She hit on the happy plan of commissioning her husband to build a sundial, a project that began when an obelisk commissioned by Lady Catherine for the lawns at Rosings had been too small to suit. It had been made a gift to the Parsonage, and Mr Collins was dispatched to spend his days outdoors, engaged with stakes, ropes, and much checking of his pocket-watch and listening for the chime of the church clock striking the hour. A few fine days, and the hours were marked by stakes, and the business of choosing stones and plants and carving the numerals ensued, giving hours of harmless and happy occupation.

Their most cheerful conversations in fact revolved around their plans for their home and land. Charlotte, having spotted a few disused skeps in the barn, was determined to install beehives in the orchard, not just for the honey, but so she could be independent of the grocer’s for candles. She was grateful that her husband’s income permitted their purchase, sparing her the labour and odour of making rushlights, but she was determined to be as frugal as was consistent with comfort. She ordered and pored over almanacs and beekeeping guides, considering the blending of garden and husbandry, imagining lavender-flavoured honey and bumper russet crops next autumn.

Sometimes she and Mr Collins sketched out plans for a conservatory, an object closer to pleasant fantasy than reality, but it was not out of the bounds of possibility (although Lady Catherine would have to agree). And they both studied seed and plant catalogues with interest, Charlotte confessing to a weakness for peonies and dahlias, those foreign and gaudy interlopers amid the usual foxgloves, stocks, and hollyhocks. One project they did put into motion was the establishment of a nuttery; they envisaged walnuts and hazels alongside the ancient sweet chestnuts that meandered down one side of the orchard, and much comparison of varieties and calculation of costs ensued.

Meanwhile, there was a great deal to do. Although it was the worst time of year for stocking the pantry, exotic fruits and plants were sporadically sent over from the Rosings hothouses, for which Lady Catherine seemed to require only the tax of unending gratitude. Mr Collins provided this in such quantities that it was left to Charlotte only to echo complaisant agreement. This meant she had to find receipts for such delicacies as Seville oranges, which she turned to marmalade, a welcome addition to the table at breakfast time; there was also the unexpected gift of much-prized lemons, which needed to be preserved.

There was goose-fat to render, butter to churn and wash, late apples to lay down, cider to brew, horseradish to grate, and she did not trust the flour and barley bins – their contents would have to be sifted in case of weevils. Although it was Mr Brown’s job to dispatch a chicken or duck once a fortnight, it fell to her to pluck the birds and save the feathers for pillows.