Page 13 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
He caught her tone and halted his departure, saying earnestly, ‘I am very glad I stayed, Mrs Collins. It is a pleasure to make a new friend.’
‘Indeed, Colonel. Good day’.
He left, and she shut the door gently, standing pensively in the hall a few moments, before being interrupted by the sound of Mrs Brooke coming in the back door.
A moment later, the housekeeper appeared in the hall, saying, ‘Oh, madam, I saw a gentleman leaving – did I miss a visit? I’m sorry if so—’
‘Please do not make yourself uneasy, Brooke. It was Colonel Fitzwilliam, come to call on Miss Elizabeth, and she is out. He did not stay long.’
CHAPTER VII
It was on Easter day – or rather, that evening – that they were next to dine at Rosings. It was apparent that Lady Catherine had no other options, for she invited the Hunsford party only that morning, to fill up her table.
It being Rosings, and Easter, Charlotte felt justified in wearing one of her best dresses and doing her hair finely. She sat at her dressing table in the late afternoon light, looking in the mirror – a rare activity for her – scrutinising her face and her body. She wore a blue-grey gown that matched her eyes, cut low and tightly laced. It suited her well. She had a tall, slim figure, a thin waist, strong shoulders, slender arms, and she could afford a low neckline without, as her mother would say,putting on an exhibition. She looked at her face: not much changed in the last few years. Not many lines around her eyes and mouth. Perhaps she had not laughed much lately, she pondered. Her hair was prettily arranged, with a few heat-curled strands hanging down that softened her features.
Her pale face was not pretty, she knew. She knew this from evidence – from the lack of interest in it. As a child, of course, her mother and her aunt had made the usual cooing remarks, ‘adorable’, ‘delightful’, ‘sweet’, but from the age a girl starts to care about her looks, the word ‘beautiful’ was never once ascribed to her and she noticed the omission. She was never calledpretty, norhandsome, and had more than once overheard herself described asplain.More often than that, her appearance had solicited noremark at all.But her faceshouldhave garnered interest, because itwasinteresting: eyes that wandered from blue to grey depending on the light, a long narrow nose, a mouth too wide for the fashion, a smile too broad when it was employed. She sat awkwardly between men’s fantasies: a face neither plump nor delicate, a body neither luxurious nor petite.
Charlotte looked down at her flat stomach. It was early in her marriage but she still wondered when she might expect a change. She did not know how often the act must be performed to make a child, but she supposed it was more often than the three or four times they had managed. She must remember to ask her mother.
Part of her longed to be with child, to feel absolutely sure of her purpose – to be the most important person in someone’s life and to feel a pull, an undeniable tie, to someone else – that would be something.
Still, she thought, there was plenty of time. And until such time, she could wear this dress, pulled tight. And she felt good in it. Special.
The smooth, translucent skin of her décolletage was striking. She touched her pale neck and her collarbone, imagined feeling somebody else touching them. It brought a flush to her cheeks, which she caught in the mirror. She had a pretty white ribbon threaded through her hair, which made her feel like a débutante. She smiled broadly, at herself. In that moment, she felt she should be desirable. She pictured herself in a moment of passion, envisioned a life in which someone might crave her. She imagined being kissed by someone who knew how and who could not wait to kiss her. She pressed two fingers hard onto her lips, leaving them ruddy and pink. She tasted for a moment what it was like to feel womanly, to feel attractive.
‘My dear, make haste – the carriage is here!’ called Mr Collins up the stairs.
She let her lips fall straight. ‘Foolish,’ she said out loud, shaking herself out of the pretence. She tucked the strands of hair tightly behind her ears, pinning them in place, with more vigour than was necessary. She looked again at herself in the low blue dress, sighed, and hastily began to make alterations. She added a white chemisette underneath the dress, rendering its deep neckline redundant. Before she left her bedroom for Rosings, she was transformed. Now fully covered from the top of her blue dress to the middle of her neck, her entire front was safely concealed in white lace. She placed an embroidered cap over her dark hair. She pulled the frilled collar tight around her neck. She would be the very picture of a vicar’s wife. She would be seen as modest. She would hardly be seen.
That evening, she was placed between Lady Catherine’s daughter, Anne, and her companion, Mrs Jenkinson, whose conversation was limited, requiring great effort on Charlotte’s part. Meanwhile, Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam vied over the attentions of Elizabeth, who was resplendent in peach satin and looked prettier than ever. Elizabeth was dared to play the piano and did so faux-reluctantly and, in Charlotte’s opinion, poorly. It did not diminish her in the eyes of both gentlemen – it seemed to add to her charms somehow.
Charlotte longed to be asked to play. She was a good pianist and could roll out some Clementi that would stun them all as easily as she could butter her bread. But she was not asked, and she was not a part of that lively gathering. She watched Elizabeth and Darcy and Fitzwilliam and Maria even, chatting loudly and moving about the room, doing what they pleased, and she felt more detached from that world than ever.
She had wanted a settled life, hadn’t she? But how she longed to throw off her cap, drink too much wine, smash out a sonata and laugh and laugh with Eliza and be flirted with by a soldier and shock the lady of the house and be looked at, and belooked at.
The day after the Rosings dinner was Easter Monday and Charlotte was to make her duty-bound visits to parishioners in need. On this occasion, she took her sister with her. Maria had always been light-hearted, a good foil for Charlotte as a sibling. She had none of Charlotte’s seriousness, and she did not overthink. At eighteen, she was pretty: not just with a clear, rosy complexion, wide eyes and golden hair that curled naturally, but also with good health and openness and a ready smile and a near-constant amazement with what she saw. It had occasionally irritated Charlotte how she seemed to dance through life without a single vexation. But on this trip, she saw how her sister glowed. She seemed to shine on the people they visited; her positivity, her smiles and her light step were infectious. And this generous cheering of spirits was not an accident but applied deliberately.
Charlotte knew this only after leaving the last house. This had been that of Colonel Raeworth, who had lost a leg in the battles in Spain and lived alone. He said Maria reminded him of his daughter and had let her open his dusty curtains to the spring sun, something he had not allowed anyone else to do.
As the sisters left, Charlotte saw the moment Maria’s seemingly boundless smile fell, her step gain a little weight and her chatter cease.
‘Are you well?’ asked Charlotte.
‘Oh, yes!’ Maria tried to reinvigorate herself. ‘I am a little tired. I do not know why, though; I did not do anything, not like you.’
Charlotte smiled and linked arms with her sister, pulling her close. ‘You did. You must know you did. You gave them all the smiles you have to give today. You beamed your sunshine on them until it dimmed. I think it is a wonderful gift to have, but it is tiring to maintain such a light. You need not smile with me, sister; be at peace.’
The pair ambled home, a journey of a mile or so, in step with each other. As they entered the parsonage, ready to flop into chairs,they were both shocked to discover Mr Darcy there, talking to Elizabeth alone. He was embarrassed and explained that when he set out, he had assumed a full party would be in the house.
Did you indeed?thought Charlotte, looking at his flustered face. They were all now standing, and Elizabeth was making eyes at Charlotte – raised eyebrows and a slight head shake to convey that she was as baffled by the visit as anyone.
Darcy made no eye contact, hastily made his excuses and left, leaving the three ladies to ruthlessly pick over every word and gesture of the visit. It was so very unlike him, Elizabeth ventured, to make a visit purely out of politeness and with no object.
Charlotte suggested that he must indeed have an object and that it was clear what it was. ‘My dear Eliza, he must be in love with you, or he would never have called on us in this familiar way.’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I know you think that, but it cannot be. He has no compliments for me; he is not gentle in his words and remains as awkward and unrelenting as ever.’
‘I think he does not know how to make his suit. Just because he is a handsome, wealthy gentleman—’
