Chapter XII
Mr Collins was seated in the drawing room, in one of the less comfortable chairs, reading a book of sermons.
He would occasionally pick up the biscuit resting on the table to his side, taking a single bite – each time scattering crumbs upon his page every time and each time, with mild surprised and faint annoyance, brushing them briskly off.
Charlotte was on a chaise-longue, considering her husband. In the few weeks since she had first known, she had been choosing her moment. ‘My dear, I have some news.’
Mr Collins looked up over his book, eyebrows raised. She waited for him as he put down his reading, then beckoned for him to join her on the chaise-longue.
She did not wish to waver, so she said simply, ‘I believe I am with child.’
He did not seem to comprehend her words for half a minute, but then, as their meaning settled upon him, his eyes widened, and tears came to them. A giddy smile formed as his lips trembled with emotion. He gently took her hands and, bringing them up to his face, kissed them.
For once, he did not have a speech prepared. ‘Oh, my dear Charlotte. Such joy. How lucky we are. How lucky I am.’
Charlotte waited for him to descend into trivialities or a speech about the fate we are handed by God or the best way to position a crib, or to suggest a list of terrible names, but he did not.
He just kept holding her hands and smiling, and he looked down at her not-yet-rounded belly and smiled more.
‘I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl.’
‘We can have no way of knowing,’ began Charlotte, a little shyly, ‘but I have a feeling it will be a girl. I do not know why.’
Collins beamed. ‘A little girl. Yes.’ He was quiet again, painting a picture in his head.
He was so uniquely enchanted by what was being presented to him that Charlotte wondered, as she often did, what occupied his mind on a daily basis.
It was as if, despite their marriage and shared bed, and his sermons on the importance of family and even his remarks about his hopes for one – spoken in his very proposal – he had never, until this moment, considered that it would come to pass.
The idea seemed brand new to him, and the effect of it was not unpleasant.
Charlotte saw that he was utterly delighted.
He had been stopped short by it, and it softened her towards him.
She rather liked this version of her husband.
‘The sun is very sharp in here, Mrs Collins. I know not how you can stand it. I shall have to look away from you.’
‘Oh, pray, let me move so that you are not looking at the sun.’
Charlotte took the footstool by the fire, the only other possible place to sit in the room that was not in front of the window. She would not have asked Lady Catherine to swap seats with her for all the world – once Lady Catherine was seated, she would not be moved, even for her own convenience.
‘You ought to fit the windows with thicker drapery – these fine, thin curtains do no good.’
‘I rather like the sun streaming in, Lady Catherine, but I can easily see it is not to everyone’s taste.’
‘Well, I am glad you can easily see – even if, owing to the ineptitude of your curtains, I cannot.’ Lady Catherine paused to ensure her barb had landed, before continuing. ‘Now, I come to see you because—’
Lady Catherine had a useful habit of always telling someone explicitly, at the start of her visit, why she had deigned to come – as if to acknowledge to her host that it was indeed an honour and she would not have done so without valid reason.
Charlotte did not mind this habit; she found it gratifying.
To be told someone’s intention and objective, particularly if that person was otherwise rather difficult, was a gift.
‘I have lately heard from Mr Collins that you are with child.’ She paused a moment, waiting for Charlotte to confirm or deny.
Charlotte was surprised that her husband had told his patron so soon – a mere matter of days since she had disclosed the matter to him – but then, at the same time, she was entirely unsurprised. Nothing could be more in character.
She nodded, so Lady Catherine continued, ‘And I come to offer my advice.’
Not, notably, her congratulations.
‘How are you feeling? You look very green.’
‘Oh, how kind of you!’ said Charlotte, daring to be a little playful.
‘Well, you will find I do not mince my words, and I do not believe you to be missish about these things. You do not ordinarily look green, therefore there is no offence to be taken, Mrs Collins. Is your hue merely down to sickness, which is to be expected?’
‘Yes, my lady, I believe it is.’
Lady Catherine nodded but did not look satisfied. ‘Well, as time goes on, I offer the services of my physician, Dr Chappell, who is excellent in all these matters’ – Lady Catherine made a small hand gesture at Charlotte’s abdomen – ‘having studied in Edinburgh.’
Charlotte was rather bewildered by the interest that Lady Catherine seemed to have in her pregnancy; she had given more thought to the practicalities than Charlotte had.
‘Oh, well, I thank you, Lady Catherine. I had not – that is, I assume all will be well.’
Lady Catherine fixed her eye on Charlotte and nodded sharply, continuing, ‘Well, the doctor will be present at Rosings a great deal, so you will most likely meet at some point. He will tend to my nephew, who is lately returned.’
Charlotte’s brain had four or five questions at once, rendering her unable to ask any one of them, so she merely blinked. Just as she opened her mouth, Lady Catherine ploughed on.
‘Colonel Fitzwilliam – you will remember. He was injured last month and has come back here to recover. I am sure I have told you that my nephews are particularly attached to Rosings.’ Lady Catherine smiled as if she had won her point.
‘How badly is he injured?’
Lady Catherine looked surprised by the question. ‘It should hardly be a topic of conversation between us, Mrs Collins.’
Charlotte was blindsided by this about-turn in the rules of conversational intimacy, given the last few minutes.
‘Of course, but – he will live?’
‘Oh! Yes, he will live.’ Lady Catherine paused for a moment with her lips pursed, in an uncharacteristic display of uncertainty.
‘He would benefit from an uplift of spirits. Dr Chappell can tend to his wound but is not a source of comfort or levity, if truth be told.’ She frowned for a moment, looked at Charlotte and then raised her eyebrows; she made her thoughts processes very visible, like seeing the machinery of an open clock.
‘You make visits around Hunsford, I think, to those who need help?’
‘I do.’
‘I wonder if you might add Rosings to your list – we would welcome your company. Occasionally.’
Charlotte dared not demur and replied, ‘Certainly.’
She felt a brief jolt of excitement at the idea of seeing him again, but it was complicated by the thought of both his physical state and her own.
With a satisfied nod, Lady Catherine went to rise, but then said, ‘Your husband must be delighted.’
This must relate, Charlotte quickly calculated, to the earlier topic of conversation.
‘Yes, he is. He really is.’
‘It is a very fine thing for him. And a very good thing for you.’
Lady Catherine seemed to imply a mysterious higher meaning, more than the usual congratulatory sentiment, but Charlotte was too tired to wonder at what she meant. She simply thanked her ladyship and saw her out to her carriage before Mr Collins could arrive home and extend the visit by an hour.