"She will have the girls for some years yet," Mrs. Collins said hopefully.
The sound of Sally's footsteps silenced any further conversation on the topic. "What of the baby? Does he have a name yet?"
"This wee pile of bones?" Sally interjected as she came within hearing. "I've a mind to call him 'Stout' if for no other reason than to inspire him to live up to the name." She rounded the corner studying the bundle in her arms as if for some new discovery of a strength yet to be seen. Tearing her eyes away, she smiled at her visitors in turn. "But, likely, he will be John."
Mrs. Collins rose immediately to close the space between them. With the tip of a finger, she carefully stroked the delicate palm that had escaped the swaddling cloth. The tiny fingers curled and splayed, showing the infant still had much progress to make. Mrs. Collins smiled tenderly, bravely hiding her concern.
"I like the idea of a strong name," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "Napoleon?"
Sally chuckled, shaking her head. "It would never do. The children would be calling him 'Nappy'." Both women chuckled at the thought.
"Alexander," Mrs. Collins proposed after a moment.
"I fear not," Sally sighed. "We cannot have a Davey, a Jem Junior, and an Alexander."
"Angus?" ventured Mrs. Collins skeptically. "It is a strong and forceful name."
"Sounds foreign," Sally replied.
"Gabriel."
The women all turned to study the source of the suggestion.
"When we attempt to represent angels," Mr. Kelly began hesitantly, "we liken them more to friendly fairies or innocent children with halos and wings." He glanced about, seeing deepening interest in the eyes that studied him so intently. "But, in the Scriptures, when angels like Gabriel, would appear, they always adjured their audience to not be afraid." His voice gained the weight of conviction. "Therefore, we must assume that their appearance must be frightfully powerful and even terrifying."
He paused, waiting for a response. When none was forthcoming, he added, "He could be called 'Gabe'."
"Gabe," the besotted mother whispered to the tiny babe in her arms. As if in response, two little arms waved suddenly in the air. Sally captured a hand in her own. "Gabriel. Our God-sent angel."
Mr. Kelly, much to Charlotte's embarrassment, was treated to a detailed account of her efforts on the behalf of the Saxons, though a few pieces of the story had to be glossed over due to their personal and physical nature, for Charlotte had helped the midwife with several troublesome deliveries, and one of them had been little Gabriel's early arrival.
The narrative flowed naturally into a general reckoning of Charlotte's tireless deeds, promptly named selfless, despite her own difficulties.
“I am most concerned for your health, Mrs. Collins,” said Mr. Kelly. “Surely you are not responsible the well-being of the entire parish.”
Mrs. Ponsonby was the first to find her tongue and began to regale the gentleman with the tale of the late Mr. Collins. “Mrs. Collins is behaving as she always has. From what I heard, her husband was always too intent upon ingratiating himself with those who could benefit his station. Had it not been for the efforts of his wife, he must have fallen far short of a man of God's higher calling. She was the true pastor.”
“Please, Mrs. Ponsonby, have done,” said Charlotte. “I thank you for your kind opinion, but I must beg your leave now, as I still have several people to visit and baskets to deliver.”
Sally, seeing her friend nearing distress, took charge of the conversation, aiding Charlotte and Mr. Kelly with their escape. She waved them down the drive within a quarter of an hour.
"That Mr. Kelly is a heap better than that Mr. Collins," Mrs. Ponsonby observed to her daughter a few moments later. "Let us hope she is fool enough to take the marriage noose again."
"I fervently hope you mean to offer me sustenance before our sojourn back to Pemberley," Mr. Kelly said in languishing tones.
Charlotte chuckled, rolling her eyes. His stamina had not flagged for a moment on their long walk through the countryside, nor had his interest in each person or story presented along the way.
"I believe the invitation was for tea," she countered. She set her bonnet aside and smoothed her dress while Mr. Kelly removed his hat and gloves and waited patiently for further direction.
Mr. Kelly grinned. "I would happily settle for a morsel of bread, a slice of cheese or two, and perhaps, if I am very fortunate, a sliver of ham or poultry."
"This way then," said Charlotte, leading the way to a grove of trees. “Bring the basket.”
After they were seated on a bench among the trees, she opened the basket and presented three wheels of cheese. Mr. Kelly sniffed and rejected two, so she sliced the third. She presented rolls, biscuits, and a loaf, and the gentleman made his selection. Fruits were chosen as were meats, along with a jug of tea and two cups.
"How cozy this is!" observed Mr. Kelly. "Too often, I am left to starve after tea, but here," he gestured at the spread before him, "I am able to not only choose my fare but to consume it in the most natural of environs."
Charlotte studied him warily as she poured his tea. "Sugar or cream?"
"A touch of both," he replied jauntily. "Why not?"
"You have been a very good sport," observed Charlotte aloud as she focused intently on the task of adding a little of both cream and sugar to her guest's tea.
"Yes," he replied agreeably, "And I should be rewarded." Though his expression was pleasant, his eyes were intently focused on Charlotte's face. "Why do they call you 'Mrs. C.'?"
For, along the delivery route, it had not only been the Saxons to use that abbreviated name but also a widower, Mr. Brown, who had been much relieved at finding a proper gentleman escorting 'Mrs. C.' on her rounds. Then, beyond his land, five more people had all addressed her in the same way.
Charlotte spluttered on the sip of tea she had taken, but she recovered quickly.
"Honestly," she replied with a small smile, "I cannot be sure. You see, both 'Charlotte' and 'Collins' begin with the letter 'C,' so it could represent either one."
"When did your friends begin to use the abbreviation?"
"Again," she said, pushing a grape around her plate, "I am not quite certain, but I think," she glanced up at her inquisitor, "I believe I noticed it first after my husband's death."
"They did not seem to care for Mr. Collins," he stated quietly, dropping his eyes.
"No," Charlotte agreed at length, "because he did not endeavor to earn their affection."
Mr. Kelly nodded. "Now," he began with some force to his voice, "tell me about this summons. I gather it was not an attempt to renew an old acquaintance."
Charlotte looked up guiltily.
"No, not exactly." She carefully placed her teacup in its saucer before elaborating. "I fear very much that what I must say will offend you deeply."
Mr. Kelly folded his hands in his lap and gave her his full attention. "Still," he said calmly, "I suppose it cannot be avoided, so better to be quick about it."
The conviction and truth of his words had a bolstering effect upon the lady.
"Do you recall the last time you found me in the gazebo at Pemberley?" she asked, plunging into her account. "It was the morning following the final night of chess, when I had won against Lord Salisbury."
"Yes, of course," he answered shortly. "You were kneeling, and I helped you to your feet. There was a trinket - a snuff box."