Chapter VI
‘You look well, Mrs Collins; the spring air must be agreeing with you. Though you do seem a little thin. You are walking too much, which I have warned you about before. I will ask Cook to bring you some biscuits.’
Lady Catherine de Bourgh occupied her seat like a throne and was demonstrating her unique ability to convey concern for and judgement of a fellow creature in equal measure.
While the seats in the drawing room at Rosings were not arranged in a particular formation, Lady Catherine was somehow still sitting at the head.
Draped in a thick ruby fabric, she – presumably deliberately – stood out from the rest of the company in their pale spring colours and light dresses.
She was a naturally commanding presence, tall, strong-featured, and when she spoke, her voice was deep and powerful.
Her words were ponderous enough to confirm her superior status, belying the fact that what she said was, more often than not, rather trivial.
‘I assure you I am well enough and need not—’ attempted Charlotte.
‘Figgis! FIGGIS!’ erupted Lady Catherine.
A weary older man appeared at the door.
‘Bring some biscuits for poor Mrs Collins or she will faint.’ She dramatically stirred her tea, then tapped her teaspoon on the side of her cup, which rang out like a bell, exactly timed to make her request seem like a divine commandment.
Charlotte knew Lady Catherine well enough now to make no further protest. She was feeling proud and happy to share the experience of visiting Lady Catherine with her family, and more particularly with Eliza, with whom she could reflect upon it afterwards in a way she had not yet been able to.
Post-visit analysis with Mr Collins was always full of praise and self-deprecation and admiration of household décor, but with Eliza, it would be much more fun and far less complimentary.
As Mr Collins’s new wife, Charlotte seemed to be an object of interest to Lady Catherine, and as her guest on many previous occasions, she felt that she had been met with approval.
Charlotte had an ability to know exactly how to behave with different kinds of people and to enact it without much effort.
Since becoming a regular visitor at Rosings, she had employed this skill often; finding the correct mode to suit the situation and behaving this way.
As it made her own life easier to have smooth relations with her husband’s patron, why should she not?
Bringing Elizabeth as her particular friend was, she knew, a risk to this finely tuned balance, but one Charlotte was willing to take. And, if a quarrel did occur, it would at least be a moment of diversion, which would make a change.
Lady Catherine seemed to sniff out the potential for discord early on.
She seemed vexed by Elizabeth’s prettiness, even though this was hardly the fault of Elizabeth.
She proceeded to interrogate her new guest about her upbringing, her education and that of her sisters.
Elizabeth answered for her family’s slightly unusual manner of raising five daughters without reservation.
Mr Collins, across the table, looked rather worried and at points dismayed by Elizabeth’s lack of reverence.
Charlotte, for her part, listened and rather enjoyed the exchange.
If only Lady Catherine were to meet Lydia and Kitty, thought Charlotte, she would be truly shaken.
When Elizabeth remarked upon the unfairness of younger sisters having to wait until their elder sisters were married before they might enjoy society, Charlotte positively grinned.
Unlike her sister, her father or her husband, she had no fear of Lady Catherine, and she could see that Elizabeth did not either.
Therefore, she offered no assistance to her friend or excuse to Lady Catherine.
She was watching two strong, opinionated women find their match, and she enjoyed the sport.
The conversation would not benefit from an umpire.
The next day held the opportunity for reflection, and Elizabeth did not disappoint.
The two friends sat in the sitting room at Hunsford after luncheon, in loosened stays, the sewing they had intended to do discarded by their seats.
Elizabeth had never been much of a seamstress and only ever did a quarter of whatever she started.
Charlotte had a mind suited to it. She was currently working on an elaborate embroidery, a design of her own, formed of repeating patterns in bold colours: purples and golds – miles away from her mother’s muted samplers.
But she enjoyed it most when she could concentrate on it, and she did not want to squander the good company she had in this moment. It lay on her lap.
Elizabeth declared, ‘She is extraordinary, and I do not mean that as a compliment. She has a martial quality to her. She would have made a very good governess.’
Charlotte chuckled, thinking of how such a comparison would be met by Lady Catherine.
‘I do not think I gained her approval.’
‘Oh, mere conjecture,’ said Charlotte sarcastically.
‘You are right. My conjecture is based only on what she said and how she acted.’
‘Exactly,’ replied Charlotte, smiling wryly. ‘No, I agree, I do not think you will be a favourite with her, but you baited her!’
‘I did no such thing. I answered her questions clearly and honestly.’
‘But, Eliza, you also gave a lot of opinions…’
Elizabeth gasped dramatically. ‘Forgive me!’
‘Only God can forgive you. Lady Catherine will likely not.’
About a fortnight after this, by which time Charlotte’s father had returned to Meryton, news reached the parsonage that there was to be a visitor to Rosings: namely, Mr Darcy. Darcy was Lady Catherine’s nephew, and Charlotte knew a little of him already.
She had first set eyes on Darcy at an assembly in Meryton, at which he refused to dance with anyone beyond his own party and was heard declaring Elizabeth only ‘tolerable’.
This had naturally set Charlotte against him; she had her own reasons to dislike men who scorned women at dances.
But since then, she had suspected he had only made a particularly bad first impression.
Charlotte had heard the list of accusations against Darcy, laid out by one Mr Wickham, another member in Elizabeth’s circle of intrigue.
Wickham, an officer in the local militia whose rugged good looks had clearly made an impression on Elizabeth, had painted Darcy as the worst kind of villain, and Elizabeth had been inclined to believe him.
Charlotte had not been entirely convinced; she had not warmed to Wickham and therefore kept a more open mind about Darcy.
She generally had good instincts for people’s character, and while Elizabeth leapt to condemnation, Charlotte kept her counsel.
It had been many months since such matters last occupied her, and in truth, she was glad to have such intrigues reignited. Darcy’s arrival would certainly bring a pinch of spice to the party. He would bring with him his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, about whom no one knew a thing.
It was known that the pair would be in the neighbourhood but not when they might be seen, and so it was with a little perturbation that Charlotte, one morning, spotted her husband walking back across the park towards home, flanked by two tall gentlemen, one in a navy-blue coat and the other in the red uniform of the military.
‘Eliza, Mr Darcy is approaching!’ she called up the stairs.
‘What?!’ cried Elizabeth, running down them a few seconds later.
‘Mr Darcy and his cousin are a minute or so away. I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr Darcy would never have come so soon to wait upon me.’
‘Nonsense. It is basic etiquette for him to visit Hunsford.’
‘You know that is not true; it is not at all expected. Anyway, if you wish to fix your hair, now is the time.’
Elizabeth raised a derisive eyebrow at her, and yet she did set about making herself look decent. Charlotte even caught her pinching her cheeks and smothered a grin.
The doorbell rang just as the ladies reached the bottom of the stairs, and Mr Collins ushered in Mr Darcy – a dark-haired, imposing figure who towered over the company, commanding immediate attention.
Next to him was a genial-looking man in uniform, a few years older than his cousin, smiling easily and looking round admiringly.
The bustle of introductions, taking of coats, moving into the drawing room and ordering tea, provided a minute or two to inspect the visitors.
Charlotte, already knowing Darcy, took more of an interest in examining the newcomer.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had mousy-brown hair, thick and rather unkempt for a soldier, and a weather-worn face.
He was not entirely handsome, yet his manners made him seem the most appealing person in the room.
Charlotte noticed that with interest that he addressed every new acquaintance with equal courtesy, whether it was Mrs Brooke or Mr Collins.
He was not as tall as Darcy, but then Darcy was taller than necessary.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was broad across the chest, and his eyes were keen and ready to meet—
Oh! His eyes met Charlotte’s directly, just as she realised she had been staring at him. He raised both eyebrows and nodded slightly, warmly.
She quicky averted her gaze.
‘Do you find your aunt easy company?’ Elizabeth asked, bold as ever, and Mr Collins’s eyes bulged out of his head.
She addressed the question to Darcy, though it applied to both the gentlemen.
Pleasantries had already been exchanged, but Elizabeth was evidently keen to delve into more challenging territory.
Darcy took such a long time to reply that it wasn’t clear if he was considering his answer or ignoring the question.