Page 77 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
‘Oh no. I, a woman? I have no power in such matters. But I know better men than you. And they do.’
Wickham was outraged. He spoke quietly but with fury, trying to loom over her. ‘A woman who would tear down a man’s livelihood on a whim might remember that he has a wife and family who rely on his income, so who is she truly punishing?’
Charlotte inwardly scoffed to hear how quickly he brought to mind his child, whom he had only a moment ago been so keen to leave the country to get away from.
‘Your wife and child are amply provided for by their relations. This has always been assured. Any hardship arising from a lack of position and income is felt only by you. This does not give me pause.’
‘All because of – nothing! It was nothing; you flatter yourself that I made any serious advance!’
Charlotte had never seen him so worked up, spitting and floundering, losing the cool nonchalance that he usually wore like a uniform.
‘And are you so afraid of a man’s company that you should react so? Or perhaps, as I always suspected, you prefer the company of—’
‘I do not think of you as a man.’
Wickham scoffed, then paused, desperately seeking a rejoinder. Swaggering, he offered, ‘As a beast, I imagine.’ He looked pleased with this.
Charlotte turned her face up to meet his, unflinching. ‘Nothing so exciting. A mouse – small and grubby. There are thousands like you, and just when you think you have rid the world of one, another appears. You are an irritation, Mr Wickham, but ultimately you make no more impact on a person than to occasionally put them off their dinner. And what you will leave behind in this life, when you are dead, is only crumbs.’
Charlotte exited his orbit quickly, without taking leave, and did not look back to see his face.
If she had, she would have seen a man turning from red to grey. His energy left him for a moment, and he was deflated. Buta minute later, another guest approached him, and his devilish smile returned. Men like he are not easily depleted. Charlotte’s words and actions would make a notch in his esteem and make his life materially more difficult, but here was a man who would grin even while the noose was around his neck. The best one could hope for was that he be humbled by circumstance, encountered as seldom as possible – or that he, one day, be put out of his misery while he scrambled for a piece of cheese.
CHAPTER III
Mr Collins had thrown himself with vigour into the work of managing the estate. It was still early in his tenure and he had much to learn, but he had always been a quick study. With the help of Mr Bennet’s land steward, a Mr Thacker, he was introduced to the duties and people he would be managing. If the tenants and the staff thought Mr Collins eccentric, they also saw a man who was trying. This was a new world for him, and he was daunted but excited. In fact, the spring of 1813 was perhaps the happiest season Mr Collins had ever passed. Every day, he was learning something new, was tested and was pleased to find himself mostly up to the task.
This applied not only to his new position but to his marriage. He fancied that he was, belatedly, learning how to be a good husband – finally understanding Charlotte’s ways and anticipating her needs. He could not quite term his last year with Charottetumultuous– the shifting ground of their marriage had not been an earthquake, but it had felt continually rocked by small yet constant tremors. He had felt, at times, as if her heart were miles from him, and he had worried, on more than one occasion, that she regretted marrying him. He had wondered if the lack of children was a cause for this. They had tried again, sporadically, in the months after their loss, but to no avail. He was sorry indeed for that.
But around the time of Mr Bennet’s death, she had started to come back to him. The timing made him think that perhaps she had been homesick and missing her family and that the move backto Hertfordshire would be a return to familiarity. Or perhaps she had simply disliked living at Hunsford and needed a fresh start. But speculation as to the reason was now futile: his wife was more content than he had seen her; he would not waste time wondering why.
One of the lessons he had learnt was that she needed to see her family and friends more often. Never having had any family whom he would wish to see, he had overlooked that aspect of her life. He now understood that she needed to visit Lucas Lodge or Netherfield and eventually even Pemberley again – and that, sometimes,heshould not be present.
She had told him, one evening, that she did not care for hearing the Bible read aloud, nor evenFordyce’s Sermons. This had shocked him at first, but when she offered other choices of text – poems and histories – he had been willing to try them. He found little pleasure in poetry, not understanding its meaning or purpose. He got on better with her historical texts, which sometimesshewould read aloud tohim. He was aware that their interests did not align perfectly, but they had found a middle ground that suited their purpose well enough.
Theirs was not a passionate marriage. Intimacy, in that regard, was always something of an arduous duty. He had never experienced that act as being comfortable or satisfying, so clouded was it by uncertainty and awkwardness. He had not had a father, brother or friend to whom he could talk about such matters, so he had no means of comparison and continued in ignorance. Relations were infrequent – he would not allow them to cease entirely, mindful of his duty as a husband – but his wife neither pressed for more nor seemed discontented by its diminution. He, for his part, was equally content with their almost platonic day-to-day, and he felt no less intimate with her for it.
‘Have you received word from anyone in Hunsford yet, my dear?’ asked Mr Collins, as they sat in the drawing room one balmy evening in early June.
‘I have. Mrs Taylor sent me news of what the ladies of the church are undertaking and their plans for the summer fair. And I have had a letter from Miss de Bourgh.’
‘MissAnnede Bourgh?’
‘The very same.’
‘But what can she have to say to you, my dear? I am surprised that, considering matters in her life must be so elevated, she should deign to share them. What condescension!’
‘They are not so elevated, William. She shares some of the same concerns we once did: courtship, a desire to marry… and I believe her desire may be fulfilled before long.’
Collins’s eyes widened further at this. ‘And she has confided this toyou?’
Charlotte was not offended at his amazement; it spoke more of his own humility than his opinion of her. ‘She has confided some things. Nothing is certain. We must not speak of it to anyone.’
‘No indeed,’ replied Collins with vigour. He looked briefly down at his book, then ponderously asked, ‘Have you had any correspondence pertaining to Mr Smithson?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Well, I only wondered what news he brought of the church and, well…’ He faltered. ‘I was curious about his affairs.’
