by Linda Phelps
“I have had no recent intelligence to make me think otherwise,” said Elizabeth.
“You are unusually silent,” remarked Charlotte. “Pardon me, but I do hope you are not particularly missing Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“No, I assure you,” said Elizabeth. “He is indeed a charming man, and we will miss his presence tonight, but he is in his own way as limited in his options as Mr. Wickham.”
“Mr. Wickham!” cried Charlotte. “Do you think that he too has been mistreated by Mr. Darcy? Is there a similarity in their situations?”
Elizabeth coloured. “I did not mean to suggest such a thing. I meant only that each of them lacks the financial means to proceed in life unless he can marry well. So it is for young men of their rank.”
“Forgive me, dear Lizzy,” said Charlotte, “if I ask too personal a question, but did you discuss marriage with Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
Elizabeth smiled. “Is that what you imagine? No. I promise you we discussed it in only the most superficial manner. He made me no offer, nor did I desire one.”
Perversely insulted for Colonel Fitzwilliam, Charlotte could not help remarking, “Surely your respect for him should equal or exceed that you feel for Mr. Wickham.”
“Dear Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, “I find that one of the pleasures of staying with you for these weeks is that I no longer have any regard for Wickham at all. In fact, I have begun to see that some of his grievances may be of his own making. I am free of any small attachment I may have felt for him and happy to be so.”
“That is good to know, for I did not think him worthy of you, although I would never have said so before.” The remembrance of Elizabeth’s words when she first knew that Charlotte intended to marry Mr. Collins was an episode of which both were thinking of, but nothing was said of it.
Charlotte noticed that Elizabeth greeted Lady Catherine with a smile unlike any she had greeted her with before. It was as if she had a private amusing thought about the woman. Lady Catherine was not yet in a mood which allowed her to notice any but her own feelings, so she did not mark it. “”I believe nobody feels the loss of friends so much as I do. But I am particularly attached to these young men; and know them to be so much attached to me! They were most excessively sorry to go.”
“But they did so nonetheless,” said Lady Anne. Her eyes were red with weeping. “They did not think of how we shall feel in their absence.” Lady Jenkinson, hovering nearby as she always did, produced a handkerchief for her charge, which act only brought on a flow of tears. The girl seemed to have no shame at being seen in such a state. “How am I to wait until my cousins come again?”
In an attempt to divert attention from her daughter, Lady Catherine turned the party’s attention upon Elizabeth. “You seem to be quite out of spirits, Miss Bennet. I suppose you are thinking of the day you must return to your home. You shall miss Mrs. Collins and our evenings, will you not?”
“Indeed I shall, Lady Catherine, but it is arranged that I be in town on Saturday.”
“But at that rate you shall have been here only six weeks,” said Lady Catherine. I told Mrs. Collins that I expected you, and Maria Lucas, of course, to be here two months. You must write Mrs. Bennet and explain that you are delayed. She can spare you for another fortnight.”
“But my father cannot,--he wrote last week to hurry my return.”
“Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father,” said Lady Catherine. Upon hearing this, Lady Anne wept more loudly. Charlotte wondered what memories she had of the father who had died so many years before. Had the girl, the only surviving child, been of no consequence to her father? If so, was it wise of Lady Catherine to remind her of it? Charlotte’s own father had always been a loving parent. She had never doubted for an instant that she was of importance to him.
Lady Catherine continued, “If you stay another month I will be able to take you to London. Remember Anne, we are going to spend a week in London. Perhaps you will see your cousin then.” At that thought, the girl gained control of her tears.
“You are all kindness, Madam; but I believe we must abide by our original plan,” said Elizabeth.
“Well, if you must—but I cannot hear the idea of two young women traveling post by themselves. It is highly improper. Mrs. Collins, you must send a servant with them,” ordered Lady Catherine.
Charlotte glanced at her husband who was nodding his agreement with his patroness. He knew as well as she did that they did not have such a servant. Lady Catherine also knew it, since she had picked the small staff of the rectory herself.
Perhaps Lady Catherine bethought herself of the same lack. “I shall send John, with the young ladies, Mrs. Collins. I am glad it occurred to me, for it would be discreditable to you to let them go alone.”
Charlotte wondered why the discredit would fall upon her and not her husband. Mr. Collins said,” You are kindness itself, Lady Catherine. I am sure my sister Maria and my cousin Elizabeth are exceedingly grateful for the many benefits and sound advice your society has provided them.”
“My uncle is to send a servant for us,” said Elizabeth.
Lady Catherine, deprived of the opportunity to take complete charge of the planned journey, satisfied herself with questions about the uncle, the servant, and the place in London where they would be overnight. Then she informed them of the best place to change horses and which inns would provide a suitable meal. Elizabeth and Maria nodded and agreed with it all, although Charlotte was quite sure that Elizabeth would do exactly as she had intended.
In the few days before the departure of Elizabeth and Maria, Lady Catherine ordered their presence with the same alacrity she had shown before the arrival of her nephews at Rosings. The very last evening was spent there, and her Ladyship again enquired minutely into the particulars of their journey, gave them directions as to the best method of packing, and was so urgent on the necessity of placing gowns in the only right way, that Maria thought herself obliged on her return, to undo the work of the morning and pack her trunk afresh.
As all awaited the chaise that would take the women to London, Mr. Collins began to speak with his cousin Elizabeth. That is, as was usual, Mr. Collins was speaking and Elizabeth was sometimes putting in a word of agreement. Mr. Collins was saying, “I flatter myself that you will be able to give a favourable report of us into Hertfordshire, my dear cousin. You have been a daily witness to Lady Catherine’s great attentions to Mrs. Collins and myself. You can see that my dear Charlotte is in a very happy and prosperous situation.”
Recalling how many times Mr. Collins had expressed these same thoughts, Charlotte joined the conversation, “Elizabeth, I thank you with all my heart for coming to us here. I hope that you, and Maria, and perhaps Jane Bennet will feel free to come to us on many occasions”
“I shall miss you, Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, and not for an instant did Charlotte doubt that she spoke the truth.
At length the chaise arrived, the trunks and parcels were placed, and the friends bid each other farewell. Maria and Elizabeth had been seated when Mr. Collins asked them for some last expressions of gratitude to express to the women at Rosings. As Charlotte stood by, he offered to take upon himself the task of conveying their thanks, which offer was immediately accepted.
Charlotte watched the chaise as far as she could, waving her handkerchief, The sight of Maria’s bright face as she waved back was the last she saw of her guests.
Book Four
Chapter One
CHARLOTTE HAD FEARED A return of the loneliness she had felt before her guests had come to stay, but the spring time made her worries unimportant. There was too much to do on their farm, and with only Nancy and Mark to help, both she and Mr. Collins were required to do much of the labour. Mr. Collins chose to work in the kitchen garden and among the shrubs that framed the house, leaving Charlotte to deal with the eggs and the milk and the baby animals, of which there were many at this time of year.
Her memories of her times with Elizab
eth were pleasant. Their friendship had weathered the travails of distance and an uncongenial marriage. There lay between them her knowledge of Elizabeth’s opinion of Mr. Collins, but that they would never speak of again. Then there was her adventure with Colonel Fitzwilliam. This would be Charlotte’s secret throughout her life, although in truth, she had an odd desire to discuss it with Elizabeth. To think that Elizabeth had been shocked at her decision to marry Mr. Collins! How much more shocking would she have regarded the romance of the pony shed!
Her memories of Colonel Fitzwilliam were quite vivid and ever more pleasant. Charlotte bent her will upon conjuring up guilt for the harm she had done her husband, and, by extension, her entire society, but she was not successful. Colonel Fitzwilliam had given her the experience that she had longed for since she was the little girl who had been enchanted by the romance in Lover’s Vows, although at that age she had not understood what she wanted. Frederick had detected a warm spirit in her. He had guessed that certain aspects of her marriage were not, as Mr. Darcy might have said, more than ‘tolerable’. He had treated her as an attractive woman, and in so doing had made her feel herself to be such. What she felt for him was not love but the authentic version of the gratitude she so often expressed perforce to Lady Catherine. Colonel Fitzwilliam had made her happy. He had not suggested something silly, such as that they should run away together. Instead, he had convinced her that the moment was sometimes to be seized for the delight it offered.
Thus it was that when one fine May morning she busied herself in the fowl house and checked to see that the pony’s stall was clean and sweet smelling, she had a smile on her face. Should anyone happen to ask about that smile, she would refer them to the newly hatched chickens and ducks, explaining that she looked forward to finding them, fully grown and perfectly roasted, on her dinner table in a few months.
She was mildly annoyed when Lady Anne, having managed to send Mrs. Jenkinson to the village for the purchase of some linen, sent Nancy to fetch her to the rectory. The girl was seated at the table, a plate of toast before her which she slathered thickly with jam. Charlotte made a note to discover where the strawberries would be found when their season came. It would be well to preserve an larger amount than had been done in the past.
“You have hay on your skirt, Mrs. Collins,” said Lady Anne by way of greeting. “Is it truly necessary for you to busy yourself in your outbuildings?”
“Someone must, and when the weather is this mild, I prefer it to whatever needs doing in the house. I leave that and the cooking to Nancy.”
“I should hate to do either,” said Lady Anne. “I cannot imagine how people bear such chores.”
“They are sometimes tedious,” admitted Charlotte, “but when one’s good fortune is at stake, they become less so.”
“Nothing can be so tedious as Rosings now that my cousins have left,” said Lady Anne, and to Charlotte’s dismay, the girl’s eyes filled with tears. “You cannot know how long the days are now, and even you do not come to keep me company.”
“My dear Lady Anne,” said Charlotte. “You have only now mentioned that I have certain responsibilities around my home. But be of cheer. Now that I understand I am wanted, I shall surely come to call more often.”
“My mother will govern the conversation, as she always does, and you and I will be hard pressed to have a private word.” With that, Lady Anne wept more openly. “And I have no cousin with whom to amuse myself.”
Despite the many evenings Charlotte and her friends had spent with Lady Catherine and her nephews, Charlotte could think of no instance in which Mr. Darcy had shown a particular interest in Lady Anne. Indeed, she had felt that he had a much greater interest in Elizabeth, although that had come to nothing. If the girl was suffering from separation from her dearest love. Charlotte had no reason to think that Darcy was feeling similarly deprived. “My dear Lady Anne,” she began. “Perhaps you should put your cousin from your mind until you expect to see him again. Perhaps when you and Lady Catherine travel to London in June you can enjoy his company.”
“Oh!” cried the girl, “but I have in his letter the news that he cannot be in London then. I may not see him again until Easter next.”
Lady Anne did not seem aware that she was speaking indiscreetly. “So you have a correspondence with him? That must be a great comfort.” “It is my only comfort, but it must be kept secret,” said Lady Anne. “But who is this? Can Mrs. Jenkinson be returning so soon?”
In a moment Nancy escorted Mrs. Marsden and her daughter into the room. “What a delightful surprise to find you here, Lady Anne,” said the mother. “Barbara was just expressing a wish to tour the part of the park that abuts the rectory. Here is her chance. You two girls should not be inside on such a fine day.
“My mother thinks I am too sickly to enjoy the park,” said Lady Anne, “but indeed I am not.”
“You seem well to me,” said Mrs. Marsden, “except that your eyes are so red. Have you a cold?”
This egregious breech of civil speech aroused Lady Anne to combat. “It is not your place to say such things,” said she. “Indeed, Mrs. Collins, this person is your friend, is she not? If you are going to welcome here into my presence without consulting me, I feel that you should educate her in the proper manner of speaking to her betters.”
Charlotte, embarrassed for both her guests, said, “I am sure that Mrs. Marsden meant no harm, Lady Anne. She spoke from a concern for your well being, one all of us in this neighbourhood share. Is that not so, Mrs. Marsden?”
That lady smiled and said, “But of course. I hope that Lady Anne did not feel I was speaking presumptuously. Now girls, you must enjoy this spring day,” and she gestured them to the door. Thus it was that before Barbara could remove her bonnet, Lady Anne, mollified, had donned her own, and the two of them set off.
“Ah, Mrs. Collins,” said Mrs. Marsden, “I thank God daily that I am no longer young enough to worry about supposed insults. I recall that when I was the age of these two girls, I was constantly on the alert for remarks that impugned my honour.”
“I am sure there was no question about your honour,” said Charlotte, mildly shocked by the implication.”
“You are right,” said Mrs. Marsden, settling herself comfortably in the finest chair in the room which Lady Anne had so recently vacated. “I looked for insults to my beauty or my accomplishments or the way in which I gathered dance partners. I was quite pretty when young, and people did talk about me.”
“You are very handsome yet,” said Charlotte, “and your clothes are so fashionable.” Without knowing she did so, she looked at her own drab frock and sighed.
“Yes, thank you. I try to keep abreast of the latest styles. Mind you, the ladies of the neighbourhood find my interest in clothes to be rather a scandal. They would have me dress more sedately, since I am a widow. I take Lady Catherine as my model. She has been widowed for a shorter time than I have, and she dresses more stylishly and at more expense than I do. Somehow the ladies of the neighbourhood do not see that the two situations are exactly the same.”
Charlotte smiled. Since Mr. Collins was grubbing in the garden at the moment, she could listen to Mrs. Marsden’s contemptuous allusions to the finest lady in the parish with a certain degree of relish. Elizabeth, whatever her observations, had spoken little about Lady Catherine. That silence was a show of respect for Charlotte’s position in relationship to the lady. However, more than once Charlotte had wished Elizabeth would speak her thoughts, which would have been deliciously sarcastic. “We are perhaps speaking of rank rather than widowhood,” said she.
“We are speaking of money, I suspect,” said Mrs. Marsden. “While I certainly cannot compete with Lady Catherine in that area, I am comfortably situated. Mr. Marsden, although in trade and therefore an object of scorn to some people, managed to accumulate something akin to a fortune before he died. He did not choose to flaunt it, so as his widow, I must do it for him.” She lifted her hand so as to make a ring it bore spa
rkle in the light from the window.
Charlotte stifled another sigh. Since her friendship with Colonel Fitzwilliam had blossomed, she had felt a resurgence of worldly desires in general. The knowledge that Mr. Collins would never recognize these desires and present her with a ring of gold with a bright jewel in it, occasionally took precedence over her delight in her snug house and healthy livestock.
“It is my intention,” continued Mrs. Marsden, “to take Barbara to town in the winter. Therefore I am putting it about that she will have a good dowry and can hope to inherit what parts of the fortune I don’t spend before I die. That news should be instrumental in securing her a good husband.”
“She is a very pretty young girl,” said Charlotte. “That fact must also enhance her chances.”
“I see that she is perfectly dressed at all times,” said Mrs. Marsden. “In London she will have the benefit of the latest styles, and perhaps I will hire someone to dress her head to match the elegance of her ball dresses.”
“I wish you success,” said Charlotte, “but if she does marry, she will leave you. Shall you not be somewhat alone in that event?”
“Once she has her husband, I can cease concerning myself with the necessity for her to live where she can breathe clean country air. I do think that much of her bloom is a result of living here in this village. As for myself, I will divide my time after her marriage between town and her husband’s home. They will welcome me, since it is entirely likely that I will be paying for the place myself.”
“I think we can be sure that all will occur as you expect,” she said.
“If planning can make it so, it will be so..”
Charlotte, always reticent when speaking of personal matters, was surprised to hear herself say, “But I wonder you have not yet taken a second husband. Certainly you have all that is needed to attach someone.”
“Oh, my dear Mrs. Collins,” said Mrs. Marsden. “I have everything I need without that aggravation!” Then she bethought herself. “I’m sorry. I am sure you are delighted with the married state. You have your home and you husband, and if the neighbourhood tales are correct, you and Mr. Collins stand to inherit a considerable fortune once the father of your friend Miss Bennet dies.”