by Linda Phelps
“I do not care in the least what my mother thinks of the matter. I am not a child, after all.”
“If you believe Lady Catherine would not approve—”
“Yes, I understand your concern, but if you can give me Udolpho I can write my cousin to request he smuggle me something newer when he comes. Then I will have read two of Mrs. Radcliffe’s books. I cannot express to you how eager I am to read Udolpho. I believe it is very horrid.” She smiled in anticipation.” “And that there are lovers.”
“I fear—”
“Oh, please, Mrs. Collins. I am surely the only girl in England who has not yet read it. How shameful is that?”
Charlotte knew that Mr. Collins had at this time only read ponderously through the first volume of the work in question. But since he had finished it, he would not miss it if she managed to ‘smuggle’ it to Lady Anne. Perhaps then the girl would not find the pleasure in it she hoped, and Charlotte would smuggle it back, no harm done. “But how can you manage to read it? Isn’t Mrs. Jenkinson always with you?”
“If I am cross and demand that she leave me, she goes to the kitchen or to the housekeeper’s rooms. I think she is glad of the opportunity. She is lonely here, just as I am. Then, when she is elsewhere, I will read and read. Further, she often naps of an afternoon. More opportunity. And you will bring it?”
Charlotte nodded. “I will get the first volume to you somehow.”
“Today?”
“The next time you come to the rectory or I come here. But I beg you, if you are discovered with it, don’t name me as your supplier.”
“Not on my life! Not even if they torture me with red hot pokers! Not even if they lock me in a dungeon to starve!”
“Yes,” laughed Charlotte. “You are ready for Udolpho.”
They made to return to the sitting room. “Another thing,” said Lady Anne, dropping her voice. “. Now that I have faith in you, I will tell you that you can have faith in Nancy.”
“Nancy? My servant?”
“Yes. She was once maid here, and she snooped. I know she did, since I caught her at it more than once, looking in drawers and listening at keyholes.”
Charlotte sighed. “Yes, I can believe that of her, but Lady Catherine gave her to us and seems to have considerable regard for her.”
“That was my doing. I suggested her for the rectory. I told my mother what I knew of her and made her see that to have one so gifted in underhandedness right there in your house could be very valuable.”
“I don’t believe I understand you.”
“Don’t you see? Then I told Nancy that I knew of her proclivities, and to pay for my silence she must report first to me anything she learned of you. That is how I know I could trust you. She reports to me on your good nature and blameless existence.”
“And she reports also to Lady Catherine?” asked Charlotte, amazed by this conversation.
“Yes, my mother knows how you conduct yourself. She is very interested in the concerns of you and Mr. Collins.”
“Then I am sorry for Nancy. She will not find much to report from spying on my husband and me.”
“But I slip Nancy a coin every now and again, so I know I receive the most reliable reports. My mother does not think to do that.”
Mrs. Jenkinson came upon them. “Lady Anne, dear, what a time you have been. Lady Catherine is quite undone. She is sure you have injured yourself or fallen ill or fainted. You must return.”
“Indeed, dear Jenks, we were just about to do so. Weren’t we, Mrs. Collins?”
Charlotte nodded her agreement. “I am so sorry to have worried anyone. We will join you immediately.”
Shortly she found an excuse to return to the rectory. Lady Anne, reclining once more on her sofa, her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, said in a weak voice, “Do come again soon, Mrs. Collins. I do not feel so ill when I am with you,” Lady Catherine seconded the invitation.
“I am sure we will see each other again,” said Charlotte. “Very soon.”
So now Charlotte must determine her duty. She owed loyalty and honesty to Mr. Collins who was her husband, and to Lady Catherine who was her husband’s patron. She owed loyalty to Lady Anne because the girl had cast her in the role of confidante. Which of these people had the best claim to her allegiance?
The answer was simple. Lady Anne needed her more than the other two. While continuing to treat the others with consideration, she would become the ally of Lady Anne.
Charlotte was able to slip the first volume of Udolpho from the drawer in the desk of her husband’s bookroom. He was a deliberate reader; when she watched him she often saw his lips moving, as if he were sounding out the words. There would be a difficulty if Lady Anne got ahead of him in the plot, but that problem might never appear. Accordingly at this moment she had the book hidden in the depths of her work basket. Now to plot the assignation.
The next day Charlotte, having seen that the bed was aired and the kitchen put in order after breakfast, sat next to the window in the room she had chosen as her sitting room. She was not in good temper.
No excuse for transporting her contraband to Rosings had occurred. If Lady Anne and her mother intended to call they would already have done so. The silence in the house struck her as unnatural. She was a woman who came from a large family and welcomed troupes of neighbours who called when and as they wished. She longed for the chatter of friendly voices.
Charlotte could request that Mr. Collins read to her as she worked, but that was not the sound she wanted to fill the silence. She worked steadily on the garment she was making for a parishioner’s expected baby. Unfortunately it required little of her attention. Her thoughts wandered from Bingley to Elizabeth to her own mother and back again. She was reflecting that she would welcome Lydia Bennet or even Mrs. Bennet to share her sitting room., She so longed for the sound of a human voice that she did not trouble herself to require that it speak sensibly..
“My dear,” said Mr. Collins, appearing at the entrance to the room.. “That woman and her daughter are here again. I see them coming down the lane.”
“What woman do you mean, Mr. Collins?” she asked, moving to a front window. “Ah, it is Mrs. Marsden and Barbara. Nancy! Come get the door.” She remembered that the girl was likely not in the house. “I’m afraid, Mr. Collins, that you must greet them and show them into the sitting room.”
“I am pleased they have come to call,” said he, “but I must question whether the woman is not too satirical at times. I do not always understand her meaning.”
As Charlotte resumed her seat, she pondered the problem of Mr. Collins. Although he had never said so, she expected that he too was a bit lonely. He had never had a loving family or circle of friends, as she had, and the rectory was not very lively, even to one who was inured to solitude. Mr. Collins would surely join the conversation. Could Mrs. Marsden be prevented from telling her thoughts about Lady Catherine? Would she be respectful of the relationship between the two?
Charlotte took care to greet both of their callers by name, for she knew that even though she had just spoken them, Mr. Collins did not remember. Despite increasing familiarity, he could not greet more than a few of his parishioners by name. One day soon Charlotte would have to convince him of the wisdom of learning them. After all, they paid his salary.
Once the compulsory talk of the weather had begun, it quickly became apparent to Charlotte that Mr. Collins was in a state of intimidation when in the presence of Mrs. Marsden. Had it been Lady Catherine, he would have showered irrelevant praise for the lady throughout the conversation, but this woman was simply one of his parishioners, a widow, handsome yet, in company with her daughter, a pretty girl of seventeen who likely reminded him of the younger Bennet girls.
“How delightful to find you in, Mrs. Collins,” said Mrs. Marsden. “Barbara and I feel that there is a bit of springtime in the air today. We could not stay home.”
“We are pleased you thought of us,” said Charlotte, glaring at her hu
sband.”
“Ah, yes,” said he. “Soon it will be time to plant. How quickly the seasons turn.”
“I think,” said Barbara, “that our springs in Hunsford are the loveliest in all England.”
“Nonsense, Barbara,” said Mrs. Marsden. “You have never seen a spring that was not in Hunsford. You cannot compare.”
“Mrs. Collins?” appealed the girl. “I believe you are from Hertfordshire. Do you think our spring times are lovelier than there?”
Charlotte thought of her earlier wish for conversation, even if it was not sensible. “I’m afraid I can’t give you my opinion,” she said, “for this is my first spring in the rectory. Perhaps Mr. Collins, who has seen more of the world than I have, can give you a judgment.”
“Certainly,” Mr. Collins said.” I have seen spring in Oxford and once in Portsmouth when I was a boy, but I am of the opinion that only here, within sight of Rosings, are they perfect. We are very fortunate to be neighbours of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Charlotte, before Mrs. Marsden could utter something unfortunate. At that very moment the sound of a carriage could be heard, and immediately Nancy, returned to the house, ushered Lady Catherine and Lady Anne into the sitting room.
All stood and bowed respectfully. Mr. Collins urged the newcomers into the most comfortable chairs, displacing both Mrs. Marsden and Barbara in the process. It was to be expected that they would take their leave once Lady Catherine and Lady Anne arrived. Calls seldom endured for more than a half an hour. However, that was a stubborn tilt to Mrs. Marsden’s chin that inclined Charlotte to think that she intended to stay. If the woman was aware that her failure to depart had cast a certain awkwardness over the little group, she seemed not to care. It was possible that she enjoyed having done so..
Charlotte’s memory sent her back to the Netherfield ball, on which occasion Mr. Collins had embarrassed himself by presenting himself to a startled Mr. Darcy. Although the incident had amused her at the time, now that she was married to the man, she suffered vicarious shame when she remembered it. To introduce the Marsdens to Lady Catherine would be a similar gaffe. If it was to occur, her husband would be the one who committed it; she would not offer herself up to the scorn of her superiors.
Conversation did not flow. Lady Catherine had no obligation to acknowledge that Mrs. Marsden and her daughter existed. Because of her rank, all deferred to her to select the topic of the conversation, then to guide it in whatever direction she fancied. However, on this occasion she did not acknowledge her responsibility. The encroachment of two women who did not leave the sitting room upon her arrival made her haughty. She was affronted.
Heeding that same rule of rank, Mrs. Marsden must remain silent until Lady Catherine acknowledged her presence. Mr. Collins puffed his chest to indicate how proud he was to have such an assemblage in his little sitting room, but he also suspended his tendency to chatter before this assemblage.. For some moments, the room was silent.
Sighing inwardly, Charlotte smiled and did her duty. “Is it not delightful weather we are having, Lady Catherine? Mr. Collins thinks he will soon be able to work in his garden.”
How, she wondered, would society survive if there were no weather to discuss?
“I am sure, Mr. Collins, that you should plant nothing until you are positive that all danger of frost is gone,” said Lady Catherine in alarm.
“You are right, Lady Catherine. I will not plant, but I may begin to loosen the soil.”
“However, if you have cloches you could begin some early vegetables. Have you cloches?”
“I have, Lady Catherine. You were kind enough to give them to me when I took possession of the rectory.”
“Oh, well, if you have them, you should have started seedlings early last week, but it may not yet be too late.”
Lady Anne, not listening, was examining the Marsdens with open curiosity. She seemed especially interested in Barbara, who was only a year of two younger than she. Was she thinking about the contrast in their appearances? Barbara, tall, with robust coloring, dressed in a morning frock of pale blue, was nothing like Lady Anne, short and sickly looking, dressed in the inevitable white dress which was largely hidden by a shawl, although the room was comfortably warm.
Charlotte faced a hostess’s dilemma. She could not introduce the Marsdens to the de Bourgh family until Lady Catherine requested the acquaintanceship. Without an introduction, Mrs. Marsden and Barbara were effectively silenced.
Then, surprisingly, Lady Anne beckoned to Charlotte, who knelt to hear her whispered words.
Lady Catherine noticed. “What do you say, Anne? Are you chilled? Shall we take our leave?”
“No, Madam, I was asking Mrs. Collins if she would be kind enough to introduce us to her friends.” She huddled under her shawl and coughed gently, an invalid whose most outlandish wishes should be served. Lady Catherine looked dubiously at Mrs. Marsden. By her hesitation all understood that she was acquiescing only for the sake of her child. “Yes. Of course. Mr. Collins, if you will be so kind.”
This unexpected departure from the topics of climate and agriculture caught him off guard. Charlotte knew that he had again forgotten the names of his visiting parishioners. “If I may, Lady Catherine”, and she performed the introductions herself.
Having condescended to such an extreme, Lady Catherine had need of .an opportunity to resume her dominance. “Come, Mr. Collins. I insist upon seeing the cloches. I must decide if you have enough of them. Also, I wish to examine the larder to see that it is properly provisioned and that Nancy is keeping it clean.” She swept gracefully from her chair and led Mr. Collins from the room.
“Mrs. Collins,” said Lady Anne. “Could I prevail upon you for a slice or two of toast?”
“Do you think there is enough time?” asked Charlotte, glancing after the departed “Lady Catherine does not seem to like—”
“That is why it should be served soon. With much butter. And jam. Don’t forget the jam.”
Obediently Charlotte went in search of Nancy. Although gone only a minute by the clock, when she returned Barbara had moved her chair next to Lady Anne’s and Mrs. Marsden was listening to the girl with an unexpected expression of sympathy.
“Just think, Mrs. Collins,” Lady Anne said. “Miss Barbara has been to a ball.”
“Three,” corrected Barbara. The last was during the time of Advent. There will not be another until summer, I fear.”
How had the topic of a ball come up so easily?
Said Mrs. Marsden, “I believe you have been to a number of balls, Mrs. Collins.”
“Yes. And of late a militia was stationed in Meryton, so private and assembly balls were augmented by one given by the colonel.”
“Were the officers handsome?” asked Barbara. “Did they dance well? Did they wear red coats?”
“Yes, to all of your questions,” laughed Charlotte. “But the best part was that it was seldom necessary for ladies such as myself to sit and watch the dancing, for there were often enough partners available for all.”
“You sit by the wall?” exclaimed Lady Anne. “I can’t believe it!”
Charlotte, reminded of an earlier conversation, was careful not to meet the eyes of either of the Marsden women.
“Oh, what did you wear to the officers’ ball?” asked Barbara. “And the other ladies! Tell us of the gowns. I mean, if you please.”
Memories of balls, perhaps happier when recalled than the events had been in actuality, put colour in Charlotte’s cheeks. Unlike the situation at Lucas Lodge, Charlotte, in her own tidy sitting room, was the person to whom questions were put and information demanded. There was no Bennet present to dominate the conversation, no sense that she had herself been a mere spectator rather than a participant in the dazzling events of her past.
She had launched into a description the gown worn by Miss Bingley at the Netherfield ball when Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine returned.
Lady Anne instantly resumed her s
lumped posture and downcast look. It almost seemed as if she had become more pale.
“I strongly advise you, Mr. Collins,” said Lady Catherine, “to see Mr. Backus about turnip seed, for I am told his is the best. As his parson, you know where he lives, of course.”
“Indeed, Lady Catherine,” said Mr. Collins. “I will call there directly.”
“Tell him that I have advised you in this matter, and that I demand he give you the most excellent seed he has stored.”
“I will do so, Lady Catherine, and may I say that your extreme kindness in making this recommendation to me is only further proof of what I always say about your unceasing unselfish munificence. I say so here in my sitting room for all to hear, and I shall say it again when I call upon Farmer Backus.”
From the corner of her eye, Charlotte caught an expression on Lady Anne’s face that reminded her very much of one she had seen on Lydia Bennet’s face during one of Mr. Collins’s pontifications. The expression was fleeting, and in no time it had been replaced by pallor and a weak cough
“That settled,” said Lady Catherine, “we will take our leave of you. Mrs. Collins.”
“And of your guests,” interjected Lady Anne. “I do hope we can see you again. Perhaps you can call at Rosings some day.” She carefully ignored the look of horror on her mother’s face. “Now that the weather is improving, we can perhaps take short walks on the grounds.” She coughed again with great delicacy.
“Come, Anne. We must not keep the coach waiting. I bid you good day, Mrs. Collins,” and without further notice of the Marsdens, she removed herself and her daughter from the blight of sharing a call with common folk.
Silence followed. Mr. Collins, usually so ready with a speech or at the least a comment, seemed to have nothing prepared for this occasion. Charlotte, slowly recognizing that Barbara and Lady Anne somehow saw her as a figure of romance, picked up the garment she had been working on and began to hem it with perfect small, even stitches. Had she been falsifying herself?
Mrs. Marsden cleared her throat. “How grateful my daughter and I are, Mr. Collins, to have been privileged to meet Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her lovely daughter at last.. Although I came to this neighbourhood upon my marriage some twenty years ago, this is the first time I have been in company with her. I must thank you and Mrs. Collins for the opportunity.”