Chapter XIV
On something of a whim, shortly after finding out about his impending fatherhood, Mr Collins decided to start employing a curate.
There was no real need for this, for there was very little to take him out of the parish and prevent his fulfilling his role.
And, after all, the wages would come out of his own living, which did not seem to Charlotte to be entirely helpful.
However, when a polite, red-headed young man arrived at the church, with a charm that won over the elderly ladies and a gift for preaching that won over everybody else, it seemed like a decision well made.
Mr Smithson was a good conversationalist, if a little over-pious, and was able to occupy a useful position at the parsonage as well as at the church, possessing as he did an unusual capacity for listening to Mr Collins at length.
This was as much a help to Charlotte as it was to Mr Collins.
September proceeded with unusual sluggishness; Charlotte felt so eager for the next stages of her own journey – to have the shape and glow of a mother, to feel her baby move – that the weeks passed slowly to her mind.
Having never before felt a yearning for it, she now felt as if it were the most natural thing to happen to her. It felt entirely right.
She filled her time with pastoral visits, including those to Rosings. She had visited Colonel Fitzwilliam three times since his return, and his improvement was slow: he seemed to wince a little less each time and had more mobility in his upper body, but his spirit remained rather dimmed.
And yet on her fourth visit, she immediately saw there was a marked change: he was now dressed for visitors, in a smart brown tailcoat and cream breeches.
‘You look well, Colonel,’ she said upon entering.
He turned to her and said drily, ‘I have always thought that a cravat becomes me better than a coverlet. Your comment gives me confidence that I am correct.’
This attempt at good humour was an effort made for Charlotte, but as the other visitors poured into the room behind her – namely her husband and Mr Smithson – he retreated back into silence.
Lady Catherine had invited the new curate to Rosings, which was quite an honour.
She put great esteem in the clergy and, though poor, a curate’s position was adjacent to that of a gentleman, as far as she was concerned – far beneath her, of course, but worthy of attention.
Mr Collins began, ‘Mr Smithson has been a worthy addition to the parish, Lady Catherine, and if I may be so bold as to make such a judgement, I believe it reflects well on Hunsford as a parish that we value the workings of the church highly enough to have acquired one.’
‘I think you are correct, Mr Collins. And you, Mr Smithson, where did you study? Oxford?’
‘Cambridge, Lady Catherine.’
‘Oh dear,’ replied Lady Catherine, wrinkling her nose. ‘Well, it will suffice, though I have always thought it far inferior. Which college?’
‘St John’s, my lady.’
She nodded – this answer, it seemed, was satisfactory. ‘Good,’ she said sagely, as he had narrowly avoided a calamity. ‘And where are your family?’
‘In Lincolnshire,’ Smithson replied hesitantly.
‘Lincolnshire is a fine part of the country,’ Lady Catherine declared. Charlotte could not help but wonder on what criteria these judgments were formed but was relieved that, with no other information, families across Lincolnshire had been declared fit for purpose.
Mr Smithson ventured, ‘I have had the good fortune to have spent a great deal of time with the Russells of Shepton Court. They have supported me since I was fourteen.’
This information had not been previously supplied to Charlotte or her husband; if Mr Smithson had kept it specially to present to Lady Catherine, it seemed a rather calculated move – but, Charlotte had to concede, a successful one.
‘The Russells?’ exclaimed Lady Catherine.
‘Very fine people. I have dined with them – at Shepton – many years ago. The sons are old friends of Fitzwilliam.’ Lady Catherine glanced over at her nephew, who nodded noncommittally.
‘Mrs Russell’s brother went to Oxford with my late husband.
Are you still connected with that family? ’
‘I am, and they delight in my appointment here.’
‘Very good,’ said Lady Catherine, exceedingly pleased with this news. She eyed Mr Collins at this moment, as if thinking to herself how disappointing his connections had turned out to be.
Mr Collins flushed, presumably falling on the same thought himself: the shame occasioned by his youngest cousin’s recent actions. Once Lady Catherine has returned her focus to the curate, Charlotte put a reassuring hand into her husband’s, which he accepted gratefully.
‘Are your lodgings satisfactory?’ continued Lady Catherine in her interrogation of the curate. To an outsider’s eye, the great lady could almost appear altruistic in her enthusiasm to know about the comfort of other people’s houses.
‘Yes, indeed. I am living, in fact, in the house of Colonel Raeworth. I owe the arrangement to Mrs Collins, who recognised so cleverly that I was in need of somewhere to live and he in need of someone to assist him.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had otherwise been somewhat taciturn, roused a little at this and leaned forward. ‘Lieutenant Colonel Raeworth? Of the 50th Foot?’ he asked.
Mr Smithson looked unsure and turned to Charlotte for the answer.
‘Yes, I believe so,’ said Charlotte. ‘He is a colonel now though – since he came home. He told me when we first met.’
‘Why is he no longer serving?’
‘He lost his leg in battle.’
‘When?’ Fitzwilliam was almost badgering Charlotte.
‘I am not certain, but I believe it was a few years ago.’
Fitzwilliam refused to abandon his line of questioning. ‘Corunna? Talavera?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlotte, glad to have something for him, ‘I think he said Talavera.’
‘Talavera,’ he repeated, nodding. ‘So, they gave him a promotion after that, did they? A leg for a title. A fair swap.’
‘A shank for a rank,’ added Charlotte, stumbling on the wordplay and speaking it almost without thinking.
To everyone’s surprise, Colonel Fitzwilliam broke out in almost violent laughter, and as his reaction faded, he gave Charlotte an approving nod.
She smiled tightly, secretly pleased. It was clear that the rest of the party had been left behind in this moment of levity.
Mr Smithson, however, was undaunted and would not be distracted by the lightened mood.
‘I believe, from what I have seen of Colonel Raeworth, that he is honoured to have served his country so valiantly. He takes solace from this and from his faith. “I beseech you therefore… that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.”’ Mr Smithson held an unusual expression as he said this to Colonel Fitzwilliam.
It was that of a teacher, giving a difficult lesson.
Fitzwilliam returned his look with some distaste. ‘Many young men carry a Bible with them on campaign, Mr Smithson, and it has been a great help to some.’
Mr Smithson smiled wider, until the colonel continued, ‘If worn in the front pocket, it can sometimes stop a bullet from a musket blast.’
Mr Collins gasped, scandalised. Mr Smithson did not look shocked but calmly understanding, which Charlotte imagined was even more irritating to Fitzwilliam.
‘If we may talk of something else,’ Lady Catherine broke in, looking sternly at her nephew, then turning to Charlotte, ‘what of your friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet? I have heard something about her sister being lately married?’
‘Yes, I believe so.’
‘To a Mr Wickham?’
‘Indeed,’ returned Charlotte, determined to close down any further discussion.
Lady Catherine sensed her reticence but was equally determined in the opposite direction. ‘It was a very short courtship, I have heard. This is what comes of girls being allowed out before they are ready. She was out at fifteen! And now look.’
‘And now she is married to an officer in the army. I think her mother is well pleased with the outcome.’
‘The outcome, perhaps, but not the method.’ Lady Catherine spoke these words pointedly and looked at Charlotte, as if she were somehow responsible for this scandal. ‘And your friend, Miss Elizabeth. Has she hopes of matrimony? This must affect her chances.’
Charlotte looked at her and blinked, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I do not know.’
Lady Catherine held her gaze, her eyes demanding a more complete answer, but Charlotte would give none.
Turning to Mr Smithson and Mr Collins, Lady Catherine continued, ‘I have always been concerned for the care of young women. When they are neglected and allowed to go to ruin, I feel it very deeply.’
‘Indeed, your compassion is evident, my lady,’ simpered Mr Collins, in an attempt to make up for his stiff, unsmiling wife. ‘Society owes you a debt for the interest you have taken in families that have not been steered as well as you have steered your own.’
‘On Sunday, I plan to speak of the importance of protecting the morality of young women,’ spoke up Mr Smithson boldly.
As Lady Catherine smiled approvingly at him, Colonel Fitzwilliam broke his silence, with, ‘But nothing on the morality of young men?’
Mr Smithson was caught off guard. He turned to the colonel. ‘Of course, both the sexes have an obligation to adhere to godly behaviour, but the sanctity of womanly virtue must be protected.’
‘Is it not men who are the chief risk to womanly virtue? You might as well preach that message exclusively to a congregation of gentlemen on Sunday and let the ladies enjoy a walk outside, if such an activity does not threaten their moral standing.’
Mr Smithson was not cowed by this challenge. He looked as if he enjoyed it. ‘I abide by the Bible, sir. “Who can find a virtuous woman, for her price is far above rubies.”’ Smithson smiled beatifically, as if he were speaking as a prophet himself.
‘And I choose not to talk about women having a price,’ countered the colonel, pushing himself up straighter to better stare down the young curate.
‘Morality is all very well, sir, as far as it serves us and God, but I tell you I have seen women punished for behaviour far less immoral than that of the gentlemen who judge them. I have known men, braggards, who have stolen that “sanctity” women are supposed to hold so carefully, then walked away with their reputations intact. Equally, I have seen boys as young as fourteen, encouraged to drink and swear and take their pleasures with women, all so that they be hardened up for battle and made ready to die. I would pray for their sanctity. I think you have it the wrong way round, sir: keep our boys pure and give the girls a little freedom.’
He slumped back in his chair. Charlotte thought that if he could have taken his leave, he would, and she felt disappointed for him that such a moment of drama was denied him.
She was rather struck by him in that instant: his vigour.
She liked what he said very much. She tried to catch his eye to communicate this to him, but he had retreated into himself and was now determined not to look anyone in the face.
Lady Catherine turned to the Collinses and Mr Smithson. ‘I think it is time that we bid you good day.’
One of the things Charlotte admired about her husband’s patroness was her readiness to dismiss her guests when the time was right. It was a talent she hoped to learn herself.
She went to take her leave of Colonel Fitzwilliam and found him looking at the back of Mr Smithson’s head with some distaste.