Chapter 3 #2
And Lady Catherine would never countenance this match! I recalled how angry she had been when her nephew Mr. Darcy had married Elizabeth Bennet, and there was a much greater distance between her daughter and Mr. Crawford.
I tried to stifle a sigh as I felt Anne glowing beside me. Love was a very inconvenient thing, causing all sorts of problems. I was glad Mr. Collins and I were not afflicted with the malady.
I wondered if it was as obvious to anyone else as it was to me that Anne preferred Mr. Crawford to her other suitors.
I had been placed by Mr. Crawford at dinner, and accordingly I engaged him in conversation.
I could hear my husband’s loud, booming voice, so admirable for preaching to a large number of people on Sundays, but now quite loud at the table as he and Lady Catherine discussed her invitation.
“Your affability and condescension are beyond all bounds,” he said, the glasses rattling slightly at his voice.
They moved onto discussing the quality of the silverware and I asked Mr. Crawford about his practice.
He spoke quietly and kindly to me, and I was impressed by him.
“Your husband has quite a powerful voice,” he said, smiling at me.
“Yes, he does,” I replied, because I was quite used to visitors having difficulty adjusting to Mr. Collins.
“I like it,” Mr. Crawford went on. “My clergyman has such a sleepy, lugubrious voice that I often feel a wicked urge to nap in church. I bet this is not a problem in Mr. Collins’ parish.”
I felt a pleased flush come into my cheeks, and I dropped my eyes to my plate.
The warm feeling inside me was because I was proud, I suddenly realized.
Proud of the compliment William had been given.
I looked up under my short lashes at Mr. Collins on the other end of the table.
In a voice so loud it seemed to shake the rafters, he was commending the fine leg of lamb.
Well, it was a very fine leg of lamb. We always had very handsome dinners at Rosings.
I was impressed with Mr. Crawford. He asked me questions and listened to the answers.
He would make an admirable husband for Anne, I realized. That was exactly the kind of man she needed! Someone quiet and reserved, but who listened attentively. Someone like that would help her come out of her shell and blossom after living her whole life under Lady Catherine’s thumb.
I sent a fervent prayer up that Mr. Crawford was not either the acrostic thief or a madman who went about letting pigs out of their warm, safe homes.
In due course, Mr. Crawford turned to speak to Anne’s former governess, Mrs. Jenkins, who sat on his other side.
I was less impressed with Mr. Radcliffe, sitting on my other side, who barely afforded me a glance, tucking deeply into his dinner as if it was the last one he would ever have.
Perhaps he or his family wasn’t as wealthy as he pretended they were?
I would have to see if Mr. Darcy or Mr. Bingley knew anything more about him when they came to visit.
I could hear Sir Francis rambling on with a long and tedious anecdote of a leg of lamb he had once had at his aunt’s house that ended up being stolen off the table by a dog who had been accidentally let into the dining room.
The anecdote took a long time to tell, and was accompanied by many of Sir Francis’ own nervous giggles, and Lady Catherine was not encouraging, only saying, “very droll” when he finished, in a disapproving manner.
Sir Francis looked even more nervous, grabbing his glass to take several big gulps of it.
There was a sudden awkward and unpleasant silence.
I sought frantically for a topic of conversation to pass over the moment, but my mind remained blank.
My husband galloped in to fill it, as he always did, remarking that it looked like it might snow tomorrow, and adding that he had always thought snow at Rosing was much more of an exemplary sight than anywhere else in all the land.
I felt the collective breath let out at the table as the awkward moment was passed over. Actually, there were benefits to my husband’s loquaciousness!
After dinner, Anne came up beside me.
“What did you think of Mr. Crawford?” she squeaked.
“I liked him very well,” I said. “What do you think of him?”
“Oh, I like him very well too,” she said, still holding onto me, her face aglow.
My heart fell. I was sensible. I should tell Anne that Lady Catherine would never approve.
I should tell Anne to put it out of her mind and think about whether she would rather spend her life with Mr. Radcliffe or Sir Francis.
But I couldn’t. It was all very well for me.
I was not of a romantic disposition. I had no use for love.
But, somehow, I couldn’t wipe that glowing look from Anne’s face, so I only tightened my hands on hers and gave her an encouraging smile.
Then my husband was beside me, holding out his big arm to me. “I must get my dear Mrs. Collins home,” he said jovially, sweeping me out the door. “She likes a spot of warm tea before bed.”
Even after the cup of tea, I fell asleep frustrated.
I was no closer to solving the mystery, and the Darcys and Bingleys would be arriving tomorrow.
I did not know what motivation either Mr. Radcliffe or Sir Francis would have for letting Wilberforce the pig out.
Sir Francis had admitted to finding the loss of the pig amusing, but that was hardly evidence.
What if Mr. Radcliffe had gaming debts and needed Lady Catherine’s acrostic necklace to pay for them?
What if he had released the pig to make Sir Francis look bad?
What if Sir Francis was an amiable madman?
None of these theories were very satisfying.
I shook my head of such fanciful thoughts and tried to fall asleep.
It was a bit chilly and I turned to snuggle into my husband’s warm side.
It didn’t matter what time of the year it was, or what temperature it was in the room.
William always ran as hot as a furnace. It was very cozy.
As I tucked in beside him, in his sleep he put one big hand on my side and I felt its comforting warmth.