“The devil,” she said, “prowls around like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour,asthe Apostle Peter said.”
I sought for a response to this, but did not come up with anything.
“When did you last see the necklace?” I asked.
“That very morning!” she boomed indignantly. “It had just come back from the cleaners. Lady Catherine was going to wear the symbol of her dear Sir Lewis at Christmas.”
The rest of the interview was equally fruitless and I left with Bertram’s parting words ringing in my ears, “I’m not one to speak poorly of the Quality, but I think we are nursing a serpent in our bosoms. Though their speech ischarming, do not believe them, forsevenabominations fill their hearts.”
I didn’t know which one of them was a serpent in our bosoms, but I had to admit it was a distinct possibility.
I hurried down the stairs, but my steps stilled as I heard the voices of Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins in the smaller sitting-room, which she always invited him to when she wanted to give him advice without distractions.
“I have given Mrs. Collins a task to do,” Lady Catherine said in her sharp way. “How is she proceeding with it?”
“Very well,” my husband replied promptly.
There was silence for a moment, then Lady Catherine said, “It is too bad you could not have gotten Jane or Lizzy Bennet to marry you. Did you do everything I said? Did you mention my name frequently? Bring up the superiority of Rosings? It should have been a powerful appeal.”
There was a second’s silence, and I felt my stomach sinking, although I told myself firmly that of course my husband would prefer the divine Bennet sisters.
“They are very agreeable women, to be sure,” Mr. Collins said. “But I prefer my wife.”
“Did you use the strategies I advised you on?” Lady Catherine barked again. “Did you inform them of the extensive grounds of Rosings, that it is available to be walked in every day of the week?”
“I did,” said my husband, and his voice was much firmer than it usually was when talking to Lady Catherine. “My attempts were unavailing. Nevertheless, I much prefer my Charlotte, and I must beg of you not to mention the matter to me again.”
I heard a noise like his big body was rising from the chair, and I scuttled off down the hallway, terrified of getting caught, and wondering what my husband’s words might mean. He almost never disagreed with Lady Catherine.
6
“A kiss is a very frivolous thing and unnecessary for satisfactory marital relations. If youmustkiss, keep it brisk and businesslike and do not linger.”
-Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Even though it had started snowing, my husband had gone to make some parish rounds. I looked anxiously out the window, hoping Cook would not be too angry that we were having to push dinner back. My anxiety grew as the flakes started coming down heavier, big, heavy clumps of snow covering our gardens and yards, and making it impossible to see Rosings from our window.
This is not sensible, I told myself. It was neither logical nor sensible to be so worried about my husband. There was no way he could get lost in the short distance between homes in the parish. He was fine. It must be the stress of the holidays that had me on edge. But I kept one eye anxiously on the window, my ears straining for any sound of him.
It was almost dark when Mr. Collins came in, and he was already talking to me even before the door had barely opened.
My heart gave a leap of relief as I heard his hearty voice, still strong after hours away making calls.
Wait.
I couldn’tpossibly.
I couldn’t be in l--, that is, could I possibly be getting overly--.
I tried to collect my scattered thoughts as he blew in in a cloud of snow drifts.
“The roads aremostregrettable, my dear Mrs. Collins! I will hurry in and get changed for dinner so Cook does not have to get off her schedule. Excellent woman! And what excellent fare we always have in this house, to be sure! Only dwarfed, of course, by the tender cuts of meat available at Rosings.”
“Of course,” I agreed, and he hurried into his rooms, tracking snow with him as he went.
I went to go tell Cook the good news, then hurried down the hallway to the bedrooms myself. I wanted to make sure William had not forgotten and kept his scarf on, which would dump cold snow all over the soft carpets.
As I approached his rooms, I saw my husband sitting on the bed. His big shoulders were slumped and he rubbed a hand over his eyes. He suddenly looked very tired. I felt a sharp pang of sympathy. Maybe I should have looked away, because he was in a private moment.
