After tidying Charlotte up somewhat, and calling for Katie to help dispose of stained linen and to build up the fire, Mrs Talbot went to announce the tidings to the anxious father, who entered the room shortly thereafter, prayer book and jug of water in hand, ready to meet and baptise his progeny.

A variety of emotions rippled over his face: satisfaction at having at last sired a son, concern about his condition (for which Mrs Talbot had prepared him), a different species of concern for his wife. After ascertaining that she did not seem distraught and was in tolerably cheerful spirits, if clearly physically weak, he congratulated her warmly.

He bent over to hear her response: ‘Thank you. My dear Mr Collins, I know we agreed, in case of a son, to name him William, paying both you and my father proper respect, but I should like him christened Thomas William. Would you be so kind as to indulge me on this point?’

At such a moment, it would take a husband with the heart of a stone gargoyle to demur, and Mr Collins baptised his first-born son according to his wife’s wishes. Perhaps he feared that the child would not live long enough to make the matter of his name one of significance.

And so Tom and Charlotte passed the next weeks in her chamber, warmed by fires and proximity. Apart from his deformed head, he showed every sign of health; his colour was good, he rarely cried, and he fed hungrily and often. Their only visitors were Mrs Talbot, Mr Collins, and Tom’s small sisters, who were ushered in to see their mother and brother twice a day by Maria, who had arrived a fortnight earlier to run the household and care for the little girls during their mother’s lying-in.

A doctor recommended by Lady Catherine arrived to confirm Mrs Talbot’s prognosis, and over at Rosings the topic of the new baby’s prospects, ranging from imminent expiration to a future in the workhouse, were canvassed with gloomy vigour by Lady Catherine, who never missed an opportunity to commiserate with Mr Collins on the misfortune of producing such a frail heir. Fortunately, Charlotte was safe from all such prognostications, and Mr Collins had the good sense, for once, not to repeat his patron’s opinions on the matter to his wife.

Perhaps it was the difficulty of the labour, or the fragility of her new infant, but Charlotte remained immersed in an animal world of suckling and sleeping, her hand always on her small son. She kept him swaddled alongside her, resisting all attempts by others to place him in a cradle. As long as she could see his chest rise and fall, she was content.