Charlotte

by Linda Phelps

  “Indeed, sir, I have not,” said Charlotte, blushing to be so untruthful.

  “I wonder about my own life, had I some twenty thousand or so pounds to my name. I particularly wonder what it would be like to marry without contemplation of my wife’s financial worth. I could do that if only Aunt Catherine would give me a handsome sum for that purpose. She will not, of course. She will hold it all and leave it to my cousin Anne when she dies, providing Anne outlives her, which is by no means certain. But the rich marry, the rich, as we all know. Certainly the de Bourghs have always done so.”

  Charlotte looked through the door of the shed. A fine rain fell steadily, making it impossible to see the rectory clearly. She thought of Mr. Collins, sitting in his study, preparing Sunday’s sermon. He was the man to whom she owed complete gratitude for having taken her to wife, the man to whom she must return this very instant. But she did not want to leave the cold stable for the warmth of the sitting room fire and the company of her husband. She shivered. “I must go,” she said.

  “But you are not warm,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Here.” He removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders. From it arose his own delicious scent. “Is that better?” he asked. “I will not have you falling ill.” He turned her face towards his, and placing one hand behind her head to direct it, he kissed her on the lips.

  It was some seconds before Charlotte could disengage herself. Why did Mr. Collins not kiss her like this? Why, for that matter, had he not insisted she take his coat during the long honeymoon ride to Hunsford? “Colonel Fitzwilliam, you have no right,” she began.

  “Think, Charlotte,” he said. “You are married. You need no longer preserve your maidenly state in the eyes of the world. The world has lost interest in you, but my interest is growing by the hour.”

  She noted he had called her “Charlotte”. One was expected to be invited to speak so intimately. Wasn’t such familiarity a shocking breech of manners? She could not think it out. The sound of her name on his lips was more tender than any of Mr. Collins’s “my dear Charlotte” or “my dear wife” or any other of the words by which he addressed her. “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said, savouring the very taste of his name on her tongue, “you go too far.”

  “And for that I pray you pardon me,” said he agreeably. “You have been married how long, four months?”

  “About that, yes, but why should it matter.”

  “Let me say only that I find my visits to Rosings to be uniformly tedious. When I discover that a person is nearby who can provide me with amiable companionship, I do not wish to waste time getting to know her. And when I sense that her marriage, while providing her with material comfort, does not quite suit her in terms of emotional closeness, I am hopeful of being invited to fill that emptiness.”

  “You are wrong, Colonel Fitzwilliam, about everything. Now I must ask you to leave these premises.”

  “This stable, you mean?” He rose and donned his coat. “Just remember, Lady Charlotte, that in the nature of things I will always be visiting Rosings once or twice every year. You will find that a year in this neighbourhood can be very long. The interjection of any new person will be a relief to you. And I will be that person.”

  They heard Nancy’s voice, calling as she slogged through the fresh puddles. “Ma’am? Mrs. Collins? Where are you? You have callers.”

  “I must go!” said Charlotte. “I beg you, remain here until you can leave with discretion.”

  “Of course,” said he, smiling. “Will you be collecting eggs tomorrow at this same time?”

  “I have not yet made plans,” said she.’

  “Ah, well, you and your party come to Rosings tomorrow evening, I believe. So if I do not see you in the morning, I will see you later.” At her look of alarm, he said,” Do not be troubled. I know exactly how to act. Now go.”

  Charlotte put her empty basket over her head to protect it from the rain. But before she left, she turned to him. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, may I ask what your Christian name is?”

  “To be sure. It is Frederick, and when we again meet privately, I expect you to so address me.”`

  Charlotte managed to avoid most of the puddles on her way back to the house. Only when she saw Nancy’s questioning eyes on her empty basket could she take possession of herself. It was imperative that she never again meet privately with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and that, if she happened to do so, Nancy not know of it. Nancy, who reported to both de Bourgh women and also, it was certain, to half the neighbourhood, must not suspect that the meeting in the stable had occurred.

  She thought of her duty to Mr. Collins. How could she have allowed Colonel Fitzwilliam to take such liberties? What sort of a man was he who would do such things, say such things? What sort of a woman was she that she had not made a more forceful protest? Why had she not demanded he leave the premises and never return?

  “But how can I say such ill-mannered words to a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, to whom we owe so much?” she asked herself. Then, reminded of the never ending honour she must pay to that same Lady Catherine at the behest of her husband, her guilt melted away. “I am just doing what Mr. Collins orders.” She drifted into the sitting room, where the puzzled looks of Maria and Elizabeth warned her that she did not look like herself. With an effort, she became what she always seemed, a calm and sensible woman.

  There had never been a time when Charlotte desired solitude more than she did at this moment, but when she glanced around, she found that Mrs. Marsden and Barbara had joined Elizabeth and Maria by the sitting room fire. Luckily, Mr. Collins had retreated to his book room rather than attempt to participate in the conversation of such a feminine group.

  The women’s intimacy have progressed beyond the requisite formalities expected of new acquaintances. Indeed, Maria and Barbara were discussing gowns Maria had worn to Assembly Balls in Meryton.

  “My dear Mrs. Collins,” cried Mrs. Marsden. “Whatever made you leave this warm fireside to walk in the rain? We cannot have our minister’s wife develop a fever.”

  “It caught me unprepared,” said Charlotte, “but I believe no harm has been done.”

  “I quite agree with Mrs. Marsden,” said Elizabeth. “It is unlike you to make us uneasy in this fashion.”

  “As you know, , I set out to collect eggs and separate the barren hens from the brooding ones. Such things do not always go with the ease we hope for. Hens can behave in a much unexpected fashion.”

  “Indeed I do know that,” said Elizabeth. “Still, we are prepared for you to act sensibly on all occasions. Remember what happened to my sister Jane when she walked in rain to Netherfield.”

  “I expect I will have nothing to regret,” said Charlotte.

  For the rest of the day and well into the night she relived those few minutes she had spent with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Frederick. Of course he had been christened Frederick. Why had she expected otherwise?

  When the next morning proved to be fine, she busied herself inside her house, until she could join Maria and Elizabeth on their usual walk. The new spring blooms seemed to Charlotte to have an unnatural beauty this year, and their scent was more powerful than she could remember any flower conveying in the past. How extraordinary that in spite of the prevalent odors of the season, she was overwhelmed with her memory of the scent of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s coat as it lay upon her shoulders.

  “There are Mr. Darcy and the Colonel,” cried Maria, as they turned onto another path. The men greeted them directly. Charlotte, having instantly determined that she would not look at Colonel Fitzwilliam, allowed the others to decide what course they would follow. When they resumed their walk, Darcy had stationed himself next to Elizabeth, leaving Charlotte and Maria to lead the way.

  “But where are you going?” called Mr. Darcy, as Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed and made to walk off in another way.

  “I have business in town,” said he. “Tell Aunt that I may not be home in time to dine.

  “She won’t care for that,”
said Darcy, but he was laughing. “I advise you to carry out your business as speedily as possible.”

  “These things cannot always be hurried,” called Colonel Fitzwilliam, as he left them.

  Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth barely spoke to each other during the entire time the four walked the path from Rosings to the rectory. This fact, and Maria’s fear of overstepping herself when in the presence of the great man, meant that Charlotte had leisure to think about the Colonel. She was relieved to discover that he was going to be discreet about their encounter of the day before, but could he not have walked with them? Despite the lectures on propriety, morality, and duty, which she had repeatedly delivered to herself, she was sorely disappointed that he had not stayed with them.

  The people at the rectory had been invited to Rosings after dinner. It was understood that there would on this evening be two tables of cards in play. Charlotte, who enjoyed whist, sighed at the thought of partnering Mr. Collins in this pastime. He had not gained skill with practice. She acknowledged that to appear happy in the partnership was her duty to her husband and her patroness too, so she prepared to take on the task with good cheer. Yet she was distracted by the thought of what it might be like to partner Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  As it happened, Lady Catherine intended that she and her daughter would play as partners with her two nephews. Darcy was paired with Lady Anne, while Colonel Fitzwilliam partnered his aunt. The girl favoured the assembly with one of her rare smiles as she sat opposite her cousin.

  This left the four people from the rectory to make up a second table. “We could have arranged ourselves in this fashion without walking all the way to Rosings,” grumbled Maria.

  “Sister Maria!” said Mr. Collins. “Remember where you are and in whose presence. This opportunity to interact with one so amiable as Lady Catherine is not available to everyone. We will have a charming time, just as Lady Catherine prescribes.”

  “Do you think we could ask Mrs. Jenkinson to take my place?” whispered Elizabeth. “Charlotte knows I am not fond of cards, and I would be happy to play on the instrument so as to provide a musical accompaniment to the games.”

  “I will ask her,” said Charlotte, but she returned a moment later with the intelligence that Lady Catherine felt it imperative that Mrs. Jenkinson stay at the side of Lady Anne. Who knew when the girl might feel a chill or suffer the beginning of a head ache?

  The whist table was soon engrossed in the complexities of the game; however, when Charlotte glanced at the table, which she did often, she found that Mr. Darcy’s eyes were often directed at Elizabeth, who either did not notice or refused to acknowledge his interest. Charlotte, glancing equally often at Colonel Fitzwilliam, discovered that he, like Elizabeth, seemed completely unaware of her interest.

  “My dear wife,” said Mr. Collins. “It is unlike you to be so inattentive to the game. If we are to play, let us play well.”

  “I am sorry, Mr. Collins. My thoughts wandered.” However, she was unable to ignore the other table. She strained her ears to distinguish Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words from the others. He did not speak often. To add to his attractions, he seemed to take the playing of the game of whist very seriously. It was a game that rewarded concentration and skill. It appeared that, partnered with Lady Catherine, he constantly triumphed.

  If they should ever play, what a partner he would make!

  The evening was not a success at the second table. Elizabeth could not hide her boredom, while Mr. Collins suffered from a sense of demotion. Charlotte was unable to exchange a word with Colonel Fitzwilliam, while Maria, was unsuccessful at stifling her yawns. If only Lady Catherine would serve them late coffee, they could be on their way back to the rectory and their warm beds.

  “My dear wife, it is your turn to deal,” said Mr. Collins. “I admit to being disappointed at your lack of attention to this responsibility.”

  “I must apologize again, dear husband. I believe I must be overtired. We walked quite far today. If only you had been with us to give me your arm, I might be less weary now.”

  “I had need of finishing my sermon for Sunday,” said Mr. Collins, “While I applaud the hospitality you show my sister Maria and my cousin Elizabeth during their stay with us, it is not right that you ignore your duties to your husband, one of which is to listen to him practice his sermons.”

  Such public criticism of one’s spouse was not something ever heard in Lady Catherine’s drawing room. Mr. Collins’s words drew the attention of the players at both tables.

  Elizabeth was the one who broke the shocked silence. “Mr. Collins, I am sure you do not mean that. While I have been staying in the rectory, I have remarked on her dedication to pleasing you. I am surprised you have suggested otherwise.”

  Lady Catherine had paused, her hand holding aloft a trump card she meant to play. Mr. Collins rallied. “Cousin Elizabeth, I assure you that I consider only the pleasure of Lady Catherine, to whom both my wife and I owe a debt of gratitude which can never be repaid. I do not want to disappoint her by a sermon that is less than perfect. She deserves so much more.”

  Charlotte added, “Yes, my dear husband. We can do no less than to strive for excellence. I have not been as diligent as I might have been. We will rectify the situation in the morning.”

  At those words, Colonel Fitzwilliam finally looked her full in the face. She could not tell if his face expressed sympathy, censure, or amusement.

  Chapter Six

  CHARLOTTE WAS AS GOOD as her word. She ignored her guests for a morning while listening to Mr. Collins practice various methods of declamation in preparation for Sunday. This once she did not suggest he make his points more directly. Let him run on. Once Elizabeth and Maria were returned to their homes, she would again edit his words to eliminate any unwonted repetition.

  In one part of her mind, she pictured Colonel Fitzwilliam on the coming Sunday, trapped in the family pew between his aunt and Lady Anne while Mr. Collins rambled on. She took a positive joy in imagining him as his muscles cramped. He would not allow himself the pleasure of any unseemly wriggling, not with Lady Catherine at his side. Had he not implied that she provided him with some of his income? Similarly, he would be forced to appear alert and attentive, no matter how sleep-inducing Mr. Collins’s lesson was.

  Charlotte, in the pew on the opposite side of the aisle, would appear to be enthralled by her husband’s oratory. She would follow Mr. Collins’s gesticulating hands, nodding whenever he said anything somewhat intelligent. Colonel Fitzwilliam would see her as she was a devoted wife and helpmate. There, in the nave, he would be ashamed of the liberties he had taken in the fowls’ house.

  He might even find occasion to meet her there again, so he could apologize to her privately. Should he do so, she would be gracious to him, but firm when she bid him good-bye. It was fortunate for her that Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy were expected to leave within a few days.

  Elizabeth stopped at the door to Mr. Collins’s book room to announce that she was going to walk. Maria, engrossed in A Sicilian Romance, had waved her away when asked to accompany her. Could Charlotte perhaps walk with her?

  “I must say no, dear. I am, as you can see, helping Mr. Collins prepare for the service on Sunday next. But another time I would be pleased to be your companion.”

  It was rather strange that she had refused her friend. In truth, she and Mr. Collins had almost completed their rehearsal. Mr. Collins, having exercised his voice until he was pleased with its readiness, said, “I believe my dear wife, that I shall spend some time in the garden today. The sun is warm enough that you need not fear for my health, and Lady Catherine will surely want to know that I am following her suggestions in terms of the pear trees.”

  “Do so, husband. You must take care, however, not to take a chill kneeling on the damp earth. Take that old piece of carpet with you for that purpose.”

  Alone, Charlotte thought briefly of attempting to overtake Elizabeth, but she did not know which way her friend had gone. In the
kitchen, Nancy was already preparing their dinner. She did not seem in need of help.

  “Are you sure you have enough eggs, Nancy? They are plentiful now, and a custard tart would be a welcome addition.”

  “I do not have enough eggs for that, ‘Ma’am, but if that is what you fancy, I will get some now.”

  “No, no, I will do it. I know where there are two goose eggs that are not being brooded. They should do nicely. I will fetch them for you.” And before there could be a further discussion of the matter, she had once again grabbed the basket and made her way to the fowls’ house.

  Thus it was that Charlotte was again in search of eggs when a shadow blocked the light from the doorway. “Here you are,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I have been watching for you.”

  Later Charlotte thought about those words. From where had he been watching for her? How long had he been waiting? At the time, all seemed completely natural.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I would not have you think I gather eggs with the hope of meeting you in my fowl house,” she said, “for nothing is further from the truth. My servant is in need of goose eggs to make a custard tart.”

  “But I believe that custard cooks quite rapidly, does it not? So you have no need of hurrying back to the house. We can continue our delightful conversation from the other day.”

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam, if anyone were to see us, alone like this, do you know what they would think? I am the wife of the village rector. My husband is chosen by Lady Catherine de Bourgh to serve the parish. Not only my actions, but the appearance of my actions must be above reproach.”

  “As they will always be. I would not harm you, Lady Charlotte, not in the eyes of your husband or your congregation. Come.” He extended his hand. When she would not take it, he grasped it and pulled him toward her. “Come,” said he again. He glanced around at the hens and geese and the turkey. This day they had not taken alarm at his presence. “Let us find a place where no duck or chicken stares at us.”