Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

by Jennifer Becton

  Mr. Basford, however, was not so immobile. Gradually, gently, his hand moved from where it had laid across his chest. It slid ever so slowly across the brocade fabric of the settee. Charlotte saw the movement in the periphery of her vision, but she continued to meet his eyes. Her heart beat faster as his hand approached hers. Slowly, slowly, his hand continued to move toward her, and time seemed to stop as she waited for their fingers to meet.

  His hand was so near to hers that she could feel the heat from his skin. A shiver of anticipation rushed through her. Her whole being was focused on Mr. Basford, and she was shocked to discover how desperately she wanted his touch and wished to experience his ever-present warmth.

  The door burst open in the moment before Mr. Basford’s hand met hers. His hand retracted politely to his lap as Maria and Mr. Westfield dashed in, smiling and laughing. The moment dissipated like dew on morning grass, leaving Charlotte’s face as warm as if she had been standing in the sunshine.

  Charlotte was thankful that her sister was unobservant, for she did not notice the blush on her cheeks, and she did not feel the tension between her and Mr. Basford. She simply hurried into the room and said, “Charlotte, Mr. Westfield would like to speak with you.”

  Composing herself, Charlotte adjusted her position on the settee, sitting straighter and turning her gaze to Mr. Westfield. She attempted an authoritarian demeanor, but she feared her red cheeks would hinder the facade. “Should we step into the next room?”

  Mr. Westfield came forward, clearing his throat. Maria stood behind him, her face flushed with excitement. “No, Mrs. Collins, I believe everyone here will share in our joy.”

  He paused, glanced down at the floor, and cleared his throat again. Charlotte wondered if he had lost his nerve. Finally, he said, “I have asked Maria to become my wife—”

  “I said yes!”

  “Yes. Indeed, she gave her consent, but now I must ask the permission of her family—”

  “And is it not true, Charlotte, that Mama and Papa have given you the power to agree to a match?”

  Charlotte glanced between them. Mr. Westfield was still staring at the floor and periodically clearing his throat, and Maria was looking at her with wide, hopeful eyes.

  “Yes. Mama and Papa have given me the option of granting their permission in their absence.”

  Maria stepped forward and grasped Mr. Westfield’s elbow. “And will you grant it?”

  “That depends.” She glanced again at Mr. Westfield. “Sir, do you promise to make my sister happy? To provide for her? And, most importantly, to love her knowing that she has no dowry to speak of?”

  Mr. Westfield met Charlotte’s direct gaze. “I will do my best, Mrs. Collins, with or without a dowry.”

  “Then, I do grant permission.”

  Maria squealed with glee. She abandoned her betrothed and ran to throw her arms around Charlotte while Mr. Basford rose to clap his nephew on the shoulder.

  Maria bounced up and down in Charlotte’s embrace. “We must begin planning the wedding immediately!”

  “Maria wants to be married as soon as possible,” Mr. Westfield explained. He paused. Another cough. “As do I, naturally.”

  “We will see to the license while the ladies plan the ceremony,” Mr. Basford assured him with a glance at Charlotte. She felt heat rise in her cheeks, and she focused instead on her sister.

  “First, we must see to a dress….”

  The good news of Maria’s engagement to Mr. Westfield spread around Westerham, and soon there were many callers wishing to congratulate them. Mr. Basford and Mr. Westfield had procured the license and the ceremony was set to take place in three weeks’ time. The gentlemen were frequent callers at the cottage, and the sisters always looked forward to their arrival.

  In her happiness, Charlotte had almost forgotten about Mr. Edgington’s intended blackmail, but the threat had not yet passed.

  Sixteen

  It is said that bad news spreads quickly, but whoever first uttered those words probably did not realize that there was something that spread faster: pernicious gossip.

  No one was quite certain how the story began, but everyone knew without a doubt that it was true. Someone had seen the glove. No one was quite sure who.

  The only thing that was certain was that Charlotte Collins was a fallen woman.

  The news came to Charlotte in this way: she was in the kitchen stitching new ribbons onto the dress Maria intended to wear on her wedding day when Mrs. Eff, who had been with Edward in town procuring foodstuffs for the household, arrived at the cottage looking very grim. She entered and immediately sent Edward to their chambers, which were adjacent to the kitchen, instead of requiring his help with the provisions. He disappeared through the open door, and Charlotte heard him moving about.

  She looked at Mrs. Eff, whose face appeared pale. Immediately, she was concerned. “Mrs. Eff, are you ill?” For once she hoped for illness because the alternative was her own downfall.

  “No, Mrs. Collins. Not ill. Just sick at heart.”

  Oh dear.

  Charlotte pushed the ribbons and cloth aside and gestured for Mrs. Eff to sit at the table. “Do tell me what is the matter.” She did not really want to hear what she knew must be forthcoming.

  “Edward and I have heard the most dreadful news in town.”

  “Has someone died?” Now Charlotte hoped for a death. Please, a death.

  Mrs. Eff sucked in a deep breath. “No one has died, but a reputation has perished.”

  Charlotte’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. The story had begun to spread. She knew it with perfect certainty, but she asked anyway, “What do you mean?”

  “Word has got out that,” Mrs. Eff hesitated, looking down at the floor and then back at Charlotte, “well, that you committed an indiscretion with that awful Mr. Edgington. Someone said you gave him a glove as a memento.”

  Charlotte’s hand tightened again on the table, and her knuckles turned white. Her eyes dropped to her lap, and she knew that her face flamed with anger and embarrassment.

  “It is not true, is it, Mrs. Collins?” she paused for a quick breath, and then continued, “Well, it could not be true. I told Mrs. Sinclair that myself when she told me. I told her there was no possibility that an upstanding lady like you would do such a thing.”

  Charlotte shook her head, but could not speak, and to her horror, tears began sliding down her cheeks. What a weak and pitiful woman she was! She could not even bear up under the scrutiny of Mrs. Eff. Imagine how she might humiliate herself in public. She would have to become a recluse. There was no doubt.

  Mrs. Eff leaned forward with a look of pity on her face. “Oh, my dear. Tell me what has happened.”

  Charlotte took a few moments to compose herself. The kitchen was silent, and Edward had stopped knocking about in his chamber. Everyone, it seemed, was awaiting an explanation that would vindicate her. She took a bracing breath, but still her voice shook. “I was completely deceived by Mr. Edgington. Completely and utterly deceived! I believed him to be a man of good character. But he is not.”

  Mrs. Eff’s frown deepened as Charlotte relayed the entire story, including the stolen glove and Mr. Basford’s role in the debacle. When she finished speaking, Mrs. Eff leaned back in her chair, and Charlotte let her head fall into her hands.

  “Well, this is quite a fix indeed.”

  Charlotte massaged her temples, trying to relieve the pressure that bore down on her. “There is nothing to be done, I am afraid. Nothing. Now that the slander has become public, I am ruined.”

  “That is not true, Mrs. Collins. Everyone in Westerham knows your good character.”

  “Yes, but they will have no choice but to believe Mr. Edgington. In fact, they already believe it. You have said so yourself.”

  Mrs. Eff let out a frustrated breath. “I cannot believe that the rumor will persist when people begin to think logically about your character. None who knows you will believe such a thing for long.” />
  “Will they not? You know as well as I that people do not think logically about gossip. What is heard is believed. It is as simple as that.” Tears continued to fall down her cheeks and she swiped them away. “Everywhere I go, his lies will haunt me. Even if I leave Westerham, I will always look behind me.”

  “Surely you do not think he would follow you?”

  “I do not believe so, but he is well traveled. Will he happen upon me in Hertfordshire and expose me there? If I go to Bath, will the story follow there as well? Can I go anywhere to be completely safe?”

  Mrs. Eff considered for a moment, and then said, almost to herself, “As long as he has that glove, he might be able to convince others, but without that proof, his power is gone.”

  “If only I had not accepted those gloves in the first place…”

  “You cannot go into the past and undo it now, but perhaps if we could get that glove back…. Do you have its mate?”

  Charlotte hung her head. “No, I destroyed it the night of the ball.”

  “There must be some means by which to retrieve that glove,” Mrs. Eff said. “Can you not think of a way?”

  Charlotte had thought and thought of how to get that glove. Each of her schemes had ranged from the far-fetched—sneaking into his home and stealing the glove—to the utterly immoral—setting his home ablaze, and the glove with it.

  “There is no way.”

  Mrs. Eff looked a bit deflated and pondered the situation for some minutes before asking, “Did anyone see you alone with Mr. Edgington at the ball?”

  “I cannot be certain, but I believe only Mr. Basford observed us. Though anyone could have looked out onto the balcony without my notice.”

  “I do believe that Mr. Basford is a gentleman who can be trusted.”

  Charlotte looked up, her chin in her hands. “I hope so. I do not know anymore. The people I think I should trust seem to turn out to be unsavory, and those I mistrust at first meeting seem to be the true gentlemen.”

  “Is not that always the way?”

  ~**~

  Later that day, Maria returned from paying a call at the Armitage house and dropped her bonnet on the kitchen table where Charlotte was distracting herself by arranging a vase of flowers cut from her garden. Maria fluttered around the room, searching for a biscuit to assuage her appetite, and recounted the events of her afternoon. Her conversation barely registered in Charlotte’s ears. It was quite plain to her that Maria had not heard the vicious gossip. Charlotte was relieved that word had not yet reached her, but she knew she would have to confide the whole sordid, embarrassing story to her.

  Charlotte interrupted her sister’s soliloquy regarding her impending nuptials. “Maria, sit down. I must tell you some news.”

  Oblivious to her sister’s grim tone, Maria perched on one of the kitchen chairs and began idly touching the flowers before her. “I do hope it is delicious news, for I have had a delightful day. Is it news of a tender nature? Has a new couple formed an attachment?”

  “No, indeed. It is not news of an attachment. In fact, it is the opposite.”

  “Oh, then do not tell me, for I am in no mood for ill news.” Maria dropped a flower back into the vase.

  “I am afraid you must hear this.” Charlotte pushed the vase out of the way. “For it affects you.”

  “How can that be? I have done nothing to warrant the gossip of others. At least not recently.”

  Charlotte quieted Maria with a serious gaze. “I am afraid that I am the subject.”

  Charlotte recounted the story, attempting to conceal the seriousness of the issue from her younger sister, but Maria comprehended the situation fully. She listened in shock, her blue eyes large and watery on her sister’s behalf, and then she lapsed into anger. Her porcelain-colored skin flushed red. She leapt from her chair and rushed to her sister’s side and wrapped her arms around her.

  “He is a monster! What kind of man would do such a thing?”

  Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears as she listened to her sister’s outrage and felt her comforting arms around her. She was so quick to jump to her defense and had not even considered the repercussions to her own life.

  Maria rocked Charlotte back and forth in her arms, repeating, “Poor, poor, Charlotte. You do not deserve this.”

  Charlotte pulled away gently, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Listen to me, Maria.” She held her at arm’s length so she could see her face. “This situation could affect you as well.”

  “What? How?” A look of genuine confusion crossed her face.

  “Gossip is already spreading through town. Mrs. Eff and Edward heard this morning. It is but a matter of time before our friends and neighbors are acquainted with the terrible story. I am rather surprised that you did not hear of it while you were with the Armitages today.”

  “Oh dear, I had not thought….”

  “And you know how things like this are wont to go. The gossip never affects just one person. It affects the entire family, I am sorry to say.”

  “What are you saying? How can this affect me?”

  Charlotte, searching for delicate words, hesitated and then said, “People might believe that you engage in the same type of behaviors of which I am accused. Or at the very least, they will look down upon you because you are related to me. You may lose more friends over this.”

  “Lose friends? Over nothing? How could anyone believe this of you? Even if he does have that glove!”

  “I do not want this to spoil your wedding. You deserve a perfect day.”

  A wistful expression crossed Maria’s features. “I am safely engaged to Mr. Westfield and nothing will ruin my wedding. We are so blissfully happy. Until then, I will just ignore any gossip I hear.”

  Charlotte mustered a smile at her sister’s bravery, or her foolishness, whichever it was.

  ~**~

  The next week proceeded in the way Charlotte had expected. The story circulated through Westerham, and soon there was no one who had not heard of her supposed downfall. Visitors called on her, demanding to hear the truth of the matter. Some supported her, but a majority seemed to reject her. Still others shunned her, choosing to believe Mr. Edgington’s story without first seeking her version of the event.

  Soon the visits began to dwindle, and Charlotte could not decide whether to be relieved by the fact that she was no longer forced to defend herself to inconsiderate neighbors or to be upset because many of her acquaintances had chosen to believe Mr. Edgington’s slander.

  As the cottage became quiet, Charlotte became depressed. But when the next visitor arrived, she realized how utterly unprepared and completely naïve she herself had been.

  Maria was on a drive with Mr. Westfield when a closed carriage, complete with gilded family crest and team of four perfectly matched steeds, rumbled ceremoniously into the drive. The sound attracted Charlotte to the window, and she drew away immediately at the sight, as though a view alone could injure her. And injure her it had, for she recognized the carriage as one belonging to Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

  Charlotte withdrew further from the window and debated which room to choose to meet her inevitable doom. Perhaps she ought to go out and meet the carriage. Face her destruction head on. She took two steps toward the door and stopped.

  No, she would not go like a lamb to the slaughter. Lady Catherine would come to her. It was the only power she retained: the power to inconvenience.

  Charlotte arranged herself in the sitting room. She selected the high-backed chair by the fireplace, for it seemed the most regal, and she waited. She had hardly allowed herself to consider how Mr. Collins’s former patroness and the proprietor of her rented cottage would react to the slander. Certainly, the encounter would not end well.

  Mrs. Eff announced Lady Catherine, and the great lady swept into the room, skirts swirling in her wake. Charlotte contemplated keeping her seat, but then she stood. Her heart fluttered in her chest and her palms began to sweat, and suddenly, the world seemed to shrink
as her vision closed in on her guest.

  She closed her eyes, to regain her composure, and spoke. “Lady Catherine.” The name held power, and Charlotte felt certain that merely speaking it aloud would unleash the plagues of the Day of Judgment.

  When she dared to open her eyes, she saw no swarm of locusts or apocalyptic horsemen. The world was as it had been moments before, quiet and calm, only now a woman in severely fashionable attire stood before her.

  “Mrs. Collins.” Her voice was as severe as her attire.

  “Will you sit?”

  “No, I shall not! I do not hold pleasant discourse with women such as you.”

  Charlotte sat. She might as well be comfortable when the ill news was delivered.

  “A report of an alarming nature has reached me.”

  “Has it?” Charlotte attempted indifference. “I find it surprising that you would come to me with gossip.”

  Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed, and her face hardened into planes and steep ridges. “It has come to my attention that the state of your morality has declined drastically.”

  “I am afraid that your information is incorrect, for my morality is as it has always been.”

  “The unmitigated gall!” Lady Catherine strode across the room and stopped only just before her skirts brushed Charlotte’s knees. “I have researched the matter fully. My relation has shared with me the evidence—a glove bearing your very initials.”

  Here Charlotte attempted a protest, but words failed and Lady Catherine continued.

  “This debauched behavior is completely unacceptable in anyone associated with the family of de Bourgh. You have left me with no choice but to sever all ties with you and your relations and to request your removal from this cottage.” She looked around her as if Charlotte’s supposed ill deeds had sullied the very walls around them. “Vacate my property before a month has passed.”