“My dear,” Elizabeth said gently, taking her by the arm, “be easy—within your home, Lady Catherine and her family are spoken of only in the highest terms. Poor Maria would have nothing to relate that might in the least resemble a blunder. Nothing but praise.”
But her friend, by an unexpected gesture, withdrew her arm and quickened her pace—a mark of genuine uneasiness.
“Wait,” cried Elizabeth, “why do you flee?”
Finally, Charlotte halted and met her eyes, but her look was more resolute than friendly.
“The last two clergymen were dismissed for occurrences which at the time appeared entirely trifling, yet which gave offence to Lady Catherine,” she said, evidently determined that Elizabeth should know the truth, for only thus might she guard against those supposed blunders, which she herself had once esteemed but graceful sallies of wit. Yet those days were gone. All that Charlotte now desired was peace, smiles, and goodwill.
Elizabeth made another attempt to take her friend’s arm, meaning to show her genuine affection; this time, Charlotte permitted it, even leaning upon her lightly, a gesture that touched Elizabeth deeply. It seemed as though her friend sought her support, and to such an appeal she could not but respond with warmth.
“Pray, do not distress yourself,” she said after several minutes of silence. “I should never act in a manner to endanger your—your situation—”
“I know,” murmured Charlotte, “at least not wilfully. Yet too often you speak precisely what you think, without—”
“Without reflection,” Elizabeth interposed, smiling; it was the very reproach her father had frequently addressed to her.
“Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam are expected at Rosings,” Charlotte continued abruptly, changing the subject—or perhaps approaching at last her true purpose; and all that had gone before appeared but a prelude.
“I know, my dear; Lady Catherine announces the matter at every dinner.” Elizabeth coloured slightly. But Charlotte, absorbed in her own anxieties, seemed not to observe it, appearing moreover less interested in her friend’s feelings than she had once been.
“No, not in general terms nor at some distant period—they are to arrive within a few days.” Charlotte paused, watching Elizabeth, whose arch expression confirmed her fears: Elizabeth received the intelligence with amusement, as though anticipating a diversion that was no longer agreeable to Mrs Collins. Yet she composed herself swiftly.
“Believe me, I shall avoid every confrontation.”
Charlotte remained silent, yet to one who knew her well, it was plain she placed little confidence in such an assurance.
“Do not look so, Charlotte.” Elizabeth smiled. “Now that I understand the cause of your unease, I shall be a model of decorum and civility.”
“No sarcasm,” entreated Charlotte.
“Much diminished.” Elizabeth’s tone softened, and Charlotte sighed, while in Elizabeth’s mind a new understanding dawned. Her friend loved her still, but she was now Mrs Collins, and many duties of greater weight had displaced the simplicity of their former friendship.
“You had hoped that I should depart with Sir William,” Elizabeth observed, half in jest. Still, the blush that rose on Charlotte’s cheek convinced her she had spoken truth, though the wish had never been uttered aloud. The blush betrayed both shame at the thought and discomfort at being detected.
“It is not as you imagine,” murmured Charlotte.
“I imagine nothing; I seek only to comprehend…the situation.”
“There is nothing to comprehend, Elizabeth. You have ever regarded me as one such as yourself—”
“And were you not? Was our friendship but pretence, in which you feigned to be another?”
“No!” cried Charlotte, then cast a frightened glance around, fearful they had been overheard. Such conduct illbecame the parson’s wife; and in a small parish like Hunsford, as in Meryton, all things were quickly known.
“No, I did not feign; I deceived myself, believing I might be as you, or as your sisters—”
“Poor, without a dowry?” Elizabeth spoke with a trace of irony, yet regretted it instantly. The conversation was too grave to be sullied by mockery.
“No, not poor—free. Mr Bennet is wholly unlike my father, and he reared you all in another manner. Only in your house, and in his library—where he so often welcomed me—did I hear of the value of learning, of reading… In my own home, none reads at all.”
“Not everyone in my family reads either.”
“You know full well what I intend, and still you cannot refrain from jesting… It will be the same should you meet Mr Darcy again—your impulse to have the last word—and that word is seldom pleasant.”
“But, in those days, within my father’s library, you joined our conversations; the principles by which we were raised were ever present amongst us.” Elizabeth seemed at a loss as to what Charlotte wished her to perceive. “You agreed with all that Papa said—”
“Because it was beautiful, Eliza. Beautiful even to the point of idealism. The notion that a young lady ought to possess an education equal to that of a gentleman; the freedom to wed where she chooses, not merely to be housekeeper and mother, but companion in life. Within Mr Bennet’s library, all such things appeared possible—”
