Chapter 8
“Try not to spend too much time with your wife. I carefully portioned out the time I spent with my late husband Sir Lewis de Bourgh and as a result I wholly revere his memory.”
-Lady Catherine de Bourgh
When I had warmed up, Mr. Collins and I went over to Rosings, and everyone except Lady Catherine went outside to gather holly and evergreens to decorate Rosings.
I was pleased to see some color in Anne’s cheeks. She looked worlds better than she had just a few days ago. Her eyes even looked brighter and happier.
“Anne, how are you feeling?” I asked.
“Why, very well!” she said in surprise, sliding a sideways glance at me. “I feel a bit guilty,” she admitted. “For not taking the cordial.”
I couldn’t let her backslide into taking it now!
“I have a better idea,” I said firmly. “I have a cordial my mother swears by, and it tastes much better than that one. With a modern, up to date recipe.”
“Modern?” Anne perked up, her shy eyes glowing with excitement.
“Yes,” I smiled. “I’ll bring some over tomorrow.”
It was only elderberry wine, but Anne didn’t need to know that. The main thing was to make sure she didn’t take whatever awful concoction her grandmother had insisted on.
I saw Anne’s quick, unguarded smile as she looked at Mr Crawford, and I knew she loved him back.
Lady Catherine never saw what she did not want to see, so it was no surprise that she was oblivious to her daughter falling in love with a mere country solicitor.
Mr. Radcliffe and Sir Francis were still engaged in their silly rivalry and they didn’t even realize that Mr. Crawford had already won!
“Don’t strain yourself,” jibed Mr. Radcliffe, looking at the few branches and twigs in Sir Francis’ arms.
“Brains, my dear fellow,” said Sir Francis, tapping his head. “Brains means that I am letting you great big fellows haul the big bundles while I talk to Miss Anne.”
But I saw that Mr. Crawford was the one who helped Anne over little streams and around big drifts of snow.
As we collected the greenery, I thought about the mystery.
I had accepted that Lady Catherine, for some unaccountable reason, had apparently let her own pigs out of the pen, but who could have stolen her acrostic necklace?
“How expensive it is,” said Mr. Collins abruptly, “to keep a full stable of prime bloods.”
There was a sudden, stunned silence at this revelation, and I tried to resist something between a laugh and a groan.
My husband was trying to help me in my investigation.
“I did not know,” Mr. Darcy said, “that you had sporting blood, Mr. Collins.”
“It is merely a general observation,” said my husband kindly. “It is these kind of general observations that make the profession of clergyman such an intellectual benefit to humanity.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a highflyer,” said Mr. Radcliffe, his handsome face twisted in mockery.
“I like to keep up with the trends,” said William. “Could either of you gentlemen tell me anything about the cost to maintain such a stable, and, of course, the dashing equipages that go with them.”
I bit back the smile on my lips. The Darcys and Bingleys were looking astounded, but Mr. Radcliffe and Sir Francis were only too ready to talk about horses and carriages.
“I’ll agree with you,” Sir Francis said cheerfully, the snowflakes beginning to gather on his pale lashes.
“It seems like everything is so dashed expensive these days. Look at some of my suits! I wouldn’t dare be seen in anything else, though.
Unlike some great hulking brutes I could mention, my slender form is a tailor’s dream. ”
I tried to compose my expression as my husband turned his face anxiously toward me, to make sure I had absorbed these remarks.
Sir Francis had admitted to being tight on cash.
My husband was never an inconspicuous man at the best of times, and I was in a fever of impatience lest his great shaggy head turning toward me would give away our attempts to solve the mystery.
I saw Mr. Darcy turn his face to the sky, as if to seek patience from the heavens.
Anne picked up a snowball and threw it. I had never seen, or even dreamed, that the sickly daughter of Lady Catherine would do such a thing.
“Anne, I have never seen you look more blooming! Truly the very picture of health,” Mr. Collins said approvingly. “It must be this healthful air at Rosings.” And I saw him take a big breath in with his broad chest.
But it wasn’t the healthful air at Rosings. It was just Anne. Anne without whatever disgusting tonic her grandma was forcing her to take.
Mr. Radcliffe and Sir Francis jumped all over each other to agree, but Anne was looking at Mr. Crawford, and I saw his quiet, kind face smile in approval.
I had a wild thought enter my mind. Maybe Mr. Crawford had been the one to steal Lady Catherine’s necklace, so he could then blackmail her into approving of his marriage with Anne.
I shook my head. All this talk about crime had made me as jumpy as the heroine of a gothic novel!
I tried to forget such wild thoughts and merely rolled a big snowball and sent it hurtling towards my husband’s head.
I was surprised when Lizzy fell in with me on the way back to Rosings, our arms filled with the fragrant evergreen branches.
“Mr. Collins seems happy,” she said and, since I knew that she didn’t like him, that was high praise.
“Yes, he does,” I said composedly.
I felt a little braver after the last few days, and I tried to push past my normal reticence and unwillingness to let anyone know my deepest feelings.
“I am. . .happy, Lizzy!”
And I realized with a little start, that it was true, and I hadn’t realized how happy I was.
I watched my husband, his big arms loaded with the holly and ivy he had insisted on taking from everyone and carrying himself.
“You can’t be in love with him, Charlotte!” Lizzy cried impulsively, and I bit my tongue, wishing I had never said anything.
How could I explain to her that what she saw was his anxiousness to please, to have the proper behavior? What she saw was his clergyman face that sometimes exhausted him? But it was also his true joy and pride in his life.
“Yes, he can be ridiculous,” I said in a low tone. “But look how he has insisted on carrying everyone’s holly and ivy.” I smiled. “That is not nothing, Lizzy.”
I saw her lovely face turn to look at where Mr. Radcliffe had barely anything in his arms, more occupied with explaining to Anne how his hunting dogs would have taken that hill.
“That’s true,” Lizzy said. “If I could only believe you were truly happy, Charlotte!”
“I can only say,” I began, halting, “that I respect Mr. Collins more every day.”
“Oh, you make it sound like a chore, Charlotte!” she cried.
I bit back my retort.
Was it a chore when you husband lowered you into his lap and kissed you with a single-minded devotion? Made you feel that, for the first time, you were a desirable woman?
“I am not of a very demonstrative nature,” I said. “But it is not a chore.”