Page 48 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
He slipped out of the room and found refuge in his study, consulting the Bible on what best to do.
30th October 1812
Dearest Charlotte,
I saw your mother in Meryton this week, and she told me (not in explicit terms, but it was understood) that you are no longer with child. I am so sorry, my dear friend. I wish I were there to soothe you in whatever way I might. I hope very much that I will see you soon and can be a better friend to you once you are close by (I do not offer this hope idly – read on).
Things have been very busy here – Jane is married already. She and Bingley wed from the church at Longbourn as soon as the banns were read and are now travelling, visiting various members of his family – she was in Cheshire the last I heard, with plans for the Welsh borders: not my idea of post-marital delight, but she sounds, from her letters, exceedingly happy. I have been rather putting off naming the day of my own wedding until I know for certain when she will return. However, I will not wait longer; Mr Darcy and I are both keen to settle it, given the objections still standing. So, Darcy has applied for a licence and wishes to marry at Pemberley, and having seen the chapel there, I am more than happy to oblige him. And so I come to another purpose to my letter.
I invite Mr Collins and yourself to join us at Pemberley on 20th November, to attend our wedding and to stay for two weeks after – or three if you can spare the time. My hope is that this might be a welcome distraction from your troubles and that it will be a comfort to be in one another’s company (and possibly Jane’s, too, if she ever leaves the alluring realm of Bolton). Darcy is in accord with my wish that you should stay on after the wedding, for I have told him you are in need of friendship more now than ever, and he is most eager that you should come. And your husband, of course.
It is not to be a large party. Apart from immediate family, we have invited only you (and Mr Collins, naturally) and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, who will be Darcy’s best man. I am acutely aware that their aunt, Lady Catherine, is against the match, and I have no doubt she will put obstacles in the way of any scheme of mine. Therefore, I do not know whether Colonel Fitzwilliam will feel he can attend, but I hope he may, out of loyalty to Darcy. (I also suspect he rather likes an adventure?) That is, as long as his leg is up to it. I hear reports that he is doing better in that regard.
If you should feel able to come – and I so hope you shall – it is in my power (ha! It is in Darcy’s power, but now that is one and the same) to send a carriage for you. Please write back and tell me that you may!
Oh, I feel I have not said the right thing to you, or enough. Forgive me. I do not know what is best to say, but when I see you, I trust I shall know how to comfort you.
Your loving friend,
Eliza
CHAPTER II
It was still early in the morning, not quite light, when Charlotte’s trunk was loaded onto the carriage that waited in the drive of Hunsford Parsonage. Mr Collins fretted around, checking the wheels, tapping the doors, and then, realising he had little input into the workings of the vehicle, he went back into the house and brought out an extra shawl for Charlotte, which was an unnecessary but kind gesture. He wore a look of great concern, while she wore one of cheerful determination. She knew that if she showed even a hint of apprehension about the plan, he would falter, so she showed even more confidence than she felt.
‘I do not like the scheme, Charlotte. What if you are set upon by highwaymen? Mr Darcy’s carriage is extremely provocative in that regard.’
‘What have I to offer highwayman, my dear? They should find themselves terribly disappointed.’
‘It is no laughing matter. The highways are safer than they were, but it is by no means guaranteed that you will find safe passage – the Great Dover Road used to be notorious!’
‘William, I shall be at Lucas Lodge by this afternoon, and from there onwards, I will be accompanied by Alice.’
‘You will allow me to remain apprehensive; Alice will be a comfort but hardly a protector. Perhaps I should, after all, go with you.’ He glanced towards the house, wringing his hands.
After Elizabeth’s letter had been received, a decision had had to be reached: whether the Collinses should attend the wedding and stay for a fortnight after, or not. Their respective positions seemed to oppose one another.
In the dilemma this presented, Charlotte saw a chance for something she now realised she had longed for: some time alone – some time apart. So, she had set herself to making it happen. Instead of allaying her husband’s fears about Lady Catherine, she concurred with them. The only sensible option, she argued, was for Collins to remain. Meanwhile, she pointed out the courtesy due to Mr Darcy, as her ladyship’s nephew; was it not sensible to retain his favour, thinking ahead to a future where he and his aunt would certainly be reunited? The only sensible option, she argued, was for her to go.
Charlotte was calculating. She felt some guilt about that, but not an abundance: being clever about her life had been a necessity so far, and her scheming was, after all, what had brought her and Collins together. Was it so bad to use the same tools to give her some time away from him?
There were several reasons why Collins did not want to come, even setting aside his patron’s disapproval; he did not feel at ease with Elizabeth Bennet or her family, and he suffered with sickness on long journeys. None of it appealed to him. And yet Charlotte knew that all those issues would have been nothing to him, had she asked him to come with her. He would have done so in an instant. But she did not ask him.
As the practicalities of such a long journey might yet have swayed the decision, Charlotte used all the administrative powers she had to make the journey appear achievable, writing promptly to her mother, and to Elizabeth, to settle the finer details of the journey. To Elizabeth, she did not state clearly that she would attend alone, preferring to explain Collins’s position in person and not wishing to invite any questions.
In due course, all was arranged: Darcy would send a carriage for her (indeed, for both the Collinses, as was presumed by he and Elizabeth), and Charlotte would travel to Derbyshire via her family home in Hertfordshire, and then, accompanied by Alice, her old maid from Lucas Lodge, she would travel on to Pemberley. It was a substantial undertaking, and Charlotte had needed to stay very firm in her convictions to persuade all involved that she could do it. But she could. And she would.
Just as she was about to take her leave of Mr Collins, another carriage was heard approaching. Turning, she saw a small gig rounding the corner of the drive. It settled not far from where they stood, and with some help from the coachman, the figure of Colonel Fitzwilliam descended from the carriage and stood in front of them. He wore a long green coat and top hat and leant on a walking stick. He appeared in good spirits and was looking expectantly at them and at the larger carriage in front of him.
Neither party had seen the other for many weeks, and much had transpired in the interval; some degree of awkwardness was to be expected – though perhaps not quite so much as presently prevailed.
Mr Collins, to hide his confusion, launched immediately into formalities, bowing low. ‘Colonel Fitzwilliam! An unexpected honour. How may we help you at such an early hour?’
Fitzwilliam was thrown by the question. ‘Unexpected? But—’ He sensed something had gone amiss. ‘You are travelling to Pemberley, I think? I have not misremembered the day? The presence of the chaise suggests I have not.’
‘This carriage goes to Pemberley, yes,’ answered Charlotte uncertainly.
‘And I am to share it with you both. Were you unaware of the scheme? Darcy told me that he was sending a carriage for the Collinses and that I should travel with you, as we make the same journey.’ He looked at their blank faces. ‘I see that you were unaware. That, I am afraid, is an oversight on the part of my cousin. I thought he had written to you.’
