Chapter XV #2
‘I always feel I may be, with you. I thank you for that. I think, considering my situation, I am content enough. On the one hand, I am pampered here, and I can hardly complain of it. I am very bored, certainly, and probably rather difficult company for my aunt and for Anne. If I am not useful, I am miserable. But your visits have been very welcome. I would be glad of a visit from Darcy, but he seems to be embroiled in some business in London.’
‘You enjoyed an interesting conversation with our new curate?’ Charlotte asked, raising an eyebrow.
Fitzwilliam smiled ruefully. ‘I was perhaps a little harsh the other day. I do not like people who sermonise about things they do not understand.’
‘One might say that a curate has an obligation to sermonise.’ But Charlotte was only teasing him, for she knew what he meant.
He only gave her a rakish half-grin. He was not up to a battle of wits, and she saw that and relented.
‘I think you did not care for him?’
‘I did not. I would have liked to exit theatrically but I could not.’
‘I thought that was the case!’ said Charlotte, with some force. ‘I wished you could!’ She laughed a little, and he watched her closely, enjoying her reaction. She gathered herself and asked, ‘Has Dr Chappell given you any indication of how soon you might walk?’
‘Yes, and he thinks it will not be soon. I may hobble in a few weeks, but it will be months before I can walk well enough to be on campaign.’
‘Are you keen to return?’
He looked puzzled by the question. He turned from her, taking a moment to consider. ‘Yes,’ he said plainly, then, ‘No. Well, it is my life. I have known little else. I joined at sixteen, and I have not veered off course. So, I suppose I am keen to continue with my life.’
Charlotte nodded. ‘You once asked me what would I do, if every freedom was afforded to me – ignoring what present circumstances dictated. May I ask you the same question?’
She thought he might be unwilling to engage with this exercise, as he did not reply immediately but then he raised his eyes to her and asked, in mock-seriousness, ‘Do I have two working legs in this scenario?’
She grinned. ‘You may have full use of your legs.’
He nodded. ‘I would like not to travel far—’
‘But you must say what you do want, not what you do not!’
‘You are very particular!’ cut in Fitzwilliam, quite entertained.
‘I am,’ returned Charlotte, enjoying her own folly.
He seemed to be struggling with the question. To prompt him, she offered, ‘Perhaps you should start with something small. What is one object you would like to possess in your life?’
He furrowed his brow in thought. ‘A mantelpiece.’
Charlotte looked at him quizzically. ‘A particular mantelpiece?’
‘Not any particular style, but large enough that it might hold a vase or two. The picture I have is me standing at the mantelpiece, resting my glass on it and stoking the fire.’
‘Is the mantelpiece in a study or a drawing room, or neither?’
‘It is in a drawing room.’
‘So, there is a fireguard, perhaps, and a rug?’
‘Of course – a large rug, a little worn at the edges from use.’
‘What colour are the walls of this room?’
He smiled slowly, realising they were playing a game. He had mentioned his boredom, and she had risen to the challenge. He played along. ‘It is blue. Light blue.’
She frowned.
Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled. ‘No?’
‘I do not think it is light blue. Sage green, perhaps?’
‘Yes,’ he said, accepting it in a serious manner. ‘It is a sage-green room.’
‘And this room is in a house? A large house?’
‘Not too large.’
‘What else would you have?’
‘Grounds where I may ride for miles.’
‘Large grounds. Stables and large grounds, but only a modest house?’ she said sarcastically.
‘You mock me?’
‘Only a little,’ replied Charlotte, smiling at him. ‘They are your choices.’
‘They are indeed! And this game was your idea. But I shall finish: I would have a soft bed, a fountain in the gardens, and… chickens.’
‘Chickens?’
‘Chickens,’ he confirmed.
‘So, a home then? You wish for a home.’
His eyes glazed a little. ‘Yes. I suppose I do.’
Charlotte paused, considering this, then said gently, ‘There is nowhere you would call home at present?’
He shook his head. ‘I have had nowhere to call home for most of my life. I left my father’s house at twelve.
A few terms at Eton – I did not excel.’ He grinned self-effacingly here.
‘And then I joined the army as an ensign at sixteen. I have lived in barracks or in quarters for nearly eighteen years. When on leave, I have visited friends’ homes and stayed with family.
I have been up to Tolbrooke over the years, of course, but that is my brother’s home now, not mine.
I have spent months walking, marching, from one unknown place to another, and what greets you at your destination is more unfamiliar than the last. When they brought me back this time, on a stretcher, they told me they would send me “home”.
But I did not know where that would be. I had nowhere to picture in my head. ’
Charlotte, after a moment, tentatively asked, ‘Could you not take a house?’
‘No.’ The colonel gave a bitter laugh at this.
‘It is only recently that I have had the means, but while the war continues, it would be a wasted venture. Why hold a house that would sit empty all year long and go to ruin? Besides, I still owe some debt for one of my commissions, so it is unwise altogether in my current state.’
Charlotte nodded. ‘But if your life were your own—’
‘Is my life not my own?’ he interrupted.
She opened her mouth and shut it again. The answer was no.
In his current circumstances, he was not free to make his own choices: to freely marry or take a home or leave his position.
But none of this was cheering or helpful, so Charlotte said instead, ‘I do not know that any of our lives are our own. We are all subjects to circumstance, are we not? I, for example, might wish to join the army, but I am not allowed.’ She was being playful again.
Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled at this. ‘I have said it before, and I maintain that you would excel in the army. I can see you looking well in regimental dress.’
He was lost in that picture for a brief moment, then struggled to regain his train of thought, but Charlotte was already moving the conversation forward briskly.
‘So,’ she summarised, ‘you would wish for a modest house, with a green drawing room and a mantelpiece, and you would live there with your horse?’
‘And, God willing, a wife!’ he added defensively. ‘I do not plan to make my life with a horse!’
Charlotte laughed. ‘Well, you have only mentioned the horse!’
‘Well, that is because I already know my horse.’ He was pensive for a moment. ‘Yes, a home, with a wife, and…’ He tapered off for a moment.
‘And children?’ suggested Charlotte– it seemed the natural missing piece from the picture he had painted.
He considered and replied, non-committal, ‘Oh. Yes, perhaps. I would be glad to have children, if they came. But I do not value the prospect of children as keenly as I do the prospect of companionship. And I have never had that desperation for legacy that some men have – my brother being one… But who knows! All of this may be nonsense, Mrs Collins. As I said at the start, how can I know what I want when my only experience of life is what I have lived?’
Charlotte wrinkled her brow in scepticism. ‘That is not as unique as you think.’
‘Living an army life?’
‘No, I mean, that we all of us are limited in our scope. None of us know the full breadth of experience that the world has to offer. But we may still make an educated guess at what we want and strive to achieve it.’
He listened to her attentively and nodded, then seemed to turn in on himself. ‘It is not always possible to live the life you wish,’ he said, with some degree of melancholy.
Charlotte looked at him in his damaged state and did not begrudge him such a gloomy statement. He had earnt the right to it, she thought.
‘Mrs Collins, you must play for us,’ came the invitation – or rather instruction – from her hostess across the room.
The great favour that Lady Catherine had bestowed on her, in letting her use the piano, had to be repaid somehow, and one public performance seemed a fair price for the privilege.
But Charlotte felt the weight of Lady Catherine’s expectations – as if the hours spent practising on this instrument ought to be on display here, as proof of her hostess’s magnanimity.
It was the first time most of the guests here would have heard Charlotte play, which added another pressure, if one were needed.
Nervously, she rose and made her way to the piano.
She sat and considered what she could play, and play well. She decided on an andante movement by Pleyel – the mood in the room did not feel as if it would suit a sudden burst of lively music. She played it with feeling and felt pleased with her performance.
As she finished, her audience applauded, but Lady Catherine called out, ‘That was very good, Mrs Collins, but I know you have much more to show us. Play again. I would enjoy something rousing.’
In truth, Charlotte was glad of the push. She acquiesced to the request and, after a moment, settled on an elaborate sonatina by Clementi. With runs and trills and fast arpeggios, it was a fine showcase for her.
If she had been able to look out while she was playing, she would have seen the reactions of her audience: Miss Anne de Bourgh was delighted; Lady Catherine was smug, taking some of the credit for this; Colonel Fitzwilliam looked as if he were in awe of her, and Mr Collins wore a peculiar expression on his face.
It might have been shock; it certainly was not joy.
Early on in his acquaintance with Charlotte, Mr Collins had a feeling that they were a fine match – and an equal match.
His sense of worth was now innately tied to his marriage; he had found his place in life and been accepted.
He had always believed that he and Charlotte were on a similar plane, physically and intellectually, and that was a comforting thought.
As he watched his wife play, he did not feel that comfort.
He did not recognise her. This poised, assertive woman was a vision, undaunted by entertaining a room of high-born people in a house such as this, with a talent he had had no idea she possessed.
She was radiating energy, joy and purpose, all while carrying his child.
She was splendid, and her splendour shook the foundations of his peace of mind.
Whereas another man might have felt only pride in his wife, for Collins, this feeling what mixed with something much more disquieting.
What he felt was: She is beyond me. What he felt was: I will not be able to keep her.