Page 18 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
‘Oh! Your absence will be felt greatly by all, Colonel,’ replied Mr Collins, dripping in sycophancy.
He would have gone on further if Charlotte, seated next to the carriage door, had not interrupted with, ‘Well then, we hope to see you, and if we do not, we wish you well.’
‘Indeed, Mrs Collins.’ His gaze swept over the group just before their departure, and landed on Charlotte. His eyes remained there as the horses began to move, and as he uttered, over the sound of the wheels turning, ‘I wish you peace.’
CHAPTER IX
The church of St Thomas the Apostle stood on a hill on the west side of the village of Hunsford. It was a rather squat Norman building, with a large number of stained-glass windows that were the envy of vicars across the county of Kent, if Mr Collins were to be believed, which he ought not to be. It was maintained by the church warden, a verger, a gardener and gravedigger – and Mrs Collins.
It ran the risk of being gloomy inside, its celebrated stained-glass windows rather dimming the natural light in the nave, and so Charlotte made it her regular duty to brighten the interior by adding extra candles (in winter or for evensong), hanging draperies and bringing and arranging flowers. This was already done by ladies of the parish, but she thought their efforts were rather meagre, verging on Quakerish.
On this bright April day, she had made the church ready for the next day’s morning service, with a generous spread of white blooms all over – around every window, down the aisle, across the altar – until it seemed as though all was covered with a blanket of snow. The light was now beginning to dim slightly as she contrived to hang further greenery from the pillars, and she was perched atop a ladder, adding these touches with no small degree of precariousness, when she heard the church door open. From her view behind a pillar, she could not see who it was; nor navigate her way down, in all her layers, very quickly.
‘Hallo?’ she called.
‘Hallo?’ came back a man’s voice, sounding bewildered. She did not immediately recognise it, echoing as it did around the empty stone church.
‘Who is there?’
‘Is that you, Mrs Collins?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Where are you? I cannot see you. I feel as if I am speaking to a celestial being; it is unnerving.’
Charlotte laughed, recognising the voice. ‘I am behind the pillar, Colonel.’
She waved a hand to her right, which extended out far enough to be seen, and he spotted it and walked to her hiding place. She was up a good six feet in the air on a wooden ladder, which Colonel Fitzwilliam thought risky – he held the lower rungs to secure it while she tied the bouquet up. They didn’t speak until she had finished.
She made her way down the ladder, minding her skirts, and he offered his hand for the final two steps. She smiled and shook her head – it is not helpful to take your hand off a ladder when descending with care – but she appreciated the gesture.
As she reached the bottom and turned around to face him, she realised they had accidentally ended up very close to each other, and she took a step back to remedy it. In doing so, she stepped against the edge of the ladder and knocked it sideways.
Instinctively, Fitzwilliam lunged forward to steady the ladder before it toppled, grabbing at it with his outstretched arm – only to unbalance himself. It was rather farcical, and in an attempt to steady himself, he clamped his other hand down on Charlotte’s waist and unwittingly trapped her against the pillar with the full length of his body. (The ladder, crucially, was saved.)
This all took a matter of a few seconds, and once their composure and equilibrium had been regained, he looked horrified, while Charlotte was laughing heartily.
Once he saw this, he joined her. ‘I am so sorry, Mrs Collins; I should not have tried to be a hero. Are you unharmed?’
‘I am very well, sir; pray do not concern yourself. And your instinct to rescue ladders in distress must surely be praised.’
Her tone was serious, but he caught the glimpse of sarcasm in her and laughed again. ‘I suppose not every gentleman can live up to such gallantry.’
‘Indeed not, and a good job, too – women would be swooning throughout the day.’
They chuckled as they made their way towards the back of the church, where she had left her coat and basket. She removed her apron as she walked, her hands untying the strings from around her waist.
She had reacted casually to his touch, but she felt it now, as if his hand had been as hot as a branding iron. How tightly he had gripped her waist, how instinctively, pressing down on her hip bone to steady her, while her face was scratched by the stubble on his cheek as he leant over her. His grip was so different from the mild touch of her husband. She would not forget the feeling quickly and was grateful for the chance to walk it off.
‘What brings you to St Thomas’s on a Saturday, Colonel?’ she said lightly.
‘I come to take my leave. After such a pleasurable stay, I am called back to Spain.’
‘Ah, of course.’ She had known it must be soon. ‘You leave tomorrow?’
‘Early in the morning, yes. ’
‘It is generous of you to make the time, sir, in your haste. You came here expecting to see the rector, I presume?’
