Page 7 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
Mr Collins showed her around the downstairs: his reading room, the drawing room, the dining room, and then a charming sitting room with bookshelves lining all of one wall and a comfortable-looking chair in one corner.
‘I had thought this could be yours, Charlotte, for your own pursuits. I am not a voracious reader, but you see I have had shelves installed recently for the accommodation of your own books, of which I supposed you might have many and like to collect more in the future.’ He paused, looking around the room, checking it was as he had left it. Then he looked at her for approval.
Charlotte felt the thoughtfulness of this gesture and, as occasionally happened, saw again a glimpse of the more thoughtful, agreeable side of her husband. Turning to him with real happiness, she said, ‘I think it is perfectly suited to me. I like it very much. Thank you.’ And she meant it.
Mr Collins’s face transformed with the joy of a scheme done well, and he gave a quiet grunt of satisfaction.
Shortly after this, Mrs Brooke showed her around the upper floors and, at Charlotte’s request, promised to save any explanation of the more intricate aspects of household management until tomorrow. The house was not large compared to Lucas Lodge or Longbourn, but, for a country parsonage, it was ample, and it seemed to have a wealth of land around it. There was much to explore, and Charlotte felt the excitement of it.
Once she had changed her clothes, she retired to her sitting room for the hour before dinner and started to set out her books on the shelves, choosing exactly the order and placement she would like, taking the time to examine each one, considering when she had last read it and when she might again.
Charlotte’s chief interest in reading had always been to learn. Growing up, her father’s house did not have the vast inheritedlibrary of an old estate (as Elizabeth had enjoyed at Longbourn), so as a family, they had built their collection from scratch. Because of this, Charlotte was not complacent about having good books to read; they still held delight for her. She had always encouraged her father to invest in heavy tomes that could stay in the family for generations – multiple volumes in gilded binding, from Smollett’sHistory of Englandand Gibbon’sDecline and Fall of the Roman Empireto the complete works of Shakespeare. But these choices were not only for display and prestige – they added to her and her siblings’ education, and moreover, historical works genuinely interested her more than the sensationalist novels her friends seemed to enjoy.
Upon leaving her family home, she had not been able, of course, to bring with her all those books that were the backbone of the Lucas Lodge library, but she had amassed a collection that was squarely her own, including a dictionary, an atlas, a few smaller history books, a couple of the publications of Dr Johnson and – the only softening in her reading tastes – a wide variety of poetry. She had collections by Cowper and Scott, Blake and Burns, Donne, Milton and, her favourite, Wordsworth, whosePoems, in two volumeslooked scruffier than their neighbours on her poetry shelf, ragged from use.
Her small library arranged, she stood back and admired it.
Tea had been brought for her and left on a small side table, steaming away. A fire was burning, casting shapes on the wall opposite, and Charlotte sat in the large cosy chair that she already thought of as hers, looking at the drizzle outside and enjoying the contrast of her own warm contented state set against it. She wore her grandmother’s shawl around her shoulders.
There were challenges to come, she knew – she was not blind to them. The imminent wedding night held a good deal of disquiet for her. But here, now, she felt content. She felt, for the first time since Elizabeth’s scolding, that her decision to marry hadnot been a stupid one. There was sense in it; there was comfort in it, and it was laid out before her in the pleasure of seeing her own books, in her own room, in her own house.
Mrs Collins sat back, pulled her legs up under her skirt, and took a sip of tea.
15th February 1812
Dear Elizabeth,
I hope you and your family are in good health. I am, and so is Mr Collins. I have not heard from you since leaving Hertfordshire,which has been a great disappointment. I will now impart my news to you,though you have not solicited it. My new home is comfortable, and I am growing fond of the village and the countryside around. While the house is peacefully situated, the landscape around it is pleasingly diverse.
My duties keep me busy during the week, as too does the upkeep of the house and of my garden and the occasional social event, though there are not as many as I have been used to.This letter would be longer but I tell you nothing of my marriage because I fear you do not want to hear about it and will scorn not just it but me.
I write to ask you again to please come with Maria and my father when they visit me next month.If we were ever friends, then you will offer me this service, if only in commemoration of a friendship lost
15th February 1812
Dear Eliza,
I hope you and your family are in good health. I am, and so is Mr Collins. I have not heard from you since leaving Hertfordshire, so I will now impart my news. My new home is comfortable and peacefully situated, and I am growing fond of the village and the countryside around; woodland, streams, thorny bushed lanes and treks across muddy fields abound. It offers the kind of walks you enjoy almost more than I.
My duties as the rector’s wife involve making visits across the parish to see those in need: in need of food, solace, company or help. You might think I sound as if I am applying for sainthood, but the work makes me feel the opposite – rather pampered and naive next to some who truly suffer. I visit all kinds of people: a mother of eight who has just given birth and is of meagre means, a young widower who is grieving badly, a retired colonel who lost a leg in battle, and an elderly lady who is dying from God knows what and who remains extremely forthright and domineering, even while her colour is pallid and her body too weak to move. I think being near the end has made her more outrageous. I like her.
So, I see a great many people during the week. But I have not yet found a friend. I miss your company more than anything else I miss in Hertfordshire.
I write to ask you again to please come with Maria and my father when they visit me next month. I would very much welcome your company.
Your friend,
Charlotte
CHAPTER V
Charlotte rose from her bed in a panic and in an illogical stupor, having overslept. She rushed to the window, from where she could see anyone approaching the house. There was no one yet, thank heavens. She opened her curtains more fully and realised from the sun that it was no more than ten o’clock in the morning. The party would arrive no earlier than noon. She had plenty of time to ready herself.
The night before had been something of a trial. She had wanted a peaceful evening, in readiness for welcoming her father, Maria and Elizabeth the next day, but her husband – excited by the prospect of company and perhaps enlivened in a particular way by the thought of showing Elizabeth all that she had missed out on – had made it clear he wished to be intimate with his wife. As those occasions had been so infrequent in their marriage so far, she had not felt justified in demurring.
Their wedding night back in January had been an odd one. Charlotte had had taken a drop of brandy and steeled herself mentally for what was to come. She’d even pinched her cheeks a little and arranged her bosom; while she might not have been attracted to Collins, she still wanted to be attractive to him. He had come into the bedroom in his nightgown, carrying a cup of tea and a candle, looking for all the world like Wee Willy Winkie, and Charlotte could hardly countenance having carnal knowledge of a figure so comical.
He put down his tea on the mantelpiece, the candle on the table, and got under the covers with her. He took a moment and then, turning his face to hers, said, ‘My dearest one, I am honoured to be the first to unearth the pleasures of—’
