Chapter 21 #2
Elizabeth stilled. They were the apples from the orchard at Longbourn, the trees she had climbed as a small child, the fruit she had watched Cook make into delicious preserves, or taken on her many long walks while she enjoyed a good book.
And they were the same apples she had been in the custom of taking to poor cottagers, back when the Bennets had been the principal family of the neighbourhood.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said softly. It was not her friend’s fault that she must receive the gift with as much pain as pleasure. Charlotte had intended only good. Yet Elizabeth could not seem to say anything more. The contrast was simply too painful.
“Well, I know how fond you are of apples. And I thought they might brighten your spirits as you finish your novel,” Charlotte replied.
“You are always so kind, Charlotte,” Elizabeth said. “I mean, Mrs Collins. Forgive me, but I do not think I shall ever get used to calling you by your married name.”
Charlotte smiled. “There is no need for formalities between us, Lizzy,” she said. “I am content. I only wish there were a way for my husband and your mother to mend things between them.”
“I think Mr Collins would be perfectly happy to make peace. It is Mama who is having a difficult time letting go of the past.” Elizabeth could not blame her mother for finding it difficult to assume so different a role in the neighbourhood she had lived all her life, but her actions were hurting not just herself, but her daughters as well.
Mrs Bennet had withdrawn too far from society, blaming others for her poor fortunes.
Their friends and old acquaintances could have eased their burdens with the bonds of friendship and civility if their mother had only allowed it.
“How are things at the old house?” Elizabeth asked. She had not been to Longbourn since shortly after her father had died. None of the Bennets had, having once left the place. Her mother had vowed never to set foot in the house again, as it was too painful.
Elizabeth suspected it was her pride keeping her from returning to visit, where the ridiculous Mr Collins was lord of the manor, and Mrs Collins had taken her place as mistress.
Her mother had always said that Charlotte was too plain to have attracted a husband.
To have her usurp her position at Longbourn had been too much for her to bear.
“We are well. Little James is growing so fast. You should see him, Lizzy,” Charlotte exclaimed with motherly pride.
Her son was the pride and joy of her life, and would be a year and a half old come winter.
“And we have been able to make many improvements to the house. There has been a fresh coat of paint and wallpaper in all the rooms. The floors have been restored, and Mr Collins has just returned from London a few weeks ago after ordering an Aubusson carpet for the drawing room.”
Difficult as it was to hear of so many changes, Elizabeth was glad to know that the house was being taken care of.
Her father had allowed it to fall into a state of mild disrepair, since he could not afford all the maintenance that ought to have been performed over the years.
Indeed, he had inherited much of the estate’s neglect from his father, who had not been as wise with his money as he should have been.
And then the added burden of five daughters had made things no easier.
“I am glad to hear it, Charlotte. Out of all the people I know, you are the most deserving.”
Charlotte modestly looked away. She was also not one who enjoyed being in the spotlight. “Thank you, Lizzy. You know how I wish things had worked out differently. We all miss your father terribly.”
“Yes, we miss him, too,” Elizabeth replied softly.
“Won’t you come and visit us, Lizzy? I should like to show you little James. He is the most beautiful boy, and he has grown so much.”
“I would be happy to come whenever it is convenient,” Elizabeth replied.
“Indeed, you would be most welcome to come and stay with us. We have no use for half of the rooms at the moment. Although we hope to fill them in time,” she added with a blushing smile.
Charlotte hesitated a moment. “I know things are probably quite crowded, now that you have come home. If it would be useful to have a space of your own, where you could think and write, please know that our home is always open.”
Elizabeth raised her chin. “No, thank you. Your offer is very generous. But I am needed here,” she said with a tight smile. She knew her friend meant well, but she did not think she could bear living under Mr Collins’s roof and seeing what he had done to her childhood home.
When Charlotte had departed, Elizabeth took up the basket of apples and took them to their tiny kitchen.
Elizabeth thanked her lucky stars that they remained able to keep a cook — or rather, half a cook, for the widowed Mrs Brown gave them half her time for half a wage, and spent the rest caring for her young daughter and her own, even smaller cottage.
Elizabeth set the apples on the wooden table in the centre of the cramped kitchen and smiled at the cook. “Hello, Mrs Brown. Mrs Collins brought these for us during her visit. I thought a nice apple cake might lift our spirits, if you would be so good.”
“An apple cake?” Mrs Brown asked. “Why, I’m not to throw them to the pigs?”
“Throw them to the pigs? Why ever would you do that? They are perfectly edible.”
Mrs Brown looked anxiously at the door. “Begging your pardon, Miss, but Mrs Bennet has ordered me to give Mrs Collins’s charity to the pigs. To put it where it belongs, she said…” The woman’s words trailed off, and she met Elizabeth’s eyes with a look of uncertainty.
Elizabeth nodded slowly, pain radiating through her heart.
“I see. Well, if you are asked where these came from, you are to tell her I bought them in town. Do you understand?” She was not about to let perfectly good apples go to waste, no matter how it hurt her mother’s pride. Or hers, for that matter.
She exited the little kitchen, leaning down so she would not hit her head in the shortened doorway. When she came out into the hallway, she saw that the drawing room was empty. She went to sit down there, instead of returning to her work in the stuffy upstairs room.
Elizabeth could almost wish that Charlotte had never come.
More clearly than anything else could have, she had shown Elizabeth just how far she had fallen.
In the past, when they had been secure at Longbourn, their father alive and well, and the family among the most respected members of Meryton society, Mr Darcy might have been convinced to lower himself to ask her for her hand.
Now, she was receiving charity from orchards that used to belong to her family.
She was sleeping on a pallet in the corner of her mother’s room, while her three younger sisters shared a bed in the only other room in the house.
They had to take economies at every chance they could, just to survive.
She was far too far below Mr Darcy to think he could love her in return.
And just as Charlotte had called that afternoon with a basket of apples to supplement a cottager family’s meagre fare, her stay at Pemberley had been nothing more than charity extended to a family who had lost everything in that terrible fire.
Surely Mr Darcy had not asked them to Pemberley for her, but only out of pity and the goodness of his heart. Nothing more.