"With Miss Kelly?" persisted Mrs. Darcy.
"Oh! Yes," Mrs. Collins said with relief. "Lizzy, I have just endured the strangest of experiences."
"To be sure," agreed Mrs. Darcy. "Imagine meeting a childhood friend here, of all places. I have been riddled with curiosity."
"But I was uncivil to him."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Lizzy. "You could no more be uncivil than I could grow wings and fly."
"I assure you I was," Mrs. Collins persevered. "My mouth was speaking so abhorrently while the rest of me listened in growing dismay." Charlotte looked away to study the prospect from the window behind her friend. "And now I stand here with my dress changed and my hair tidied - I dearly hope! - yet the memory of the process is vague."
"But, Charlotte, I was there throughout the encounter, at least a good deal of it, and there was nothing wanting in your conduct."
"You were in the library?" But, almost immediately, Charlotte made the connection and shook her head. "No, I do not refer to that initial meeting. I went to the library to fetch a book, and Mr. Kelly was there."
"Charlotte," Lizzy said soothingly, taking her friend's hands in her own firm grasp, "it could surely not be as bad as you say."
In another wing of the house, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Kelly were preparing to forfeit the hallowed walls of the study in favor of joining the ladies for tea. Talk of business ventures and mutual acquaintances ceased, but upon rising, Mr. Kelly ventured on another topic.
"I was surprised to find your wife's friend here," he opened, being sure that the Darcy couple had not crossed paths since that morning.
"Mrs. Collins?" Darcy inquired. "Yes, they were very close in Hertfordshire until she married Mr. Collins. Happily for me," he said, chuckling to himself, “it put Elizabeth in my way again, for Mr. Collins had the living on my great aunt's estate."
"Had?"
Darcy glanced up, surprised to find his friend so interested.
"He died."
Realizing that some explanation was in order, Mr. Kelly nodded before beginning his tale.
"I also knew her long ago, but as Miss Lucas. She must have been around six years old then, and I was a convalescing boy of fifteen." He pursed his lips in thought. "It would have been a monstrously tedious time if not for her."
"Mrs. Collins does often seem to fall in the way of being useful," Darcy conceded, indicating with a hand that they should depart. "We could never assume that she married with her own pleasure in mind, but she made good use of her office as clergyman's wife. Everyone at Rosings holds her in the highest regard."
"Holds?" Mr. Kelly questioned. "She had nowhere to go when her husband died?"
Darcy arched a brow. "I imagine she had any number of places to go - she declined another visit to one of her siblings when she came to us - but I believe she preferred to stay on at the parsonage. The new clergyman is young and unmarried. She oversees the household along with everything she does for the parishioners. An irregular arrangement, perhaps, but comfortable to them both, as well as useful. She has her own suite of rooms, and a maid along with a cook sleep there as well, for propriety's sake."
"Her family does not object to her role?" Mr. Kelly asked gruffly.
Though surprised by his friend's vehemence, Darcy maintained a neutral tone.
"From what Elizabeth has told me of the letters she has had from Mrs. Collins, it seems likely that the young clergyman figures as a kind of son to her. She had no children of her own, yet she is a nurturing type." Darcy turned abruptly to face his friend, wishing to end the discussion before reaching the main corridor and, from there, the Parlor. "None of my disclosure is meant to present her as a creature of pity. She is capable and resilient and has proven her mettle time and again."
"Of course," Mr. Kelly agreed hastily. "I just find it difficult to correlate the carefree, engaging little girl I once knew to this adult version."
"She has not been 'carefree' for some time," Darcy glumly assured him.
"You must call me 'Kate.' The Darcy family all do." Miss Kelly was saying to Mrs. Collins when the gentlemen entered the parlor. "It would be awkward to have just one person singled out to use a formal title. I should be much more comfortable."
"Your comfort must surely be taken into account," Mrs. Collins began, blanching to see Mr. Kelly's approach.
"Heavens, yes," Miss Kate Kelly replied. "You must never call me 'Kitty' or 'Pet' as Mother does when she wants something," she continued, grimacing prettily. "It is just the thing to set me on edge. I believe she named me with the sole purpose of rendering me a complaisant companion for herself, or simply from spite."
Mr. Kelly bowed himself into the conversation.
"I am not usually one to defend my former spouse," he said, casting a disapproving eye upon his daughter, "but I believe the names she uses spring more from an attempt at coercion or manipulation than from actual spite."
Mrs. Collins raised her brows slightly. "Remind me never to call upon you should I need a defense of my character."
He chuckled. "Oh," he insisted with a twinkle in his eye, "I assure you; it was a compliment."
Mrs. Collins blinked, but the action was quickly followed by a lowering of her expressive brows. "Pardon me, but did you say, 'former spouse'?"
"It is old news, hardly worth telling," answered the gentleman. "And only consider, if Mrs. Darcy had reported on our situation to Mrs. Collins, the name 'Pears Kelly' would have conveyed no person of interest at all."
Mrs. Collins was the first to look away, but Miss Kelly followed soon after, looking to Charlotte for guidance.
"Did you truly only know my father as - what was it?"
With Kate hungrily expecting an answer and Mr. Kelly waiting patiently for Charlotte to divulge it, there was nothing for it but to speak it once more. She gently cleared her throat.
"Puff."
"Puff!" Kate cried exultantly. "I must have it all now, Papa," she said, but before any answer was forthcoming the tea tray arrived, and the review of the past had to be forsaken.
Later, as Charlotte composed a letter in her room, a knock sounded upon the door. At her call to enter, Kate Kelly spun merrily into the room, closing the door behind her with a decided click. Her expression of triumph faded sadly upon finding Charlotte employed, and her steps stilled at once.
"I am intruding," she said in the way of an apology.
"`Tis of no consequence," replied Charlotte with a gentle smile, turning back to her letter. "I have only to apply my signature … and there," she added with a flourish, "I am done."
Creeping stealthily into the room, Kate was able to reach Charlotte's shoulder before the widow turned around to face her again.
"Were you writing to a brother or sister?" Kate inquired innocently.
"A clergyman," Charlotte confided, "Mr. Albright. He will want to know that I have arrived safely."
Kate's expression fell once more, but she rallied tolerably well.
"Your beaux?"
Charlotte tilted her head slightly.
"My beaux?" she repeated numbly. Suddenly becoming aware of the insinuation, she blushed and paled in rapid succession. "Good heavens, no," she said finally. "I am nearly old enough to be his mother. He was appointed to take my husband’s position after his death, and I have stayed on to help him maintain the house and care for the people. I am the lady of the house."
"Is he very handsome?" Kate inquired, sinking into the chair opposite Charlotte's.
"Handsome?" Charlotte repeated, feeling very silly indeed. "I believe so. More importantly," she persevered, "he has a heart for God and for people."
"Hm," Kate replied. "I suppose that would be ideal." Then she changed the topic. "I believe Papa will allow me to stay."