Miss Bennet.’

‘I just did.’

‘Believe me, you do not want to know the answer.’

‘I do. That’s why I asked you.’

Mr Darcy’s grey eyes had lost their warmth now, and turned dark as the blackest sea. His palm was twitching, as if it had a life of its own.
What was going through his mind?
Elizabeth wondered.
Which of his fifty shades was she witnessing?
Suddenly, Mr Darcy’s palm lifted high in the air, quivered there for one tantalizing moment, then swept down and
landed –
thwack!
– upon Elizabeth’s reticule. Her whole body shuddered, both with dismay and shame.

‘
That
is what you get for defying me!’ Mr Darcy growled, and with that, he turned upon his heel and stalked away without looking back.

Elizabeth found herself unable to speak, so badly shaken was she by the turn of events. Her legs felt suddenly weak and, putting out a hand to steady herself, she sank onto a nearby chair.
‘Thank heavens I brought my reticule out with me tonight,’ she shuddered, ‘or that smack would have landed right on my beaver.’

Thus it was settled. Charlotte was to marry Phil Collins. The arrangement would come to an end in a few years, when Mr Collins met someone younger and prettier, and as part of
the settlement, Charlotte would receive Hunsford Priory.

Elizabeth found it hard to reconcile herself to so unsuitable a match. It would be impossible for her friend to be happy, she believed, with Phil Collins pawing at her day and night.

‘But I am not like you, Elizabeth,’ Charlotte countered. ‘I have not the advantage of your good looks, your wit. I just need to get out of Meryton. It’s dead round
here.’

‘And you believe sharing a bed with Mr Collins is a small price to pay?’

‘I would shag the Prince Regent if I had to.’

Charlotte could not be swayed, and so Elizabeth made a strong effort of will to reconcile herself to the match. Charlotte’s departure for Hunsford was imminent – Mr Collins being so
eager to introduce her to Lady Catherine de Burgh – and with the prospect of losing her close friend, Elizabeth turned increasingly to Jane.

Her sister’s happiness was a cause of great anxiety for Elizabeth, who noted that Mr Bingley had called only once in the week following the ball. Now they heard he would be absent from
Longbourn for another week, having gone to London on business with Mr Darcy – a fact that caused Elizabeth much relief.

‘You have not put out enough!’ Mrs Bennet berated Jane. ‘Gentlemen wish to feel that all is not hopeless in a courtship. A sneaky feel behind the shrubbery, or a glimpse of
nipple in the rose garden, is enough to keep their ardour aflame.’

Kitty and Lydia shared their mother’s concerns, and advised Jane on the gown-slippage techniques that ensured they remained popular among the officers of the Meryton militia.

Only Mary was disinterested. ‘Please, do not discuss affairs of the heart in front of me,’ she declared. ‘I have little interest in such matters. If most young ladies occupied
themselves with books and music, as I do, the world would doubtless be a happier, less discordant place.’

Her younger sisters scorned her, but Mary paid little heed, and threw herself more vigorously into her music lessons with Mr Fiddler. There was no denying that under his tutelage her fingering
had improved exponentially, and he himself evidently took pleasure in teaching her, and frequently left the house quite flushed with satisfaction.

While Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy were absent, Mr Whackem was a more frequent visitor to Longbourn. His easy charm and beguiling good looks made a favourable impression upon Mrs Bennet, who declared
him the most amiable young man of their acquaintance. Her husband was most appreciative of the many freebies Mr Whackem was wont to bring along from his publishing company: indeed, he spent many
happy hours poring over
Steamy Pumping Action: Piston Engines of Industrial England.
Meanwhile, Lydia and Kitty professed themselves delighted by Mr Whackem’s gifts of
Rockin’
those Stockings!
and
Bootylicious Bonnets
.

Whackem singled out Elizabeth at every occasion, and the pair made it their habit to take a turn about the formal garden while discussing their many topics of mutual interest. Mr Darcy was
occasionally the subject of their discourse, in particular, his insufferable arrogance and insatiable sex mania.

On one bracing January morning, Elizabeth and Whackem were partaking of their usual perambulation, when Mr Whackem raised the issue of Mr Bingley’s intentions towards Jane.

‘It is a delicate issue, I know,’ he declared, ‘but I cannot help but wonder whether Mr Darcy has had something to do with Mr Bingley’s apparent coolness towards your
sister.’

‘Mr Darcy?’ cried Elizabeth, plunging her hands deeper into her muff, in order to ward off the cold. ‘What ever would it have to do with him?’

‘He is, as you know, a cold and unfeeling creature,’ Whackem replied. ‘He hates to see happiness in others, and especially in those who value finer feelings such as love,
honour and trust, and do not share his dark predilections.’

‘You are too harsh, I think. Mr Darcy has his faults – indeed, they are myriad – but to wilfully separate Jane from Mr Bingley? Even he would not sink so low.’

‘Then what lies behind Bingley’s current indifference?’ Whackem asked. ‘You tell me he has corresponded with Jane but once this past fortnight.’

Elizabeth was silent for a few moments while she weighed up Mr Whackem’s words. She was loath to believe so badly of Mr Darcy, even though she was still not yet recovered from the blow he
had landed on her reticule.

‘I believe Carrotslime Bingley is at fault,’ she declared. ‘Her intention is for Mr Bingley to marry Mr Darcy’s sister, thus hoping that with their two families so
entwined, Mr Darcy will marry
her
.’

‘And what of you, Miss Bennet?’ Mr Whackem asked, looking at her askance through ginger eyelashes.

‘Me, Mr Whackem?’ Elizabeth laughed. ‘Why, I do not think of matrimony at all!’

‘You can think of no one who you would wish to marry?’

Elizabeth frowned. ‘Did you just say “
who
you would wish to marry? It should be “
whom
”.’

Far from being abashed by her perspicacity, Mr Whackem appeared delighted.

‘You are correct, Miss Bennet!’ he exclaimed. ‘I threw in that little grammatical error to see whether you would pick up on it, and I am gratified that it did not pass your
notice.’

‘You are testing my grammar, Mr Whackem?’

‘You seem to have an aptitude for it, Miss Bennet. I would bet ten guineas that you would be able to distinguish the proper use of the colon and the semicolon.’

‘Surely most young ladies would know that?’ Elizabeth said, shivering a little in the frosty air. Mr Whackem appeared not to notice.
How unlike Mr Darcy,
Elizabeth thought.
He would have seen to it that I was smothered in muffs by now.

‘You would be surprised, Miss Bennet,’ Whackem sighed. ‘Most young ladies are wantonly ill-educated. It is most vexing trying to find copy-editors with the necessary
skills.’

Was he about to propose work again?
Elizabeth remained silent, conscious that any response might serve to give him encouragement.

Whackem appeared to sense her reticence, and, walking at a brisk pace back towards the house, they soon began discussing the many benefits of outdoor exercise. Lydia was waiting for them at the
door.

‘Lizzy, you have had Mr Whackem to yourself for quite long enough,’ she complained. ‘Mary is studying, Kitty is at her toilette, and I long for conversation.’ She seized
Whackem’s arm. ‘Let us walk along the path towards the rose garden,’ she said brightly, ‘and you can tell me all about how you came to be a lieutenant.’

Whackem appeared momentarily disappointed to leave Elizabeth’s side, but his handsome countenance soon recovered its usual attentive guise, and he allowed himself to be led away by a
chattering Lydia. Elizabeth watched them round the corner to the orchard, and heard Whackem’s voice cut through the frosty air. ‘Pray tell, Lydia, how do you suppose you spell
“lieutenant”?’

February took Elizabeth to Hunsford, to visit Charlotte and Phil Collins. The plan had been laid some weeks before, and Elizabeth had not at first thought very seriously of
going thither, but Charlotte, she soon found, was depending on her presence.

Avoiding Mr Darcy was now Elizabeth’s main intent, and a stay at Hunsford would be exactly what was needed to distract her. Besides, absence had increased her desire of seeing Charlotte
again, and she found herself looking favourably upon the scheme.

The journey, some twenty-four miles, passed pleasantly enough, and when the carriage left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, Elizabeth was eager to gain sight of the Parsonage. Soon there
behoved into view, at the end of a long gravel path, a small yet elegant building of pale stone, with windows and a door and some fancy eighteenth-century features that the author didn’t have
sufficient architectural knowledge to describe.

The inhabitants of the house had all emerged to mark her arrival.

‘Lizzy! I said you’d come!’ smiled Charlotte. ‘Mr Collins declared that it was Against All Odds, but
I
did not agree.’

Charlotte did not appear diminished from having to have sex with Phil Collins every night; indeed, she seemed to glow with inner happiness.

‘How well you look!’ commented Elizabeth, as the two friends walked arm in arm into the lobby. ‘Marriage seems to suit you very well, Charlotte. I trust you find Mr Collins an
agreeable husband?’

Charlotte grimaced. ‘He is out in his stu-stu-studio every night, playing the drums,’ she said quietly, so as not to be overheard. ‘But thankfully, that gives me time for a
little liaison of my own, with Mellors the gardener.’

‘Mellors?’

‘Yes, he is a man from the village – a very rough type – who comes over whenever my box needs to be trimmed. Oh, Lizzy, I think he is in love with me, and I with him! He is
such a wonderful listener, and I have so much I want to say to him.’ She gave a girlish laugh. ‘He calls me Lady Chattery.’