Charlotte Collins: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (15 page)

They made polite small talk for the remainder of the dance, and Charlotte almost managed to forget her situation under Mr. Basford's compliments and distracting comments. When the dance was completed, he offered to escort her to acquire some lemonade, which she accepted, drinking gratefully, not realizing how thirsty she had been. After lingering a few moments over the cold meats and cheeses, Mr. Basford led her to an empty place alongside the dance floor. She expected him to excuse himself, but he did not. Instead, he took his place beside her, seeming almost proprietary in his stance. Acquaintances came to chat, and still Mr. Basford remained at her side. She wondered if she ought to speak to him, tell him he could go, but she found she liked having him there.

And so conversation flowed freely, and soon, the crowd began to dwindle. Alone with Charlotte again, Mr. Basford leaned down near her ear and said, "Relief is on the way. I see that Maria is making her way across the room. It is undoubtedly time for you to return home."

She spotted Maria and Mr. Westfield as they slowly made their way around the small group of dancers who kept to the floor, talking and laughing along the way. It was good to see Maria among her friends again even if all her wounds had not yet healed. She wondered if any of her companions would remain when Mr. Edgington's slander became public.

"You have done well." Thank heaven for Mr. Basford and his ability to distract her from her thoughts. However, Charlotte knew she did not deserve such a compliment. During the last few hours, she had been relying on his strength a great deal, but when Mr. Edgington used his weapon, she would be completely alone and unaided.

She began to say as much to Mr. Basford, but he interrupted her. "Do not contemplate the future just yet. We will deal with that as it comes."

"We? This is not your dilemma. It is mine alone."

Mr. Basford looked away quickly, but she saw irritated lines cross his brow. She was surprised to realize that she might have angered him, and eager to soothe him, she turned her full gaze on him. "I appreciate all that you have done for me tonight, but you are not required to suffer for my folly."

"What folly? You have done nothing to deserve this." His voice sounded harsh, and Charlotte wondered at his tone. She studied his profile. His teeth were clenched and his lips were stretched into a tight line. He was not angry, she realized, but injured.

Her tone was gentle, as if to calm him. "Have I not? I trusted an undeserving man."

Maria and Mr. Westfield were very close now, so Mr. Basford leaned down slightly to say, "I hope that will not cause you to distrust all men. Some of us are worthy."

Before she could think of a response, her sister arrived at her side with Mr. Westfield as her escort. "Has it not been a lovely evening, Charlotte? I am sorry that it has to end already. Everyone behaved charmingly, even Miss Farmington and Mr. Card," she added in a discreet whisper. "No one suffered from the want of a partner. Such wonderful music, delicious food, and..." Maria glanced at Mr. Westfield. "...such agreeable companions."

Although she could not concur with the hearty compliments her sister lavished on the ball, she said, "I am glad you had such a pleasant time."

"Indeed, it has been a most enjoyable evening. It is a shame to see it end." Mr. Westfield's eyes were intent on Maria, and Charlotte felt hope for her sister. Perhaps he was in love with her, and she only prayed that his love was strong so that Mr. Edgington's slander would not dissolve it.

Mr. Basford, who had been watching his nephew, turned to Charlotte. "Perhaps we'll call on Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas this week."

"Oh, yes, that would be pleasing indeed, Uncle."

Charlotte nodded her assent, grateful for the excuse to speak with Mr. Basford again soon, but she did not meet his eyes.

Mr. Basford stepped away to order the carriage while Mr. Westfield bid Maria a fond farewell, causing her to giggle, as he escorted her out the door. Charlotte remained behind.

When Mr. Basford returned, Charlotte saw that they were quite alone in the vestibule and offered his glove to him. "Thank you for this evening."

He only shook his head, and she dropped her hand. "I hope you do not object to us calling on you later this week."

Knowing that she should act demurely, she could not. She looked at Mr. Basford squarely. "No, indeed. I quite look forward to it."

He inclined his dark head toward hers. His voice was soft but firm when he said, "Until then, do not worry. We will simply tell the truth. All will be well."

Fifteen

The Armitage's carriage rumbled up the cottage drive. Candlelight flickered in the sitting room window, and Charlotte knew that Mrs. Eff and Edward had awaited their return. For the first time, she wished they had not. Mrs. Eff would not be as easily fooled by her veneer of nonchalance as Maria.

The coachman assisted Charlotte and Maria from the carriage and then the conveyance disappeared with a loud growl of wheels on stones. Mrs. Eff opened the cottage door as they approached. "Welcome home. May I take your things?"

Maria removed her wrap and gloves and piled them in Mrs. Eff's arms while recounting each minute of the ball. Charlotte removed her pelisse and handed it to Edward, but she retained her gloves. She hoped no one had noticed.

Mrs. Eff handed the heap of Maria's garments to Edward. "See that these are properly stored." He disappeared down the hall, and Mrs. Eff looked at the sisters. "A fire is still burning in the sitting room. I thought you might enjoy some tea before bed."

Charlotte clutched the mismatched gloves behind her skirt, wringing the fabric back and forth. She did not want tea. She wanted privacy. Why would not everyone just go to sleep?

Maria yawned. "I do not think I could stay awake long enough for the water to boil."

Thank heavens. Now Charlotte could engineer a few moments of peace to dispose of the evidence of the night's crimes.

"Mrs. Collins?"

"Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Eff. I think I will sit in solitude by the fire for a few moments, but I do not require any tea."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, you and Edward have had a long day. You ought to retire."

Mrs. Eff eyed her and then nodded. "Sleep well, Mrs. Collins. I do look forward to hearing about the ball tomorrow morning."

Charlotte tried to smile and wondered if she had managed to do so. Mrs. Eff said nothing, looked at her oddly, and then disappeared to her chamber.

The door to the sitting room was ajar, and Charlotte pushed it open. She walked into the chamber as though she were moving in water. Her steps were slow, and as her arms swung at her sides, the fabric of the gloves brushed against her skirt in long, slow strokes. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. It was the only sound she could hear. When had the house become so quiet? Could Mrs. Eff hear the hum of fabric on fabric? Would she hear the crackles of the glove as it burned?

Charlotte stood before the mantel, and the peat fire smoldered before her. If only destroying the glove would destroy Mr. Edgington's slander. But as long as its mate existed, Charlotte was ruined.

Still, she would do what was within her power. And that was to destroy the offending article. She flung her glove on top of the smoldering peat and watched as flames began to grow and consume the fabric.

Holding Mr. Basford's glove in both hands, she stood in front of the fire and watched as it died slowly, the embers glowing and banking. In and out. In and out.

The embers should have been peaceful, and she had expected to feel relief when the glove had turned to ash, but she felt neither peace nor relief. Realizing that her back and legs ached, Charlotte turned to go to her bed chamber and discovered Edward watching her through the open door. She quickly hid Mr. Basford's glove behind her back.

"Are you well, Mrs. Collins?"

She cleared her throat. Why was she suddenly nervous? Edward was her sweet but muddle-minded servant and probably comprehended little of the intricacies of society. "Yes, why do you ask?"

"I called your name over and over."

"Oh." How could she not have heard him? She wondered how long he had been observing her. Had he seen her burn that glove? Had he seen Mr. Basford's glove?

"I am fine. Go to bed, Edward."

He studied her with steady eyes, and she thought he might speak again, but he only nodded and left the chamber.

Charlotte also went to her bed chamber, where she tucked away Mr. Basford's glove in the small wooden box that housed her hair ornaments and jewelry--some inexpensive earrings, a string of pearls from her father, and a cross pendant--and placed it in the cupboard. She would return it to him at an opportune moment.

Satisfied that Mr. Basford's glove would remain safely hidden, she removed her gown and draped it over a chair. She had barely prevented herself from throwing it onto the floor in disgust. It was a good gown, and she would not allow the memories of Mr. Edgington ruin it for her.

When she had finally laid down to rest, sleep had eluded her, and when it did claim her, she found herself dreaming of gloves and fires and dances and Mr. Basford. Sounds began to drift in and out of Charlotte's dreams, and they became even more confused. She heard Mrs. Eff and Edward about their morning chores: the sounds of fresh coals hitting the kitchen grate and the clatter of breakfast dishes. Could it be morning already? Usually, Charlotte went down to greet them and discuss the news from town with Mrs. Eff, but instead, she turned onto her left side and pulled the covers over her head to block out the sounds from below.

Hours later--or perhaps only minutes, Charlotte could not be certain--she heard Maria moving about below stairs and snippets of her voice as she told Mrs. Eff about the ball. Charlotte knew they would be expecting her, but still, she could not manage to arise and face the day. At any moment the news of her scandal would become public, and the happy sounds of her household would disappear. She would be ostracized from her friends and family, leaving her with little choice but to take in a dozen stray cats for company.

More bewildering than the taunting sounds of normalcy that could not last was the fact that Charlotte's mind continued to stray to Mr. Basford. Each time she closed her eyes, she was on the balcony again. Mr. Edgington was gone, and Charlotte would turn and watch as Mr. Basford emerged tall and strong from the darkness. She saw the concern in his eyes and her heart began to flutter just as it had the night before.

Charlotte threw her arm over her head, trying to block out her thoughts but seeing only Mr. Basford in the crook of her elbow. He had promised to help her, but he could not possibly be able to do so. What could be done after all? Mr. Edgington had her glove, and he would not hesitate to use it against her now that she had rejected his vile offer. There was nothing to be done but wait for the inevitable to occur.

Charlotte closed her eyes and managed to doze for several more hours, experiencing dark nightmares of Mr. Edgington. His red hair had turned to flames, and he advanced on her, but Charlotte could not run. Just as he reached for her gloved hands, she would awake with a start.

Once awake, she contemplated Mr. Basford. A much pleasanter topic, but inappropriate nonetheless.

She knew that she could not stay in bed forever, and even if she were to attempt such a feat, her blankets would not shield her from the coldness of society once the scandal became known. She pushed away the linens and threw her legs over the side of the bed. The planks of the wooden floor felt cool beneath her bare feet as she washed at the washstand, did her morning ablutions, and put on her plainest morning gown. She then gathered her courage and went downstairs.

Mrs. Eff was dusting the small table in the hallway, and she looked up from her work and concern crossed her once delicate face. "I was beginning to worry about you, my dear, are you well?" She dropped the dust cloth onto the table and assisted Charlotte down the remaining steps.

Charlotte attempted a reassuring smile but failed miserably.

Mrs. Eff patted her hand. "Do I need to consult the apothecary?"

Charlotte walked with ginger steps toward the sitting room. "I do feel rather weak, but I think a cup of tea will be all I require."

"Rosehip tea then, my dear, made from your own garden. It is just the thing for an aching head. Why do you not go to the sitting room and rest a bit more?" With a kind smile, she led her to the settee. "Back in my dancing days, before our family lost its holdings, such as they were, I never felt worse than the day after a spectacular ball."

Charlotte sat down and tucked her legs under her in a comfortable yet thoroughly undignified fashion. She might as well be comfortable if she could not be proper.

Mrs. Eff arranged cushions around her. "I suppose you do not feel like talking just yet. Let me bring you some tea and toast."

Charlotte nodded at Mrs. Eff, grateful that she had suggested food. She had not realized how hungry she had become, and it was much later in the day than she had anticipated. From her seat, she craned her head to look out the open window. The sun was high in the sky, beaming on Edward who toiled in the garden. His face was content but smeared with dirt. Charlotte envied him. He truly had a simple life and took pleasure in small things. He did not have to worry over the words and deeds of unscrupulous people. He only had to tend to the rosemary.

She turned away from the pastoral scene, and her mind began to bounce from one thought to another like a young debutante in a room full of potential beaux. The news must soon become public. She must formulate a rebuttal. She must see to Maria. She must protect her assets. If only she had the energy.

A sound in the hallway caused her to jump in the anticipation that it would be a neighbor coming to confirm Mr. Edgington's story. She sat bolt upright when a knock sounded at the sitting room door. Her nerves hummed as she rearranged her skirt. "Come in."

It was Mrs. Eff. God bless Mrs. Eff, for she carried a pot of tea and a plate of toast and jam, and not the ill news she expected. The smells of food surrounded her, making her stomach clench in anticipation. Mrs. Eff offered her a cup of rosehip tea, and Charlotte sipped it, letting the warmth and sweetness of the liquid give her strength.

"Miss Maria asked me to tell you that she has gone for a turn about the garden. She was all a-twitter this morning. I suppose balls take more out of us as we age."

Charlotte wished that age were the cause of her morning depression. She said nothing, took up her plate, and selected a piece of toast. Mrs. Eff chatted about some matters of the cottage and their upcoming meals and then launched into the news from town. With the introduction of each new tidbit of information, Charlotte became anxious and then felt relief wash over her when it became apparent that she was not the focus of the gossip. Why had she ever found gossip to be an agreeable pastime?

Fortunately, there was no mention of Mr. Edgington, only of the general pleasure everyone experienced at the ball. General pleasure. Ha! Charlotte thought. It had caused her acute pain. And strangely, Mr. Basford had provided acute joy. How, she wondered, could joy and pain coexist in the same evening?

But why did not Mrs. Eff speak of Mr. Edgington and the glove? Perhaps she had heard but was too timid to speak of it. No. That could not be the case, for Mrs. Eff was always very forthcoming. Perhaps the news had not yet gotten out. Perhaps Mr. Edgington had been killed in a tragic hunting accident early this morning before he could ruin her reputation. Perhaps a wild boar had mauled him. Were boars even in season? She doubted a pheasant could do sufficient damage. A sudden mauling was too good--and too horrid--a circumstance to contemplate.

Still, Charlotte was beginning to feel a bit of relief and had almost finished eating an entire piece of toast when Mrs. Eff produced a letter from her apron pocket. Her relief was instantly shattered into splinters of fear. "This arrived this morning while you were still in your chamber. Now that you've had some nourishment, I expect you are ready for a word from the outside world."

She held out the paper to her, and Charlotte stared at it, still chewing on her last bite of toast. Was this ill news? Had the knowledge of the glove become known? She stared at the direction, but she did not recognize the handwriting. Slowly, she put down her plate and took the letter from Mrs. Eff's hands. "Thank you."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Eff. You have been a great help already."

"I shall leave you to your letter then."

Charlotte watched as Mrs. Eff exited the sitting room, her skirt trailing behind her. She looked down at the letter again, and drawing in a deep breath, she opened the seal. Quickly, she checked the signature first.

Mr. Basford.

Relief raced through her and a silly smile reached her lips. She was too pleased that it was not a threat from Mr. Edgington that she did not contemplate the breach of etiquette he had committed in writing her. But the smile fell from her lips. Perhaps he had come to his senses and was writing to withdraw his support. She took a deep breath and began to read.

My dear Mrs. Collins,

I hope you will not think this letter is inappropriate, for I'm writing it with the best of intentions. Before you begin to panic, let me to assuage your fear. Don't trouble yourself. Nothing has occurred to ruin you. I'm merely writing on behalf of Mr. Westfield and myself to solidify our appointment with you and Miss Lucas. My nephew is eager to speak to your sister. I hope it will be acceptable for us to call on you both tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, Mrs. Collins, do not trouble yourself. All will be well.

B. B.

Charlotte carefully refolded the letter and set it in her lap. She stared down at it, occasionally repositioning it on the fabric of her dress. Her heart was torn with hope and doubt. Why was he so kind? How could he possibly benefit from helping her?