Charlotte

by Helen Moffett

  One day as she stood checking the contents of her pantry, Charlotte remembered a dinner she had prepared with special care – for the Netherfield Park party, in fact – at Lucas Lodge, only a few months previously; and yet another lifetime ago.

  She remembered the pains she had taken, curling her hair, spending half an hour rubbing a cut lemon over her hands to erase the tell-tale red hue that revealed her hours in the kitchen. As she went downstairs to welcome the company alongside her mother, her cuticles stung slightly, as did the knowledge that she was responsible for the home baking and preserving, as well as some of the churning and cheese-making on those days when Jenny had to help the washerwoman with the household laundry.

  The evening had proceeded pleasantly enough, although in the middle of it, the dining room filled with the scent of roasted meat and wine and candlewax, the chink of silver on china and conversation about taxes and hunting, Charlotte experienced an unprecedented moment of exhaustion. What is this for? she found herself asking, she, who was never given to philosophical musings. No one has uttered one word that I have not heard before, multiple times. There are no new topics of interest, and even the novelty of new faces has worn off.

  She had shaken herself, attributing her lapse into introspection to the imminent onset of her monthly bleeding, a short stretch of time in which she invariably found herself snappish and adrift from everyday concerns. I will soon feel better, she had told herself, noticing that the fringing that edged her napkin was coming loose, and mentally earmarking it for mending the next day.

  Now as she stood, hands at her waist, seeing her wavering reflection in glinting jars, she realised that such ennui and exhaustion had not plagued her for some time. The daily repetition of labour, her management of kitchen, board, and hearth brought a sense of completion to each day. There were times when she found her chores and duties tedious or unpleasant; she hardly enjoyed manufacturing soap or gutting poultry, for instance; but these and other labours never felt pointless. She realised she had the answer to her question: It was for this, she told herself.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THE DAYS GREW IMPERCEPTIBLY LONGER, with first snowdrops and then celandines filling the woods with sheets of sparkle and soft light not yet reliably seen in the sky. Charlotte had set as a goal the task of making the house as comfortable as possible by the time of the much-anticipated visit by her father, sister and Lizzy in March, three months after the date of her marriage.

  By then, she would have dealt with the tendency of the local bakehouse to scorch the bottoms of her loaves, repaired all the household linens that had suffered from the carelessness of the village washerwoman, smoked a sufficient store of pork, and populated the shelves of the pantry. It would take a full summer and autumn before the glinting jars these displayed would hold her own produce, but she found her husband’s income sufficient to allow the easy purchase of supplementary foodstuffs, and she soon gained a reputation as a generous chatelaine, able and willing to buy the occasional rabbit, trout, peck of chestnuts, and other titbits from the villagers to whom her husband ministered. The supply of potatoes, turnips, pippins, and quinces in the cellar was ample for their needs, and she was able to set an apple tart with cream or Cheddar before her husband most days. She learned first-hand what family life had already indicated to her: that a man who could anticipate a good dinner every day was also a man of good temper and humour.

  The woods were buttery with primroses, and the visit by the party from home was due at last. Charlotte went about the rooms of the Parsonage with satisfaction: all was shining and comfortable. Bedchambers had been aired and linens scented with lavender; her larder held tongue, cold chicken, and a game pie for hungry and fatigued travellers; she had brewed cider and small beer for refreshment, and the pantry was fragrant with the scent of coffee beans sent for from London. The garden, although still winter-bare, was neat, with promising knots and tips of green in most beds. Now there was nothing left to do except hover in the entrance hall, imagining the sound of hooves and carriage wheels every five minutes.

  At last the sounds of arrival were unmistakable, and Mr and Mrs Collins stepped out into the driveway to welcome their first guests. Charlotte’s heart lifted with real joy at the sight of well-loved faces at the carriage windows, wreathed in smiles, hands waving in greeting. There was Lizzy, alert and glossy as a starling, head tilted, Maria nodding and craning, her father’s ruddy face split by a grin. As they climbed down from the carriage, Charlotte picked up her skirts and ran to them, and the next few minutes were given to embraces and cries of welcome.

  To Charlotte’s relief, Lizzy’s responses were as warm and affectionate as always, and she seemed truly delighted to see her old friend. Mr Collins wished to detain the entire party while he enquired after every member of the Bennet and Lucas families, but he soon acquiesced to his wife’s insistence that everyone come indoors and make themselves comfortable after the fatigue of their journey.

  Once in the main parlour, he formally welcomed the party, and repeated Charlotte’s every offer of comfort and refreshment at length, in between inviting their admiration of every aspect of the room and its furnishings. Charlotte saw Lizzy, never good at dissembling, turning with open wonder to see how she took her husband’s flood of words, and could not help blushing. But what Lizzy did not understand was that Mr Collins was at his worst in company, and this company was indeed awkward: his new father- and sister-in-law, along with the cousin who had only four months previously spurned his proposal.

  While husband and wife were both desirous of showing Elizabeth that she had been mistaken in her responses of the previous winter, Charlotte’s object was to show Lizzy that she was occupied and content; that her decision was not one that she regretted, other than what it cost her in terms of their friendship; and that she was capable of happiness in her new marital home and state. She took real pleasure in ushering her family and friend around the Parsonage, attending to their needs, offering them plentiful food and drink, not out of any desire for display, but in all the beneficial glow of willing hospitality. She had a home and a welcome to offer those she loved, and she took no small amount of joy in this.

  Once the visitors had eaten and drunk, and been shown their accommodations, Mr Collins was eager to take them on a tour of his garden. Once again, as they processed around the grounds, Charlotte noticed the glance Lizzy threw her when she spoke of her approbation for her husband’s attention to, and work in, its plots and beds. Likewise, she was a little uncomfortable with her friend’s penetrating look when she showed off the somewhat gloomy back parlour in which she sat at a remove from her husband’s study. But such inevitable moments of awkwardness were all soon over, and she could focus on the business of being a hostess.

  At first she was a little anxious at the prospect of their establishment swelling in number; it was strange to have the house full of voices and bustle, especially as Mr Collins spent the first day shadowing his guests, telling them of the marvels in store for them – the opportunity to lay eyes upon Lady Catherine in church, the likelihood that they might be invited to drink tea with her thereafter. However, things soon settled down. Her husband was determined to show her father all about the neighbourhood, its farms, woods, roads, and rivers, and his gig would take only the two of them, and that at a pinch – neither were small men. They thus spent all the hours of the day that first week, which was the duration of Sir William’s visit, out exploring. For Maria, who had taken over Charlotte’s role in the running of the Lucas household, the stay was a real holiday; although assiduous in lending herself to her sister’s domestic projects, she had leisure for reading and embroidery, as well as all the novelty of new walks and excursions into the village.

  Lizzy was an ideal guest; quick to praise, happy to entertain herself with handiwork, reading, or rambling, equally willing to join in excursions and or stay quiet at home, and a welcome companion both at the dinner table and more privately, on account of her wit and vivacity. Char
lotte remembered with pleasure how they used to laugh together, and indeed the Parsonage rang with far more mirth than usual.

  Only once in the next few days did she and Lizzy disagree: in response to Charlotte’s expression of disapproval at Mr Wickham’s alteration of affection once he had discovered that poor Miss King was poor no more, Lizzy had flashed: ‘What is the difference in matrimonial affairs, between the mercenary and prudent motive? Where does discretion end and avarice begin?’

  Where indeed, thought Charlotte. I wish you had been half as understanding and generous to me last winter. But then she considered that Lizzy was indeed generous; here she was, under a former suitor’s roof, as sunny and merry as always, lightening Charlotte’s days, helping with the hemming, providing company on long walks, as willing to show all the outward signs of friendship and affection as ever.

  A few days after the arrival of the Meryton party, the Parsonage was gripped by a fever of anxiety and anticipation; Lady Catherine had invited their entire party to dine at Rosings, and Mr Collins was beside himself at the prospect. Charlotte thought that the pitch of his nerves better belonged to herself, as it was her relatives and friend she would be presenting. She had no anxieties on her father and sister’s score: Sir William’s passion for rank and his obliging manners, both of which qualities Maria shared, would no doubt make them acceptable to her ladyship. Lizzy – there, she was not so sure. She had nothing to fear from her friend’s public manners, and took great personal delight in her liveliness, but she was not sure Lady Catherine would be entirely enchanted by Lizzy’s habitual vigour and wit. And her concerns ran in the other direction as well; imagining the intrusive questions her ladyship would feel free to ask her friend, she could only hope that Lizzy would keep her patience and her countenance.

  But there was no help for it, and they all walked over to Rosings across the park, admiring and exclaiming at the views, particularly appealing at that time of year, with enough unfurling green and bobbing daffodils to soften the crustiest heart, but not yet such a cloak of growth as to obscure the more distant vistas.

  Once indoors, and escorted into the presence of the ladies of the house by the footman, Charlotte undertook the introductions, and all was civilly performed without the long speeches Mr Collins was clearly itching to make. The dinner, as always, was excellent, although Charlotte could have wished for more plain cooking and fewer courses, but it served its purpose in that the visitors could admire and praise every item. It was not until coffee that Lady Catherine’s interrogation of Elizabeth got properly underway. Lizzy bore it patiently at first, but eventually she began to be sportive in her responses, and Charlotte closed her eyes as she heard her friend defend her education, and refuse to tell her ladyship her age.

  ‘Upon my word, you give your opinion decidedly for such a young person,’ Lady Catherine said, which response to Lizzy’s teasing answers was comparatively mild, given how seldom her ladyship was trifled with. Charlotte was nevertheless relieved when Lady Catherine offered them the use of her carriage, and accepted more promptly than usual. Mr Collins’s raptures at the condescension of their hostess lasted long past their arrival back at the Parsonage, but fortunately, Sir William, who had spent the evening storing noble names and anecdotes of the mighty in his memory, was more than happy to echo his son-in-law’s praises, sparing Charlotte the need to do so herself. All in all, she considered, the excursion had been a success, even if those in attendance would no doubt give very different reasons for the pleasure they had taken in it.

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE APPROACH OF EASTER BROUGHT a surprising alteration to their quiet society; Mr Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, were to visit their aunt at Rosings. Lady Catherine repeatedly trumpeted their arrival, congratulated herself on her nephew’s impending match with her daughter, and seemed almost angry that Mrs Collins and her guests had met him in Hertfordshire, thus denying her the opportunity of introductions. Charlotte noticed that Miss de Bourgh showed no interest in the imminent arrival of her intended, nor any expectation that anything might arise from his visit.

  Mr Collins could not resist walking over to Rosings to pay his respects to the visitors the first day after their arrival and, to the wonder of all at the Parsonage, the gentlemen accompanied him back home to call on the ladies of the house. Charlotte saw them approaching from a window, and ran to alert the others, adding, ‘I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr Darcy would never have come so soon to wait upon me.’

  Her friend seemed genuinely puzzled by her observation, but Mr Collins was ushering in his august visitors, and all was bustle. After paying his compliments to Mrs Collins and congratulating her on her marriage, Mr Darcy spoke too little, and Mr Collins too much. Happily, the Colonel’s manners were perfectly pleasing, and he entered into conversation with an ease and grace much appreciated by the rest of the party.

  These additions to their small circle, particularly of the charming Colonel, meant that engagements at Rosings promised to be a great deal more enjoyable. However, as the occupants of the Parsonage were now less necessary, it was almost a week before Lady Catherine invited them to spend the evening of Easter Day in her company.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was especially glad to see fresh faces and hear new voices, and he clearly found Elizabeth appealing. He took his seat alongside her as tea and coffee were served, and their chat flowed so entertainingly that the rest of the party remained quiet so that they could listen. Lady Catherine, accustomed to directing conversation, had to insist on her share of the discussion, but the Colonel was not a military man for nothing; he reminded Lizzy that she had promised to play for them all, and encouraged her to sit down at the piano, drawing up a chair and offering to turn her sheets.

  Charlotte could not help noticing that both he and Mr Darcy were struck by Elizabeth’s vivacity, especially when she spoke to their aunt. Both were clearly surprised by her lack of servility, but they did not seem in any way disapproving of Lizzy’s merry tone. She also noticed that while the Colonel openly showered Lizzy with attention and praise for her performance, Mr Darcy was no less absorbed, even stationing himself at the instrument where he could best study her face.

  As Lizzy remained at the piano for the rest of the evening, with the gentlemen insisting on her continuing to play each time she rose from her seat, Lady Catherine was left with nothing to do other than point out all the faults of her execution and insist that she practise with greater regularity, concluding that Miss de Bourgh would have been the superior performer – had she ever learned to play. There was no answer to be made to this, and Anne herself appeared deaf to this maternal compliment, a stratagem Lizzy also adopted. Charlotte, who found the evening both far livelier than was usual at Rosings, but also productive of anxiety, was relieved when it was announced that her ladyship’s carriage was ready to take them home.

  The next day, Charlotte and Maria walked to Hunsford village on an errand. On their return, Katie met them at the front door, her eyes even rounder than usual: ‘Mr Darcy is here, ma’am, alone. He is in the front parlour with Miss Elizabeth. I thought you should like to know right away, ma’am.’

  Maria immediately ran upstairs to attend to her toilette before facing their formidable visitor, while Charlotte stepped towards the sounds of voices, Mr Darcy’s grave and measured baritone, and her friend’s swifter and more musical tones.

  ‘Mr Collins seems very fortunate in his choice of wife,’ she heard Mr Darcy say. This was gratifying, and Elizabeth responded almost as satisfactorily: ‘Yes, indeed; his friends may well rejoice in his having met with one of the few sensible women who would have accepted him, or made him happy if they had. My friend has an excellent understanding – though I am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr Collins as the wisest thing she ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however, and in a prudential light it is certainly a very good match for her.’

  This time, Charlotte overheard what gave her mostly cause for satisfaction; it
was no small thing to gain the approbation of a man such as Mr Darcy, and she was glad to hear Lizzy give a softer account of her marriage, one that seemed based on conviction brought about by the evidence of her own eyes. But she did not wish to risk hearing something to her detriment, so she entered the parlour with all due speed and no small amount of curiosity. Neither party seemed quite easy, although Mr Darcy rose to his feet and made his bows with courtesy and conviction. Lizzy seemed flustered, and Mr Darcy was at pains to explain that he was under the impression all the ladies were at home, otherwise he would not have disturbed Miss Bennet at her letters. He apologised for having come and, having come, he further apologised for staying. But this did not last long; shortly after Maria tripped into the parlour, almost as wide-eyed as the maid, he made his excuses and left.

  Charlotte turned to her friend, eyebrows raised: ‘My dear Eliza, he must be in love with you, or he would never have called on us in this familiar way.’ But Lizzy herself argued against this case so strongly that in the end it seemed safer to attribute his motive for visiting to boredom; the lack of any sports the gentlemen might pursue outdoors at that time of year, and the ever-present threat of quadrille with Lady Catherine indoors.

  Nevertheless, as the days passed, it became increasingly clear to Charlotte that Mr Darcy was entranced by Elizabeth. Not that he paid her anything like the gallant attentions lavished on her by Colonel Fitzwilliam; but he constantly sought opportunities to be in company with her. He repeatedly visited the Parsonage, creating minor storms of domestic havoc as the household had to stop whatever task was in hand to offer him comforts and refreshments. These he always declined, but his sudden appearances nevertheless meant the reception rooms had to have their fires continually stoked and the woodbaskets filled, the pantry stocked with fresh dainties. No one could quite relax, never knowing when his august presence might manifest itself.