Chapter Thirty
Dearest daughter,
By the time you receive this letter, we will be on our way and should arrive on Thursday morn.
It is so unfortunate that we cannot accommodate your brother’s whims nor his children; so, so unfortunate.
Life is full of little prisons and little escapes, is it not?
With fondest regards,
Mama and Papa
The letter was short, revealing nothing of their mood or intentions, though it was signed in the usual way with love. Attempting to decode it for hidden meanings revealed none, bar their usual mild humour, and only served to increase Charlotte’s anxiety, so she threw herself into preparations for their arrival in a desperate attempt to distract herself. Mrs Waites permitted Charlotte to hover around the kitchen, tasting dishes and putting together a menu—usually, this was the cook’s domain and Charlotte would never dare interfere, but she suspected that Mrs Waites was being extra patient with her and took full advantage. Bessie scrubbed every surface until it gleamed, and polished the silverware until the dining room looked like the treasure trove of an ancient king. Charlotte put together a wreath for the table; white, delicate lily of the valley for humility , blazing blue azalea for temperance , and regal, poised magnolia, for the love of nature . She almost added thistles, for defiance, but the memory of the thistle embroidery on Mary’s dress stopped her short. Besides, she did not know yet whether she would need to be defiant or not.
Lord and Lady Lucas arrived in short order, and though they spent the first hour in the parlor watching Charlotte with worried eyes, as any parents might with a recently-widowed child, their anxiety lessened with every minute until they seemed quite comfortable. “I admit I was a little concerned when you did not want to come home immediately,” her mother admitted, “but everyone grieves in their own way. I thought perhaps you felt most comfortable here in the home you shared with Mr Collins.”
“Yes, I did,” Charlotte confirmed. “But I also visited Canterbury for a couple of weeks with Miss Mary Bennet. I only returned a few days ago.”
“Miss Mary Bennet?” her father repeated, looking slightly puzzled. “Why, I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet—I mean, Mrs Darcy—was your particular friend.”
Charlotte told them about Lizzie’s son, assuring them that the illness wasn’t serious, and how this had resulted in Mary visiting instead. She was thankfully saved from having to explain more about Mary—which she did not think she could do without breaking down into tears again—by Bessie’s appearance in the doorway, announcing that dinner was ready. Mrs Waites cooked a wonderful dinner for her parents—a starter of Scotch broth, a roast chicken surrounded by honeyed carrots and parsnips for the main, and a slice of her infamous rum cake for dessert, liberally covered with thick cream. All the dishes were praised to the highest degree, and Charlotte sent a silent prayer of thanks towards the kitchen, for those with full bellies were more inclined to be agreeable.
“Now,” her mother said, fixing her with a stern eye, “perhaps you’ll tell us why you invited us here. Your letter made it plain that there was something afoot, though I could not tell what, and you have been careful not to mention it.”
“Well,” said Charlotte, laying down her spoon. She swallowed. “The thing is… I have been offered a position.”
Lord Lucas paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
“In Canterbury I was introduced to a wonderful gentleman called Mr Mellor, who has the finest collection of flowers in all of England. He has won many prizes for them, and…” Do not ramble , she reminded herself. Keep to the point . “After he discovered that I am very fond of my own garden, he invited us to view the collection.” She bit back the bitter memory of Mary confessing her love under an oak tree, kissing Charlotte like her whole heart was in it. “It was everything I expected it to be and more.”
Lady Lucas raised an eyebrow. “And the position?”
“Well, I came up with a successful solution for an insect problem, which none of his gardeners had managed to solve.” She took a deep breath. This was it. “And so he offered me a job. As head gardener.”
A look passed between Lord Lucas and his wife that Charlotte could not decipher. “What sort of a gentleman is he?” her father asked, his tone measured.
“Oh, he is most agreeable, I am sure you would like him very much. The estate is very large, and he has no wife or living family, though Mr Mellor is too, uh,” she licked her lips, “busy to consider producing an heir at this time. I would not call him lonely, though. He loves flowers, just as I do.”
Lady Lucas chewed her mouthful before responding. “I have heard the name before. You say he has won several competitions for his flowers?”
“Yes, Mama. Many years running.”
“And you want to…work for a living?” her father added, looking politely bewildered.
“Yes.”
“Well, I—” He caught his wife’s eye, and again something passed between them. “You have always been a sensible woman, Charlotte, and you have never asked us for anything. If this is something you want, then we shall try to support it. Though I do not like the idea of you living somewhere with a man we have never met. Is he… Is he…”
“What your father is trying to ask,” Lady Lucas interrupted, “is whether the man intends you to be his wife. Sometimes men, even elderly men, lure a young lady in with a promise of—”
Charlotte could not help snorting. “No, Mama. He is an established bachelor with no interest in me beyond my ability to maintain his flower-beds. I am quite certain of it. Look.” She leaned forward, using her most earnest tone. “It took me seven-and-twenty years to find a first husband, and I am not likely to find another any sooner. I do not wish to be a burden on you both, nor do I wish to be a burden on John when he inherits Lucas Lodge. This way, I may save my money and have a little independence. It is a radical notion, to be sure,” she added hastily, “but a sound one considering my circumstances.”
Lord Lucas shrugged and reached for his wine. “I would not be opposed, though I find it strange. What say you, my dear?”
Lady Lucas studied Charlotte. “You are quite sure this is what you want? You would not mind doing labour?”
“I worked in our gardens all the time at home,” Charlotte reminded her. “I have always been happiest around flowers.”
“Well… I would like to meet this Mr Mellor first,” her mother said. “Upon that condition, I may give my approval of the scheme.”
Charlotte blinked. She had been expecting much more of a fight. Surely it could not be this easy. “You do?”
“You put forth a persuasive argument.” Her father smiled. “We would love to have you at home, of course, and had expected that—but no matter. I must say I never expected you to go this particular route. Still, if it makes you happy, then who are we to stand in your way?”
“What will you tell people?” This was what Charlotte had been most afraid of, and the point she was sure her parents had forgotten. “What if word gets around?”
“People will gossip. People always do. But sooner or later they will begin talking of something else.” Her father smiled, loading his spoon with another large chunk of rum cake. “Do not worry so about other people, Charlotte. It is what you want that signifies.”
She could not stop the tears, though this time, they were tears of happiness and relief. Her parents got up and hugged her tightly, one on each side, encasing her in the warmth and comfort that she had feared might be lost to her forever.
* * *
After some discussion, Lady Lucas agreed to travel on to Canterbury with Charlotte, while her father would journey back to Meryton after he had, in his own words, “sampled the entirety of your Mrs Waites’ wonderful cooking.”
“That being said,” Lady Lucas glanced at Charlotte, “I would like us to be able to enjoy a few days together as a family first, especially since you may not be returning home with us after all.”
Charlotte agreed readily, and after she had dashed off a letter to Mr Mellor, the next few days were very happy ones. Her parents provided a wonderful distraction during the day, which was exactly what she needed to keep her mind off Mary, though at night grief and anxiety wound into a heavy ball which lay in the pit of her stomach. She never would have considered the job offer were it not for Mary, but Mary was not the only reason she wanted to accept it. Charlotte’s words to her parents had been spoken from the heart, though they hadn’t been an impassioned plea so much as a practical suggestion. All the things Mary had pointed out during their last dreadful conversation had been perfectly true, though Charlotte had been unwilling to admit it in the heat of the moment, and they formed the basis for her new goal.
Soon enough Charlotte and her mother were kissing Lord Lucas goodbye and promising to write all their news immediately. Lady Lucas had written to a family friend, who had offered a place for them to stay in Canterbury—though it was, Charlotte was glad to hear, far away from Mary’s home. She did not want to see her former lover until she had quite worked out what to say. Far better to put it in a letter where her words could be neat, ordered, and rational. Besides, she had to focus on the meeting with Mr Mellor first, for if that did not go well, then the rest of her plans would crumble to dust.
Returning to Canterbury felt rather overwhelming. She could hardly sit still in the coach, wondering if every woman on the street was Mary, her heart jumping with dread and hope every time she saw dark hair snaking out from under a bonnet. Upon arrival at the Palmer-Parkers’, Charlotte discovered that Mr Mellor had already written with an enthusiastic invitation to come whenever they pleased, and she wrote back to set a date for two days hence. Now that they were in town, all her attempts to write a heartfelt letter to Mary proved worse than the last, and she was forced to give up lest her nerves consume her entirely. The Palmer-Parkers—a wife, a husband, and two young sons—were perfectly lovely and almost always out on social calls, which suited Charlotte and Lady Lucas very well. Mother and daughter took advantage of their freedom to indulge in a performance of Bach by a talented string quartet, and did a little shopping in the town proper, though Mary was never far from Charlotte’s thoughts.
On the carriage ride to Amberhurst, Charlotte was plagued by memories of her first journey there, of hearing birdsong in the trees while Mary’s warm fingers pressed her own. She talked rather a little too much to make up for it, and pressed her mother for even the slightest detail of Meryton gossip which had not already been picked over like a carcass left in the sun.
She watched her mother’s face carefully as the carriage rumbled up the driveway of Amberhurst, and when the house came into view, Lady Lucas looked suitably impressed. Mr Mellor was waiting for them on the front steps, wearing a red tailcoat that made him look like a particular rotund, merry robin, and was effusive in his delight. He was proud but not vain about his estate, charming without being obsequious. The tour through the house itself was a little more extensive than on Charlotte’s previous visit, and the waterfall, the house, the glasshouses were all admired and praised to the highest degree.
Over an extravagant lunch, Mr Mellor told the story of Charlotte’s detective work, while she modestly chimed in here and there. By the end of the tale, Lady Lucas looked agog.
“Well, Mama?” Charlotte said. “What say you?”
“I think I would quite like to live at Amberhurst myself,” Lady Lucas said, smiling fondly at her eldest daughter. “I see precisely what appeals to you, and I believe you would be happy here. I must say, I had no idea you had such an aptitude for solving mysteries.”
“Neither did I.” Charlotte blushed. “Though I suspect I could only do so if they were plant related.”
“I’m more than happy to have my lawyer draft some kind of agreement, Lady Lucas,” Mr Mellor suggested, “if that would make your family feel more secure. Mrs Collins will have every comfort money can buy, and all I ask in return is her care and dedication to the flowers which I adore with all my heart.”
“And—” Lady Lucas leaned forward. “I hope the question is not a forward one, but…what if you should marry? A wife might not like your female gardener.”
“Marriage is not to my taste, I’m afraid,” Mr Mellor said. “I’m certain I wouldn’t like it one whit. And at my time of life, I am quite content to live as I am.”
A well-muscled footman trotted by, and Mr Mellor’s eyes followed him. Lady Lucas raised an eyebrow. Charlotte braced herself for some sort of outburst, but her mother only smiled. “Then I believe the matter is settled.”
Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. She had been prepared to accept regardless, but hearing that her parents approved—nay, supported the idea—was a great weight off her shoulders.