Charlotte

by Linda Phelps

  At last, an inspiration! Charlotte dropped her hymnal to the ground, and then said loudly, “Oh, I am so sorry!” Mr. Collins, distracted at last, looked at Lady Catherine to see her reaction to this disturbance. Then he looked at his wife with displeasure. Fully aware that her reaction this minute would serve to characterize the marital relationship forever, Charlotte glared back at him. With a toss of her head, she forced him to look at Lady Catherine, who was covering a yawn with her gloved hand.

  Suddenly Mr. Collins recognized that he had not pleased his patroness. With as much haste as such a deliberate speaker could muster, he brought the service to a close. Then taking his wife’s arm, he walked up the aisle to the door of the church. The parishioners remained seated until Lady Catherine had swept grandly past them and waited in varying degrees of patience for her to praise her minister. Mr. Collins introduced Charlotte to her, which elicited an invitation for dinner at Rosings that very day. Charlotte accepted politely, leaving her husband to express his gratitude at the great honour such an invitation presented.

  Charlotte was convinced anew that Mr. Collins did not recognize how tedious his attempts to draw attention to himself in all situations were to those so unfortunate as to fall into conversation with him. “My dear husband,” she said. “We can thank Lady Catherine more completely when we meet her again. Let us greet these other people,” and she gestured to the straggling line of parishioners.

  Lady Caroline raised her head still higher in order to consider whether she had been affronted. Then said she, “Mrs. Collins is quite right, Mr. Collins. One must consider the needs of the lower orders. Sometimes one is quite a slave to them, but in the spirit of Christian charity, which you spoke of to us beautifully today, we sacrifice with pleasure. I shall see the both of you at Rosings at the appointed hour. Good day.”

  She was replaced by various parishioners, all of whom expressed their congratulations to Mr. Collins on his marriage and bade Charlotte welcome to the neighbourhood. For the most part they had need of introducing themselves, for Mr. Collins, despite his tenure as pastor to these people, knew very few of their names. Charlotte smiled and shook hands, setting her brain the task of remembering each of them the next time they met.

  She was pleased to hear the parishioners speaking of her favorably once they had exited the church. She welcomed her responsibility, as the wife of the pastor, to learn of their problems and do what she could to solve them.

  All in all, she was satisfied that her decision to court and to marry Mr. Collins had been correct.

  My dear Lizzy

  . I know not when you will receive this letter. Directly Mr. C & I arrived at Hunsford Rectory, a great quantity of snow began to fall, & it continued for two days. We were fortunate to reach our destination before we were forced to spend a night or two in an inn. The snow remains deep, & I cannot predict when it will be possible to send this letter on its way.

  I am very pleased with the house itself. It seems to be solid, & the furnishings are much like what I would have chosen myself, had I been granted the opportunity; that is, they are both functional and reasonably attractive. The fireplaces all draw well, so it is comfortable here during these short, dark days and long, cold nights.

  I have a servant, Nancy, who, while not quite a treasure, seems to be a reasonably good cook, & between us we manage to keep the rectory and the sanctuary itself in good order. We have also a manservant, Mark, who deals with the livestock and maintains the church building & graveyard. At present there is neither sexton nor curate attached to the parish, so a Mr. Jones from the next neighbourhood is the only available substitute, should we have a crisis. Thus Mr. C. has full responsibility for the services.

  I write on Sunday, just as we have returned from church on the paths Mark has so labouriously cleared. You will appreciate that this was my first appearance as the wife of the minister, and I was the target of all eyes (not all eyes for many of the parishioners were still trapped by the snow & thus unable to attend. They will doubtless be able to examine me next Sunday with the benefit of having heard of me from their neighbours).

  Lady Catherine, of whom you have heard so much, attended the service, but her daughter did not. Like the others, she scrutinized my appearance most thoroughly. I believe she was not displeased, for she invited Mr. Collins & myself to dinner this very night. This means a walk of half a mile through the snow, which I expect to be very wearisome, but when Lady C. invites, we must attend!

  Do write and tell me of what occurs in Longbourn & Meryton. How do you get on with Mr. W.? Has Jane written? (How wonderful for you & her to have an Aunt & Uncle in town who can provide you with lodgings and good times.) Has she seen Mr. Bingley or his sisters? I won’t suggest that Mr. Darcy would come calling!

  Do write soon, although I expect that my days will be quite quiet, so I might not have much to relate in return. I miss the easy manners with which we used to visit each other. I have not yet found any friend with whom I can converse as I could with you.

  Your loving Charlotte.

  Mr. and Mrs. Collins owed only a gig and an agreeable pony, which together were not at all reliable transportation on icy or muddy roads. Accordingly, Mr. Collins decided that they should walk to their dinner engagement. As night fell early, and the moon’s light was weak, the couple headed towards Rosings only two hours after the church service had ended. Mark, their manservant had managed to clear a good portion of the walk from the rectory to the church and from the church to the road. The unseasonably sunny weather had also done its work. The result was roads and walks that were muddy by day and frozen ruts after the sun fell.

  Charlotte had given Nancy the job of sponging off her cloak, although how it would remain free of mud on their walk to Rosings was impossible to know. She decided to wear her heaviest shoes and carry more delicate slippers to wear during the dinner. How was she to keep the hem of her dress clean?

  “Nancy!” she called. “I want you.”

  The girl, when she appeared, was dressed for the afternoon off she had been granted. She wiped the look of resentment from her face. “Madam?”

  “I am afraid I will have to make use of you as my lady’s maid today, Nancy,” said Charlotte. I want you to baste my skirt up all around so that it will not drag on the ground. Twelve inches, I think. And also the petticoat that will be under it. Is it easier for you if I give you the garments or if I put them on?”

  Nancy brightened as she comprehended Charlotte’s plan. “It is dreadful dirty out, Madam. Let me fetch my sewing things.”

  “My dear Charlotte,” called Mr. Collins from the foot of the stairs.” Make haste. It will not do to have Lady Catherine waiting.”

  “I will be there directly, my dear Mr. Collins. I have only to make a few minor adjustments to my dress. Lady Catherine will expect me to look well.”

  “Please make haste, my dear.”

  “Would it harm Lady Catherine if she had to wait a few minutes?” Charlotte mumbled. “Where’s her great condescension when there is a difficulty traveling?”

  She was startled to see Nancy standing in the door of the room. “You have the right of it, Madam,” the girl said. She plied her needle rapidly around the hem of Charlotte’s petticoat. “There, is that what you wanted?”

  Charlotte looked in the mirror, in which she could see only her face and shoulders, and then down at her feet “It is. Did you use thread that will break easily when it needs to?”

  “Yes, Madam,” and Nancy repeated her performance on Charlotte’s dress. “I think this will do,” said she, as she slipped the dress over Charlotte’s head.”

  “I wish mirrors were bigger,” Charlotte said. “Just once, I would like to see myself entirely. I suppose such a thing is impossible.”

  “I worked in the big house before I came here. There are such mirrors there,” said Nancy.

  Mr. Collins appeared in the doorway. “My dearest wife, what is causing you to delay our departure in this fashion? Lady Catherine will
be most unhappy.”

  “I am ready this minute, Mr. Collins. All I need is my cloak.”

  “It’s in the kitchen, Madam, drying by the fire. I’ll fetch it at once,” and Nancy sped away.

  Mr. Collins had at this moment noticed his wife’s attire. “But Mrs. Collins,” said he. “You can’t mean to walk abroad whilst dressed in such a fashion. You are almost indecent! What if the parishioners see you?”

  “It is the new French mode of dressing to walk in mud, my dear husband. Do you see? My hem will stay clean, since it is up so high, and when we get to Rosings I will lower it.”

  “But what if Lady Catherine should see you from a window? She likes the proprieties to be observed, and I hardly think she would approve of this innovation.”

  “I hardly think she will approve of me bringing dirt into her drawing room on my skirt,” said Charlotte. Nancy appeared with the sponged cloak. “And see, when I put this over all, even if Lady Catherine should look from her window, she will not be able to see what I have done to my dress and petticoat.”

  Mr. Collins studied his wife. “Perhaps it will do, although I’m sure such garments have never before come through the great door of Rosings on a guest.”

  “My dear Mr. Collins, are you sure you are dressed warmly enough? Are you sure you will be presentable when we arrive?” These were disturbing ideas, but before Mr. Collins could ponder them, Charlotte had urged him out the door.

  Their walk was not pleasant. A wind had begun which, as they must walk exactly into it, reddened their noses and dried their skin to an unpleasant texture. Charlotte was silent, thinking how much worse the walk home would be if the wind continued as the cold deepened.

  At length they found themselves on the paved drive that led to the front door of Rosings. All Charlotte could think was that she hoped the fire in the drawing room was roaring and that large goblets of wine would be served at dinner.

  A footman answered their knock, and for the first time Charlotte entered the home that would be so important to her in future.

  Chapter Three

  LADY CATHERINE WAS NO longer clad in the elegant gown she had worn to church. She now wore a dress more suitable for an evening en famille. She welcomed Mr. and Mrs. Collins into her drawing room, where they were to wait for the call to dinner.

  “I am happy to see you again, Mrs. Collins,” she said, “and as always, I am happy to see you, Mr. Collins. How well you both look. The walk here has given you colour and the appearance of health.”

  “The weather, whilst cold, is more than suitable for exercise. Neither I nor my wife felt any discomfort,” said Mr. Collins. He moved a little closer to the fire and spread his hands to warm them. “We were further inspired by the idea of what we would find when we arrived. Weren’t we, my dear?”

  “Indeed we were, Lady Catherine. “How kind of you to have us.”

  “Nonsense,” said Lady Catherine, scrutinizing Charlotte’s dress and light shoes. “I am happy you managed to avoid the worst of the dirt. When I saw your cloak at church this morning, I was really quite astonished.”

  “I must apologize for my wife,” said Mr. Collins. “Although I have mentioned to her several times that you do not stand by the ceremony of rank as it is delineated by one’s clothing, I did lately remind her that you demand perfect cleanliness, whatever circumstances prevail. I am sure, since you are such a paragon of hospitality and good humour, that you will be gracious enough to forgive Mrs. Collins’s lapse this one time. It will not happen again.”

  “I am sure it will not,” said Lady Catherine. “But now, my daughter has been looking forward to meeting you.”

  Charlotte looked about the room. The only other occupant she could see was a woman of indeterminate years who wore an anxious expression. Then, behind a screen, Charlotte detected a small creature, wrapped in many shawls.

  “Anne, I introduce to you Mr. Collins’s wife. Charlotte is her name, is it not?”

  The small creature examined Charlotte for a moment, then nodded to her without speaking.

  “And this is Mrs. Jenkinson,” Lady Catherine said, indicating the woman with the anxious face. “She has devoted her life to the care of my daughter, Lady Anne. Is that not so, Anne?”

  The girl nodded again. Mr. Collins, sensing the unseemly silence in the room, rushed to the rescue. “Mrs. Jenkinson is, I am positive, happy to be honoured with the charge of your lovely daughter. I have no doubt that she is an object of envy to other women in her class. Along with the pleasure of the company of Lady Anne—and yourself, of course, Lady Catherine, she lives in Rosings. A house such as this is not to be found in all of England. Fortune has smiled on Mrs. Jenkinson, Is that not so, Mrs. Collins?”

  “Indeed it is,” Charlotte said. Although the evening had only begun, she could feel the muscles in her face start to stiffen. Would she be able to smile for two or three more hours?

  Dinner was announced. Mr. Collins proudly gave his arm to Lady Catherine and led the other women to the dining parlour. There, as he had predicted, he was seated at the end of the great table, opposite his hostess. Lady Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson sat on one side and Charlotte at the other. They stared at each other over the array of candles and plate that separated them.

  The distances between diners seemed vast to Charlotte. How did one make oneself heard?

  That proved not to be a problem. Mr. Collins, with the ease of habit, waited for Lady Catherine to propose a topic for conversation. He then enlarged upon that topic with a perfect flurry of mellifluous details. Since these details were interspersed with compliments on the dinner, the dining parlour, the lady herself, and the charms of the daughter, no one else had a need to speak. Mrs. Jenkinson did indeed occasionally urge her charge to try this dish or that, but Lady Anne, perhaps preferring to maintain her small stature, ate little. The servers offered her dish after dish, but after a bite or a sniff, you gestured them away, despite the gentle pleading of Mrs. Jenkinson.

  During a pause, Lady Catherine said to Charlotte, “I believe you may have known my nephew, Darcy, in that place where you lived. What is its name? Ah, yes, Hertfordshire. I remember he wrote me once from there. He was staying with his friend, Mr.—?” She paused, trying to recall the name.

  Charlotte waited for her husband to supply the missing detail, but for once, he was silent. Although he had spent a fortnight at Longbourn where Mr. Bingley was currently the principal resident, although he had spent hours in Netherfield at a ball given by that same Mr. Bingley, he was unable to remember the name.

  “Mr. Bingley?” said Charlotte.

  “Was that it? I’m not sure that is the name. In any event, Darcy wrote that he found no entertainment or stimulation in the neighbourhood in which this-- Bingley?—had taken a house. My nephew was glad to leave the place and go to his house in London.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Mr. Collins. “I remember now. Mr. Bingley gave a ball, and once I had assured everyone that you, Lady Catherine, were not disinclined to the idea of your clergyman entertaining himself and his partners by dancing, I made the decision to attend. I did meet Mr. Darcy there, and had the pleasure of assuring him that you, Lady Catherine, and Lady Anne, were both well when last I had seen you. It was quite a fine ball.”

  “If Anne’s health allowed, I would have a ball for her from time to time, and I assure you that it would be much more festive than this ball in Hertfordshire.”

  “That is without doubt, Lady Catherine,” said Mr. Collins. “The house where the ball was held—what was it called, my dear?”

  “Netherfield, my dear”, said Charlotte.

  “Ah, yes, I believe that was its name. But it is nothing compared to Rosings, Lady Catherine. I assure you of that. It has not the size or the elegance of this house, nor were the inhabitants in any way equal to the people with whom I now enjoy my dinner.”

  “I suppose their clothes of these Bingleys were not fashionable. One so seldom sees fashionable clothing in the country” said Lady Catherine.
“I send to London for everything that Anne and I wear, of course. I would think it amiss to do anything less. Even so, I am never quite confident that I am sent the very latest. Tradesmen are not always to be trusted.”

  Charlotte glanced at the girl, fussily dressed in a gown so ornate that it made her seem insignificant. Had Charlotte had the money and the right to make such decisions, she should have dressed Lady Anne in a less heavy fabric in a color that did not make her look so sallow. As it was, she found it impossible to get a good idea of what the girl’s appearance was. Lady Anne did not often raise her head, and she joined in the conversation only to echo something her mother had said or to refuse Mrs. Jenkinson’s entreaties that she eat more.

  “As I was observing,” said Mr. Collins, “should there be a ball at Rosings, Lady Anne, would be, without a doubt, the most admired lady there. Her beauty and breeding would make her the center of all eyes. It is a pity that the neighbourhood is currently deprived of such a pleasure.”

  “This Netherfield,” said Lady Catherine, “did this Bingley purchase it? I understand he has inherited a considerable sum of money.”

  Charlotte waited for her husband to answer, but perhaps he did not know the answer. “He leased it only, Lady Catherine. He has also, I believe, a place in town.”

  Losing his position of dominance in the conversation, Mr. Collins repeated, “If there were a ball here, Lady Anne would be the most beautiful of all the ladies who attended,” said Mr. Collins. “And I doubt not that she would dance with more elegance and grace than any of them.”

  Charlotte happened to glance at the girl at this moment. Did she welcome these compliments as her mother did? Or did she find them false and self-serving? The girl felt Charlotte’s eyes on her. Although she spoke softly, her tone of bitterness was evident. “You may speak of a ball as often as you wish, but for all your talk, there never is one. I am not even allowed to attend the assembly balls.”