The next morning, Charlotte arrived at Longbourn for a tête-à-tête with her friend. While anticipating no great pleasure from the conversation, she knew her family would not keep her engagement secret for long, nor should they be constrained to do so. She broke the news to Elizabeth without further ado, who received it with such unguarded astonishment and dismay that Charlotte was momentarily caught between distress and anger at her friend’s lack of decorum. But it was no less than she had expected and indeed possibly deserved, and, for a few minutes, neither woman could look at the other. Lizzy, too, seemed ashamed, if not of her immediate response then of the visible pain it caused her old friend, and after her first expostulation of ‘Engaged to Mr Collins! – why, this is impossible!’ she caught at the reins of her disbelief and tried to utter the necessary congratulations.
Her stammered wishes for Charlotte’s happiness gave the latter the strength to speak honestly, rather than pretend to the joy of a bride-to-be. To Elizabeth, she would not dissemble. ‘I see what you must think of me,’ she said. ‘You must be very surprised, especially as only a few days ago, Mr Collins was wishing to marry you. But Eliza, I hope that upon reflection, you will understand what I have done. You know I am not romantic. I never have been. I ask only a comfortable home, and shall endeavour to do my part to ensure that whomever I share it with shall have no grounds on which to reproach me. Mr Collins may not be a star in the firmament of intelligent thought, but then neither am I; we know of no blemish or stain of disgrace on his character; and considering his connections and situation in life, I do not see that my chance of happiness is any less of a gamble than most take upon entering married life.’
Lizzy had by now gained control of her tongue, and murmured agreement and further congratulations, but it was clear from her face, always expressive, that she was disappointed in and even repelled by her friend’s choice, and doubted her prospects for future happiness. Charlotte understood that her response was driven by affection and concern – nothing less could have made her judgement bearable.
A small canker of resentment niggled, too. She, Charlotte, might be accused of disinterested calculation, but while she did not begrudge her friend her moral scruples, surely Lizzy could understand that her insistence on romance was a luxury available only to the young and the lovely?
For now, though, seeing the dismay and shock that marked Elizabeth’s features, Charlotte’s heart ached. Their friendship was a bright band that stretched back across otherwise unremarkable years, and she feared she had struck it a mortal blow. She reached out a hand as hoofbeats could be heard advancing up the driveway: ‘That is my father. I asked him to visit your family to convey the news, but I wanted to speak to you first. I beseech you, Eliza, do not judge me too harshly. Try to understand why I have acted as I have. I believe I have been guided by prudence, not avarice, and shall do my best to make a good wife. Once I am married, I shall regret the loss of your companionship more than anything else.’
Her friend’s eyes mirrored the tears in her own, and the young women exchanged an awkward embrace before Charlotte set off home, wishing to escape before Sir William could make any formal announcement.
Her father joined her back at Lucas Lodge a little later, mopping his brow. He had endured harsh treatment at the hands of Mrs Bennet, who insisted that he was mistaken in his announcement of his daughter’s engagement, while Lydia had freely exclaimed, ‘Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Do you not know Mr Collins made an offer to Lizzy?’
Charlotte had to smile at the thought of her father sitting through such abuse with his usual complaisance, and took comfort from the fact that Lizzy had corroborated his news, which she had been swift to follow with earnest compliments and congratulations. Jane, after a minute’s surprise, had followed Lizzy in uttering good wishes, congratulating the proud father not only on the happiness that would surely follow, and the excellence of Mr Collins’s character, but the convenient distance of Hunsford from London. This account of the generosity of the elder Bennet sisters cost Charlotte more pain than the frank disbelief and scorn of the mother and younger girls, and the rest of the morning passed in more tears than might be expected on the part of a woman newly affianced.
CHAPTER XVI
THE LAST WEEKS OF HER maiden life were awkward ones. While preparing to leave all that was familiar and dear behind, Charlotte not only longed for the companionship of her friend, but for the blend of calm and spice the two eldest Bennet girls had provided her over many years. Yet Mrs Bennet could hardly tolerate the sight of her, so visits to Longbourn were not easy. It did not help that Lady Lucas, after years of enduring her friend’s pointed remarks on the beauty of her own daughters, never lost the opportunity to call on Mrs Bennet to solicit congratulations on the good fortune of having a daughter well settled, steadfastly ignoring the sour looks and ungenerous remarks of her less lucky friend.
Far worse, while there was not exactly a coldness between herself and Lizzy, there existed a constraint that made the comfortable conversation and confidences of old impossible. This was most unwelcome at a time when Charlotte longed for reassurance and the cheerfulness of friends as she prepared to leave her home to live among strangers.
To further stir the currents of uncomfortable feeling, there was a fresh blight on the fortunes of the Bennet family. The Netherfield party had returned to London, bringing to an abrupt halt Mr Bingley’s courtship of the eldest Bennet sister. While at first Jane and the rest of her family believed that this cessation of attention was temporary, a letter now arrived from Mr Bingley’s sister suggesting something more serious. She wrote that she and her brother would not be returning to Netherfield Park that winter, and in terms that did not suggest that the acquaintance would be renewed.
Jane bore this blow with the steady sweetness and patience for which she was a byword, but one day, she admitted that her mother’s constant bewailing of the fickleness of her suitor caused her immense pain.
This conversation took place while Jane and Lizzy were at Lucas Lodge, helping Charlotte sew garments for her trousseau and table- and bed-linens for her dowry chest. There was a great deal to finish before the wedding, and Charlotte, with her bridal costume to make, as well as the other new outfits and undergarments she would require as a newly married woman, was genuinely grateful for their aid. She, her mother, and Maria were sewing as fast as they could, as were some of the more solicitous ladies and housekeepers of the neighbourhood, but the elder Bennet sisters, Jane in particular, were known for their competent and speedy needlework.
To aid them in their labours, they were seated in the parlour with the best light, and Lady Lucas had once again solicited their compliments and congratulations – which were very good-naturedly given. She had then laid a hand on Jane’s arm, but fortunately restricted herself to shaking her head and sighing, ‘Ah Jane! A great pity indeed! And you such a beauty!’
After the proud maternal parent had quit the parlour, and Charlotte had earnestly thanked the Bennet sisters for their kind attendance and help, Jane had confessed that the outing was a relief, giving her brief respite from her mother’s incessant grumbling at the cruelty of fate and young men. Charlotte, who had heard snatches on her brief visits to Longbourn, thought one might easily be mistaken in thinking that Mrs Bennet had been the one thrown over. But Jane was all fortitude: ‘Mr Bingley shall be forgot, and we shall go on as before. Let me take it all in the best light possible, and endeavour to achieve a tranquil heart as soon as possible.’
Charlotte’s needle stilled. The late-angled winter sun streaming through the windows made a nimbus of Miss Bennet’s ringlets, creating an ethereal frame for her lovely features and roses-with-cream complexion. Gazing at Jane, the quintessential picture of feminine beauty, goodness, and diligence as she bent her long white neck over her sewing, flawless stitches flowing from her fingers, Charlotte could scarcely credit their reversal of fortune. By rights, it should have been Jane’s trousseau they were prepar
ing; that they should be assembling her wedding costumes and linens – she who had neither beauty, youth, nor riches to tempt – seemed incredible. She was struck once again by all the good luck of her situation, and the contrast between her position and that of her exquisite neighbour brought her some comfort, strengthening as it did her conviction that she had indeed made the right decision – the only decision.
She tactfully turned the subject to the superior quality of Jane’s stitching and the happy memories of her friends the sight of these tablecloths and quilts would bring once she made her home at Hunsford; and the afternoon passed, if not entirely unclouded, in an atmosphere of diligent goodwill.
With the gracious permission of his patroness, Mr Collins soon returned to Lucas Lodge to conduct the necessary wooing of his affianced. Now followed the ungainliness of a courtship between two near-strangers, neither of whom had any especial affection for one another beyond growing mutual gratitude: Mr Collins for the balm ministered by Charlotte’s acceptance of his hand, and Charlotte for an avenue of escape.
Lady Catherine had apparently interrogated Mr Collins on his choice of spouse, expressing some surprise that he had not been inclined to look towards any of his cousins. This was not a topic he wished to dwell upon, which had necessitated an insistence that his feelings had run away with him upon encountering Miss Lucas’s charms and excellent qualities. It was only a matter of days spent repeating this before he himself believed in the truth of this version of his Hertfordshire romance; and after much probing of the future Mrs Collins’s habits of economy and industry, Lady Catherine declared herself satisfied with his choice. This was licence for Mr Collins to give way to flights of imaginary devotion, and his time with Charlotte was coloured by no small amount of self-congratulation.
With no experience of how a couple about to wed should conduct themselves, Charlotte turned, as always, to practical matters. She questioned Mr Collins closely about his living and establishment at Hunsford, topics that had him waxing even more verbose than usual. Every description of the house, its furnishings, its gardens, trees, pastures, and livestock, ended with a treatise on the glories of Rosings park across the lane, and the privilege of her impending acquaintance with Lady Catherine. Charlotte learned to smile and nod while taking mental notes on what fruit trees the orchard held, which flowerbeds were south-facing, and which nearby coppices and brakes were good sources of firewood.
She was pleased to hear that she would soon be the mistress of leeks and marrows, gooseberry bushes and raspberry canes, and a Chinese mulberry tree, along with the usual damsons, pippins, and pears. Apparently, Lady Catherine had lemons and oranges in her hothouses, and was not averse to sharing this bounty. Charlotte felt that she could endure what sounded like a considerable amount of unsolicited domestic advice, and even interference, in exchange for the treat of oranges at breakfast.
Mr Collins’s habit of recounting the furnishings of each room was also welcome, although here Charlotte did not trust his enumerations quite as much as she did when he listed the contents of the garden and orchard. She knew that in this regard, she would have to wait until she entered the Parsonage as a bride before fully comprehending the extent and quality of the plate, silver, and glassware of which she was to become the keeper.
With the bustle of Christmas over, and her trunks filled with her new-made costumes and linens, there could be no further delays, and Charlotte’s wedding day loomed. The day before, she paid her farewell visit to the Bennet family, with Elizabeth her object. She could not bear the continuing awkwardness between herself and her old friend, and made strenuous attempts to impress upon Lizzy her wish that their intimacy should continue, even if on a different footing.
First, she sought a promise that Lizzy would write to her regularly – that much, surely, she could depend on. Sir William and Maria were due to visit the bridal couple in Kent in March, and Charlotte found herself pressing, almost begging Lizzy to join them – as they descended the stairs as two maiden friends for the last time, she admitted that Lizzy’s presence would be as welcome to her as her own father and sister’s. She understood but chose to ignore Elizabeth’s reluctance to take up the invitation, and pleaded her case with such fervour that Lizzy agreed at last.
This gave Charlotte some relief on her last day as a spinster; with momentous changes ahead of her, there would be some continuity between her old life and her new one. In the unknown that lay ahead, there would still be familiar faces and voices, bringing news of home and the community she was leaving – for which she felt a surprising amount of affection now that her departure, with many long years before she might return, was imminent.
There were moments when the enormity of what she had managed rendered her breathless: never before had she been so aware that, as a woman, she was little better than a parcel to be lodged where first a father and then a husband decreed. But there was no use in hankering after the independence of a man; she was better off than many women, with a family overjoyed by her imminent nuptials, and an ostensibly comfortable home to anticipate.
The wedding day dawned bright and clear, her family, friends, and neighbours filled the pews of the church, and she trod the aisle on her beaming father’s arm to where her groom waited, all smiles and no little relief. She spoke her vows like a ventriloquist’s doll, and her path was chosen, her fate sealed. What her life would be now depended largely on her capacity to meet the terms of the contract to which she had just assented. And she was determined to make the very best of it she could.
1819
CHAPTER XVII
CHARLOTTE LOOKED AROUND THE FRESH green, white, and gold furnishings and papering of Miss Darcy’s apartments. The sun had settled on the tops of the hills as she had spoken, and it was time to wake Laura. She felt exposed: had she been too candid in her account of how she came to be the wife of Mr Collins? But she could not deny the relief she had also experienced. ‘I must apologise for speaking at such length – I confess to surprise at how the hours have flown,’ she said. ‘I hope my account has not been too tedious.’
Herr Rosenstein shook his head. ‘I have seldom been so entertained. You are a natural teller of tales, a skill you have no doubt formed as a sister and a parent. We are all children at heart when there are stories to be heard – none of us can resist the lure of a story well told. But yours is far from complete. You have said nothing of your life as a clergyman’s wife in Kent, and I am eager to hear more. But perhaps another day?’
‘I am glad I have not burdened you. It is not often that I am able to speak so freely.’ Too late, she realised her words could be misconstrued as marital disloyalty, rather than a general comment on the role of a clergyman’s wife more accustomed to listening than speaking, but her companion seemed to understand.
‘It is always a solace to speak without first considering whom we might offend or how we might be misunderstood. But enough! I am sure this little Fräulein needs her bread and milk.’
Charlotte shook her daughter gently, murmuring as the flushed child made the transition from sleep to wakefulness. The next few minutes were spent getting Laura to her feet, assuring her she had missed no events of importance, and persuading her to withdraw from the luxuries and novelties of Miss Darcy’s quarters.
Before they left, the musician extracted a promise from Charlotte that she would soon return to continue her account of her life: ‘I warn you, Frau Collins, I am like the Arabian king whose bride was required to tell him endless tales in order to remain alive. Although I am more merciful than in his case – no spectre of beheading awaits you – but I assure you I am eager to hear more.’
His words were playful, but his gaze was warm on her face, and she felt all the force of it as she escorted Laura out of Miss Darcy’s apartments and down the wide corridors. At the head of the stairs, she turned back to see him standing in the doorway looking after them, and was glad of the spontaneity with which her daughter waved at him.
The next day, Elizabeth unea
rthed a pile of sheet music that had been ordered from London, but which she had been too busy to play. ‘By which I mean, too idle. Somehow there is always something else to distract. But now I shall ask Herr Rosenstein if he will be so kind as to play some of these pieces for us tonight while you and I attend to our letters, dear Charlotte.’
Charlotte was happy to agree to this plan; she knew Lizzy was a diligent correspondent, who wrote to her sister Jane nearly every other day, and to the party at Longbourn almost as often. To add to this regular programme, she was also writing frequently to her husband. Moreover, Charlotte had letters of her own to reply to. That very morning, along with a rambling communiqué from her husband – much concerned with the early fruiting of their cherries and the slower progress of the Rosings orchard – she had received a letter from Anne de Bourgh.
Now, as Lizzy seated herself at one of the grander desks in the saloon, and while Herr Rosenstein leafed through the pieces of music with which he had been presented, testing out a few bars or melodic lines here and there, Charlotte reread the heiress’s letter.
Dear Mrs Collins,
I wonder how you and Mrs Darcy are going on at Pemberley. Mr Darcy passed through Kent very briefly on his way to business dealings in London, and he said you had all settled well, including the girls, although I doubt he had much to do with their arrangements.
Here time goes by as always: my mother pronounces, at length, on how the world should wag, Mrs Jenkinson clicks her tongue or her knitting needles, and I read or retreat into the spaces of my own mind. Fortunately, nobody expects me to pay them much attention, so I can muse freely.
Charlotte Page 11