Charlotte murmured her assent, and asked to be excused to see if she could be of any assistance to her friend. She hastened down one of the long, wide corridors that linked the various rooms of Pemberley towards Mrs Darcy’s private chambers, and met a flustered servant on her way to fetch Lizzy’s personal maid. She followed the sound of voices, and came upon Elizabeth prostrate and sobbing on a chaise-longue, her husband kneeling at her side, chafing her wrists and murmuring encouragement.
‘I beg your pardon – I do not mean to intrude,’ said Charlotte, ready to retreat, but Mr Darcy rose and approached her with alacrity.
‘I must write to Longbourn immediately, and also ride down to Hartscrane to communicate with Mr Bingley,’ he said. ‘And arrangements for travel to Hertfordshire must be made with all due speed. I would be grateful if you would sit with Mrs Darcy. Send for the doctor if necessary; she may be in need of a calming draught.’ He kissed his wife on the forehead and hurried from the room, leaving Charlotte to take his place and offer affectionate embraces and words of comfort to her friend.
Sarah, Mrs Darcy’s own maid, soon appeared, and was almost as affected as her mistress; she had come to Pemberley from Longbourn at Lizzy’s personal request, after serving the Bennet family for years. She had been particularly attached to Mr Bennet, who had generously loaned her books from his library, and now shed nearly as many tears at the news of his passing as his daughter.
Lizzy loved her father dearly, and was deeply affected by the news of his death, but as the sorrowful day wore on, with Sarah coming and going with trays of broth, sherry and other liquids traditionally supposed to soothe those afflicted by great sorrow, a new anguish appeared. ‘Oh Charlotte!’ she cried. ‘I shall have to have my mother come and live with us at Pemberley. Kitty and Mary, too. Them I shall not mind; but think of having Mrs Bennet at dinner every day! I know I sound harsh and unfeeling, especially at such a time; I admit I lack the respect I owe a parent. But I cannot give my husband yet more grounds for reproach. He is so patient and loyal; not a word of criticism, not a hint, crosses his lips. He is too much of a gentleman, and I know he will suffer my mother in silence. I would rather he roared and protested. There is already too much silence between us.’
Charlotte murmured a mention of Mrs Bingley, and Lizzy brightened a little: ‘Jane! Yes, Jane and I might manage between us. Lydia – we cannot look for help there, and it would not be suitable for my unmarried sisters to make a home with her.’ Then came a fresh burst of tears: ‘Oh Charlotte, my poor sisters! How I miss Jane, my dear Jane! She will be so grieved at the passing of our father. I must write to my mother – and to Jane. I cannot think what to do first, my mind is so disordered.’
With a spike of pain, Charlotte remembered how scattered her thoughts had been immediately after Tom’s death, how grateful in those first days she had been, for once, for Lady Catherine’s interference and advice. She reminded her friend that her husband would know how to proceed, and that he surely had practical matters well in hand. She encouraged Mrs Darcy to begin her letters without delay, leading her to her desk, sharpening nibs and looking out for ink and paper.
Once Lizzy had settled to her letters, with Sarah, pink-eyed, hovering in attendance, Charlotte went in search of her own husband, although she did not have to hunt around much; he was in his favourite room, the library, which rivalled anything he had seen at Oxford and cast even its equivalent at Rosings into shade. He was applying himself to correspondence of his own.
‘Ah, my dear, this is a sad business,’ he called as he saw her. ‘I am writing to Lady Catherine. She will of course already have the news – she is attentive to such events, and indeed her sagacity will no doubt be of value to the Bennet ladies. But it is incumbent upon me to inform her myself, and to seek her advice on how to proceed. Not that there is any doubt about what should follow next, but judicious instructions on the manner in which to advance will be welcome.’ He added, ‘I am of course also writing my condolences to Mrs Bennet and her daughters, my fair cousins.’
Charlotte considered. The news had clearly jolted her husband into that state where his faith in his own opinions and decisions had faltered, leading him back to the familiar path of obsequiousness. A firm hand was needed.
‘My dear Mr Collins, I have a proposal to make. An unusual one, to be sure, but I would be grateful if you would hear it nonetheless, and consider it.’ She sat down facing him and leaned forward. ‘Do we have to take possession of Longbourn?’
At the look on his face, she hurried on, ‘The sudden death of Mr Bennet makes what follows very precipitous. I have indeed been thinking of the extra comforts Longbourn offers, the standing, the fact that you would not have to work so hard. But may I say this? I love my – our – home. It is comfortable and completely adequate for our needs, ours and the girls’. It is dear and familiar. I decorated the house myself. I know every tree in the orchard, each hen and how many eggs she lays in a week. And that has made me think of Mrs Bennet. What it will mean to her, newly widowed, to have to quit the home she has occupied for thirty years, to be forced to leave all that is dear to her behind.’
At that, Mr Collins expostulated: ‘But we will not be turning her out into the woods! It will be a great elevation for her, coming to live here – with all this,’ he said, waving a hand at the cherrywood shelves adorned with calfbound volumes, their gilded titles catching the muted sun coming in through the windows. ‘Once her entirely natural grief has subsided, she will be the envy of all her friends.’
‘Yes indeed, and there are the Bingleys, too. But neither establishment will be her home. And even in this great and grand place, I find myself longing for our own home at Hunsford, where I am mistress, where even if our meals are much humbler, I myself have proved the bread and bottled the dessert damsons from our own garden, where you have laboured so much, and with such wholesome benefits.’
Her husband looked at her uncomprehendingly. ‘But we cannot fight the entail, otherwise Mr Bennet would have done so years ago.’
‘Oh!’ cried Charlotte. ‘No, I do not mean to go up against the law. I am proposing instead that we offer Mrs Bennet a tenancy at Longbourn, now that it is ours, for the length of her natural life. I understand the farm has a very good bailiff, and if he is willing to continue, that need not change. The bulk of the income from the estate would come to us, of course. Mrs Bennet has a small annuity of her own, and Mrs Darcy and Mrs Bingley, I am sure, would supply whatever extra is required.’ She crossed her fingers as she added, ‘The needs of a widow and two single daughters will surely not amount to much.’
She laid a hand on her husband’s knee: ‘William, would you like to run the Longbourn estate? Do you wish to give up being a clergyman? I know the hours are somewhat irregular, that your occupation exposes you to mean sights, suffering, and sickness. Would you rather live at Longbourn and discuss crops and cattle and marl pits and rents with the bailiff? Tell me.’
She watched his face, wondering if she had gambled on an innate sense of compassion that was perhaps not as active as she could have wished. It was time to apply a lever. ‘And then there is Lady Catherine. She relies upon you so much. You are essential to her company, to life at Rosings. She would not wish you supplanted by a stranger.’
‘Do you think so, my dear?’ said Mr Collins, clearly struck by this line of reasoning. ‘I agree, it would be a great wrench leaving dear Lady Catherine and Rosings behind.’
Slowly, they mulled over Charlotte’s idea, with Mr Collins throwing out objections, and Charlotte talking her way carefully through each one. Mrs Bennet might live another thirty years, but the terms of the lease could be reconsidered each year. What about their own daughters, Sarah and Laura – would they not benefit from coming out in the society of Meryton? That was still years away, and what social advantage could Meryton and its surrounds offer compared to the heady proximity of Rosings, and the benefit of Lady Catherine to advise and guide them? Was it not selfish to withhold the Rosings
living from another deserving candidate? The decision was not forever. Mrs Bennet, who had always been choleric, might not live that much longer. Besides, with the extra income from Longbourn, a curate could be employed to undertake some of the more tiring and insalubrious aspects of Mr Collins’s work. He could concentrate on writing and publishing his sermons, perhaps even his garden notes. He could travel more regularly to Oxford and London to confer with his fellows and use the libraries there, should the shelves of Rosings ever become stale.
‘William,’ said Charlotte, reaching for his hand. ‘I love our home. I love our life there,’ and as she said it, she realised it was true. Love was perhaps not the right word, but it was the first place she had ever experienced deep peace, the satisfaction of knowing she had a place in the world. ‘And besides,’ she said softly, ‘Tom is buried in the churchyard.’
Her husband’s eyes shone with tears at that, and Charlotte had to blink back her own. She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles.
They settled on an apparent compromise, but Charlotte felt safe. The agreement was that they would confer with Lady Catherine, ask her advice on this daring proposal. If she approved – and Mr Collins was not optimistic that she would – then they might consider such an unusual step. But Charlotte knew how to fix Lady Catherine, even though it would have to be done in person. All she had to do was to take steps to ensure her husband made no mention of her suggestion in his letter, in case her ladyship returned a strenuous disavowal of a notion so preposterous. They agreed to say nothing to anyone yet, certainly not in writing, but to wait until they returned home.
Charlotte rose, claiming a need to return to Mrs Darcy’s side, but not before bending to whisper in her husband’s ear: ‘Come to me tonight.’
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE DAYS AND SCENES THAT followed were understandably clouded. Letters had to be written, plans made and unmade. Georgiana Darcy had to be intercepted and instructed to stop in London instead of journeying on to Derbyshire. There was much debate as to whether or not the Collins family should decamp to Longbourn to pay their respects and attend Mr Bennet’s funeral. Mr Collins was set on this at first; for reasons of kinship and friendship, his family was doubly obliged to offer condolences and what support they could. They could all travel in the Darcy carriage, and the journey would take them a good part of the way home. Elizabeth was at first gratifyingly keen on this plan, and Mr Darcy was happy to agree to anything that would soothe his wife in all the freshness of her grief.
However, Charlotte could see all the disadvantages of such scheme. The girls would have to come with them, and she was reluctant to let such a solemn and tiring pilgrimage make an end to their holiday; or to descend with her entire family on Lucas Lodge, no matter how welcome they might all be. Someone proposed that the girls be dispatched back to Hunsford in the care of trustworthy servants while their elders stopped at Longbourn, but Charlotte would not countenance this: ‘If something befell them, and I was not there, I could not endure it.’
More privately, she considered that the presence of the Collins family at Longbourn might inflame an already sorrowing and disordered household. Mrs Bingley was still unable to travel, a source of great regret to all, but especially Lizzy; and Charlotte was reluctant to risk aggravating the grieving widow without Jane, still recovering from her confinement, at hand to calm and comfort her mother. She was afraid their presence might be seen to be expedient, or proprietary; that they might appear as crows come to pick at the bones, or to imagine new furnishings in the home. Not least, she was afraid that the sight of Longbourn and its grounds and lands, its handsome honey-coloured stone and arched windows, in all the fullness of its summer gardens, might tempt her husband into imagining himself settled there, and thus create resistance to her plans to remain at Hunsford.
Her arguments prevailed, but at least the first and longest part of the journey was undertaken together in the relative comfort and privacy of the Darcys’ carriage. Charlotte bade her friend a sad farewell once they reached London – a sombre end indeed to the gaiety and pleasures of the summer.
The Collinses returned to Kent after only one night in town, and Charlotte found her home especially dear, but also disconcerting. Everything reminded her of Tom, and yet his absence seemed more pronounced. The bronze veins starting in the late summer leaves, the riotous growth of berries in the kitchen garden and hedgerows: all these seemed to flaunt the passage of time while he would remain in memory forever a small boy in ringlets and petticoats. The rooms seemed tiny and dark after the spaciousness to which she had grown accustomed; yet it took only hours to draw the skin of the house about her and feel it fit once more.
As soon as her family was settled back at the Parsonage, Charlotte sent Lady Catherine a note requesting the honour of a private interview, in which she wished to seek advice and guidance – guidance she was confident her ladyship would be able to provide. She also took the risk of asking that Lady Catherine not mention her application to Mr Collins just yet; she did not wish to involve her ladyship in the keeping of marital secrets, but her dilemma was such that she wished to solicit advice before consulting her husband. She did not add that such an approach doubtlessly corresponded with his notion of how matters ought to stand.
Within a half-hour, a servant brought back a scrawled reply, granting the favour; no doubt curiosity played a part in the promptness of the response. Charlotte told her husband a truncated version of the truth – that Lady Catherine sought a tête-à-tête with her – and set off across the park. She had forgotten how gentle the Kentish Weald was, with no hill sloping too steeply, no vista too dramatic. The green of the trees was just beginning to fade like silk in the sun, and haws could be seen among the roses as they dropped untidy drifts of petals.
Soon she was ushered into the presence of Lady Catherine, whose eyes were unusually sharp. But before Charlotte could express more than the usual courtesies, her ladyship had much to say on the subject of Mr Bennet’s death, and the imminent move of the Collins family to take possession of Longbourn. Charlotte quailed a little; it was clear that in her mind, her ladyship had them already settled in Hertfordshire. She was voluble in her advice on every aspect of the matter, including the return of Sir William and Lady Lucas to court: ‘Pray send your mother the name of my mantua-maker; I shall write a line and see she is attended to. Cost is not a factor for my family, of course, but I imagine your mother is obliged to economise, and I can assure you that at least in Mrs Rossetti’s hands, she will not be cheated.’
Next, Lady Catherine had a great deal to say about Mrs Collins’s stay in Derbyshire, but at least she broached a topic Charlotte hoped to allude to: ‘I trust you found your months at Pemberley pleasant. You certainly look well, Mrs Collins; your colour is improved, and I believe you are a little plumper, which suits you. But that is Pemberley for you; no one who visits comes away without some benefit. My sister did a great deal to improve the family apartments and their furnishings, you know. I believe Miss Georgiana Darcy’s rooms are a byword for beauty and style not only throughout England, but even the Continent. Mr Henry Holland designed them, and I hope you were afforded the chance to see them – the paper for the walls was produced as a special commission in the studios of Mr Chippendale. Even accustomed as you are to witnessing the style of living at Rosings, I imagine that the splendour of Pemberley was unlike anything else you have experienced. I presume you bring me compliments from Mr and Mrs Darcy. I hope they are in good health. Tell me, is there yet no sign of an heir?’
It now became necessary to speak, and as fast and plainly as she dared. Charlotte laid out her plan: that she and Mr Collins remain at Hunsford for the time being, while allowing Mrs Bennet and her remaining unmarried daughters to remain at Longbourn as tenants, even if only temporarily.
The results were no less than she anticipated: ‘Mrs Collins, have you entirely lost your mind? It is not for you to interfere with the settled notions of inheritance, the natural law of this land,
all that regulates family and rank! I never heard of such a thing! Mr Collins is the heir of Longbourn, and he is required, by duty and law, to take possession thereof.’
Charlotte, screwing her courage to the sticking-place, rapidly moved to the reasons why such a delay might be both compassionate and advantageous to both families, but Lady Catherine became yet more indignant: ‘I understand better than most the pitiable state of many widows in this country, Mrs Collins. You need not try to school me. In Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s family, proper and sensible provisions were made for myself and my daughter, but, sadly, not everyone is as well prepared. But there is no case to be made for pitying Mrs Bennet! Far from sinking into hardship, she will take up residence at Pemberley, an elevation greater than anything she could have hoped for. She will be the most fortunate of women.’
Charlotte snatched at the opening. She needed to be both bold and delicate. Forgive me, Eliza. Aloud, she said, ‘Your ladyship earlier made allusion to the fact that there is no heir in the nursery at Pemberley. I have knowledge, based on my intimacy since girlhood with Mrs Darcy, that is of a private and confidential nature. I hesitate to share it – but I must.
‘Mrs Darcy has been brought to bed with a stillborn child no less than three times in the years of her marriage to Mr Darcy. Surgeons can find no defect or reason for her travails, so there is room for hope.’ She paused, hoping that Lady Catherine might be stirred to remember her own long-lost infant sons, and there was indeed silence in the room.
She went on: ‘The medical fraternity is of one mind. Mrs Darcy needs circumstances of peace and harmony – of restful repose – if she is to bring a child safely to life. She needs no additional anxiety or reason for agitation. Yet she has confided in me that she fears for connubial harmony in her home, should she bring her mother under her roof. I have no right to speak so bluntly – I know I sound harsh – but picture your nephew and Mrs Bennet dining together daily. Imagine the – fret – of it.’
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