Page 84 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
‘I would not call it a talent,’ chuckled Mr Poulteney, ‘but William learnt his own way of doing things. I could not be happier that he found someone like you, Mrs Collins. I was not sure that he would.’
Charlotte felt a deep stab of remorse. She felt oddly inclined to be open with this stranger, almost more than anyone else in the room. ‘I have not been the wife I should have been, sir.’
Mr Poulteney did not enquire what she meant but only nodded, saying, ‘None of us is perfect in our marriage. I doubt he was the perfect husband.’
Charlotte looked down but did not respond. She was shaking her head, tears in her eyes, ‘But I – I was not…’ She struggled to continue.
Mr Poulteney took her hands then and said, ‘Try not to dwell on what you were not, my dear, but on what youwere. What I see from those here today is that you were loved by him. Do not underestimate the joy that can be found in bestowing your love on another. The boy I knew would never have expected such riches. It seems that he found happiness. That is no small thing. Perhaps you took longer to reach it. But were you able to find it, in the end?’
Through tears, she looked up at him and replied, truthfully, ‘I was.’
It was the middle of the night. The doctor had gone home earlier that day, when Mr Collins had fallen into unconsciousness, but before he left, he had indicated to Charlotte what she already knew: that there was nothing to be done.
Charlotte had managed to fall into an uneasy sleep, kneeling on the wooden floor beside her husband’s bed, her upper body slumped forward, with her head and arms resting on the mattress. The book she was reading to him had slipped from her hands and now lay open on the blanket.
Collins stirred a little, murmuring, waking her with a start. For the first time in two days, he opened his eyes a crack and appeared to show signs of understanding.
‘William?’ She raised herself up to sit on the edge of the bed, and took his hand, mindful that in his delirium of the last two days,his only fear had been that she was not with him. She leant over so he could see her more clearly and, through tears, smiled at him.
He attempted to return it and gave her hand the gentlest squeeze – just enough to show he was still there. He only looked at her; speech seemed beyond him. But she knew that he saw her and heard her.
She said, ‘I am here.’
With that reassurance, he closed his eyes, as if satisfied, and his breathing became at first more laboured, and then lighter and lighter until she could hardly detect it.
And then it came no more.
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 therewas 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 ofit 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.
