Chapter Text
"Mr. Colins!" Lady Catherine snapped. The clergyman quaked, wondering what he had done to raise her ladyship's ire before he had even been announced. "Is that blood, Mr. Collins?"
Collins released his breath, relieved her ladyship was not angry, she was merely horrified. Horrified, as any of the fairer sex might be, especially one as dignified and magnificent as--
"Mr. Collins, is that blood? There," Lady Catherine extended her walking stick in his direction, "on your hand?"
Bowing low, Collins bravely resisted the urge to cower behind the butler who had yet to do his duty and announce him to her ladyship. "Your pardon, your ladyship. It is but a scratch. The holly--"
"You are bleeding, Mr. Collins," Lady Catherine cut off his explanation. It was not his fault the massive wreaths and garlands of holly adorning Rosings' impressive front entrance had caught his new shovel hat. He was most certain that the felt had been damaged by the conniving -- uh, grand, yes, grand -- the impressively grand decorations of the majestic, stately entrance to the magnificent abode of his glorious patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. "Do not take one step further into this room. You will remain still. Wilsternham, wrap that appendage in Mrs. Jenkinson's shawl so that it will not soil anything and remove Mr. Collins below stairs where the housekeeper can clean and dress his wound." Miss de Bourgh's companion swiftly rose to remove her shawl to comply with Lady Catherine's order to the butler.
Collins was certain it was unnecessary and beneath his dignity as a clergyman to have his arm encased in a piece of feminine apparel. "Your ladyship, truly, it is but a scratch. It is hardly bleeding at all now and I am certain that--"
"Mister Collins! You must have already taken a number of steps from the entrance to this room alone. Whilst bleeding. In my home. Where my floors, furnishings, and decor may have already been soiled. I will not entertain the possibility that you might further stain my upholstery and table linens, not to mention, sully my articles of plate, by allowing you to dine before that injury is seen to properly." Lady Catherine glowered and pointed her walking stick his way once more. "I am excessively attentive to all those things which may disrupt the cleanliness of my house and impact the health of my dear daughter," her ladyship insisted. "Now, Mr. Collins."
Being unable to oppose her ladyship, especially in regards to her insistence it might damage either the glory of the splendid Rosings decor, or the health of the Rose of Kent, Miss de Bourgh, Collins stretched out his arm toward the butler and allowed himself to be wrapped in Mrs. Jenkinson's shawl despite his discomfort. He was grateful only that the serviceable garment was navy instead of some more womanly color and lacked any frippery such as tassels, or worse, lace.
"Shall we hold dinner until Mr. Collins has been seen to, your ladyship?"
"I see no need for that, Wilsternham. The under-butler will suffice if Mr. Collins is not yet presentable in time for our move to the dining room. Remain with him to insure the wound is properly handled." Lady Catherine waved them on. .
"This way, Mr. Collins," the butler directed. Collins swallowed his objections. He had no wish to further risk Lady Catherine’s disapprobation, nor to curtail his ability to consume as much as possible of the sumptuous Rosings dinner by being late to his esteemed patroness' table.
"Mr. Wilsternham, please send in one of the men to assist Mr. Collins in removing his coat," the housekeeper directed.
"I will assist Mr. Collins, Mrs. Ronalston. Her ladyship was most particular that I do so."
"There is no need for me for remove my coat," Collins objected. "Surely her ladyship did not intend that I... I... I undress." He was not at all comfortable removing any article of clothing in front of any woman. Collins was not even certain he would be comfortable doing so in front of his wife, if he was ever so blessed as to find the perfect companion designed for his future life.
"Your pardon, Mr. Collins. Lady Catherine is most particular and was adamant that the wound be properly seen to by Mrs. Ronalston," the butler stated firmly.
"I am not at all comfortable with--"
"Do you wish to upset Lady Catherine further, Mr. Collins?" the butler inquired.
Collins paled. Oh, dear. He supposed her ladyship had been rather upset. Even formidable women such as his patroness would be sensitive to the sight of a little blood. After all, the delicacy of females--
"Now, Mr. Collins, if you please," the housekeeper firmly stated. "It is obvious that those scratches extend up under your cuff and require attention. There are things that need doing this time of day, sir, and I would appreciate being able to get on with doing them after seeing to you. Remove your coat and roll up your sleeve, please."
"My sleeve? I see no need to--"
"There is every need." Mrs. Ronalston motioned to Mr. Wilsternham, who stepped forward to unbutton Collins' coat.
Collins found himself defrocked in less time that it had ever taken him to remove his coat by himself. "This is m-most improper," he stammered, even as he capitulated under the stern glares of both servants, and thrust his arm forward for the butler to roll up the sleeve.
"My word!" "Bless me!" The butler and housekeeper both exclaimed over his arm, discomforting Collins further. There were several deep scratches, but he could hardly comprehend why the pair of them would be so shocked. Unless the sight of his manly forearm was doing them in? Collins did admit to himself that he was a most impressive specimen of proper masculinity, pale of flesh, soft, and completely lacking any hint of the overly-muscled deformity of a working class physique.
"Her ladyship must be told. At once," the butler insisted. "Set Mr. Collins to rights, Mrs. Ronalston. We must make haste."
"Of course. Of course," the housekeeper agreed, though with what, Collins was unsure. Lady Catherine was already aware of his minor injury.
"How long have you had that mark on your arm, Mr. Collins?" Wilsternham inquired.
Collins frowned, and tried to remove his arm from the housekeeper's firm grasp although the woman refused to relinquish it. "You saw when I was injured by the holly garland at the entrance, Mr. Wilsternham."
"Hold still, Mr. Collins," Mrs. Ronalston ordered as she swiped a layer of salve over his freshly cleaned forearm.
"Not the scratches, Mr. Collins. The other mark." Wilsternham tapped Collins' birthmark which had been exposed when his sleeve had been rolled up.
"It is merely my birthmark. It is not another injury, or... or... or a bruise," Collins insisted. His birthmark could not be helped. This he knew for certain, as his dear, departed father had tried to rid him of it on numerous occasions in Collins' youth.
"There. Done," the housekeeper said, tying off the bandage. Collins still felt it was far too much trouble for such minor scratches. He was, however, pleased to finally be able to roll down his sleeve and be done with this assault on his dignity.
250 seconds later, shirt and coat finally set to rights, Collins was back in the drawing room, escorted once again by the butler who quickly stepped to Lady Catherine's side and spoke softly.
"What!?! What is this you say?" her ladyship demanded.
"Mr. Collins, your ladyship," the butler nodded in Collins' direction, "bears the hereditary de Bourgh birthmark."
Collins once again ran afoul of the holly, as he fainted against the chimney piece cushioned only by its holiday garland.