Charlotte could scarcely credit it that all around her seemed oblivious to Mr Darcy’s infatuation; one with potentially significant, if not devastating, implications to almost every member of her immediate circle. It amazed her that Lizzy herself counted herself puzzled by his constant insertion of himself into her presence: ‘What can he mean by it? It makes me quite out of countenance. He sat here for half an hour in the parlour, but did not speak more than twenty words. I cannot make him out.’
Charlotte shook her head. Elizabeth, who prided herself on the quickness and acuity of her perceptions, could not see what was as evident as the emerald sprays shooting from the branches of the trees outside: that the man was deeply mired in love. Even as she confided to Charlotte the substance of a most interesting conversation with the Colonel – who, in the course of a private walk, had gently warned Lizzy that he was required to marry money – she seemed blind to the fact that a man with the liberty to marry where he pleased was revolving around her as steadily as the moon circled the globe.
After her first observations, Charlotte gave up dropping hints to her friend; she did not want to excite undue hope, especially after the debacle of Jane Bennet’s terminated courtship. Mr Darcy might be smitten, but he did not strike Charlotte as an impulsive man, and he had no pressing reasons, either of vanity or practicality, to enter into the matrimonial state.
But Charlotte did take an unseemly amount of pleasure in imagining the hullabaloo that would ensue if such a proposal was indeed made. Lady Catherine would be incensed, Rosings thrown into uproar. She dwelt upon the scenes that might follow with some amusement: while Mr Darcy showed his aunt the respect that was due to her as an older relation, he did not seem to value her advice as most did, much less hang on every word of it.
Lizzy’s family would be in no less uproar, even if delight would surely make up a great part of their responses. Mrs Bennet would be in danger of expiring with joy, at the same time as having to scramble to reverse her opinions of a man she claimed to detest.
Charlotte would not allow herself to be so disloyal as to smile at the idea of her husband’s dismay if such a proposal came to pass, but she had no doubt he would be badly shaken. Always submissive to the closest and most pressing superior force, he would no doubt throw in his lot with Lady Catherine, and support all her reasons for deploring the match; it would not occur to him that a close association with Mr Darcy might be better in the long term for his prospects. No matter how wealthy and powerful his patroness, Mr Darcy was yet more wealthy and powerful; he was also young, had considerable influence in the church, and – most compelling of all – he was a man. Mr Collins would consider none of this, and she had to commend him for his hypothetical steadfastness, at least. If such a situation ever came to pass, she would have to steer him judiciously.
Would she envy her friend if indeed she became the mistress of Pemberley? She looked about her, at the ordered room, the logs releasing their scent of apple in the grate, the early eglantine framing the window. A rich beef soup was bubbling on the kitchen range, and a rhubarb fool was setting in the larder. This was manageable. She could no more imagine running a household like Mr Darcy’s – she had heard tell they employed sixty servants indoors alone – than she could imagine riding in the Epsom Derby. It was a preposterous notion, the stuff of thieves in oil jars and genies emerging from magic lamps. No, she wished Lizzy joy of her conquest – should it come to pass. She felt certain she understood Mr Darcy’s heart, but she claimed no special insight into his mind; such a grand man might yet consider the opportunity to unite the estates of Pemberley and Rosings the most prudent path to follow.
The last few days of Lizzy’s visit, she seemed unusually subdued and preoccupied; one morning when she came down for breakfast, it was clear from her swollen eyes that she had been giving way to tears. Charlotte made sure to be more than usually attentive, both as an indication of her regret at her friend’s imminent departure, and in case she wished to exchange confidences. However, no explanation was forthcoming, and Charlotte held her peace. Perhaps Elizabeth’s heart was not as disengaged as it seemed.
On the morning of her departure, Mr Collins made Lizzy a lengthy speech on the topic of his marital felicity, with many smiles at his wife. Charlotte had to smile in turn at his confident claim that the pair of them were always of one mind. But she was pleased at the eagerness of Lizzy’s agreement, and to hear her friend’s compliments on her evident contentment.
Charlotte did consider herself content: her husband’s initial attraction to her might have been a matter of invention, but few ardent lovers could subsequently have been more uxorious; and while her husband might not often speak sense, he always spoke kindly – at least to her. He boasted freely of her talents, skills, and amiable nature, a form of complimenting she did not take amiss, and beamed with pride at the smallest scrap of approbation she earned from Lady Catherine. No small amount of self-satisfaction made up his view of his choice of bride, but the crux of it was that he was satisfied, and he made certain that Charlotte – and all who would listen – knew it. He might be fatuous, but he was never cruel, and lacked the wit for sarcasm. Sadly, Charlotte had to consider that she had heard more barbed words fall from Mr Bennet’s tongue in addressing his wife than she was likely to hear in a lifetime of marriage.
Besides, her few months’ tenure as the wife of a clergyman had exposed her to the miserable state of many marriages and families behind cottage doors within their parish. She was learning that it was no small thing to have a husband who did not drink himself into a sodden or sullen stupor at dinner every night, who was neat and fastidious in his person, who did not grab idly at the buttocks of the scullery-maid as she passed in the corridor.
And it was unthinkable that he would ever strike her. At first, Charlotte had been mystified, then horrified, to see the marks of knuckles on the faces of the women to whom her husband ministered, their split lips and blued eyes. But after a few weeks, it was as if a gauzy veil slipped, and her vision adjusted, revealing to her afresh scenes from her life in Meryton – those women of the neighbourhood, high and low alike, who seemed unusually clumsy – whose arms were always gingerly wrapped around their ribs, who limped too often, whose faces bore traces of their many slips and falls.
As Mrs Collins’s wife, Charlotte was safe, appreciated, and occupied; and her marriage had brought other benefits, some of which she was still learning to value. When Mothering Sunday approached, and she interviewed Katie to make arrangements for her to visit her mother that day, she was surprised to learn that the young maidservant came from a large family nearby. While it was convenient that she lodged in a tiny attic room under the Parsonage roof, it was by no means necessary – her home was but a half-hour’s walk away.
‘Do you not miss your family?’ Charlotte enquired. ‘I had no idea they lived so close by. I would have given you some hours off to visit, had I known.’
Katie gaped at her. ‘Ma’am, I am the eldest of ten. Every year, there is another baby brother or sister when I visit. Until I came here, I helped my mam care for them all. There was never any—’ she paused and thought for a moment: ‘—peace. Here I have my own bed, my own room, ma’am.’ She leaned forward in her earnestness to convey her sense of good fortune. ‘My own room!’
Charlotte remembered the bed she had shared with Maria at Lucas Lodge, the hustle and press involved in living in a house crammed with slightly too many people, and she thought she understood. The cramped and dark space under the eaves must seem a haven to Katie.
The new Mrs Collins considered herself more than content; she knew that she was fortunate.
CHAPTER XXVI
AS THE MONTHS OF HER first summer in Kent passed, Charlotte was extremely busy preserving and bottling as much as she could from the kitchen garden, and not as attentive as usual to news from Hertfordshire. She had caught a whiff of some terrible scandal concerning Lydia Bennet and Mr Wickham, but it had culminated, surprisingly and mercifully, i
n their marriage. The new Mrs Wickham was bouncing around her old neighbourhood, demanding congratulations from all in a fashion that was curdling the tempers of many. Charlotte could only imagine what Lizzy thought of such careless behaviour.
However, the most startling news of all concerned Lizzy herself. One day, both the Collinses were summoned to an urgent meeting with Lady Catherine. They presented themselves, a little uneasy, both examining their recent conduct to try and discern if they had unwittingly displeased her ladyship. To their astonishment, their patroness informed them of a rumour that Mr Darcy was on the verge of proposing to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Lady Catherine’s rage at this information, and her desire to blame someone for it, was such that she railed at the bewildered pair as if they were somehow agents of the impending match. Certainly there seemed to be considerable resentment of Charlotte, who was responsible for introducing the audacious Miss Elizabeth Bennet as an interloper at Rosings and, worse, a thief who had carried off Miss de Bourgh’s rightful fiancé.
‘Mr Darcy is engaged to marry my daughter,’ exclaimed her ladyship. ‘Now, what do you say to that?’
Mr Collins, at first rendered speechless by this turn of events, had resorted to repeated apologies of a general nature, but had not much of sense to contribute otherwise, and it was left to Charlotte to attempt to reason with Lady Catherine.
‘Your ladyship, surely if Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh are engaged, neither you nor she have anything to fear from what is doubtless a mischievous report, or a grave misunderstanding?’
Lady Catherine hesitated. ‘Theirs is not the usual sort of engagement: it is an understanding shared by the family. His mother and I planned it while both were still in their cradles. It is an expectation that has become fact, a union that will be most satisfactory, correct, and necessary. I will not have it overturned by a pert girl with ideas above her station. Mrs Collins, I charge you to use your power to dissuade your friend from a step that will cost her all her friends. It did not escape me last Easter that you have influence with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I insist that you write to her at once.’
She turned to the goldfish-mouthed Mr Collins: ‘And I insist that you travel straight away to Longbourn, bearing your wife’s letter, to speak most sternly to the Bennets, and warn them against spreading such wild and malicious rumours. There can be no truth in them. They must be contradicted at once. You must impress this upon your cousin.’
This was going too far. Charlotte had no intention of writing such a letter, or allowing her husband to cross two counties on a fool’s errand. ‘But Lady Catherine, we know of no such predisposition on Mr Darcy’s part.’ She paused, remembering the rapt expression on Darcy’s face as he watched Elizabeth during their evenings at Rosings. She felt private delight and even triumph at this intimation of her friend’s conquest; of Mr Darcy’s feelings, she had never been in any doubt. Eliza, I hope this is true.
However, now she needed to dissemble: ‘Your ladyship cannot wish for me to excite Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s hopes in this regard. This would be foolish in the extreme. If Mr Collins were to visit, especially to speak on such a topic, surely this would confirm or harden reports of such a match? Would not the Bennets begin to speak of it abroad? We could hardly hope for discretion, and it seems that discretion is our friend in this matter.’
Lady Catherine was not disposed to be soothed by any of this, and it took Charlotte’s most strenuous efforts to explain that no letter from her, or visit by Mr Collins, could be productive of anything more than added evil to the situation, which might in any case be entirely imaginary.
It was the closest to open defiance of her ladyship she had yet shown, and it greatly distressed her husband, but even he had to agree with her point that he had no special influence with his cousin, and no evidence that she would not act wilfully against his counsel.
‘Very well,’ Lady Catherine snapped. ‘I see I am to have no aid from you. I am most disappointed in you. But your feebleness does not inspire confidence that you could indeed intervene effectively. I shall have all the inconvenience of travelling to Longbourn myself to attend to the matter. You are dismissed from my presence.’
Mr Collins was by now almost weeping with distress and, all the way home, his wife had to dissuade him from returning to Rosings to throw himself at Lady Catherine’s feet and promise any service he could offer. It was only by dint of impressing upon him the unlikelihood of such a match (she argued for this robustly while privately holding the opposite view) and the equal unlikelihood that his cousin would obey any instruction of his (this she had no trouble believing) that she got him home. She kept murmuring the words ‘headstrong’ and ‘wilful’, hoping Lizzy would forgive such calumny, but it took the entire evening to calm her husband. They eventually settled it that after Lady Catherine’s visit to Hertfordshire, he would write to Mr Bennet, giving an account of the rumour, and advising him to take all steps necessary to contradict it, explaining that even if such a match might be thought of, Lady Catherine would never consent to it.
Charlotte now decided the time was right to distract him with a piece of news she had been saving: she was certain she was with child, an infant, as far as she could calculate, who would be born at the end of the year. This had the desired effect: Mr Collins was overcome by joy, pride, and solicitude, and began to revolve around the room with feverish good spirits rather than anxiety, unable to decide whether to call out the news to the servants and invite them to take a celebratory glass of Madeira, or to tuck a quilt over his wife’s knees and make up the fire afresh. The rest of the evening was spent in speculation of a happier kind, and Charlotte privately enjoyed the sense of double anticipation: a child on the way, and perhaps a match between her friend and Mr Darcy.
Lady Catherine’s visit was paid, and Mr Collins’s letter written, but, within days, there came the following reply from Mr Bennet: ‘I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will soon be the wife of Mr Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has more to give.’
Charlotte winced at the casual cruelty of this note, but truly rejoiced for her friend. Fortunately, her husband seemed to take the advice it contained at face value, and after a few days of listening to Lady Catherine rage with unpleasant bitterness, he proposed that they pay Charlotte’s family a visit until the storm had passed, a plan she agreed to with alacrity. She did not anticipate much pleasure from the journey, nauseous as she was, but she welcomed the thought of resting at Lucas Lodge, and partaking of the festivities and general joy that accompanied the news of the elder Bennet girls’ engagements – Mr Bingley had returned to pay his addresses to Jane, and requested her hand in matrimony only days before Mr Darcy and Elizabeth announced their betrothal. Jane and Lizzy were well loved and valued in their neighbourhood, and Charlotte looked forward to being able to give free rein to congratulation and celebration.
They were all soon reunited, and Charlotte’s sincere delight in the match was met by the equally sincere delight Lizzy took in sharing her joy with her old friend. They both had moments of discomfort: Sir William’s studied compliments, Mr Collins’s obsequiousness to Mr Darcy, and Mrs Bennet’s tendency to prattle on about exactly how much pin money Lizzy might expect to enjoy; all exacted a tax of mortification. But unlike the previous winter, neither woman – nor indeed Jane – had anything to fear from their relations and connections. They had done their worst; and yet Charlotte was safely married, and Jane and Elizabeth were soon to enter that state.
1819
CHAPTER XXVII
CHARLOTTE LOOKED AROUND THE VARIETY of vegetal greens offered by the grounds of Pemberley; clouds had advanced overhead, and while the air remained warm and soft, a few spits of moisture promised rain. It was time to detach the children from their pursuits and take them indoors.
‘I hope I have not been too dull in my recounting, Herr Rosenstein. I seem to have spoken as much of Mr and Mrs Darcy�
�s courtship as my own.’
Herr Rosenstein smiled as he helped her to gather cloths and cushions. ‘It is certainly of interest to learn how my kind absent host and Frau Darcy came to marry one another. But your own story is no less interesting, Frau Collins. You must not underrate yourself, or your capacity to captivate.’
He scooped up her sewing basket with one arm, and offered her the other for the walk back to the house. The girls ran on ahead, darting here and there as various objects caught their interest – a lizard drawing up warmth from a stone, a water-lily closing against the darkening sky. Laura, puffed up by her military prowess, turned a few celebratory cartwheels and, once upright again, she planted her hands on her hips and called out, ‘I am so happy here! Look, I am a horse!’ before prancing on, snorting and whinnying.
Charlotte smiled as her elder daughter ran back towards her to reach for her free hand. ‘And you, my treasure? Are you happy here among our kind friends?’
‘Oh yes, Mama! So very happy. But I wish Papa were here, too.’ Sarah leaned her head against her mother’s side. ‘And Tom.’
Charlotte was once again amazed that she could still be surprised by the stab of pain her son’s name occasioned, but contented herself with stroking her daughter’s hair and murmuring endearments. It also struck her, not for the first time, that here in Derbyshire she found she missed her son more than she did her husband. But this was not a productive line of thought: Mr Collins was alive and well in Kent, and she had received from him only that morning a letter boasting of the success of their marrow crop. No repining was required, whereas the knowledge that his sisters also felt Tom’s absence, even in the midst of hearty outdoor pleasures, was bittersweet.
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