by Linda Phelps
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Maria, with unexpected boldness, “we have been finding hyacinths and tulips. Nancy is even now arranging them in vases. Tomorrow you must help us with our hunt.”
“Nothing will give me greater pleasure,” said he. “But now, my aunt will be expecting me. I must take my leave.”
“I believe we are invited for the evening,” said Elizabeth. “Is that not so, Charlotte?” Keeping her eyes hidden, Charlotte nodded. “So we shall meet again soon.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam rose. “I shall look forward to the evening then. I hope, Mrs. Collins, we will find the opportunity to continue our onversation.” And with a bow, he was gone.
If any of the others noticed that Charlotte did not eat a good dinner, or that she was unusually careful to arrange her hair in a becoming fashion, that she placed her best earrings in her ears, and had Nancy put a new lace edging on her blue muslin, none of them spoke of it. Mr. Collins’s habitual praise of his patroness concealed Charlotte’s silence during the walk to Rosings, and once inside the drawing room, Lady Catherine told them where to sit and introduced the various topics for the evening’s conversation.
Charlotte, determined not to acknowledge the presence of Colonel Fitzwilliam by any but the most cursory words, moved easily into the pose she had used for Assembly Balls in Meryton. She knew how all around her were interacting with each other while managing to appear to have no interest whatever in what transpired. Lady Catherine, deciding that the morrow would be a wet day, instructed the party on the benefits the parish would enjoy if there were to be a few days of unrelenting rain.
Most particularly Charlotte was aware of every step taken and every word spoken by Colonel Fitzwilliam. In vain she reminded herself that she was being silly. She could not stop. So it was that she knew when the Colonel and Mr. Darcy lured Elizabeth to the piano and appeared to be enthralled with what was—if the truth were acknowledged—mediocre musical abilities. Lady Anne, glaring at the tableau, whispered to Charlotte, “When does she leave? Soon, I hope. Just see my cousin! She is attempting to win his love.”
Since Charlotte was almost convinced that Darcy had fallen in love with Elizabeth, she had no ready, comforting response to give the unhappy girl. If only Elizabeth would recognize the great opportunity that had come to her, would forget her pride and welcome Darcy’s advances, there was no reason an attachment could not turn into love, and that love into marriage. What a fine thing that would be for Elizabeth. Indeed, it would be a fine thing for all the Bennets.
But it seemed that Colonel Fitzwilliam was likewise falling in love with Elizabeth. Maria, Lady Anne, Charlotte, and even Lady Catherine were completely forgotten. Charlotte gently rubbed the spot on her hand where the Colonel’s lips had pressed.
“Do you not find it to be so, Mrs. Collins?” asked Lady Catherine. For once Charlotte was happy to delegate a response to her husband, who spoke at length on the virtues of various carriages when traveling in wet weather. He knew each of Lady Catherine’s vehicles by appearance and by purpose, and found much to praise. Charlotte glanced with discretion at the three at the pianoforte. Her heart jumped alarmingly. Colonel Fitzwilliam was bending over Elizabeth, turning the pages of the music she played. The intimacy of that posture pained her. Then, when she glanced at Darcy, she saw that he too did not relish the picture.
“I hate her,” Lady Anne whispered.
“What do you say, Anne?” demanded Lady Catherine. The girl feigned not to hear. “Mrs. Jenkinson, are you sure my daughter is warm enough? Perhaps she needs another shawl.”
“I do not need another shawl,” said Lady Anne, speaking between her clenched teeth. “I have a desire to hear Miss Elizabeth play.” She walked to the instrument, positioned herself on the other side of Elizabeth, and glared at Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam quickly fetched her a chair so she could sit while listening. In a moment Mrs. Jenkinson approached with a shawl, which the girl waved away. “I assure you that I am warm enough!” she said, but Colonel Fitzwilliam took the shawl and draped it over her shoulders. She made no protest, merely saying to Elizabeth, “Pray, continue your playing. My cousins and I are entirely enjoying it.”
It was not usual for Lady Anne’s words to carry. This time they did, and Lady Catherine, not recognizing their caustic tone, was relieved of her concern. She resumed her encouragement of Mr. Collins’s praise of her coaches. “But it is my nephew who knows what is new,” said she. “Darcy, we need you to advise us. Mr. Collins agrees that I need to replace the landau before the weather is full warm. Come here so we may know your opinion.”
Darcy ignored her until it became impossible to do so. Then, with obvious reluctance, he left the area of the instrument and sat by his aunt.
Charlotte, keeping one discreet eye on Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, let her thoughts focus on Lady Anne’s chances of marrying Darcy. Nothing in his actions bespoke of any particular desire on his part to do so. Surely, if the couple had come to an agreement, the marriage could long since have taken place. Perhaps they delayed because of the state of Lady Anne’s health. Perhaps Darcy was not so agreeable to the plan as he was rumoured to be. He had no need of the girl’s fortune, nor had she need of his. Perhaps it didn’t matter that she loved him. How would she respond if he refused to marry her?
As the four of them returned to the rectory, Charlotte’s thoughts continued to examine possibilities. If Darcy were in love with Elizabeth, as Charlotte suspected he was, all that was needed was a lessening of Elizabeth’s disdain for the man who had once, long ago, not found her more than “tolerable” to be a dance partner. There was the Wickham story to harden her heart, but one must wonder why both Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed more than willing to associate with Darcy. There were, as Charlotte knew, always two sides to every story, and so far they had heard only Wickham’s version. Would Elizabeth have been so eager to accept Wickham’s words had he not been a handsome man in a red coat who made no secret of his interest in her?
“Sister Maria,” said Mr. Collins. “I must praise you for the great courtesy and gratitude and have shown when taking leave of Lady Catherine. I do not suggest it was more than is her due, but you alone of these women seem to have prepared your speeches that they may readily be brought forth as the occasion demands. Even my dearest wife has not been so fulsome in her compliments as you have been tonight.”
Charlotte, listening with half her mind, understood that this speech was meant as a rebuke not only to herself, but to Elizabeth, who had tempered her farewells with a display of common good manners. Ignoring him, she examined the benefits that would come to the Collins family from a marriage of Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. It could be expected that Elizabeth, would be staying with her husband at Rosings Park each year, which would permit a continuation of their friendship. Further, since Darcy had won the loyalty of men such as Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam, he must surely know other such men. If Maria were a frequent guest at the rectory, who knew what chances might come her way?
“Thank you, Brother,” said Maria. “I did, in fact, prepare some remarks for the occasion. Lady Catherine is so amiable to us. I would be shamed if I could not express adequate thanks to her.”
Then too, Darcy, rich as he was, would have considerable patronage in the church. He might be willing to elevate Mr. Collins to a higher place in the clergy of the Church of England, perhaps dispensing a position in London. Not to be forgotten was the fact that Hunsford, once vacated, might provide an opportunity for one of Charlotte’s brothers to be thought a proper candidate to fill the position.
“I hope, dear cousin Elizabeth,” continued Mr. Collins, “that your reticence at our leave taking does not mean you are feeling less than well. You were very quiet at that time.”
“I am starting a head ache,” said Elizabeth. “It was not my intention to appear thankless in the eyes of Lady Catherine.”
If Elizabeth married Darcy, there would be no further need to worry about the fates of Mrs. Bennet a
nd the sisters upon the occasion of Mr. Bennet’s death. They would be assured of comfortable situations, and Charlotte would no longer be plagued by feelings of guilt about her and her husband’s eventual possession of Longbourn. Indeed, she would invite them all to visit whenever they pleased. She would be gracious to them.
“I think, Elizabeth,” said Maria, “that Colonel Fitzwilliam admires you. We all saw how he attended you when you played the instrument.”
Charlotte’s musings came to a halt. If she considered the matter, Elizabeth was more suited by her rank to Colonel Fitzwilliam. The thought of a marriage between the two made her giddy with jealousy.
“It is not sensible to suppose such a thing,” said Mr. Collins. “We must realize that Colonel Fitzwilliam is a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He is, therefore, himself a de Bourgh. A man who is part of such an illustrious family will not have an interest in a mere gentleman’s daughter. His attentions to Elizabeth are an indication of the type of manners we can expect from members of our finest families.”
“Mr. Collins,” said Charlotte. “I must remind you that Colonel Fitzwilliam is a younger son, who has either chosen or been assigned to the army as a profession. As such, he is at liberty to give his attentions to whom he wishes.” Her words were so unexpected that the other three stopped on the path.
“My dear wife,” began Mr. Collins.
“We must walk faster,” said Charlotte.. “I am sure it will rain in a few minutes.” She quickened her own pace, not turning to see if they followed.
As she and her husband readied for bed, he again approached the subject of Elizabeth. “My dear Charlotte, I must ask you to speak to my cousin on the morrow. I fear her manners are not adequate in appreciation of Lady Catherine’s hospitality. I will excuse her a bit in that she has not been exposed to such elegance before; however she seems unable to comprehend her responsibilities to us. I should not like Lady Catherine to like us less because of her behavior.”
“Mr. Collins,” said Charlotte. “First I pray you lower your voice. Recall that Elizabeth is sleeping in the room next to this one. Secondly, I do not myself find any lack of manners in my friend. Not everyone feels the need to repeat one’s thanks three times over.”
Mr. Collins faced his wife, for once not ready with a reply “But, my dearest Charlotte—”.
“Good night to you, husband, “said Charlotte, “I will not discuss this further, not now and not tomorrow.” She thrust herself into the bed and turned her back to him. It was several minutes before he extinguished the candle and, in complete silence, joined her.
Chapter Five
IF ANYONE OTHER THAN Charlotte noticed Mr. Collins’s uncharacteristic silence over breakfast, none remarked upon it. Maria wished to discuss the dresses worn by the three women at Rosings, wondering at the cost of the fabric and ornaments. Elizabeth had her own ideas on this matter, and as the two chattered away about sleeves and ribbons and bodices, they failed to notice that Charlotte too was unusually quiet. This gave her time to think. Should she apologize to her husband? Should he apologize to her? Should the entire exchange be treated as if it had not happened? She decided she would follow his lead, whatever it turned out to be. A wife had certain responsibilities to a husband, even one so foolish as hers.
“I must see if Nancy has collected all the eggs,” Charlotte said, rising. “There are many of them this time of year, and Nancy does not always make a thorough search. The eggs we do not need should be placed under the setting hens until they hatch, while the hens who do not lay must be selected for slaughter. I am by no means convinced that Nancy can tell one hen or egg from another. If she has found enough for the day’s cooking, she is satisfied.”
That is a useful activity, my dear,” said Mr. Collins. “I remember when Lady Catherine instructed you in the proper way to cull the hens.” He stopped abruptly, catching a glimpse of the fire in his wife’s eyes at the mention of their patroness.
“I assure you, Mr. Collins, that I have gathered eggs and culled hens for many years before I was privy to Lady Catherine’s views on the subject. I think you may trust me to do it properly,” said Charlotte,. Despite her mild tone, Mr. Collins at once excused himself to those at the breakfast table and almost ran into his book room.
Charlotte denied the offers of help from Elizabeth and Maria. Armed with a basket, she walked the distance to the hens’ house, avoiding the puddles standing from the previous night’s rain. The hens, sensing that her mood was not as gentle as they had come to expect, ran about their shed and yard when she tried to examine them. They pecked her hands when she attempted to look in their nests. “Madame Cheron!” cried Charlotte to the hen she had named after the villainess in The Mysteries of Udolpho, “You are asking to be served at today’s dinner. If you value your life, you will let me place you back on your nest.” Eventually the hen submitted to an examination and was set free to run about.
However, peace had not yet come to the hens’ house. A particularly unruly hen evaded her grasp. “Lady Catherine! I demand that you stay still, or I will myself chop your head off,” she warned this recalcitrant specimen. “No, I don’t need your lectures. You’re merely an aged biddy hen whose days are numbered.”
“I am shocked by your lack of reverence for my dear aunt,” said a voice, and looming in the doorway was Colonel Fitzwilliam.
So surprised was Charlotte that she dropped the eggs she was holding. Immediately the dog rushed to them and lapped them up.
“Oh, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I am so sorry. I did not know you were there. I apologize for any insult to your family or aunt. It is just that I have named many of the hens so as to remember which is which. I meant no disrespect.”
“Of course you meant disrespect,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, stooping to enter the building. The hens were further panicked by the appearance of this stranger in their home. They ran faster to nowhere and cried out more loudly.
“Let us escape from this noise!” shouted Colonel Fitzwilliam. He took Charlotte’s hand and led her to the small shed where the pony had a stall. The pony seemed not to mind this intrusion and continued to munch on the straw in its manger.
“Of course you meant disrespect,” repeated Colonel Fitzwilliam. “And to whom can you express your feelings if not to me, who is almost as dependent on the woman’s largesse as you are?”
Feeling easier, Charlotte said, “I can express them to the hens, but Colonel Fitzwilliam, I am not often in such a state as I am today. I have been annoyed almost more than I can bear.”
“Not by my appearance, I hope,” said he, feigning a worried expression.
“No, no. I should not have said a word. In fact, I feel quite pleasant now. Please forget everything you have seen and heard.”
“I give you my vow,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “but consider that I might share your frustrations when it comes to my aunt. I would also relish a chance to say what I feel. She has never had an opinion she has not expressed. One tires of them, especially when one is required to agree with them.”
“I would be grateful if you will promise not to refer to this subject again,” said Charlotte. She noticed that he was still holding the hand he had grasped to lead her out of the hen’s house. He allowed her to ease it from his grasp. “But how came you to be here at this hour? You are welcome, of course, but I am not fit to be seen by callers.”
He plucked a feather from her hair. “But one cannot always be dressed in one’s best. You do not need the aid of expensive clothing to look just like yourself, which gives me the pleasure of beholding you.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, I must—”
“Darcy felt we should call, I told him it was rather early for that, but he would go. All was well, as your sister and your friend had taken off on another wander, despite the likelihood of rain, so when we had obliged your husband, he set out to find them.”
“You did not choose to accompany him?”
“I admire both your sister and Miss Elizabeth Bennet,
but I saw and spoke with both of them last night. Circumstances kept you and me apart, and I felt I would be remiss if I did not pay my respects.”
Charlotte remembered the dialogues she had created as a girl for such encounters. When she acted them out, she had been poised and witty. Unluckily, although she had prepared herself for courtship, suitors had not come. Now that she was firmly married, Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke the sort of words she had wanted her entire life to hear. “I think you are not so respectful as you claim to be,” she said.
“You misunderstand. I felt from the first that you were a woman with whom I could have an honest conversation. From what I know of your past, you have been largely unappreciated by your family and friends. As a happily married woman, you need no longer hide your good heart and intelligence.”
Charlotte looked at her hand. Somehow it was once again in the firm grip of Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was rubbing his thumb on its palm, producing a sensation quite unlike any she had felt before. Why did not Mr. Collins ever touch her hand in this fashion? “Yes, Colonel, I am a married woman. I have responsibilities and expectations to meet.”
“But not here in this little shed,” he said in her ear.
Charlotte had not the power to break off this interchange. His soft breath on her check, his improper words, and his admiration when he looked at her made her feel not like Charlotte Collins, but like an actress in a play. Without conviction she said, “I must go back to the hens. The eggs must be gathered and the ones unwilling to brood be identified.” She made to rise, but his grip on her hand tightened. She had not the strength to release herself.
“Have you not wondered what your life would be had you possessed a handsome dowry?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam
