Chapter VII
In the days after the funeral, Charlotte made attempts to start sorting through her husband’s belongings. And as she did so, she had the realisation that she might reasonably start packing away her own things at the same time.
Although Lady Catherine had months ago issued warnings about the precariousness of her position, Charlotte had not taken them to heart at the time.
She had put them down to Lady Catherine’s habit for meddling.
But now that distant scenario she had spoken of had come to pass, and Charlotte was quite unprepared.
Longbourn was entailed, strictly, down the male line – indeed, it was this quirk that had seen her husband inherit it.
But now, with Mr Collins’s passing and no male heir, Charlotte would have to quit it, and quickly, just as the Bennets had.
She would have to uproot herself for the third time in as many years, but on this occasion, she had no clear picture of where or how she would live.
At a time when grief should have been her chief companion, she had no choice but to turn her mind, as so many widows did, to more material matters.
As she leafed through the papers on Mr Collins’s desk, she found several unopened letters.
She sat down heavily in his brown leather chair and began to open them, finding a couple that pertained to the running of the estate, another concerning a business interest of which she had no knowledge – and then there was the one was from Mr Smithson, which her husband had mentioned, still unopened.
She considered reading it – Mr Smithson’s character had always inspired curiosity – but decided, on reflection, that whatever Mr Smithson had to say was his own affair. If the pair had shared any confidences, she did not wish to pry. She tore the letter in two and threw it in the fire.
She felt suddenly very weary. She looked at the remaining letters for Mr Collins, still unopened, and could not face them. She was worn out. She felt every one of her nearly thirty years, and many more besides.
She tried to be pragmatic, to stave off the cloud of exhaustion and loneliness that threatened to overcome her. She took a piece of paper and a pen and started to write. The list she made comprised the following:
Lucas Lodge
New heir?
Pemberley?
Rosings?
Going through her list one point at a time, she considered her options.
Lucas Lodge. She knew that her parents would, of course, allow her to live there again; that was the most likely, most expected future for her now.
She would return to her old bedroom and, like old times, go to assemblies with her mother.
But now, her mother would no longer attempt to introduce her to eligible men. That chapter would be closed.
What she looked ahead to now was a life more akin to that of a spinster: she would stay with her parents until such time as her father passed, when she would need to rely on her brother’s generosity for further lodgings.
None of it appealed. The fact of it being such a direct backward step made this perhaps the most galling of all her options.
New heir. She had not yet heard from the attorney about the next heir to Longbourn, but she presumed she would any day now.
It might be that he would bestow a small settlement on her, in acknowledgement of her situation – as Mr Collins had offered to Mrs Bennet.
Even a small amount would help. She was not lacking in friends, but she was sorely deficient of independent means.
Pemberley. She knew Pemberley to be a vast estate, and Elizabeth would want to be of service however she could.
She wondered whether there might be a room for her – perhaps a little cottage left empty…
But now she thought about it, the idea was absurd.
Pemberley was a family seat; Elizabeth had just given birth to their first child and would likely have more.
They had Kitty and Georgiana already. No, it was not sensible.
She crossed it off the list.
Finally, Rosings. This seemed, even to her own mind, preposterous, but something gave her pause.
Of all the people of her acquaintance, it was Lady Catherine who seemed to care most deeply about the plight of women – and to most ardently desire their independence.
She had been very fond of Mr Collins, and she seemed to care about Charlotte – even if she displayed it rather harshly.
Could Charlotte become a companion to her, if Anne should marry?
It was all rather wild thinking, but Charlotte’s situation required imaginative thought.
Charlotte was struck suddenly by a headache. There was too much to think about, and the idea of making such enquiries left her nauseous. She called for Brooke and asked for tea.
‘Might you go and stay with your mother, madam? For a few days? You need not face all this yet, surely?’
Charlotte considered it. ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘I do not have much time left in this house, Brooke, and I do not intend to squander it.’
‘It is such a shame, madam. You have just settled in. It is a beautiful house, and you have made it your own.’
Charlotte could only nod. She would never have anywhere of ‘her own’ again.
‘Well, it is a large house, and it is rather wasted on just me. It deserves to be better populated, does it not? Perhaps the new heir will have a wife and a family.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Brooke, smiling sadly as she left the room.