Chapter 6
T he following morning saw an express rider appear below my window. Carsten, alert fellow that he was, did not need to be told to be curious. He promptly stepped out, returning in under a minute with the information that a letter had been taken to the colonel.
Fitzwilliam was too much a man to force me to compose a delicately worded enquiry upon meeting him over breakfast. He came directly to my room.
“It is as I feared,” he said. “My friend Pinkney has a grave injury.”
I took a breath to offer condolences, but perhaps because he was still too raw, he was not equal to hearing it.
He held up his hand to forestall any words from me, and said, “I must write to his wife if you would excuse me.”
In order to deflect Lady Catherine’s intrusive questions as to her other nephew’s whereabouts, I joined her at the breakfast table later than I would normally eat, and she, sensing her opportunity, spoke at length of the de Bourgh fortune and legacy.
Considering herself to be clever, she believed she was appealing to my greed for power and position.
I had failures which troubled me, and faults both known and undiscovered, but I did not covet either prize she offered to me in exchange for relieving her of the burden of her daughter.
I did not claim this indifference as a virtue so much as it was the result of having sufficient consequence and means of my own.
I did not need to be bought, which—I mused as I chewed and swallowed—must be considered the principal hallmark of both power and position.
She left the table in a complacent mood, for I had listened to her patiently. One day soon I would bluntly refuse to fall in with her plans, but it would not be this day. I stood from the table and called for my horse.
The morning had been heavy going in an already uncomfortable visit, and I wished only for silence. To that end, the folly struck me as the ideal destination.
The day was clearer than any other in recent weeks.
I watched with a faint smile as Windsor, with his reins dangling lazily after him, wandered deep into the shadows behind the chestnut trees.
What freedom animals must have to simply follow their noses!
As I climbed the ladder, I wondered where my nose might lead me had I the freedom to follow it.
I could avoid thinking of her no longer.
I stood upon the roof of the temple as if on the bow of a ship, searching the landscape for some answer there.
I had been thrown most unwillingly back into the vicinity of Elizabeth Bennet’s net.
How often had I told myself I did not want to get caught by her? But, of course, I did.
Having faced this inescapable fact left me sorting through the peripheral realities. She had everything against her: no fortune, no connexions, a mortifying family. Yet personally, she had everything I crave in a woman.
I did not enumerate her many attractions. I knew them by heart. Besides which, most of those tangible features that drew my notice could be found elsewhere, or, if not, they could be overcome by a mere resolution to be sensible.
I reflected instead upon the scene of her arrival at Rosings Park where she demonstrated to me the depth of her self-respect.
She grovelled to no one, and having been the object of sycophants all my life, I found this trait in an intelligent, vital, kind, and conversant woman to be an overwhelming recommendation.
In failing to properly reflect upon my feelings and in avoiding the necessary self-honesty, I had made an error.
I had deferred serious consideration of her eligibility while congratulating myself for my great, good sense.
Meanwhile, the battle between what I wanted and what I should not want had raged quietly in the background.
As I stood there, under the passing shadow of a cloud, I reconciled myself to the danger.
She would drop her fork and look up at me with mischief sparkling in her eyes, or she would, with those same alluring lights, challenge me to secretly laugh with her at one of Lady Catherine’s mortifying observations.
Something . Elizabeth Bennet would do some small, insignificant thing, and I would, without the benefit of reason or restraint, offer for her.
Perhaps I should run from Rosings like a whipped dog. Only I did not know how I would find the resolve to leave any place where I might have the privilege of seeing her.
These thoughts were compelling—intensely so. And I became so absorbed, I failed to hear the approach of footsteps and the faint sound of voices long before I usually would.
This was how, in an instant, and before I could act in the manner appropriate for a gentleman by announcing or removing myself, I became an unwilling audience to a private conversation.
For what should happen but that Miss Elizabeth and her friend, Mrs Collins, would stroll out from behind the chestnuts and walk directly below me around the portico to a bench in the sun overlooking the lake!
I should have moved, greeted them or coughed—anything.
But the tenor of the conversation was immediately evident.
They spoke with a delicacy I could not bring myself to interrupt, and as I began to hear what was said, I did not have the courage to embarrass them with the awareness I might have heard even a small part of what was said.
“She still suffers?” Mrs Collins asked in a voice of kind commiseration.
“Oh, if I gave you this letter, you would read it and say that she sounds as complacent as when you knew her in Hertfordshire. But I have known her all my life, and between the lines, in the things she does not say, and in the combinations of her words—in short, in the intangibles of written communication, I hear her grieving still.”
“Nearly five months later?”
“Yes, five months complete since he decamped after that miserable ball without so much as a fare-thee-well. She is, of course, convinced that his sister was sincere in her odious parting letter and believes Miss Bingley only wanted to spare her distress by warning her they had reason to hope their brother would marry Mr Darcy’s sister. ”
My sister! I could hardly credit what I was hearing. The notion was absurd.
The tension in Elizabeth Bennet’s voice had then dropped, and she spoke in a more cajoling tone. “I know what you wish to say to me, Charlotte. Jane should have heeded your advice and shown her feelings more openly.”
“And so she should have. Her current misery proves me right.”
“With such a mother and father with whom we are blessed? We can none of us reveal what we hold closest to our hearts, save for Lydia, whose sole ambition is to be noticed. If Jane were to have shown a flicker of her ardent feelings for Mr Bingley, my father would have teased her at breakfast for being crossed in love, and our mother would have pushed her onto the street in the path of his horse. How could she have followed your advice and still preserved her dignity? It was impossible, and she had no help from him.”
“You fault Mr Bingley, then?”
“Oh, I fault Mr Bingley more than anyone. Had he any resolution at all, he would have fought tooth and claw to have her. Of course, his duplicitous sisters and his disapproving friend arranged for his narrow escape back to London. And Jane may well have survived her disappointed hopes were it not for the constant stream of commiserating matrons and my mother’s cries of infamy.
What a wicked trick he played on her! Above all, Charlotte, I believe pity to be a most damning curse to the brokenhearted. ”
I stood immobile behind a finial throughout these revelations wafting upward on a light breeze.
I hoped Mrs Collins would soon take Elizabeth Bennet away so I could properly catch my breath.
But this was not to be, and I stood in agony for another quarter of an hour and heard the most shocking revelations of my life.
“But let us be done with my anxieties,” Miss Elizabeth said. “This is the loveliest prospect I have yet seen in all of Kent. I wish Maria would have joined us, but I also recall how little she enjoys long walks.”
“I knew you would like it, and with my husband gone for the whole of the day, I could think of no better way to entertain you.”
“Just what is a bishop’s caucus, then?”
“Forgive me, but I do not know, and I have not the least bit of curiosity. Do you?”
“Hmm. My only question is how many days it might last.” Then, in a more serious tone, she asked, “But be honest, Charlotte. Are you truly happy here?”
Mrs Collins chuckled. “I have known you too long, Lizzy. Having refused Mr Collins when he asked you to marry him, you assume that I am as miserable as you would have been had your mother succeeded in forcing you to accept him.”
What? She was nearly forced to?—
“Forgive me,” Miss Elizabeth replied so softly I was compelled to listen more intently.
“But there is nothing to forgive. I am quite happy here. I have a home of my own, and while I have a few irritations?—”
“Such as the unending fountain of advice from your patroness?”
“Yes, that as well.” They laughed. “But you know how sensible I tend to be. On the whole, I am content.”
“Then while I cannot rest easy for my sister, at least I can rest easy for my friend.”
“I wish I, too, could rest easy for my friend.”
“What do you mean, silly?”
“You know, Lizzy, when you speak of Mr Darcy as ‘Mr Bingley’s disapproving friend’, I become uneasy.”
Elizabeth Bennet found this amusing. “Are you afraid Mr Collins might overhear my opinion of the man and have me horsewhipped in the public square?”
“You must admit the gentleman stares at you a great deal. I have said so before.”
“And I have told you Mr Darcy looks upon me only for the purpose of finding fault. From the first moment of our acquaintance, he has made no attempt to disguise his contempt of me. I was not handsome enough to solicit a dance from him then, you recall. How can you claim to be sensible and believe he has suddenly developed a fascination for me? Now? You are very droll, Charlotte.”
“And if I am right? What will you do if a man of his consequence decides to court you?”
“He is to marry his cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh. Where have you been these last ten days? Not an hour goes by that Lady Catherine does not mention it.”
The two women sat in silence while I struggled against the urge to cough.
“How would she bear him a child?” Mrs Collins asked in a reflective tone.
“I suppose she would die making the attempt and satisfy her mother’s ‘dearest wish’.
I find nothing to laugh at in the situation.
Would it not be humiliating to be lauded as having the finest musical abilities without ever having touched an instrument?
Or to have your fine looks pointed out while swallowing some nauseating potion and being pushed to marry a full-blooded man when you can barely stand unaided?
It is ludicrous, Charlotte, and you know it. ”
Mrs Collins chuckled. “Only you can be counted on to say what no one should say. For my part, I do not believe Mr Darcy will marry her for this very reason: he will want children.”
“Then I am sure Miss Bingley would oblige him with a nest of howling, ill-tempered infants,” her friend lightly replied.
“But by inclination, I believe he looks to another.”
“And I believe I am nothing but entertainment. I can hardly be more to him than that. You forget, most conveniently, that I have relations in trade. Would Mr Darcy be inviting Mr and Mrs Gardiner to Pemberley? We are ten times more likely to see three full moons in a month.”
“You might at least have thought of what you might say if he singles you out for his addresses.”
“How much thought is required? We are not well-suited. There is no danger of disappointing him, Charlotte. Do you suppose he has not come to this conclusion long ago?”
Mrs Collins sighed with impatience. “Never tell me you are pinning your hopes on Mr Wickham.”
“ That gentleman, without a penny to his name, would suit me better than Mr Darcy with his fortune.”
“You would be wise to leave Mr Wickham alone and consider that a man of ten times his consequence cannot keep his eyes off of you.”
“Consequence?” she scoffed. “But what actual good do we know of him? He cannot be made to say a single word to anybody. What did he say to your mother after she hosted him at Lucas Lodge? Nothing. He allowed his agreeable friend—his particular pet, Mr Bingley—to do the pretty, and in all his looks, said he wanted nothing more than to go away.”
“I grant you his manners are not warm.”
“Not warm, not gracious, not generous. He hovers in a corner with Miss Bingley and passes judgment on us all, or he stares out a window. If he must face the room, he does so with an expression of long-suffering repugnance. I suspect he spoke poison in Mr Bingley’s ear with regard to Jane, and let us not even mention what he did to Mr Wickham.
I ask again, what good do you know of him? ”
After a pause, Mrs Collins replied with an air of barely contained amusement, “He is very rich, Lizzy.”
“And if pound notes were feathers, Lady Catherine would almost be an angel. If that is your only recommendation, then may I point out that there is a word for a woman who trades herself for money?”
“Practical?”
The two women laughed until at last, Miss Elizabeth stood up and said, “Come. I hope you are done remonstrating with me because I plan to marry for love or not at all. Do you see that little stone bridge? Let us wander down to the lake.”