Well I keep thinking I am going to wrap this story up, but all I can tell you at this point is that this is not the final chapter.
Chapter 25: Lady Catherine's POV: Providing Good Advice
Tom and I had a few days still remaining in our trip when I received an express letter from Mr. Collins. I broke the seal and read it aloud to Tom (we were sharing some breakfast in his room). But for the salutations and closing, all Mr. Collins wrote was:
Lately Charlotte is delivered of another son and she asked that I inform you. Charlotte appears to be well but the baby is rather undersized.
I responded aloud to Tom, "Oh miserable man who does not communicate that which is needed most. Mrs. Collins was not supposed to bear her child for at least another month, might have had several weeks remaining. Early babies sometimes do not survive and now I am left to wonder, Will their child be well or not long for this world? I do not understand why Mr. Collins did not delay an hour or two to be able to provide more details. But I suppose I should not be all that surprised as men can be such . . . " I did not finish my sentence as I did not want to insult my husband in lambasting all of mankind.
"Idiots?" Tom helpfully added, waggling his bushy eyebrows. "Before you condemn him, remember that what a man might write under the direction of his newly delivered wife while he is suffering from stress is not what he would normally write. Normally Collins would be much more verbose."
"But why? In my experience, a woman can muster the rationality to tell a correspondent all the pertinent information, while a man merely dashes something off to have fulfilled his duty rather than say much of use."
Tom sprang up and began to pace. "Can you not imagine what a husband is feeling while his wife is suffering through her birthing pains?" He paused and looked at me.
He was apparently not desirous of an answer, for Tom immediately added, while resuming his pacing, "He cannot be with her and even if he could, what could be do? He is the cause of her suffering and each time her life might be forfeit. She risks so much to bring his children into this world and he is supposed to be stoic, calm while inside his stomach is rolling and he is wondering, Will this be the time I lose my wife? He keeps praying silently over and over, Please help her travailing conclude quickly and please let my wife and child be well. Can you blame Collins for not writing what you would want when he endured many hours of worry while his wife was laboring with his child too early and was then delivered of an undersized son?"
"Is that how you felt when Mrs. Bennet had each of your daughters?" I asked. I felt a pang of jealousy imagining how much he felt about someone else when I had an indifferent husband for myself. Simultaneously, I had a sudden desire to have my belly full again, but knew that was impossible, my monthlies had been gone these past few years.
"Yes, and my fears felt well founded when Lydia was born." Tom rung his wide hands in distress at his memories, I supposed.
"Fanny had never labored so long and I kept imagining the worst. Lydia was a breach birth and Fanny was slow in recovering. All was well in the end and months later when she told me she was even more determined to bear me a son, I was hesitant to put her in such a state again."
"Most understandable," I acknowledged.
He stopped beside me and I swiveled toward him. Tom separated his hands from one another and held them out to me. I gripped them and he gripped them back hard, his larger hands enveloping my narrow fingers and camouflaging my swollen knuckles. I was not sure who was reassuring whom.
"You wish to see how things are with Mrs. Collins and the child, do you not?" His eyes held mine.
"I do." I pulled myself up, using his grip to hoist myself from my chair. and found myself pulled into his arms, into a comforting embrace. I said into his ear, "I know we planned to stay a few more days, but would you mind if we returned home? I am anxious to see my latest godchild and receive reassurance that nothing is truly wrong, or if it should be wrong, I want to be there to help them."
Tom loosened his hold on me and raised himself up on his toes so that he could drop a kiss on my cheek higher than he could normally reach. With his right hand he then smoothed back my short hair until he reached the nape of my neck, which he gently rubbed. I had not once worn my wig again when solely in his company and even Roberts had seen me this way. Tom had asked me to consider letting my own hair grow a little (it was even shorter than his salt and pepper hair and roughly shorn as it was never to be seen by anyone) and stop habitually wearing my wig, but I had not yet decided what I would do.
"Then go we shall, my dear. After all, I am yours to command," Tom told me with a little smirk, in what I interpreted as his attempt to lighten our solemn mood. I took it as a reference to our most recent marital activities. On the previous evening I had directed him most specifically, but he had enjoyed himself well, also.
Thus we found ourselves an hour later hurrying back to Pemberley, our servants following in the carriage behind us. I had thought to go straight to the vicarage, but Tom most reasonably told me, "Surely Lizzy will know exactly what is going on or if she is still with Charlotte, Darcy will know."
I could not help but contrast our return trip with how the same journey occurred in the opposite direction on our wedding day. The previous trip had been all passion and anticipation and on this one, we merely sat close, Tom gently stroking my arm.
I have noticed something about Tom since we are married that I never anticipated. Whether or not he desires me or is "up" for any interactions, he seems to relish touching me whenever possible. He varies his method greatly and I have been keeping track of all the places he has touched me when it seems that he has no agenda but merely confirming that he has that right as my husband. Tom has touched even just my lower arms in so many ways: a firm grip, a stroking touch (with his hand flat, or curved around the limb), with a single finger (that both tickles and tempts), grazing the edges of his fingernails along the top on my arm, rubbing his knuckles on the underside along the more delicate skin, running a finger round and round my wrist, or simply pressing his arm against my own.
The beginning of our marriage was all I could have hoped. While I felt I had a good grasp of Tom's nature and was not that young maiden who saw what I wanted to see while Mr. de Bourgh was courting me, still there was that little doubting corner of my mind which thought, He is not really as you think. However now, that voice was only the tiniest whisper that often I could not hear at all.
That did not mean things were perfect. Tom had brought a great many books with him when I had thought that our time was to be spent with each other. Too, Tom showed less interest in spending time out of doors than I would have liked and on one occasion when we returned to the inn, having cut short what seemed to be quite a promising outing, he retreated to his room after just giving me a kiss on the forehead. When I finally ventured into his chamber through the communicating door he greeted me and then immediately went back to his book and largely ignored me.
I could have become incensed and carried on in an unseemly manner, but instead I told him, "I will see you at dinner." He grunted and did not look up. I occupied my time in writing letters, completely catching up with my correspondence which I had been neglecting.
Later when we saw each other, he was most attentive and thanked me, explaining, "Sometimes I need some time to myself, I have long been accustomed to a great deal of solitude."
With the maturity of my advancing years, I did my best to not take it personally. I asked, "Tomorrow should I take Parker and do some sightseeing without you?"
"I should like that," Tom told me. "Thank you for being so understanding. " He gripped my hand, turned it over and kissed my knuckles. I felt myself smile. This was only a small difficulty.
Yes, I missed him when Parker and I traveled around that day, but she was so appreciative of me that it was easy to still enjoy myself and it was most enjoyable to find little presents to bring back for my godchildren. Also, Tom seemed to relish seeing me again that evening and was more amorous than he had been in a couple of days which made me think some periodic absence from each other might make the homecoming all the sweeter.
Truly we were well satiated from the ten days we spent together. While there had been something so wonderful about our barely bridled passion on that first day, much of our time alone since that time was not spent in the act (Tom spoke truly when he told me that his body often would not respond as he wished it), but laying naked in each other's arms, sometimes kissing and stroking, learning each other's bodies, scars and sagging skin included, and sometimes just being. The parts of me that I felt were the most wrinkly and unappealing, he was as solicitous in touching and kissing as the rest of me, so he did not neglect the crows feet at the corner of my eyes, the wrinkles around my mouth or the lines between my brows, or even the looser skin upon my neck and droopy arm flesh.
Tom was barrel chested with somewhat of a paunch and had rather a hairy chest and torso and also some hair upon his upper back. While these parts covered by mostly white hairs, inexplicably the hair between his legs, upon his arms and legs was mostly of a darker hue except for one long, straight white hair growing out of one of his arms near his elbow, perhaps six inches in length. When I pointed it out to him, he was inexplicably proud and in a sudden pique, I pulled it from him and teased him about his vanity in the oddity, but later when he was distracted I plucked my prize from the trash barrel and stored it folded up in a hanky until I inexplicably lost it.
Later, when Tom saw me examining all of my handkerchiefs he asked, "What are you looking for? Have you a token from someone? Perhaps the innkeeper? Perhaps Roberts? Perhaps our coachman? Or is it a more secret admirer?" I knew he was in jest, but still I was troubled.
"You will think me silly, but I tried to save your long arm hair, but somehow it is gone."
I expected him to tease me but instead he merely said, "Darling, that is sweet that you tried to keep my odd hair, but do you really need it when you have me?" He reached for me then and we kissed for a long time. It was a sweet time that led to nothing more, but I treasured it.
When Tom could not partake of the marital act as much as he might like, as his tin soldier would not always stand at attention, he was not neglectful in doing his best to satisfy me. His hands and mouth acted together to bring me such joy, and he could not seem to get enough of delighting me. When I worried aloud, "Surely that must be distasteful. You do not have to do that, Tom," he momentarily left off licking me, raised his head from between my thighs (I noticed that his lips and the white beard hair on his chin were glistening from me) and said, "You taste just right, a feast just for me. Thinking about how Mr. de Bourgh neglected you, I have many years to make up for." Then he pulled my thighs wider apart, licking me with his pointy tongue and set to devouring me as if I were the finest dish and he was ravenous. Naturally with such a declaration I tumbled quickly.
Of course not all days could be like that and I gladly traded our passion from our first night for the pleasure of having Tom with me in the carriage as my established and more staid husband. It was a little sad, though, that while I remembered most vividly our escapades in the carriage, I could not imagine acting similarly ever again. Too, this trip was far different as I was rife with worry. So, Tom did his best to distract me with conversation and I did my best to let him.
"Darling, has Parker taken you into her confidence? I am most curious as to how she has spent her time when she is not attending to you."
"No, she has not been so bold as to tell me about whether she cares for Roberts, but I have noticed that she pinks up every time Roberts is mentioned. I have almost made it a game to try to mention him at least once a day to see her reaction. I will admit that she played a similar game with me regarding you beginning a few months ago. Or rather than being a game, perhaps she was subtly trying to encourage me to think about you. Do tell, has Roberts said anything to you about Parker?"
"No, but I have a feeling that he has been waiting for us to return to Pemberley." He rubbed at his white beard as he thought; I noticed it was a bit more scraggly than I was used to seeing it. "I know he admires her, and I understand they have been in company together in the common room."
"That is not all," I told Tom. "It seems Roberts escorted Parker when she went to the milliners to fetch materials to repair my dress that ripped, the one that you stepped on, that required us cutting an outing short. Naturally I gave it to her. I thought it was quite ruined for my use but as she is shorter than me, she was able to cut away the bottom and add some lace and it is certainly becoming on her."
"Roberts has seemed distracted recently," Tom told me, now drumming his fingers along his thigh. "These last three days he has forgotten to trim my beard even though he had the scissors at the ready and I asked him to do so twice. After that second time I decided not to raise the matter again and see how long it takes him to recall it."
"That bodes well if it is in fact a symptom of his regard for Parker rather than just momentary carelessness. But it might be awkward to have to call both of them Roberts." I imagined them both appearing when I called for my maid, but reasoned, "I suppose I could still call her Parker, or perhaps Mrs. R. But eventually you must have him do something about your beard as it makes your attentions to me a little more problematic; the hairs are starting to get in the way when we kiss."
"When we kiss or when I kiss you?" Tom's voice got deeper on the last two words and I understood well what he was referencing even without him emphasizing his meaning by waggling his eyebrows at me. I had been thinking, but had not previously declared, that I had no wish to feel a scrub brush between my legs.
I chuckled into my hands, feeling my face grow hot. While I never felt embarrassed when dispensing marital advice, it was a bit different to have my new husband teasing me.
"Look at us, " Tom responded, "we are trying to match up the whole world."
"And why not? " I countered. "Why should we not want everyone we care about as happy as we?"
"Not everyone finds happiness in marriage," his mood seemed to sour a bit. He added, "The Bingleys I am afraid have not."
"Were we not discussing them on our trip from Pemberley?" I was not sure why I had never returned to the topic during our trip.
"Yes, but we had barely begun to talk about them." Tom went on to relate as much of the business as he knew of it, which was not that much, but I had a feeling that I might be called to help them soon, so I gladly talked with him about what he did know, that Bingley was often absent from their home and he and his wife usually sat far apart.
With such conversation the miles of road went quickly and soon we were at Pemberley. A quick stop there revealed that there was some concern for the newborn Master Collins (apparently he had not yet been given a name as far as Darcy knew and his wife had remained with Mrs. Collins to give whatever comfort and help she could).
I directed Tom stay at Pemberley and I continued on to the vicarage and immediately gained admittance to the family and to Mrs. Collins and the baby most directly in their chambers. When I arrived I found myself in the middle of an uproar.
Mr. Collins was demanding of Mrs. Collins, "I must baptize our son."
Mrs. Collins was reclining in the bed with a small blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms, held tight against her, shoulders stiff and curved forward. "You will not take my child, he must stay with me."
Mrs. Darcy was attempting to be the voice of reason. "Surely cousin, you can bring some holy water here and the babe need not be moved."
"No, absolutely not." Charlotte declared, drawing her knees up as if to further cradle the baby. "You only want to baptize him now because you fear he will die, but he shant, he shant! He shall be well." I perceived no movement in the bundle and hoped the baby was merely sleeping and his stillness was not from a more sinister cause.
"We cannot know that, Charlotte. Of course I hope for the best, but we must prepare for the worst and if he should die I want our child to be bound for heaven." Mr. Collins was crunching his fingers along the edge of his coat and tapping one foot in his agitation.
Naturally I could not stay silent any longer. I felt for both of them in this situation, but felt that of the two of them it was more important to protect Mrs. Collins. Therefore, I announced in my most authoritative voice, "Mr. Collins, I do not care for any theology that would condemn a baby's soul based upon such a ritual action and declare that this a falsehood, but naturally you are wishing to do something in the moment. However, this stress cannot be good for your wife or the baby."
As if on cue, although undoubtedly it was because of my loud voice, I heard a wailing from the bed, which reminded me more of an animal's cry than that of a newborn. It was quieter than I recalled from an infant. But still, I let out a deep breath I did not know that I was holding, in having confirmation that the child was indeed alive.
Charlotte seemed to relax a little in my defense of her and brought the bundle to her breast. The child stopped his crying almost immediately and I walked closer to her to get a peek at him. His face was small and more hollow looking than I was used to an infant looking, with thin, reddish skin that was half translucent, but I saw that he was indeed taking the breast which made me hopeful that he could survive. Seeing him reminded me of some things I had heard about how best to care for an early-born child. I was not sure that what I had heard would have any more success than anything else, but it seemed to have a sort of logic on its side. But more importantly, it might help both Mr. and Mrs. Collins feel more hope.
"Mrs. Collins, it is well that you are doing your best to keep your new son warm, but I have another suggestion that may benefit him. Perhaps you have heard of those curious creatures that some transported prisoners have met, the kangaroos."
Mrs. Collins gave a slight nod. I continued, "Their are born very small and then stay within a pouch against their mothers, with her teat always at hand, until they are ready to come out. While we are of course not such a low form, it stands to reason that if you can do something similar it may give him a chance to develop as he would have if he had more time within you. The heat of your body will keep him warm better than a blanket could do and if he can feed by barely being shifted he will conserve his energy for growing rather than expend it on crying and demanding his suck."
"There is sense in what Lady Catherine says," Mr. Collins said, apparently eager to be conciliatory to his wife.
Mrs. Collins made no reply, instead she was already opening up the baby's blanket and pulling his body against hers while Mrs. Darcy pulled her blankets up over them. "He feels cold," Mrs. Collins said.
"But when cradled against you, he shall soon be warm again." Seeing an opportunity to reconcile them further, I added, "Mr. Collins, if you were abed with them, you could help keep them both warm and I daresay your chest might be a suitable substitution when Mrs. Collins has freshly fed him and must be at something else."
Mr. Collins nodded and walked over to the bed, then turned to look at me and Mrs. Darcy. It was evident to me that he meant to join them forthwith, but could not imagine unbuttoning in front of us.
"Undoubtedly, you are wishing for some time alone with your son," Mrs. Darcy commented.
"Yes, we should leave you now," I added, "but before we leave, could you tell me, does the young Master Collins have a first name?"
They both shook their heads in negation. "Perhaps we will be able to tell you tomorrow, please call sometime in the afternoon," Mrs. Collins requested.
"I will walk you out," Mr. Collins said and was true to his word in escorting us to the door and to the carriage that was waiting beyond. When we were out of the house he told me, "Lady Catherine, it is not so much that I believe an infant must be baptized before he passes on, but that I have heard many parents express fear and regret when a baby is born dead or dies early and is never baptized. I hoped to spare her that grief if the worst should pass."
"I understand and it may be that she would have thought differently in such a circumstance, but put all your efforts in making sure everything is done to keep him with us."
"I shall," Mr. Collins declared. "I am more hopeful because of your advice, but I will certainly send word if he weakens further," Mr. Collins added.
As we received no word that evening, I was confident that the baby was still with us. The next morning Elizabeth and I called again and were shown into the Collins's bedroom and saw Mrs. Collins lying in her bed, the baby asleep on her breast, a fine knit cap upon his head and a thick blanket over the two of them. He seemed much the same to me, but Mrs. Collins said, "He is doing well. Although he only nurses for a few minutes each time, he has fed many times, both day and night. I have hardly had any sleep, but he sleeps almost all of the time when he is not feeding."
Mrs. Darcy said, "I am so glad. Has he a name yet?"
"Yes," Mrs. Collins declared, "we have decided on Ezekiel. Mr. Collins searched the scriptures for a suitable name and that one means strength in God." Knowing the Collinses as I did, I was certain he would soon be called Zeke.