Page 42 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
‘Did you… ?’ asked Charlotte.
‘I have been waiting up, madam, just in case.’
At this kindness, Charlotte’s face and body crumpled, and Brooke, though petite, held her firmly. After a moment or two, she helped her mistress to sit on the stair. Charlotte, usually so resolute and decisive, felt entirely helpless in the face of what was happening to her. ‘I do not know what to do…’
‘Let me put you in the blue bedroom, madam. Come with me.’ She helped Charlotte up and led her into the guest bedroom down the corridor.
When Charlotte was safely installed in bed, Brooke took her hands, saying, ‘I will stay with you, madam.’ She gently smoothed Charlotte’s hair back from her face.
Charlotte kept trying to say that she did not know what to do, and on top of her current distress, she seemed alarmed that she could not direct what was to happen.
Mrs Brooke tried to reassure her, on that score at least, where no other consolation could be given. ‘I have helped others with this before; I know what to do. Let me look after you.’
Charlotte nodded limply, her eyes dull.
Brooke looked at Charlotte, her face sweating with effort, her cheek stained with tears. She was already very fond of her mistress. Although the loss of a baby was all too common, it was not any less catastrophic each and every time. She knew too well the toll it would take on Charlotte, on her feelings and on her body.
After some time, Charlotte’s eyes closed, and she seemed to have drifted off, her body and mind demanding a moment of recovery, in spite of it all.Let her sleep,thought Mrs Brooke,while she can.She leant over and kissed her young mistress on the forehead and went to fetch some water.
The days that followed were a lesson in kindness and cooperation. A time that is among life’s worst can bring out the very best in people, and so it proved.
Mr Collins was roused from his bed early by Mrs Brooke (who wisely predicted he would panic upon waking and discovering the state of his bed and Charlotte gone), and he was in need of comfort also. His first thought was of Charlotte, but she did not wish to see him as she was, so he was sent to the village to fetch the local midwife. He returned with her within the hour.
Whenever he was in the house, he could hear that Charlotte was in a great deal of pain, and yet he was not admitted to the room. It was hard on him; banned from the entire upstairs, he was left alone, while the women pulled together tightly.
He retreated to his study to pray and was left alone with his thoughts, desperate for something to do, to help. There was very little.
Two days later, when Collins was finally admitted to see Charlotte, he found her looking blankly out of the window. Her face was as pale as the pillow she leant on. She had been dressed warmly, a gown covering her up to her neck, but her body was still shaken at intervals by a shiver that came and went.
He walked to the end of the bed, not daring to approach her.
She still didn’t look at him, so he cleared his throat and said softly, ‘Charlotte? My dear?’
She glanced at him but could not hold his gaze, turning quickly to stare at the wall. Her eyes were now bone dry, but his filled with tears to see her like this.
Mr Collins knelt at his wife’s side. ‘I am most sorry for it,’ he said, with all the compassion he could pour on her.
She could only nod.
‘We will try again.’
He offered this as a comfort, but it was not a solace at this moment. She had no thoughts to spare for the future – only for what she had lost.
Seeing that he had not helped, he pivoted to the practical. ‘Is there anything I can fetch you, for your comfort?’
Charlotte shook her head but then stopped herself. ‘My mother. I would like to see my mother.’
‘I took the liberty of writing to her when first – that is, I wrote to her two days ago. I hope she may arrive today.’
Charlotte looked at him in amazement. She grasped his hands. ‘Thank you,’ she said earnestly. She had never appreciated him more than in that moment.
In the days following her mother’s arrival, Charlotte took up the task of writing to Elizabeth. She found the letter surprisingly tiring to compose, but once accomplished, she was glad of it.
10th October 1812
Dear Eliza,
I write to you with bad news. I am no longer with child. I had the first signs that this was happening a few days ago, and my body has now given it up. Mrs Brooke tended me with great care, and my mother is now here and will stay a while. Her absence in Meryton may be noticed. She suggested I write to you. I do not think she had in mind a full confessional but, if I write to you, I must tell the truth, or else why make the effort at all.
