Chapter 74
William Collins, in an attempt to please his fiancée, had worn a brand new coat that night. He had found it in a shop window rather than having one tailored, but that was fine. It was a little tight around the armpits, but the important thing was how it looked.
He regretted that with all of his withered heart as he staggered through the pouring rain.
It felt as if his arms were being garrotted.
The fabric rasped against his wrists and clung to his chest, and by the time he reached the stables he could barely breathe.
And he needed to breathe. He needed to shout, and run, and curse the damn woman for her treachery.
But there was nobody to shout at, only wheel tracks in the mud and distant servants hollering at the horses.
Sobriety had come with the shocking cold rain and the sickening sight of Jane smiling as she ran away.
It was only a fleeting mercy. When he stopped and collapsed to catch his breath, he half-rolled onto his back and watched the clouds spin above him.
Rain and mud splattered him, bathing him in filth.
When he crawled onto his knees and looked around him a horrible realisation made him curse and drag the wretched coat from his skin. It was a stable yard; this was not mud.
“You there!” he bellowed, struggling to his feet towards a hostler, “Give me a horse!”
“A horse, sir?” The man shouted back, then laughed uproariously, “If you can catch one, sir, then you can have it!”
“Catch?” Collins squealed.
He finally made it to the nearest stable and clung to the door for balance.
Unfortunately for him, it was unlocked and swung wildly open, sending him once more to the ground.
This time the pull of gravity was too much to bear, and he vomited onto the stones.
When he raised his head the servant (a man who spent his life shovelling manure!) was looking at him in disgust.
“Where are the horses?” Mr. Collins demanded, wiping his mouth. The servant pointed in several directions, smiling a little when the rector struggled to peer into the rain.
“One of the guests must’ve taken it in their head to set ‘em loose, sir. I dare say he’ll regret it when the master gets ahold of him.”
“Find me a horse at once! They cannot all have gone!”
“Sorry.” the servant lied. Then he whistled to get the attention of the others.
Collins watched in disbelief as the servants hurried back towards their duties. He could distantly hear cries of distress as the guests hurried inside from the pouring rain. The fairytale ball was definitely over; carriages were already being called for.
Mr. Collins had a wild thought, then, to commandeer one of them and chase Jane down. He smiled slickly, wiped water from his forehead, and then made his unsteady way to the front of the house.
The driveway was full of carriages, all waiting for their owners to emerge.
There was already a crowd of ladies and gentlemen gathering in the entry hall, huddling under their thin summer coats and trying to decide whether to make the undignified run through the rain to get to their carriage, or whether to stand around in their ruined clothes with all of their peers watching.
Oblivious to their curious gazes, Mr. Collins selected one of the smaller carriages at the back of the line and strode up to it with a confident smile. He had no idea that, as covered in mud as he was, he looked more like a troll than a rector.
“You there!” he shouted to the driver, “Let me in at once! We must leave without delay.”
“Oh, must we?” the man sneered down at him. Clearly fed up with sitting in the rain, the driver was in no mood to humour drunken louts. He was, however, bored enough to tease them. “What’s the trouble, my good sir?”
“A woman has absconded! She must be caught! Caught and… and brought back to me! Right now, sir, right now!”
“As you say, sir.” the driver agreed, then settled more comfortably into his seat and started a leisurely exploration of his right nostril.
Mr. Collins puffed up with indignation. He was shivering now, in nothing but his shirt and an aromatic veneer of manure. The sight of the carriage, dry and warm, was almost as inviting as the thought of getting the wretched woman back and shaking some sense into her stupid head.
Growling a rather un-Christian curse, Mr. Collins lunged forwards and tried to grab the doorhandle. His foot slipped on its journey to the step, and he fell forwards. His nose was squished unpleasantly against the door, and then he slid all the way down with a long, undignified squeak.
“Watch your step.” the driver called down helpfully.
The carriage in front of them moved forwards as the ones at the front of the line departed.
Clicking his tongue, the driver urged his own paired bays forwards.
Mr. Collins cried out in alarm as the huge carriage loomed over him.
His fingers were snatched away from the perilous wheels, but he was too slow to drag back his foot.
There was a crunch, which was thankfully mostly the boot, but Collins screeched when hot pain radiated out from his little toe.
That, on top of the drunkenness and his fury, came out in a long and bloodcurdling scream. Then he fell backwards onto the gravel and let the night swallow him up.