“I shall stay with you,” said Charlotte. “Mr Booth will not wish to kill you in my presence. Sarah, can you fetch him from the servants’ hall? And not a word of this to anyone else until we have spoken with Mary’s father. You can see that Tom acted from the best of motives. You had better clear up here as well.”
“I will clear up, Mrs Collins, but not until afterwards.”
“Why is that?” said Charlotte.
“Because when Mr Booth’s finished with this one, there’s likely to be a lot more mess on the floor.”
~ ~ ~
Charlotte lit another candle while Tom used the time to pick up the pieces of vial. Despite his honourable words, the footman did not seem wholly comfortable with his decision to talk to Mary’s father. The tears that tumbled down his cheeks, rubbed swiftly away, were evidence enough of that. Footsteps announced Sarah’s return. Adam Booth stopped in the doorway as he saw Tom.
“You wished to see me, Mrs Collins?”
“Yes. I did.” A gesture brought him into the room. “Sarah, would you give us some privacy? And remember, not a word for now.” Charlotte tapped her lips, unsure how to begin. “It concerns…your daughter.”
“Mary?” Adam Booth shook his head vigorously. “I have told him no. And no it is. And if you do not mind me saying so, Mrs Collins, it is wrong of him to have you here talking on his behalf. It is far from proper.”
“No, Mr Booth, it is not that at all,” said Charlotte. “Please sit down.” He did so, though slowly, his eyes on the young footman the whole time. “Tom, if you would tell Mr Booth what you have just told me.” Charlotte hoped her smile of encouragement would make the task easier for him.
Mary’s father did not move the whole time Tom was speaking. His face, though, seemed to harden, his features still, eyes barely blinking, staring at nothing.
“I am sorry, Mr Booth. My behaviour was well meant. But it caused harm to Mary and that I cannot bear. And it caused pain to you and Mrs Booth, who I had hoped to one day call my parents. I know this to be impossible, especially after tonight. It is right and proper that you learn of my mistake. But it is also right and proper that I tell you I love Mary and would never do anything to harm her, would always love her and see she had a good home and all she wanted. I work hard, I…” His voice grew hushed. “Well, none of that is important now. Perhaps I might stay until the morning? I can leave at dawn.” Tom stood with his head bowed, unable to look directly at Mr Booth, who had still not moved. Laughter drifted in from the distant servants’ hall.
Finally, Mr Booth spoke, voice empty of emotion. “Will Mary recover, Mrs Collins?”
“Yes, of that I am sure.” Like a tree finally surrendering to the woodman’s axe, Mr Booth’s lower lip began to tremble. “We have read reports from Westerham where there were identical cases,” continued Charlotte. “They all returned to good health once they stopped taking the potions.”
“And this Smith or Ferrell, he is gone now?”
“Yes. There is no recourse there, Mr Booth. We can send notes to the inns down south, but he will surely leave the area and take his ridiculous concoctions with him.”
There was no anger in Adam Booth’s expression, not even disappointment. Just a terrible sadness. The trembling spread until he covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking.
“Mary will be fine,” said Charlotte. “It is of great relief to me that it is no more than a misunderstanding that caused her illness.”
“A misunderstanding?” Mary’s father lowered his hands, making no attempt to hide the tears that laced his cheeks. “This was no misunderstanding, Mrs Collins. My daughter suffered so. My wife suffered so. And it was not a ‘misunderstanding’ that did this—it was selfishness and stupidity.” He seemed to grow even larger as rage finally took hold.
“Mr Booth,” said Tom. “I am so sor—”
“Selfishness and stupidity from someone who should know better.” Then Mr Booth’s shoulders dropped and the anger seemed to desert him as quickly as it had come, though Tom still took a step back as the older man stood to extend a hand. “We have both been fools, Tom Calker, but I am the bigger one. You are a better man than I thought. It took courage to speak to me. Took honesty.”
“I don’t understand,” said Tom as he stepped forward to shake hands carefully, like a squirrel stealing nuts from a garden. His face was as confused as Charlotte’s.
“It was not your potion that did Mary harm.”
The Foolishness of Men (and Women)
Charlotte lifted the broken bottom of Tom’s vial to her nose. “No fragrance at all. Then whose potions or infusions did Mary take, Mr Booth?”
“Mine,” he replied. “My potions.”
“Your potions?” said Tom.
“I did not want you courting Mary,” said Mr Booth, turning to the young footman. “I did not want anyone courting her yet. Taking away my daughter, my only daughter, not before I could better myself. I had other hopes for her. I knew she loved you, mind. She was always talking about you, making her own plans before she even had my blessing. So when William and the others came back from the Bear and talked about this merchant they’d met, I sought him out. Mary never got Sarah’s infusion—your infusion. Poured it away and gave her mine instead. Smith said it was harmless and would keep her thoughts away from young men and marriage. Played us for fools, that man did. Selling love potions to one and quite the opposite to another. But it was my potion that did this to Mary.” His chin lifted as he closed his eyes. “I poisoned my own child.”
Tom said nothing. He simply wiped his face dry with the flat of his hand.
“What say you, Mrs Collins?” said Mr Booth.
Charlotte took a deep breath. “I do not see any law broken by either of you. Any blame attaches to this Smith, selling his false brews. Though you both might question your willingness to believe in such ridiculous notions. Have you learned nothing from Sarah? Mary has paid a high price for your credulous natures and for your pride. Nevertheless, once she is recovered and her pain forgotten, we may all put this incident behind us.”
“What should be my punishment?” said Tom.
“Our punishment,” said Mr Booth.
“There will be enough of that for sure,” said Charlotte. “You will both find ways to punish yourselves. But beyond that, I see no reason to trouble Mr Hutchins or Lady Catherine with all the details. I will not lie on anyone’s behalf, but I will not speak of this unless asked. I am sure Sarah will say nothing either, though you will both need to apologise to her for interfering with her work. It is fortunate no harm has come to her reputation, that no one else came to suspect the infusions as the source of Mary’s troubles. And you will also need to speak to Mrs Booth. And to Mary. They are women and used to the foolishness of men. Love makes forgiveness easier and quicker. You are both of you fortunate.”
“I shall speak to my wife and Mary,” said Mr Booth.
“May I…” Tom’s words stuck in his throat.
“You, my lad, may not do so.” Tom bowed his head at Mr Booth’s words. “Not yet. It will take a few days for my wife to forgive me. And you. Then you may court Mary, if she’ll still have you after this.”
Tom wiped away fresh tears, though this time they were not born of despair.
A knock at the door interrupted them.
“Is that you, Sarah?” said Charlotte.
“It is, Mrs Collins. I am alone.”
“Very well, you may enter.”
Sarah slipped through the door, closing it behind her. “Lady Catherine has sent down for you, Mrs Collins. She requests your presence upstairs in the dining room. There has been talk…”
“Well, we are all but done here,” said Charlotte, frowning at the two footmen. “Thank you for your help, Sarah. I believe these two have something to say to you.”
~ ~ ~
Charlotte’s summoner sat facing the fireplace in the private drawing room just off the breakfast parlour. Miss de Bourgh and Mrs Jenki
nson perched on one sofa. Colonel Fitzwilliam sprawled across the other, a full glass of port on the small table beside him.
“Mrs Collins,” said Lady Catherine. “What is the meaning of this visit? What business do you have at Rosings at such an hour? What confusion reigns below stairs?” She motioned her guest to the one chair left available, to the left of Miss de Bourgh.
“My apologies, Lady Catherine. I was visiting the still room on parish business.”
“I see. It is not to be borne, Mrs Collins.” Lady Catherine’s finger jabbed repeatedly at the air. “You visit Rosings so late and do not see fit to announce yourself to me. And where is Mr Collins? You should not be out alone at such an hour.”
“I thank you for your concern, Lady Catherine. It was the lateness of the hour that led me to neglect to announce my visit. I did not wish to disturb the household at supper. With no intention to stay so long, I felt there was little need to bring Mr Collins. He is working on his sermon for Sunday.”
“And what brought you to Rosings and the still room? I insist you tell me everything.”
“A medical matter, Lady Catherine. I have been much involved in helping Mary Booth recover from her illness and thought Sarah Littleworth might be able to offer some more help.”
“And did she?” said Charlotte’s host.
“She did.”
“You are not telling me everything, Mrs Collins.” Lady Catherine leaned forward in her chair. “I will not be put off when I am so put out. Adam Booth was with you, but so was one of the younger footmen. Yes, I have been told. Must I ask them for an explanation or shall you provide it?”
“My apologies, Lady Catherine, I did not wish to burden you with stories of little consequence.” Charlotte hesitated. “There was a misunderstanding among the servants, that is all.”
“Everything, Mrs Collins, everything. I demand it.”
“Very well.” Charlotte gave a soft sigh, recalling her words to the footmen not a few minutes earlier. “Adam Booth and Tom Calker took it upon themselves to procure curatives for Mary Booth’s poor spirits. They meant well, though their knowledge of such matters is limited, as you might imagine. Unfortunately, they purchased potions in good faith from a man by the name of Smith, but these infusions did not bring about the promised effect. It seems this merchant—his real name is Ferrell—has been selling draughts, even ‘love potions,’ across the county that have had unwelcome effects on those that drink from them.”
Miss de Bourgh’s glass fell to the floor, spilling its last drops of wine across the red and gold of the carpet. “How clumsy of me,” she said as she stooped to retrieve it. “Unwelcome effects, you say, Mrs Collins?” Her voice was higher than usual.
“Yes, Mary Booth was quite ill. But we have discovered the cause and no lasting harm has come of the matter. She will recover and the men will be wiser for it. Fortunately, I do not believe anyone else has made such purchases. This man Smith or Ferrell stayed only briefly in Hunsford.”
“I see,” said Miss de Bourgh, hands trembling, eyes flicking to her right—toward where Colonel Fitzwilliam was listening intently.
“How extraordinary,” said Lady Catherine. “I am surprised you involve yourself in such things, Mrs Collins. As I have told your husband, the preservation of rank is of utmost importance. We have a duty to our lessers, but our superiority should never be placed in doubt by spending too much time among them. Even a rector’s wife must learn this.”
“Come, Aunt,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “We should not rebuke Mrs Collins for her compassion. Let us instead raise a glass to the end of the business.” He stood and held up his glass of port.
Miss de Bourgh gave a sharp intake of breath. She now sat at the very edge of her sofa, as if she wanted to rise but could not find the strength.
“I concede the whole affair has left me a little unsettled.” Charlotte rose unsteadily from her chair, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead.
“Perhaps you should rest on the sofa, Mrs Collins? Please.” Colonel Fitzwilliam moved toward Charlotte, extending his free hand toward her, and she walked over to accept his help. As she reached out, she stumbled, falling into the colonel and knocking the glass of port from his fingers.
“Mrs Collins!” shrieked Lady Catherine.
“Goodness, I appear to be more affected that I thought. My apologies.” Charlotte used Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arm to right herself. “I shall lie down.”
“This is what comes of spending too much time among the servants,” said Lady Catherine. “I would ask you not to do so in future, for the sake of your health. Mrs Jenkinson, please call a maid to clear up the mess. You cannot possibly walk home now, Mrs Collins, not in your state and not at this hour. I will have Andrew take you in a carriage. And you will tell Mr Collins that I am most vexed that he should allow his wife to take on such a strenuous and ill-advised task. Most vexed indeed. I pray that this Smith fellow is brought before me so I may deal with him for his misdeeds. And as for these two footmen, I shall talk with Mr Hutchins about a suitable punishment. I do not expect Mr Hayward to polish my silver and I will not have footmen dabbling in the work of an apothecary.”
“I myself admonished both men for their behaviour,” said Charlotte, now sitting upright on the sofa, all trace of feebleness gone from her posture. “I wonder, though, whether Mary’s illness should be considered penance enough. There are some who might believe further punishment excessive, sanctioning a father for seeking to help his daughter. Besides, I would not wish this to become a topic of conversation in Hunsford or elsewhere. My concern is for the reputation of Rosings. It must not be damaged by a little confusion and foolishness among the servants.”
“Mrs Collins speaks wisely, Mama. I cannot help but feel the less that is made of this, the better. It would cast a bad light on the Harvest Festival.” Miss de Bourgh’s voice had returned to its normal pitch.
“Very well,” said Lady Catherine, some of the harshness gone from her face. “I will not make an issue of this, though I will speak to those footmen.” At that moment, Mrs Jenkinson returned with Kitty Collier, who set about clearing up the mess. “Mrs Jenkinson. Might I trouble you to return downstairs and fetch Adam Booth and Tom Calker?”
“Fetch them here, Lady Catherine?”
“I did not realise my request was unclear. Here. And at once.” Lady Catherine waved Mrs Jenkinson away as if shooing a bothersome fly.
Kitty and the worst of the mess had disappeared by the time the two footmen appeared, the older man with back straight and jaw set firm, the younger with shoulders pulled in and a slight tremor in one leg.
“I understand you aspire to be apothecaries. Is that so?” said Lady Catherine.
“Assuredly not, Lady Catherine,” said Mr Booth.
“And you, young man? Speak up. Answer when your lady talks to you.”
“No, milady,” said Tom, staring straight ahead.
“Good. Your foolishness in the still room has caused quite some inconvenience. I do not like to be inconvenienced. Do not look so surprised. You do not think a lady knows everything that goes on in her house? Consider yourselves rebuked. Mrs Collins has spoken in your defence, so I am minded to take no further action. We will hear no more of potions and sick maids. Though you have also cost us a glass of fine 1811 port. Is that not so, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
“It is.”
“I should make you both pay for the loss.” Lady Catherine shook her head, her ever-present scowl etched deeper in her face.
“My apologies, milady,” said Mr Booth. “I am only relieved it was not the 1812, a much superior year.”
“You know something of port? Is he right, Colonel?” said Lady Catherine.
“I do believe he is,” said her nephew.
“Mr Hutchins has been instructing me, milady.”
“Has he indeed? I am pleased. A first footman should seek to better himself. You may go.” Lady Catherine shifted in her seat to fix Tom Calker with a beady stare. “Wh
at about you? What do you know of 1811 port?” Tom said nothing. “Good Lord, boy, speak.”
“Milady, I know nothing of port. Or wine.” He still stared straight ahead. “Or anything. I am sorry.”
“Sorry? Your ignorance is equally pleasing. Second footmen should know their place. You may go, too. And tell Andrew to prepare a carriage for Mrs Collins.”
The Harvest Festival
Like all people throughout history, the Hunsford villagers thought too rarely of their blessings and too often of their pains. For one day, though, at the Harvest Festival, they were truly grateful for what they had. For one day, they forgot the struggles of daily life and gave thanks for the riches delivered by the farms and orchards, for the warmth of summer, and for the gentleness of Kent winters. For the work they had. For the roofs over their heads, and for their health. And they knew that not everyone shared in their good fortune.
At the Harvest service, the pews burst with life, children scattering among the columns while their elders looked on in disapproval. Lady Catherine remained aloof and stern, but Miss de Bourgh smiled and distributed sweets to any little ones who dared to get close. And even Mr Collins, ever watchful for signs of dissolution or disrespect, allowed the general happiness to smooth the creases from his forehead. To his wife’s surprise, he left afterwards to join the men for a drink of ale.
Charlotte sat alone in the church, listening as the laughter and singing continued outside, the path to the door marked by ears of wheat and barley, stray leaves, and straw. She wiped away the dust from an apple, then returned it to its companions, the box the last of the harvest offerings. The laughter and singing grew louder, then faded again.
“Mrs Collins, I have but a moment before Mrs Jenkinson finds me. I wanted to pass on my thanks.”
“For what?” Charlotte stood as Miss de Bourgh hurried down the aisle toward her.
The Lovesick Maid Page 8