Carved pumpkins decorated the roads. Their faces gleamed with evil anticipation at the delicate clergyman as he passed. He did not think much of these country customs that had never reached cities of consequence. In his mind, the Irish and their ancestors had been rather fanciful in their traditions and barbaric in their execution of them.
Mr. Collins paused as a carriage appeared in the distance and rejoiced at the prospect of being momentarily in the presence of that great patroness of his, Lady Catherine the Bourgh. Yet the carriage seemed in most indecent haste and in no humor to slow down for him to exchange the required pleasantries with those within. Instead, the horses nearly trampled the poor fellow and Mr. Collins fall on his backside in the late October mud.
He quickly recovered and stumbled to his feet, casting an eye about him to ensure the spectacle had not been seen. His cheeks flushed with humiliation as he imagined the mortification of being discovered in such an unseemly state, embracing the country lane. Unable to discover a soul about, he dusted off his attire and dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.
The carriage now disappeared completely, Mr. Collins returned to the house to relay the extraordinary event to Mrs. Collins. Perhaps she had received word from Rosings. As he entered the room, he found his wife engaged in reading a novel of admittedly questionable morality. It was a love story of sorts but Mr. Collins pretended not to see as he always did in such instances.
''My dear!'' the clergyman cried upon approaching her. ''such calamity. A carriage just left Rosings at great speed. Those horses nearly crushed me; they would not make way.''
Again the handkerchief gently caressing his forehead to reduce the perspiration.
Charlotte looked up from her book and beheld the muddy countenance of her husband. ''Ah, yes. Lady Catherine sent us a letter this morning saying she was indisposed and in need of medical attention.''
This speech was delivered with an airy indifference Mr. Collins found shocking. Lady Catherine indisposed! ''Why did you not inform me at once? She will have need of me. My spiritual guidance at such a time...'' he faltered and collapsed onto his knees.
''What if she were to leave this world without being able to speak her mind and confess her sins,'' he whispered and for a moment it looked as though he might cry.
Charlotte sighed, closed her book and helped her husband to his feet. ''They will be back presently with the doctor, I daresay. In the meantime, why don't you help me carve these pumpkins?'' she asked kindly and handed him a large orange pumpkin with an angry expression.
Mr. Collins gave it a disgusted look and pushed it as far away from him as the small table allowed. ''I cannot believe you indulge in these pagan rituals. What would my congregation say if they beheld such a sight. As my wife, you must always remember that your reputation is linked to mine in ways that you cannot comprehend. I am a clergyman, Charlotte. I must not be seen promoting such filth.''
With those words, he left the room and resolved to pout in his study for a while. Mrs. Collins often dreamed she was back in Derbyshire with her dear friends and family. However, since she was unable to leave her husband and rejoin her family, she devised a way to teach him a lesson. Pagan filth, indeed!
That night, when Collins was abed and struggling to fall asleep, he rose and left the bedroom. He had not heard from Lady Catherine, nor received any news regarding her health and situation. He worried it was a serious illness from which she could not convalesce. He imagined her coffin opening up at her funeral and Lady Catherine's ghost climbing out because it had not been put to rest.
In this frame of mind did he step foot in his study when a large pumpkin greeted him. Collins gave a high-pitched shriek. The pumpkin lit up in the dark with lights emitting from its eyes and mouth and on his head it wore one of Lady Catherine's finest hats. It stared at him from his writing table and a shiver moved down his spine. Mr. Collins clung to his candle and hurried to the front parlour. Pumpkins lined the walls and every one of them grinned at him more angrily than the next.
In a moment of despair, Collins slipped outside and escaped to his garden - to safety. But where there had once stood a proud scarecrow in the fields, he could make out the familiar shape of an old woman in elegant dress hanging from a rope suspended from a tree. The gown was a favourite of Lady Catherine and its pale hue glowed evilly in the moonlight.
Collins screamed at the figure and dropped his candle. The dark enveloped him and the only light his eyes could discover belonged to a pumpkin's face. Shivering and afraid, Mr. Collins buried his face in his hands and wished it all to go away.
When Mrs. Collins arose the next morning for breakfast, she found her husband thus. On the ground outside, his hands covering his eyes and whimpering like a beaten dog.
''Whatever are you doing here, my dear?'' Charlotte asked him and prodded his ribs.
He removed his hands from his disheveled face and glanced at the figure that had so distressed him last night. But there he saw the scarecrow, naked and clearly masculine. Lady Catherine the Bourgh's body or dress was nowhere to be found. Nor were the many pumpkins he had seen the previous night present.
''I thought I saw...'' he said and pointed.
''What did you see? It's just the scarecrow.''
He laughed weakly. ''It must've been my mind playing tricks.''
Charlotte smiled innocently. ''If you say so, my dear.''
That was the day Mrs. Collins learned that it was well worth the effort of befriending Lady Catherine's servants and her husband never berated her for carving pumpkins again. Every time he saw one, his mouth twitched and he unexpectedly left the room for some errand.
