by Linda Phelps
However, if she had, through some unimaginable series of events, married Mr. Bingley that morning, they would have no need to ride farther than Netherfield, which would be a blaze of wax candles, with a fire in each of the many fireplaces. Servants would bring them cups of warmed wine and delicious pastries made by the cooks especially for this day. Neighbours would call, presenting their compliments and congratulations. Mr. Bingley would not remind her of her good fortune in having him as a husband; rather he would speak of his own good fortune in having her for a wife.
At noon the coach stopped to change the horses, providing the newly wedded couple a chance to become warm and to eat a very indifferent dinner provided by the local inn. “How much longer must we ride, Mr. Collins?” she asked. Although he had called Charlotte by her Christian name since the day of their engagement, he had not invited her to do the same with his name. Therefore, when she spoke to him, she spoke to ‘Mr. Collins’.
“A few more hours,” he said. “You will remember the number of times I have made this journey when I was courting you, my dearest Charlotte. Perhaps it is somewhat tedious, and the coach does bounce dreadfully on these frozen roads, but if you put your mind to imagining Rosings, the time will pass. Have I told you of the larger breakfast parlour which is adjacent to the morning room?”
“You have, Mr. Collins, more than once.” He peered into her face, surprised by her words. Charlotte recognized that her tone had been sharp. She immediately answered in her Amelia voice, “But you are right. I must think of pleasant things. It is only that I feel so very cold. I wish we would arrive.”
“Wrap the robe more closely about you. It would not do for Lady Caroline to see you in ill health. I am afraid she would be most annoyed with you, and she would indicate this by taking you to task for your carelessness, which criticism would be difficult for me to contradict. Recall, however, that she is ever gracious to me, and I have no doubt she will be the same to you. Just think of the sacrifice she is making by giving us the gift of this coach for a day.”
“I thought, Mr. Collins, that you have told me she has more than one coach.”
“Indeed she has, my dear Charlotte. She has two others. This coach is the least elegant of them all. The other two are much finer in their decorations and appointments.”
“Then why should she feel it is a sacrifice to spare this one for a day or two?” asked Charlotte. Yes, the cold was making her querulous. She quickly amended her remark. “I mean to say, I hope she is suffering no hardship on our account.”
“Lady Catherine has done much to show me that I meet with her approval, this gesture being only one of many similar favours she has granted me.” When Charlotte did not express her appreciation, as she had been wont to do during their brief courtship, he again examined her face. “Yes, I believe you have been chilled. Try to imagine the great fire that there will be in the dining parlour at Rosings when we are next invited. It will help to keep you warm.”
“Often coaches have a firebox on which we passengers can put our feet,” said Charlotte. “I wonder that there is none here.”
“The coachman was willing to supply us with such, but on his own initiative. Thus I could not be certain that Lady Catherine would approve. I would not like to be thought to be taking advantage of her generosity.”
. “Perhaps if I were to sit closer to you, I might gain some warmth,” Charlotte said desperately.
“My dear Charlotte,” Mr. Collins said in a shocked tone. “What if Lady Caroline were to hear that we had ridden in such a intimate manner. She would feel that her coach and her kindness had been despoiled.”
“Yes, Mr. Collins. You are right,” said Charlotte. She put her gloved hands under her arms and with the sound of her husband’s words providing a sort of lullaby, managed to fall into a fitful sleep.
The coach stopped at the rectory just as the sun set. Charlotte only glanced at the garden, barren this time of year, and walked immediately through the door that was held open by a smiling maidservant. Beyond she could see the welcoming fire.
“It burns on my very own hearth,” she murmured.
“What did you say, my dear?”
“I said that I am happy to be home, Mr. Collins, and to be starting a new life with you.”
Charlotte was too cold and exhausted to do a proper inspection of the rectory. The thought of carrying candles from one chill room to the other, to be able to see them only dimly, was more of an effort than she felt she could make.
“Perhaps we should send our respects and thanks for the loan of the carriage to Lady Catherine,” Mr. Collins said. “I seldom go to Rosings unless especially invited, but in this case—
“Go where you wish, Mr. Collins. I am going to bed.”
“Yes, of course. But it is still quite early by the clock. Only half past six.. I believe I should give my thanks to Lady Catherine. It does not do to postpone these things. Don’t feel concern for not accompanying me. It is dark and cold, and perhaps is too much to ask of one of the fair sex. I have asked that the carriage wait for me and drop me at the door, but I expect I will have to walk home rather than be carried.”
“Do be careful,” said Charlotte, not quite smothering a yawn.”
“I am sure Lady Catherine will excuse your apparent ingratitude in not calling upon her, for I will explain our journey in terms of its length and the degree of cold you claimed to have been feeling throughout.”
“I have no idea of calling upon Lady Catherine before she has specifically invited me to. It would be a breach of etiquette into which I will never fall. Give her my best wishes and inform her of my desire to meet her here in the rectory whenever she should choose to visit.”
Mr. Collins wavered. Possibly he was himself tired and cold as a result of the long ride. Perhaps the thought of the warm marriage bed tugged at him. Perhaps the responsibility it represented alarmed him. In the end, he chose Lady Catherine as the woman upon whom he would shower compliments on the night of his wedding. “I will be back directly,” he told Charlotte, and left the house.
Too exhausted to mind the slight, Charlotte followed the maid to the bed chamber, clambered out of her clothes, and huddled under the covers of the bed she would henceforth share with her husband. She was asleep before the sound of the carriage had faded.
She awoke at daybreak, unsure where she was and what was the source of the noise beside her. Mr. Collins, now snoring loudly, had crept into their bed sometime during the night. Had he tried to wake her? She had no memory of it, if he had.
Careful not to rouse her sleeping husband, she wrapped herself warmly and tiptoed to one of the windows. The new day had dawned upon fields painted white by a considerable cover of snow. It was, in fact, still falling. “How fortunate we did not marry a day later,” Charlotte thought. “How could we have got home in weather of this type? How would the coachman have been able to see the road?”
At a soft knock, she went to the door of the chamber. The maid who had greeted her the night before bobbed her head with a smile. “May I help you with anything ma’am?” she asked. Her country accent was not one Charlotte had heard before. She asked the girl to repeat herself. “Perhaps with my gown, “Charlotte whispered. “Is there a breakfast prepared?”
“Oh, yes ma’am. Just waiting for you and the master.”
“I do not wish to wake him. What is your name?”
“Nancy, Madam.” The girl bobbed her head again as she curtsied.
“Wait for me here, Nancy. I will come directly.”
Charlotte fumbled in her unpacked trunk. “Warm,” she said to herself. “I intend to be warm.” In very little time she had washed her face, smoothed her hair, and was well into her heaviest house dress and shawl, needing only some attention from the maid to the back fastenings. Then, with happy anticipation, she began to explore her new home.
It was a compact, tidy house, smaller than Lucas Lodge, but she had expected that. With the snow piling up even as she wandered, she could not determine which wind
ows offered the most useful views; indeed, she could not tell where the carriage had left the road the night before to deliver them to the doorway. Despite her husband’s detailed descriptions, she had formed a much more vivid idea of various fine rooms at Rosings than of the rooms in this house. Perhaps he had not thought the rectory to be impressive enough to please her without its proximity to Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Charlotte had never had money to spend beyond what her father gave her occasionally for new clothing. Here, in her own house, with the surety that she could make her own choices, she felt elation unlike any other she had enjoyed since she was a child. She had escaped the disgrace and hardships of spinsterhood.
Mr. Collins joined her as she was finishing her tour. “I see you have discovered what rooms this rectory has to offer. Is the place to your liking?”
“Oh, Mr. Collins! It is much finer than I had expected. I knew only the rectory at Hertfordshire, and it cannot compare to this. That house was dark and had an odour. I do not see how the ministers and their families ever managed to live there.”
“I trust you will find this house to be well provided with light and air,” Mr. Collins said proudly. “Lady Catherine insisted upon it. So you see nothing that might require amendment?” ‘“At this time, I would change only the wall covering in the front parlour. I think a blue and white stripe might look better, do you agree?” In her imagination she saw the transformed room, bright in new paper, accentuated by white cushions on the chairs and sofa.
“I do not know if Lady Catherine would approve such a change,” said Mr. Collins. “I am not convinced that blue is a colour she admires. I can think of no such decoration in Rosings, although I have not had the pleasure of seeing the servants’ rooms or that of Mrs. Jenkinson. In any case, do not do anything until she has had time to consider the subject and offer advice. You will discover that she has great interest in this house. Why only a few days ago she suggested I put shelves in the closet in our bed chamber, so I had Mark do it at once. She has not seen them yet, but I trust they will be satisfactory.”
“So we are prevented from deciding household matters for ourselves?”
“It is so in a sense, but out of respect for the kindness Lady Catherine has shown in giving me this living, I would not wish to appear to be going against any wishes she might have. Nor would you, my dear Charlotte. I am very sure of that.”
Charlotte thought a moment before replying. This was only the second day of her married life. It would take time for her to discover the method by which she could accommodate both her husband and Lady Catherine while doing what she pleased, but she was confident she would discover a way to do just that. “Of course, Mr. Collins. You are in the right. We will consider Lady Catherine’s preferences before our own.”
“Dearest Charlotte. How wonderfully alike we are! We realize together that Lady Catherine sets the standards of behavior and taste for this parish. We are extraordinarily fortunate that we can expect her to tell us her pleasure down to the finest detail.” He took her hand in an excess of affection, but dropped it immediately when Nancy appeared in the doorway.
After the couple had breakfasted, Mr. Collins led her through the house, explaining to her that the front parlour was rather small and that the dining parlour was rather larger. He identified the kitchen as a kitchen and told her its measurements.
During their pre-marriage negotiations, Mr. Collins had promised her a certain allowance with which to alter the property to her own taste and comfort. She had intended to spend it first on poultry and perhaps a milch cow, for the outbuildings seemed spacious. When she mentioned this plan to her husband, she found expense was unnecessary. Three such animals already munched hay from their meadow in a comfortable stall while the fowl shed housed a number of tenants.
It was only Mr. Collins’s concern for her possible difficulties in wading through the snow that prevented an immediate trip to the outbuildings where, Charlotte was sure, he would have told her that the cows were cows and the pigs were pigs and that the birds were chickens, ducks, and geese.. She was not surprised when he informed her that Lady Catherine, in her graciousness, had suggested which livestock he should buy.
“But Lady Catherine expects us for dinner this very day,” he pronounced. “I can see how it would be asking rather much for her to send a carriage to carry us to her. I would not like to appear to be putting her horses or driver to labor through this snow. So, if you were to wear your stoutest boots and wrap yourself in your thickest cloak, we should be able to walk to Rosings in a little more than half an hour. We must try it, for she is depending on us.”
“But Mr. Collins, who is to say how much deeper the snow will be by the time we must leave,” Charlotte said. She did not fancy the idea of meeting the great women when she herself was sodden and windblown, with a red nose and watering eyes. “It was kind of her to tender us an invitation, but I am sure, once she looks through a window, that she will not expect us.”
“We cannot be sure of that,” said Mr. Collins. “The expectations of superior people such as Lady Catherine are often of a sort that takes no notice of hardship.”
“Mr. Collins, I am quite sure she will not expect us on a day like this. And even if we were to go, how would we come home again? We might be forced to prevail upon her hospitality for the night. I am sure we should both dislike obligating her to accommodate us in such a fashion.”
From the length of silence that prevailed before Mr. Collins responded, Charlotte was sure that spending the night in one of the elegant bed chambers at Rosings would please him beyond anything. But would it be an encroachment on Lady Catherine’s hospitality? She stayed silent while he considered the situation, and was not surprised when he said, “My dear, out of respect for Lady Catherine, I feel I must tell her that we cannot be expected for tonight’s dinner. It is simple courtesy.”
“As you say, Mr. Collins, but as your wife I must insist that you leave this house to speak to her as soon as possible, for this snow shows no sign of diminishment. If you do not set off now, I shall imagine you in peril.”
“My dear Charlotte, I will leave at once, for I would not want to give you unnecessary worry.”
“Thank you, Mr. Collins. That is kind.”
He began to wrap himself against the weather. “And if I should not return, be certain that I am spending the night at Rosings.” And with that, he stepped out into the snow and set his face toward Lady Catherine.
Charlotte watched him from a window until he was lost to her in the blowing snow. Then, perfectly content, she resumed her exploration of her home.
Chapter Two
CHARLOTTE FIRST SAW LADY Catherine two days later. Mr. Collins’s Sunday service was sparsely attended, since many parishioners were as yet prevented from traveling any distance by the snow. Aware that as the minister’s new wife, she would be of much more interest to the congregation than any sermon Mr. Collins could bring forth, she was thankful for the meager audience. Let the few who greeted her take their tales back to the stay-at-homes. She had dressed modestly and had arranged an expression of devotion on her face. Those who scrutinized her could decide if she expressed devotion to God or to her husband.
From her place in the front pew, she was aware when Lady Catherine arrived. The people behind her left off shuffling their feet and murmuring to each other. Charlotte had anticipated this moment, and did not turn her head. Hence the first glimpse she had of the woman who had provided her with a home and a husband occurred when Lady Catherine placed herself in stately isolation at the other end of the front pew.
Charlotte rose and bobbed a curtsey. From long practice, she was able to form detailed impressions of the lady while appearing to be respectfully reticent. She saw a large woman, not as old as Lady Lucas, whose abundant hair received its fullness through the aid of a hair piece. Her dress was of a magnificence not often seen in country churches. Her bearing was regal, as befitted one who sat in a church which owed its existence to her large
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It was likely that Lady Catherine had a reciprocal curiosity, for the dowager’s inspection of Charlotte was thorough and direct. Although seldom without poise, Charlotte felt somewhat unnerved. The woman studied her hair and her face, nodding in approval at the plainness of her dress, shaking her head at the sight of her cloak, which had become somewhat splashed with mud during the short walk from the rectory to the church. Obediently, Charlotte assumed an abashed expression, although her practical side assured her that the mud was nothing that could have been avoided unless one traveled to the very door of the church in a closed carriage.
Mr. Collins, who had been waiting for the arrival of Lady Catherine to start the service, took his place at the pulpit. His performance of the necessary offices focused on the pleasure of his patroness to the detriment of the less deserving members of the congregation. Lady Catherine, for her part, accepted this reverence as her due.
During the sermon, however, Mr. Collins forgot himself and his responsibility to the great lady in the pleasure he felt when speaking at length to his captive audience. His convoluted sentences and long words were to his more humble listeners, incomprehensible sounds, which they endured with resignation. Charlotte, glancing sideways, saw that Lady Catherine was nodding, not in approval, but while falling into a doze.
In vain, Charlotte tried to catch her husband’s eye in order to signal him to bring his speech to an end. Mr. Collins, drunk on the sound of his own voice, brought forth yet more parables and warnings and promises of rewards to his parishioners. Perhaps if he had been a more gifted speaker, one who varied his tone and paused for emphasis from time to time, the sermon would have been endurable.
Charlotte contemplated the years ahead, when she would spend every Sunday morning listening to her husband. Further, her presence would be required at weddings, funerals, and christenings. The sound of his voice had already begun to grate on her nerves. She felt oddly embarrassed by her association with such a buffoon. Would people think she approved his sermons? Would they think she helped him write them? Would they think she encouraged him in his verbosity? She must do something. People were squirming in their pews behind her, thinking of the long, cold walk back to their homes, envying those neighbours who had used the snow as an excuse to miss the service. In a moment they would be whispering to each other and coughing.