Maria’s eyebrows knit together, but her voice was well-moderated when she said, “Oh, do not bring that up!”
“Patience, my dear.” He turned back to Charlotte, his face set. “I have always loved Maria, and I knew that deep down, she loved me too. I just had to wait for the circumstances to make the truth evident to her. The same thing will happen to you.”
Charlotte was not sure she believed him, but she smiled at his obvious fancy for Maria. If sister did not love him, at the very least, he loved her. And that was something. Perhaps that would be sufficient for a pleasant marriage. She said, “Until then, I intend to stay out of society.”
“You will go mad in this house all the time, Charlotte.”
“I knew you would prefer to stay out of society, which is precisely why I have taken it upon myself to make your time here more pleasurable.”
“Oh, Mr. Card, what have you done?” Maria asked, concerned.
“I have made an addition to our staff. Mrs. Effingham and her son begin work in our household. Mrs. Eff will be your personal companion, Mrs. Collins. I think that you will soon be quite happy indeed.”
Joy spread through Charlotte and she clasped her hands together. A smile stretched across her face. Maria appeared genuinely pleased for the first time that morning, and she spoke before Charlotte could muster a reply, “Oh, how thoughtful of you!”
“Mrs. Eff will work here?” Charlotte asked, testing the words and feeling the attendant pleasure they brought.
“Indeed she shall. I knew how attached you were to her, and I wanted to make you comfortable in your new home.”
“I confess I am pleased indeed,” Charlotte said, emotions rising in her throat. “You are very good to us, Mr. Card.”
Hiring Mrs. Eff and Edward had been very kind of him. Not only would she have a companion, but she would have news—not gossip, news—from town and a little laughter.
Mr. Card rose and extending his hand to Maria. “Shall we take to stroll about the gardens? It appears to be a very fine day.”
Maria seemed reluctant, but she took his hand and stood. “Yes, it is a very fine day.”
Charlotte was quite sure Maria had not so much as glanced outside at the weather. Charlotte kept her place in the morning room and watched as they exited arm in arm.
She found that she was quite pleased at the turn of events. She had never expected Mr. Card to employ her former servants. And as uncomfortable as she was admitting that she required a champion, she was pleased to have Mr. Card to act on her behalf.
He had never struck her as the sort of man who would be a champion. Certainly, he had always been a very nice boy, but now he was acting as a proper man should. He was strong without being commanding, kind without being weak, and caring without being overly sensitive. Perhaps being married suited him, or perhaps finally being out of his mother’s sphere of influence had allowed him to be the man he had always been prevented from being.
Twenty-One
Later that week, when the servant entered the morning room to announce the name of the caller who stood in the hallway, Charlotte could not have been more surprised, even if the butler had announced the name of the king himself. She jumped from the escritoire, where she had been composing a letter to Elizabeth, and tipped her chair backward. She caught the teetering piece of furniture just as the visitor entered the room.
The woman was plump and wore a dress of striped muslin, which defined the topography of her body, each bulging contour delineated in painful clarity. Her hair was done in tight ringlets that Charlotte knew had taken a maid ages to arrange.
But there was no bird in her coiffure at present.
Charlotte was shocked into immobility. She did not even think to curtsey. “Mrs. Holloway.”
“Mrs. Collins.”
The two women stared at each other. Tension radiated from Mrs. Holloway’s face in tight lines that began at her mouth and stretched her puffy features until her eyes appeared thin and hard. Charlotte had the vague impression that Mrs. Holloway had arrived to demand a duel, and she sincerely hoped that Mr. Card kept no swords in the house.
“I had not expected…. Will you sit?” Charlotte gestured broadly at the room, and Mrs. Holloway chose a high-backed chair across from the escritoire. Charlotte continued to stand.
“I will come straight to the heart of the matter.”
Charlotte nodded. Time seemed to slow, and she knew that something serious was amiss. She and Mrs. Holloway had never been companions. They had only one thing in common.
“This is about Edgington.”
That was, unfortunately, the one thing.
Charlotte’s fingers wrapped around the back of the desk chair that stood behind her. “Mr. Edgington?”
“Yes, Edgington.” Charlotte began to fidget, and Mrs. Holloway stared at her again, undoubtedly noticing her discomfiture and lack of coherent response. “Are you daft?”
Why was Charlotte allowing herself to become so disconcerted? She had no reason to be intimidated by this woman. In fact, Mrs. Holloway may not be Mr. Edgington’s lover, but an unwilling victim, blackmailed into an affair, just as he had attempted with Charlotte.
She felt her defenses fortify. “No, I am not daft.” She turned the desk chair so that it faced her guest and sat down. “Tell me the purpose of this visit immediately.”
“Edgington is mine.”
Clearly, she was not an unwilling participant.
“I certainly have no connection to him.”
“Do you not?” She produced something from her reticule. A piece of white fabric. She held it out and allowed it to unfold, the material sliding to dangle in midair. It took a moment for the object’s identity to register in Charlotte’s mind, but then she realized what it was. Her glove! “Does not this belong to you?”
“I…I…” Charlotte had never thought to see that glove again and certainly not in the hands of Mrs. Holloway. She inhaled deeply and tried to think clearly, but only questions came. Should she own it? What would that mean for her reputation? Was Mrs. Holloway also here to blackmail her?
“It has your initials embroidered here.” She ran her fingers over the pale blue threads, much as Mr. Edgington had done the night he had stolen it from her.
If only Charlotte had not allowed Mary to stitch the cursed things! If only she had never accepted them from Mr. Edgington. Had never even met him.
“You may as well admit it, Mrs. Collins, for I have heard the gossip as well. You gave this to my Edgington as a token of your feelings for him.”
Anger prompted Charlotte to stand. “I did no such thing. I have no feelings for him, except utter disdain.”
Mrs. Holloway snorted like a nervous horse. “I also observed you with him at the theater in London.” Charlotte stepped back. She had been observed with the man in London. Would her downfall never end?
“Do not appear so shocked. I concealed myself well. Even Edgington did not see me. Of course, I believed your meeting to be a product of chance, but then I saw the two of you dancing at the Armitage’s ball. I knew then how you felt about him.”
Charlotte remembered that dance, how he had leered. How she had blushed. “You misinterpreted.”
“I think not, for in the coming weeks, I discovered this in his armoire, and I knew the rumors were true. You have been pursuing him!” She waved the glove at her. “He would have nothing to do with a woman like you. You are old and spindly. He prefers a woman with buxom qualities.”
Charlotte gritted her teeth and strode across the room, rapidly closing the distance between them. When her skirts brushed those of Mrs. Holloway, she stopped and looked down at the surprised woman. Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. So did Mrs. Holloway’s. For a moment neither woman moved.
Charlotte leaned down and snatched the glove from Mrs. Holloway’s hand. The fabric glided out of her chubby grasp with a soft whooshing sound. Without considering the consequences of her actions, she crossed the room and hurled it into the fireplace. She
watched as it caught fire and listened to the crackle as it burned. Her anger smoldered.
When the glove had become nothing more than a charred mass, she turned back to Mrs. Holloway. She had not moved from her seat. Her back was rigid and her hands were balled in her lap. “I am pleased that you destroyed it,” she said. “Now the evidence of your feelings for him is gone, and he will soon forget you.”
Yes, the evidence was gone! He no longer had power over her. “I hope he never thinks on me again.”
Mrs. Holloway looked at her for long moments, and then her face fell. When she spoke, her voice was softer, and she sounded like a young child. “I love him.”
“Mrs. Holloway.” Charlotte stumbled over the name. How could a married woman throw herself on the unmerciful Mr. Edgington? “I assure you that nothing is between your…companion…and me.”
She nodded at the fireplace. “What about the glove?”
Charlotte hesitated. She did not want to give Mrs. Holloway power over her by telling her of the blackmail. She did not believe her to be an evil woman, but under Mr. Edgington’s influence, how could she be certain? Still, she did not want her to believe it an amorous gift. Charlotte could only think to say, “It was nothing.”
“You are not pursuing an affair with him?”
She could honestly answer in the negative. “I will have nothing to do with Mr. Edgington, I assure you.”
Mrs. Holloway’s face hardened again. The little girl voice was gone. “You may have gained his attentions in the past, but see that you do not come near Edgington again.”
Charlotte looked at the ridiculous woman. Her leverage was gone, and still she spoke as though she had control of the situation. But the power now belonged to Charlotte. “See that you never mention that glove to a soul.” Here Charlotte hesitated, considered, and then forged on. “For I will be forced to confirm the rumors that have been circulating about you, and I will name your accomplice. I will tell all that I know about your affair with Mr. Edgington. And I know a great deal more than you suppose.”
Mrs. Holloway’s eyes widened. In her anger, it was obvious she had forgotten her need to conceal the affair. Her mouth worked reflexively but only the following emerged: “I…I….”
“All of Westerham will know of your evenings spent with Mr. Edgington in London. About your forays to the theater.” Mrs. Holloway’s eyes widened to an alarming degree, but Charlotte pressed onward. “How do you suppose your husband will react when he discovers the truth?”
Charlotte could not fathom how Mr. Holloway might react. The sum of her knowledge of him was that his wife was unfaithful and that he had an uncommon love of porcine creatures. How was she to determine the mind of a gentleman of such tastes?
Again, the women stared at each other. One innocent, one sullied. The fire crackled in the background.
Mrs. Holloway stood. Her tense face cracked into a strained smile. “I believe we have come to an amicable agreement, Mrs. Collins, and I will trouble you no longer.”
Charlotte wondered if this were some ruse, some trick to lull her into complacency. Would she now call for that duel?
But nothing untoward occurred. Both women curtseyed and bid each other good day. To any observer, the conclusion of their visit looked like any other benign call. Charlotte returned to her seat at the desk and watched as Mrs. Holloway’s striped gown disappeared out the door.
Charlotte’s bravado also disappeared.
What had just occurred?
She tried to think, but her mind seemed sluggish.
She had destroyed the glove. That, at the very least, was a benefit. However, she could not feel good about the methods she had used with Mrs. Holloway. Were they not the same methods Mr. Edgington had employed on her?
She sat many minutes, but soon she fancied that she could smell the charred glove amid the other fire scents. It choked her, and she took to her bed chamber where she remained until the next morning.
~**~
“Wake up!” a voice said all too cheerily. Charlotte heard a tray, presumably containing breakfast, deposited on the bedside table with a ceremonious thunk. She thought she could smell muffins, and she opened her eyes to confirm. Yes. Muffins.
She struggled to make her tired body sit upright and pulled the covers over her protectively. She reached for one and realized that the servant had not left.
“Mrs. Eff!” Charlotte jumped out of bed, the covers still tangled around her, and embraced her.
“Oh, go on with you now,” Mrs. Eff protested. “It is not as if we have not seen each other in years.”
Charlotte released her, ever so glad to have her there. “It seems like years to me. So much has occurred.”
“Indeed it has. Look at you in your fine new home. And Miss Maria married. I suppose I should call her Mrs. Card now, should I not?”
“You may call her whatever you like, for I am just so pleased to see you. And how does Edward? Is he here as well?”
“He is working under the butler, a very kind man if my impression is correct. He will make a decent manservant out of my boy.”
“Oh, I am so pleased, but I did not expect you so soon.”
“Sometimes the unexpected can be good, and not evil.”
“That has not been my experience.”
Mrs. Eff observed her for some time. “Has something else occurred?”
Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed and revealed her encounter with Mrs. Holloway. “And I have descended to Mr. Edgington’s level by extorting Mrs. Holloway.”
Mrs. Eff had remained quiet during the recitation, her eyes serious. “I see no reason for you to experience such guilt.”
“Do you not?” Hopelessness was in her voice.
“No, I do not, for you were innocent, but Mrs. Holloway is not. Moreover, she was threatening you. You had no choice but to act.”
“There is always a choice.”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. Think of the good you have done. You have saved yourself. You destroyed the only tangible evidence Mr. Edgington possessed, and you have assured the secrecy of his consort. You are free.”
Was she correct?
Was Charlotte free?
Mrs. Eff did not allow Charlotte the luxury of contemplation. She pulled her from her seated position on the bed. “Enough of this. Now, get up! It is time for you to get back out into the world.”
Charlotte offered meek resistance while Mrs. Eff pushed her through her morning toilette and out the door, threatening to accompany her should she resist. So Charlotte did not resist. Mrs. Eff was unresistable.
The prospect of going to town had disconcerted Charlotte, but soon she became excited. Perhaps she had freed herself.
But as she walked through the shops, she was aware that people whispered about her. Of course, she should have foreseen that response. It was the treatment she had received since Mr. Edgington had slandered her. She should not be surprised, for it was the natural response of people who still believed her to be a fallen woman.
She was tempted to permit her spirits fall low again, but she had destroyed the glove! Mr. Edgington’s power was effectually gone. She simply had to find a way to make her innocence known now that Mr. Edgington could no longer refute her.
Several hours had passed, and she was running out of shops to patronize and items to consider. She was beginning to lose hope of clearing her name. Not a soul had spoken to her, and she could not initiate the conversation herself, for that would only give the appearance of desperation.
Then, in the milliner’s shop, she encountered old Mrs. Farmington. They quite literally bumped into each other while searching through a table of bonnets. She had not taken note of her, for older lady nearly blended in with the powdery white walls.
They each apologized, and when Mrs. Farmington was preparing to excuse herself, Charlotte stopped her, saying, “How have you been, Mrs. Farmington? And your family, are they all well?”
“Very well, thank you, Mrs. Collins. And you
?” Her voice was dry and uncertain.
“Very well indeed.” Charlotte steeled herself for a difficult conversation. “You have heard that my sister has married Mr. Card?”
“Indeed I have.” Her words were awkward, hesitant, as if trying to determine the course of the conversation before it occurred. “May I wish them every happiness.”
“And please convey our well wishes to your granddaughter and Mr. Westfield.”
A flush spread across Mrs. Farmington’s weathered, pale cheeks. Charlotte was pleased to see that embarrassment, for it meant that the older woman was not going to gloat over her granddaughter’s capture of Mr. Westfield.
“The marriage did not occur the way we would have done it years ago. Children today, it seems, have a different way of viewing things.” She turned her head to issue a brittle cough. “I am sorry for any pain it may have caused your sister, but I cannot help but be pleased by my granddaughter’s fortuitous match. I only regret the manner in which it occurred.”
“Pray, do not make yourself uneasy, Mrs. Farmington. The situation served a greater purpose. It taught Maria that she had always had a fondness for Mr. Card. Now, it seems that everyone is happy.”
“I know my Constance experienced terrible pain over the affair.” Mrs. Farmington winced at her own choice of words. “She had always valued your sister as a friend, and it was difficult for her to be in love with Miss Lucas’s beau.”
Charlotte fought the urge to roll her eyes. She doubted that Miss Farmington had experienced any such difficulty. “Maria harbors no ill feelings toward Mr. or Mrs. Westfield.”
“That is very kind of her, for she is entitled to be quite angry, really.”
“I can assure you that Maria is far from angry, and I know she would want to convey her best wishes to the Westfields.”
Mrs. Farmington sighed in relief and the two women continued to carry on a very polite conversation until Mrs. Farmington finally said, “I am surprised to see you out and about, what with the things I have heard about you of late.”
For once, Charlotte was pleased at Mrs. Farmington’s bent for choosing inappropriate topics of conversation. She put down the bonnet she had been considering and gave Mrs. Farmington a steady look. This was her moment of vindication, and she would not spoil it. “None of those things are true, Mrs. Farmington. Why do you choose to accept his lies about my character?”
Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 22