Charlotte

by Helen Moffett

  Matters came to a head the morning after the ball at Netherfield. With her sister Maria taking her turn to prepare the household’s loaves and carry them to the bakehouse, Charlotte was to spend the morning with the Bennets, something of a tradition for her and Lizzy; they considered no ball complete until they had sufficiently talked it over the following day. Hardly had she handed her wrap to the servant who admitted her to the house when Lydia flew into the vestibule and seized upon her with a whoop: ‘Oh Charlotte, I am so glad you are come – what sport we have here today! Mr Collins has made Lizzy an offer, and she will not have him, and we are all at sixes and sevens.’

  Charlotte was not even able to respond before it was the turn of Mrs Bennet, in an operatic state of distress and dishevelment, to fall upon her, begging her to persuade her stubborn friend to see sense and comply with the wishes of her family. The next minute, an agitated Lizzy hurried in to greet her friend, followed by Jane, ever desirous of keeping the peace between her mother and sister.

  Mrs Bennet was not to be comforted: ‘Aye, there she comes, caring nothing for the rest of us,’ she cried. ‘Mr Collins may turn us all out onto the streets when your father dies, but this does not concern you. I tell you, Miss Lizzy, if you take it into your head to keep rejecting every offer of marriage like this, you will never get a husband at all – and I am sure I do not know who is to keep you when your father is dead. I know I shall not be able to.’

  These charges against her delinquent daughter were followed by further lamentations on the state of her poor nerves. Jane, with soothing clucks, offered to bathe her distraught parent’s temples with lavender water, which took Mrs and Miss Bennet from the room, leaving Charlotte free at last to attend to her friend. It was a moment of some import; she had no more faith than Lizzy in the sincerity of Mr Collins’s new-found attachment, but it was the first time her friend had received an offer of matrimony and, as such, it was a mark of some distinction, however unwished-for.

  Lizzy now gave her friend a more detailed account of the morning’s events. Mr Collins had requested the honour of a private interview with Elizabeth immediately after breakfast, and had launched into a proposal almost as lengthy as it was unwanted. He had canvassed the strong likelihood of Lady Catherine’s approval, the honour he did Lizzy in throwing open to her the connection with Rosings, and promised never to reproach her for the smallness of her portion – ‘that one thousand pounds in the four per cents that is all you will inherit from your mother.’ It was only towards the end of this speech that he remembered to assure his intended of the violence of his affections. Even in the awkwardness of this unexpected crisis, neither woman could restrain herself from smiling as they contemplated the ‘violence’ of Mr Collins’s imaginary attachment.

  What had followed owed more to theatrical farce than the pains of thwarted love: Mrs Bennet, upon congratulating Mr Collins, was horrified to hear that Lizzy had not yet accepted his hand, and a family hullabaloo broke out that culminated in a scene in Mr Bennet’s library. Here Lizzy’s father, once the ins and outs of the matter had been explained to him, declared to his recalcitrant daughter that a painful choice lay before her: if she refused Mr Collins’s offer, her mother would have no more to do with her; but if she accepted, she would henceforth be no daughter of his.

  It was at this delicate domestic point that Charlotte had arrived, and now she was to witness the final act: as soon as Mrs Bennet reappeared, the rebuffed suitor stalked in to withdraw his application for the hand of her daughter. Lizzy slid out the room, but Charlotte was detained by Mr Collins, who enquired after every member of her family with great determination and minute particularity. Once he resorted back to the matter at hand, curiosity impelled her to linger as the clergyman first announced his intention to be silent on the subject forevermore, then launched into a speech defending his honour and intentions, and resentfully describing his resignation to a disappointment that was receding as he contemplated Lizzy’s headstrong and wilful qualities.

  The rest of the day passed uncomfortably enough; Mrs Bennet could not refrain from peevish remarks on the ingratitude of her second daughter, and Mr Collins, lacking the finer feelings that might have led an unsuccessful suitor to absent himself from the family circle, hung about pointedly speaking to Lizzy barely at all, while assiduously engaging Charlotte in conversation at every turn. It was not the first time that Charlotte, one of life’s natural peacekeepers, found herself acting as a necessary buffer between hostile factions, and her civil and mild responses were welcomed not only by Mr Collins, but the rest of the family as well, most notably Lizzy.

  When she left for home, her friend pressed her hand with more than usual fervour: ‘Thank goodness you were here, Charlotte. I do not know what we would have done without your cool head and warm heart. And it is a mercy we are dining with your family the day after tomorrow, as Mr Collins shows no sign of cutting short his visit. I know I will be able to rely on you to entertain him as best you can.’

  At first, the dinner for which the two families assembled at Lucas Lodge several days later did not seem to be a propitious event. In the circumstances, the awkwardness between members of the Bennet party was only to be expected. Jane made sure she was close to Lizzy at all times, while Mrs Bennet subjected the latter to a continuous fusillade of bitter looks, sighs, head-shaking, and chest-clutching. Lydia and Kitty were no help; they were practically exploding with glee at the expense of their cousin and sister. Mary spoke only to utter platitudes borrowed from moral tomes, and Lizzy’s usual ebullience was muted.

  Charlotte exchanged a few words with her friend, enough to ascertain that Lizzy was undaunted by the decision she had made. Charlotte marvelled again at the blithe confidence the combination of youth and beauty bestowed. Lizzy showed no regret whatsoever at having rejected Mr Collins’s admittedly precipitate and crass proposal; and while it seemed unlikely that he had formed any real attachment to her in the few days he had known her, there was her family to consider. It surprised Charlotte that the prospect of securing their future at Longbourn had not tempted her friend, but it was clear that Lizzy accepted as her due that her future would hold further – and more attractive – offers of matrimony.

  She had already arranged the table settings so that Lizzy and Mr Collins were seated as far apart as possible, but it was almost as necessary to keep him away from Mrs Bennet, who kept gazing at him dolefully and dabbing her eyes. So she had placed him by her own side and, as the fish followed the soup, she made an effort to engage him in conversation, finding him unusually subdued. Occasionally, he burst out into feverish commentary on topics such as the weather and the state of the roads, but would then lapse into silence mid-sentence as he remembered that there was no longer any need to praise his environs.

  She studied him more closely. He was not unpleasing to look at – in repose, and unmarred by his habitual expression of fawning, his face was unobjectionable. He was one of the few men she had met who was taller than herself. Even Mr Bingley and Mr Wickham, the newly commissioned officer with whom the younger Bennet girls were infatuated, had to raise their eyes to greet her.

  His dress was neat, and there was no suggestion of slovenliness. In circumstances in which he might have been tempted to dull his senses with wine, he was drinking temperately. His was a respectable profession, and he already held a living. Everyone in Meryton knew that he had the backing of a powerful and wealthy benefactor in the form of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

  A bubble of possibility rose in Charlotte’s brain. Up until now, on their previous encounters, she had drawn his attentions away from Lizzy out of habitual good-naturedness and a gift for managing the more turbulent eddies of social intercourse. The man had come to their neighbourhood openly in search of a wife. His pride was wounded and in need of a salve. Perhaps. Just perhaps …

  But she was no flirt, having had neither the opportunity nor the inclination to practise her wiles on the opposite sex, or to develop habits of playful chatter.
She listened a little more closely to Mr Collins’s habitual babble, the recitation of the wonders of Rosings, the graciousness of Lady Catherine, the superiority of the pigeon pie now being served: ‘I erred on my first evening at Longbourn, when I asked which of my fair cousins had prepared the dinner I ate there. I believe Mrs Bennet was very offended at my blunder, although I had only the best of intentions. Miss Lucas, will I give offence if I ask if your hand played any part in the making of this most excellent dish?’

  Charlotte reassured him that as the creator of the pie, she appreciated his compliment. Something about his demeanour suggested that while only his pride was injured by Lizzy’s frank and final rejection of his proposal – he might be mortified, but he was by no means heartbroken – there was a strain of real sadness or moral bewilderment in his makeup. His understanding was not sharp, but malice did not seem to constitute any part of it. Nor did he appear to have an ungovernable temper – his current relations with the Bennets would have been untenable otherwise.

  She made a decision. If this man was likely to respond to anything, it would be simple kindness. She set to asking questions about his education and parish with as much warmth as she could muster. Soon she found that for all his incessant speaking, he was unused to the balm of attentive listening. Little was required of her beyond the occasional gentle prompt, encouraging smiles, and nods.

  The effect was marked: he blossomed, sitting more upright, returning her smiles, paying her the occasional clumsy compliment, his embarrassment at sitting at table with a woman who had spurned his advances only a few days earlier all but forgotten.

  Charlotte was surprised at the success of her strategy, which had arisen out of a vague impulse rather than any sense of calculation. And although she was not a vindictive woman, and was by no means sure of her prize, she could not help thinking, with angry pleasure, of Mrs Bennet’s reaction should Mr Collins turn his matrimonial ambitions in her direction.

  It had not yet occurred to her – although it soon would – that such a turn of events would lead to her one day replacing Mrs Bennet as mistress of Longbourn. She, Charlotte, who was so very plain.

  CHAPTER XV

  AFTER DINNER, ONCE THE GENTLEMEN had rejoined the ladies, Charlotte realised that with Mr Collins’s visit to Hertfordshire rapidly coming to an end, she had scant opportunities to fix herself in his remembrance – she could not hope for more at this stage. Thus, when the goodnights were said, she hinted that her father might enjoy Mr Collins’s company at breakfast the next morning, should he be able to spare the time; and while he made no firm promises – he was still at the disposal of the Bennets – his face lit up at the prospect.

  The next morning, Charlotte dressed for battle and waited at her window. To her relief, she saw the tall figure of the clergyman approaching in the distance. And so it was that by the time he reached the lane that led to Lucas Lodge, she was waiting to be discovered, in her best sprigged poplin day dress and bonnet with matching trim, her basket filled with late russets, mushrooms, and the last of the autumn blooms, a pleasing picture of wholesome English country bountifulness. Mr Collins fortunately did not question the coincidence that led her there; he was too relieved to find an opportunity to speak privately to Miss Lucas had fallen so easily his way.

  To Charlotte’s astonishment, almost before she could finish greeting him and commenting on the fairness of the morning, he had embarked on praises of her person and nature that lent themselves to one interpretation only. She was all that was amiable and delightful; she had the qualities of a most desirable helpmeet in life; her domestic talents and good sense were remarked upon and admired throughout the neighbourhood; and in short (although it was clear he knew not the meaning of this word), he begged the honour of offering those talents an opportunity to be cherished and to shine as the chief ornament of his home.

  Charlotte listened to what was the first and would surely be the last proposal she would ever receive with no small degree of emotional tumult. Mostly, she felt relief: she had nursed modest hopes after the promising interest and warmth which Mr Collins had shown her at dinner the previous day. But she had not dared imagine that he would propose to two women – close friends at that – within almost as many days.

  Having heard the substance of his offer to Lizzy, she was also relieved that her friend’s rejection of him had somewhat altered his line of attack: his speech was less fluent than usual, and real anxiety about another ‘nay’ gave his words a sorely needed gloss of humility. While he went on to lay out the benefits of his association with Rosings and Lady Catherine de Bourgh as an inducement no right-thinking woman could resist, he refrained from alluding to the size (and he had to know it was pitifully small) of Miss Lucas’s portion, and remembered to make repeated claims to ardent admiration. She did not begrudge his praises, which included at least three references to her preserves, and several more to her light hand with pastry; after all, what more did he know of her? Mr Collins was not a sensible man, but he showed sense in recognising that marriage to a woman with good housekeeping skills promised future domestic tranquillity, if not actual harmony. Charlotte had little doubt that in this respect, she could boast, at least to herself, that the advantages offered by the match did not lie all on his side.

  As soon as her suitor paused, which admittedly he did not do for some time, she accepted his offer with as much speed as was consistent with modesty. Fortunately, he was looking neither for declarations of devotion from her side, nor speeches about her good fortune in receiving such a propitious offer. For him, it was enough that she accepted his proposal without hesitation, and in terms that left no room for doubt.

  The newly engaged couple took several turns up and down the lane, a little unsure about how to proceed, until Charlotte invited the man with whom she was to spend the rest of her natural life to join her family at breakfast. This reminded the successful suitor that his next step was to gain parental approval for the impending match. However, on this score, he told her that he had no anxiety, and as they approached the house, he pressed Charlotte to name the day that would secure his perennial happiness. She demurred for the moment, while making it clear that she had no intention of delaying the happiness to which he laid claim. She had little interest in a prolonged courtship or further declarations of imaginary ardour; her aim was to secure a future free of anxiety and material want, and, short of some disaster befalling her new fiancé, that future now seemed assured.

  Mr Collins lost no time in applying to Sir William and Lady Lucas for their consent, and the habitual length of his speeches enabled them to make the transition from astonishment to delight by the time he paused for breath. While innocent of Mr Collins’s interest in their daughter, and somewhat unflatteringly surprised that she should have attracted his addresses, their surprise only enlarged their pleasure at the news of the engagement. They had no intention of raising any objections or asking any difficult questions, and bestowed their blessings upon the union with almost indecent haste. The house filled with cries of congratulation, joy, and no small amount of relief: Sir William could give his eldest daughter little fortune, and her advancing age had been a source of growing anxiety for them all.

  Charlotte suspected that her mother was calculating how much longer Mr Bennet might yet live with more interest than ever before. Her father meanwhile had visions of himself and his good lady making their appearance at court, something he announced his intentions of doing as soon as Mr Collins took possession of the Longbourn estate. Maria was entranced at the thought of what opportunities might now fall to her, and her younger sisters anticipated being able to come out and take their share of the pleasures of social intercourse sooner than they had dared hope. Her brothers were relieved of their fears of their sister dying an old maid, which they celebrated with boisterous halloo-ing throughout the house. Charlotte did not think she had ever before united her family in this much happiness, and there was comfort to be taken in this.

  Having achieved he
r object, she had time to reflect. She was tolerably composed, although there was a recurring tightness across her ribs. She felt as if she had flung herself across a river in spate, scrambling to the dubious safety of an unknown shore, with no way back across. She had no illusions concerning her future husband’s declarations of love and devotion: while she did not suspect him of outright hypocrisy, she had already established that he felt, in almost all matters of the human heart, what he thought he ought to feel – or had been told to feel. He was predisposed to be in love because the patron to whom he was in thrall had advised him to marry. Lizzy’s refusal had wounded his pride and spurred him on to achieve success elsewhere, and the glow of emotion he now felt stemmed no doubt from triumph rather than affection.

  But she had calculated the risks as best she could. While thinking highly of neither men nor matrimony, she would be married, an avenue she had always considered her pleasantest preservative from want. There was no doubting that it was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and that provision she had now gained, with neither the blush of first youth nor a fair face to act as inducements. She would have an establishment to call home, and to run according to her taste and her husband’s purse – which was certainly, in this case, ample for her needs.

  A new problem now arose: Mr Collins, both relieved and jubilant at the success of his proposal, was expected back at Longbourn for his last dinner with the family before his return to his duties at Hunsford. He was eager to burst the news upon his relatives, while Charlotte quailed at the thought of the consternation that would reign as a result, and most especially at the thought of Lizzy’s response.

  She valued her friend’s good opinion, although not enough to sacrifice a matrimonial opportunity to maintain it – such high-minded delicacy was too fine a luxury – yet it gave her pain to consider that her conduct might sink her in Elizabeth’s esteem. A difficult conversation with her friend lay ahead, and she wished to prepare for this, and communicate the news to Lizzy directly, before the rest of the neighbourhood heard it. She therefore charged Mr Collins with secrecy and, although reluctant to comply, he could not argue with the modesty of his affianced.