Mr. Collins nearly drooled in his eagerness to retire. The night after their wedding, and then again after their journey to Hunsford, she had pled fatigue, but this evening Charlotte had made no mention of headache nor of sleepiness.
She was oppressively aware of her husband's desire. This was part of the bargain, and she intended to keep her bargain.
"Shall we to bed, Mr. Collins?" she asked evenly.
He agreed moistly, swiftly retreating to his room and calling for his man to dress him for bed.
Charlotte quietly accepted the help of her maid, steeling herself for what was to come.
His knock came quickly, and she invited him in. He entered, wavering between desire-fueled speed and shame-faced hesitation.
Charlotte forced herself to reach out her hand to him. "Shall we pray before bed, Mr. Collins?"
Collins grasped at her suggestion, delay suddenly and confusingly desirable in the face of great, unknown delights. He came to her and they knelt together as he fought his befuddlement for an appropriate application to a merciful God, commending Him in particular to bless Lady Catherine De Bourgh for having directed him to marry.
After their "amens," Collins turned to his wife. "It is strange... I find myself thinking of my time at school, of a schoolmaster who had me under his particular tutelage."
Charlotte, grateful for any delay, drew him to sit next to her on the bed and bade him tell her all about it. Gratified, Collins poured his heart out to her.
"He was a great man, very strict," Collins explained. "And he cared to very much about my progress. When I excelled, he praised most pleasantly. But when I failed..."
"If he cared so about your studies, he must have had your interests at heart," Charlotte ventured.
"Yes, his care was ever for my learning," Collins quickly agreed. "But, as I said, he was a strict man, and on the occasions that I did not meet his exacting standards, he was... forced to punish me."
"His punishments must not have been too hard to bear, as you were so attached," Charlotte said.
Collins shifted uneasily. "They were... painful."
Feeling that he wanted to reveal something to her but that he was hard pressed to do so, Charlotte probed. "Was it the ruler? I had heard of prefects at boys' schools administering a ruler across their young scholar's knuckles."
"No, not the ruler. He used his own hand. He believed a hard hand against the soundest part of a boy's form would best transmit the lesson of disapproval for failure."
Charlotte was confused by her husband's pained air.
"Did he often punish you?" she asked sympathetically.
"Only when I needed it," he confessed, smiling slightly. "He always knew best. My own father was quite busy and removed from our family scene, so I had not enjoyed a corrective hand, such as he supplied."
"I see," Charlotte said.
"It was painful, as I said, but sometimes a most... curious sensation... would come upon me as he punished me. A feeling akin to what I have felt upon contemplating the nuptial bed, which is why I feel bound to relate all this old school story to you, dear Charlotte."
Her mind raced. What was William trying to tell her? She felt something important was at hand, if she could be grasp it.
"What was it that you did that forced your teacher to correct you?"
"The first time it was low marks on an exam. After that it was instances of clumsiness, in speech or in movement."
"And were there many such corrections necessary?"
"Oh, yes," Collins said, lost in memory. "For a time, before I learned grace, it was necessary for him to correct me once a week or more."
