Chapter Text
Anne de Burg enjoyed sketching. True, she was at best mediocre, but that very fact permitted her to escape her mother’s stifling attention.
When young, her parents had hired a portrait master, and the man had stayed at Rosings for the week. She had followed him everywhere like a puppy, and amused - he demonstrated the basics of perspective.
This began a series of art tutors, the first of whom said that she showed promise; the last of whom labeled her a prodigy.
But when her father had died, she had stopped painting and gone over completely to sketching.
The color had gone out of her life, she had told her mother.
And so it was until the arrival of Mr. Collins.
***
Always frail and sickly, Anne had been coughing up phlegm when introduced to the candidate for the vacancy at Hunsford parish.
May I pray for you, Miss de Burg? He had asked solemnly.
You may, she had agreed, coughing into her handkerchief.
And the man had produced a sweet smelling ointment from a suitcoat pocket and anointed her forehead, and commenced upon a lengthy oration from his knees, before the end of which, Anne had succumbed to a much needed deep slumber.
She awoke the morning feeling refreshed, and Mr. Collins had secured his place as the new minister of Hunsford and as a fixture at Rosings.
***
Always tired, she had found to her initial chagrin that the sound of his voice made her fall asleep. Again and again on Sunday mornings she would doze off during the service. Once afterwards, she had tried to apologize.
That's perfectly alright, Miss de Burg, he had replied. I'm glad that you are able to attend. Your very presence is an encouragement to me, he added.
He was a kind man, Anne mused on the way home. His conversation was wholesome - if never ceasing, and he was good company for her overbearing mother. So Anne decided to make him a painting - to welcome him and to thank him for his consideration upon their first meeting.
She spoke of this to her mother at breakfast the next day.
I wish to make him a landscape that might adorn the parsonage, mother. Might we take a tour of it, so I can calculate the size of the canvas?
Lady Catherine was so taken with the idea of her prodigy painting again that she called for the carriage to be readied at once.
I should like to keep it a secret, mother, just in case I am not able to complete what I’ve started.
***
After examining the parlor, she followed her mother and Mr. Collins up the stairs, only half listening to the constant ideas for improvement.
They ascended into the attic, and Anne examined the guest rooms.
I should like to paint you a landscape, sir, and affix it to the wall above this bedstead, if the subject meets your approval.
Upon being assured that such a gift would go into the parlor, for all to see and marvel at, Anne checked him.
No. That will be the domain of the future Mrs. Collins. Now that you are established, sir, you ought to seek out a wife.
Indeed, Mr. Collins! her mother seized upon this new scheme at once.
***
Anne mused over what to draw for several weeks.
The Sunday before which he was to depart to visit relatives in Herfordshire, Anne was dozing off as he droned on, reciting a Psalm about a tree planted by rivers of water.
When her mother shook her awake at the end of the service, she suddenly had it.
A babbling brook - that captured the man's essence. Submerging the base of the nearby trees with his effusive compliments and deference.
***
Mother, would it be improper if we made some improvements to the parsonage while Mr. Collins is away visiting his cousins in Hertfordshire?
I should think it a most an opportune time to do so, Lady Catherine exclaimed.
Soon, there were shelves in the closet, while Anne made the upstairs attic her studio, and had her meals brought up there.
Lady Catherine examined the work and damned it with faint praise. It could be so much more, Anne, if you'd use other colors.
I know, mother. But this is the palette that I'm working with. I’m calling it, “The Waterbed”.
Will you lend me Master Joseph when he is done with the downstairs improvements? Anne asked.
***
The master carpenter arrived with his assistants as soon as Lady Catherine departed in her carriage, and gasped in astonishment at what she had wrought.
I should like it hung above the bedstead, Master Joseph, a bare wooden frame about it, and a set of shutters built on hinges to cover it, in case it is not suited to the tastes of the guest.
I'll see to it, Miss Anne. The man promised, and suddenly stopped talking as a trickle of blood started running out of her nose. It's nothing, she told the men as they looked at her in alarm as she pinched her nose with her fingers. A handkerchief, if you please, sir. An assistant brought her one, while another ran all the way to Rosings to inform Lady Catherine that Anne was unwell once again.
Master Joseph, I expect the craftmanship in your shutters to be just as much a work of art as my painting. In fact, if I could convince you to make engravings upon them, I'd be much delighted to have my work hidden behind your skill... With that said, she slumped to the floor, her blood sugar dangerously low.
***
Anne was still bedridden when the newlyweds first came to call.
Eventually, she regained her strength, and was able to meet the new Mrs. Collins in the sitting room with her mother.
***
After being introduced, Charlotte asked Anne if she could see her sketches.
I've heard so much of your ability from Lady Catherine, Charlotte admitted.
Just the one, and only if you will sit for me, Mrs. Collins, came the reply. Follow me into my studio, if you will.
Upon her husband’s insistence, Charlotte agreed reluctantly.
When finished, Anne showed her the sketch.
I apologize in advance, she told Charlotte. I took some liberties.
Charlotte stared in shock at the sketch. On top of her head was a wolf pelt, the fur drawn with incredible attention to detail. As for her face, it was oval and pleasing upon first glance. Her nose was pert, but not quite drawn with the correct perspective. Her hair was down. Her lips were full and sensual. But her eyes...why had she done that??? Upon closer inspection, there was a vacant look about her. Vacant and sensual and predatory.
Anne watches her and winces when their eyes meet. I’m sorry, she says softly.
Don’t be, Charlotte says quickly. It’s lovely. May I keep it?
Anne brightens up. Of course. Let me wrap it for you.
That won't be necessary. My husband and your mother will want to see it.
***
Lady Catherine takes the sketch from Charlotte and lets out a loud hmmmphfff. For heaven’s sake, Anne! She hands it to Mr. Collins with disgust.
Mr. Collins looks at it, and then at his wife, and then back at the drawing. The eyes on the wolf pelt adorning her hair were masterfully done, but his wife’s eyes were empty hollow orbs. Her lips were full and slightly parted, her hair cascading down.
Mr. Collins licks his lips and swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. He looks again at his wife, who is covering her amusement at his startled reaction.
***
When you sat for the sketch, did you wear that headdress? He asks as they walk the lane back to the parsonage.
No. Miss de Burg is very imaginative, Charlotte proclaims.
It is a striking illustration, but I don’t understand what she means by it, her husband confesses.
You will tonight, Charlotte promises. I want you watching me at the moment of eclipse.
He looks at her – shocked by this frank declaration.
Such pleasure you give me, husband, she whispers.
***
And in the raptures that followed, the shuttered bedstead upstairs in the guest room was forgotten - until the arrival of Miss Elizabeth Bennett.