Page 56 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
Wickham slowly rallied himself, stood up, rubbing his neck, and turned to look at Fitzwilliam, then at Charlotte. ‘Is this your protector, Miss Lucas?’ He laughed. ‘I had no idea you would be sogallantlydefended!’ He started to walk towards Charlotte, his eyes on her, as if Fitzwilliam were not present. ‘We could ask him to leave again?’ He chuckled to himself.
Charlotte would not look away. She met his eyes without blinking or response.
Irritated by this, Wickham turned his gaze to Fitzwilliam and said, ‘What a fuss, Colonel. Is it just that you hoped to have a go yourself? I warn you, she’s a little frigid at first but—’
Fitzwilliam’s fist had met Wickham’s face before he uttered the last word, and Wickham’s body had twisted and fallen from the blow before Charlotte fully knew what had happened.
This time, Wickham remained down.
Fitzwilliam turned now, to look at Charlotte fully for the first time. He sought her eyes, and she, seeing his concern, felt the force of the moment upon her, and her composure broke. She sobbed, and her body was wracked by trembling as she stood. Her shoulders rounded over, and her arms folded in, as if making a protective shell.
He so wanted to wrap his arms around her, to be an armour for her, a shield, but that seemed like the last thing she would want in this moment.
Charlotte felt flooded by feelings, and she had neither the capacity nor the desire to convey them to Fitzwilliam; she did not wish to be close to any man at this moment.
Just then, as if a silent prayer had been answered, Elizabeth entered the room. ‘Charlotte, I heard—’ She paused at thethreshold, saw Wickham on the floor, not moving, and then turned and took in Charlotte, huddled over, in tears, and Fitzwilliam, standing a little way from her. Within a moment, she had an idea of what had happened. It was something like what she had always feared.
Elizabeth was enraged and brimming with feeling, but like Charlotte, she could be relied upon in a crisis. She did not give in to her inner wish – to walk over to Wickham and stamp on his neck. It would help neither her friend nor the situation.
She was decisive. She deftly took Charlotte’s arm, gently moved her hair from her face, put a firm hand on her waist and said, ‘Come with me, Charlotte.’ And then, turning back to Fitzwilliam, ‘Find Darcy, please – tell him what has happened, and he will know what to do…’ She paused a moment, and added, ‘I am glad you were here.’
Fitzwilliam, himself rather shaken, simply nodded, but his eyes were only on Charlotte as she was led out the room.
CHAPTER V
Charlotte sat up in bed, fiddling idly with her emerald ring, which she had taken to wearing every day since the morning her mother had left Hunsford. She was still in her nightdress. She looked around the room. She had been here a few nights now and was growing more used to the grandeur of her surroundings, but it still felt odd. The four posts of her bed loomed above her, draped in red, matching the vast Persian rug covering the floor, on which sat a mahogany table and four chairs. Charlotte had laughed at the set-up when she first arrived: who was inviting four people into their bedroom of an evening?
Her eyes fell on the dress that lay over one of the chairs, the one she had worn last night. It would need mending. It had gotten torn a little at the waist and at the neckline. Or rather,hehad torn it,’ she thought. It hadn’t torn all by itself.
She looked away from the dress.
Breakfast had been brought to her room at Elizabeth’s suggestion, and she was grateful – not that she had much appetite, but she was glad not to have to face anybody yet, especially those who had witnessed, or knew about, the events of last night. Those people numbered no more than three, she hoped: Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth and Darcy. She would certainly not be adding to that. Alice had brought her breakfast, and as glad as she was to see her, Charlotte counted her as yet another person from whom she must conceal the truth.
She heard a clattering and rumbling outside her window – a carriage arriving? Ah yes, she remembered: the Bennet family were to return to Longbourn after breakfast, having already stayed for a week or so. It brought back to Charlotte the very same sounds she had heard in the early hours.
Charlotte had not been party to all that had occurred after Eliza took her from the music room. She had brought Charlotte up here to her bedroom and stayed with her a little while before finally leaving her friend to rest. Charlotte had not been able to sleep at first, reliving the scene in her head and wondering where Wickham was now and what was happening downstairs. But twenty minutes later, alerted by noises outside, Charlotte had watched from the window as a weeping Lydia and the stumbling figure of her husband were put into a carriage and driven away at speed.
After that, Charlotte’s body had surrendered itself to a deep, heavy sleep that had carried her easily into mid-morning the next day.
When she had first woken, she hadn’t recognised where she was and had a pleasant moment or two of recollecting whose house she was in, enjoying the comfort of the bed and the light shining into the room. And then the memory of the night before descended on her, like a cloud across the sun. She grew a little colder, and felt a tremble return to her body, and her heart starting to beat faster.
She had managed to calm herself before her body overtook her, but now, a little numb, she was left alone with her feelings.
What consumed her most was anger: anger at him, but also a little at herself. She berated herself for indulging him as long as she had; why had she not left the room as soon as he entered? Why had she conversed with him at all? Her cautiousness in not causing offence had played directly against any cautiousness in protecting her person.
Charlotte could not help but think that her experiences of intimacy were cursed: Mr Collins had been her first and only physical encounter with a gentleman, and the attempts in the marital bed had been perfunctory and uninspiring, but they had at least been gentle at every step, even to the point of her frustration. Her consent had been based on a sense of obligation, but she had, at least, given it.
To go from that to the actions of last night, with no other experience in between, was a bitter revelation. She knew instinctively that the attack from Wickham was not based on desire for her but a desire to win and to belittle. And on the other side, she had never even felt much longing from her husband in his overtures, only something closer to a duty well observed. Therefore, at this moment, she felt entirely unwanted and small and weak. She had never been truly desired by anyone, she thought, and last night’s act seemed to prove it, though the appearance of it would betray otherwise.
It was as if her view of the world had been a little broken, and she with it.
Her thoughts were interrupted, perhaps fortuitously, by Elizabeth, who knocked and entered, treading softly. ‘You are awake. How do you feel?’
Charlotte considered. ‘I do not know. Not well.’ She shrugged.
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Might you come down? You do not have to, but… a continuing absence will be asked about, and to avoid the effort of lying, it might be easier to…’ Elizabeth struggled to complete her point.
‘I know what you mean. And you are right. I will be down shortly.’
