Chapter IX
The church of St Thomas the Apostle stood on a hill on the west side of the village of Hunsford.
It was a rather squat Norman building, with a large number of stained-glass windows that were the envy of vicars across the county of Kent, if Mr Collins were to be believed, which he ought not to be.
It was maintained by the church warden, a verger, a gardener and gravedigger – and Mrs Collins.
It ran the risk of being gloomy inside, its celebrated stained-glass windows rather dimming the natural light in the nave, and so Charlotte made it her regular duty to brighten the interior by adding extra candles (in winter or for evensong), hanging draperies and bringing and arranging flowers.
This was already done by ladies of the parish, but she thought their efforts were rather meagre, verging on Quakerish.
On this bright April day, she had made the church ready for the next day’s morning service, with a generous spread of white blooms all over – around every window, down the aisle, across the altar – until it seemed as though all was covered with a blanket of snow.
The light was now beginning to dim slightly as she contrived to hang further greenery from the pillars, and she was perched atop a ladder, adding these touches with no small degree of precariousness, when she heard the church door open.
From her view behind a pillar, she could not see who it was; nor navigate her way down, in all her layers, very quickly.
‘Hallo?’ she called.
‘Hallo?’ came back a man’s voice, sounding bewildered. She did not immediately recognise it, echoing as it did around the empty stone church.
‘Who is there?’
‘Is that you, Mrs Collins?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Where are you? I cannot see you. I feel as if I am speaking to a celestial being; it is unnerving.’
Charlotte laughed, recognising the voice. ‘I am behind the pillar, Colonel.’
She waved a hand to her right, which extended out far enough to be seen, and he spotted it and walked to her hiding place.
She was up a good six feet in the air on a wooden ladder, which Colonel Fitzwilliam thought risky – he held the lower rungs to secure it while she tied the bouquet up.
They didn’t speak until she had finished.
She made her way down the ladder, minding her skirts, and he offered his hand for the final two steps. She smiled and shook her head – it is not helpful to take your hand off a ladder when descending with care – but she appreciated the gesture.
As she reached the bottom and turned around to face him, she realised they had accidentally ended up very close to each other, and she took a step back to remedy it. In doing so, she stepped against the edge of the ladder and knocked it sideways.
Instinctively, Fitzwilliam lunged forward to steady the ladder before it toppled, grabbing at it with his outstretched arm – only to unbalance himself.
It was rather farcical, and in an attempt to steady himself, he clamped his other hand down on Charlotte’s waist and unwittingly trapped her against the pillar with the full length of his body. (The ladder, crucially, was saved.)
This all took a matter of a few seconds, and once their composure and equilibrium had been regained, he looked horrified, while Charlotte was laughing heartily.
Once he saw this, he joined her. ‘I am so sorry, Mrs Collins; I should not have tried to be a hero. Are you unharmed?’
‘I am very well, sir; pray do not concern yourself. And your instinct to rescue ladders in distress must surely be praised.’
Her tone was serious, but he caught the glimpse of sarcasm in her and laughed again. ‘I suppose not every gentleman can live up to such gallantry.’
‘Indeed not, and a good job, too – women would be swooning throughout the day.’
They chuckled as they made their way towards the back of the church, where she had left her coat and basket. She removed her apron as she walked, her hands untying the strings from around her waist.
She had reacted casually to his touch, but she felt it now, as if his hand had been as hot as a branding iron.
How tightly he had gripped her waist, how instinctively, pressing down on her hip bone to steady her, while her face was scratched by the stubble on his cheek as he leant over her.
His grip was so different from the mild touch of her husband.
She would not forget the feeling quickly and was grateful for the chance to walk it off.
‘What brings you to St Thomas’s on a Saturday, Colonel?’ she said lightly.
‘I come to take my leave. After such a pleasurable stay, I am called back to Spain.’
‘Ah, of course.’ She had known it must be soon. ‘You leave tomorrow?’
‘Early in the morning, yes. ’
‘It is generous of you to make the time, sir, in your haste. You came here expecting to see the rector, I presume?’
He hesitated. ‘Not especially, no. I called at the parsonage already and said farewell to your husband and sister but found yourself and Mrs Bennet were out. Mrs Brooke told me you would likely be here at the church, so…’ He tailed off, a little bashful.
Charlotte grinned in spite of herself. ‘Well, thank you Colonel. I shall be very sorry to see you go. Lady Catherine must be desolate.’
‘Indeed, she would have me stay there forever, but then she also boasts of having a colonel for a nephew, so she cannot have it both ways.’
He was in his regimentals today, in readiness to rejoin his barracks. The gleaming red and white of his uniform became him. How odd, thought Charlotte, that soldiers should always look so pristine when that uniform is destined for dirt and blood. She tried to shake the morose thought from her head.
He adjusted his cross-belt distractedly as he continued, ‘I called here to see you, but in truth, I had harboured some hope of seeing Miss Bennet. Do you know where she is?’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Charlotte had been expecting this. ‘She is on one of her long walks; I am sorry you missed her. I could take a message to her, or – a token?’
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked unsure, pulled out his watch, and determined something. ‘Yes. I would be so grateful if you would.’
Charlotte readied herself for some kind of embarrassing romantic item to be passed to her: a crushed rose, a torn-out page of poetry, a locket or some such. He produced nothing like that but invited her to sit down with him.
He hardly fitted in the pew; it was not a comfortable setting for sharing confidences.
‘What I would ask you to convey to Miss Bennet is my heartfelt apology.’
‘Oh! For what, sir?’
‘Yesterday, I told her something about Darcy and how he had saved his friend from a marriage which… I do not know whether—’ He was uncharacteristically hesitant at every word and said, ‘Forgive me. My apology is about my indiscretion, and I do not wish to compound that by being even more indiscreet in involving you.’
‘Sir, be at ease – Eliza is sure to tell me eventually, and you may rely on me keeping any secret.’
‘Thank you.’ He shifted in his seat, tilting his knees towards hers, to stop them pressing against the pew in front.
‘Well then, here is my crime: I told Miss Bennet the story of how Darcy had saved his friend Bingley from a poor match, and I relayed all the objections to the lady and her family, which I had heard from Darcy. Miss Bennet listened and did not say anything, but I know now that the lady in question was Miss Jane Bennet and therefore I had been carelessly defaming Miss Elizabeth’s own sister and her family. ’
Charlotte took in this information. So Darcy had wilfully kept Bingley from Jane, after all.
This would be heavy news indeed for Eliza.
Charlotte wondered why she had not shared it, but then she realised this was probably the reason Eliza had kept to her own room this last day or so, with so much to concern herself.
The colonel continued, ‘The terms with which I freely spoke of them, never knowing of whom I was speaking, were unthinkably rude. I only found out last night, in talking with Darcy, that this was the case. I would never have… I feel like an oaf, Mrs Collins, and I fear I may have really hurt Miss Bennet’s feelings.
I let my discretion fall away, all because—’
‘Because you were enjoying her company so much and you wanted to retain her attention?’
The colonel looked embarrassed. ‘Yes. You read me well, again, Mrs Collins. I have not been used to women’s company this last year and, I must confess, I was carried away by it.’
‘Well, I will pass on your apology, sir, and your concern for her – it speaks well of you.’ Charlotte thought she would try to keep all options open for Elizabeth, brokering a future in this match, though there was a small pull in her gut as she did so.
‘My friend is the best of women. I am sorry you must leave and suspend any feelings you may have for her, but perhaps on your return—’
‘I thank you, but,’ began the colonel, looking suddenly uncomfortable, ‘while I have greatly enjoyed her company, Mrs Collins, I am in no position to make an offer and am not likely to be so.’
Charlotte was taken aback by his bluntness and said so to him, though kindly.
‘Forgive my being forthright, Mrs Collins, but I think it must be helpful in matters such as this. And I feel I can be frank with you.’
Charlotte nodded, glad of what he said. She remembered the truth of his situation now.
He had made mention of his position on one of their first meetings, suggesting he would have to make a wealthy match, if he did ever find the right time to marry.
They were both of them reliant on the fortunes of their spouses, so she held nothing against him for the admission.
It was probably rather humbling for him.
‘Perhaps you will forgive my boldness now if I remark that it seems unfair that a colonel, fighting for his country who has endured so much, is not paid enough to pick a wife of his choosing.’
‘Perhaps it is unfair, but it is as I always knew it would be. I am the younger son, and my brother has inherited all my father had, which was not so much as one might think. And I have always known my living would not suit a wife, even a rich one, if truth be told.’
‘What a waste,’ said Charlotte quietly, and then caught her own meaning and flushed. She hurried on, ‘Does it make you very sad, not to have that choice?’ she asked, thinking of Eliza.
‘I hope you will forgive me if I say I am not heartbroken. I trust I have not raised Miss Bennet’s hopes – I believe neither of us have been entirely invested, and I have been as open with her about my situation as I am with you now.’
‘Ah, I am glad of it,’ replied Charlotte, relieved.
He went on, with some hesitation, ‘I have been… remarkably lucky to find the company I have these last few weeks.’
‘Yes. Elizabeth has enjoyed your company, too, and she will rally soon enough – she has other… she will rally.’
‘I do not doubt it. But I did not only mean Miss Bennet.’ He paused, looking at her more intensely.
‘I have greatly enjoyed our talks, Mrs Collins. It is a pleasure to be – understood by another, and that is what I have felt with you. I thank you for it. It has been a privilege to become better acquainted with you.’ His eyes seared into her own.
He continued, ‘In fact, I have never felt as—’
‘That is enough,’ said Charlotte, in an urgent tone.
The colonel was taken aback. ‘I am sorry. I only—’
‘I do not really know you, and you do not know me.’ Charlotte would not meet his eyes. She went on hotly, ‘I am glad our talks have been a solace to you, which must surely be because, as a clergyman’s wife, I am a safe harbour for confidences—’
‘I do not think of you in that way,’ interrupted the colonel, too quickly.
She finally looked at him. His silence spoke more than his previous words had.
Taking a sharp breath, she stood suddenly, expecting it to break their conversation. He did not join her but stayed seated exactly where he was, his head at her waist, his body still, as if contemplating what he would do next.
She waited quietly, hardly breathing, as he slowly rose, until he stood over her, looking down. His eyes roamed her face, her hair, her mouth, and finally he said, ‘I thank you for hearing me, Mrs Collins, and until we meet again, I wish you well.’
He took a step back out of the pew and, standing in the aisle, took her bare hand, which was rough and soiled from vines and leaves and tying string, and kissed it.
He walked out of the church, and Charlotte stayed standing there in the dim light of the church, looking at the open door, holding one hand over the one he had kissed, as if she could preserve it like a pressed flower.
When she arrived home a short while later, she found a full but quiet house, its residents and guests all scattered around in different rooms. Elizabeth had returned from her excursion, but was keeping her own company.
Mrs Brooke told Charlotte that Colonel Fitzwilliam had called on them earlier and waited for an hour.
Charlotte simply nodded and said, ‘Yes, he found me – that is to say, he passed by the church – in the village, and he said farewell.’
As she entered her sitting room, she saw a small bunch of daffodils arranged in a vase on the side. ‘Thank you for these, Brooke,’ she called out, admiring them.
Brooke popped her head around the door. ‘Not me, madam; the colonel left them for you.’
‘For me?’ said Charlotte.
‘Yes, madam. Said they’re your favourites?’