Chapter Twenty-Two
Taking one of Rosings’ maids, Elizabeth set out for the Hunsford Parsonage long before breakfast, trudging through snow that reflected the golden morning light.
The day, she supposed, dawned pretty, but her ongoing guilt at accepting the inheritance Mr. Collins left her had robbed the world of much of its beauty.
She still felt as if she didn’t deserve the outcome of his will in any way, certain she would have refused his proposal the moment he asked and that he would have reallocated his property.
This guilt had kept Elizabeth from the final task of entering Mr. Collins’ parsonage to make decisions about those items her ladyship hadn’t felt qualified to disperse, but the task must be done.
Fortunately, based on Lady Catherine’s lists, the task should not be momentous.
Under other circumstances, Elizabeth would resent Lady Catherine’s overreach, but in this instance, her interference was a relief.
Lady Catherine had sold Mr. Collins’ personal furnishings and his clothing, along with anything else she deemed held no sentimental value.
She hadn’t dispersed his books, saying she’d heard Elizabeth and her father enjoyed reading.
That all suited Elizabeth as she had no desire to sort through her cousin’s clothing, or make decisions pertaining to his favorite chair.
The books, at least, she could view in an abstract manner.
She and the maid reached a fork in the path and Elizabeth looked to the girl.
The evening before, when Elizabeth had stated over dinner that she meant to see to the last of Mr. Collins’ possessions that morning, Lady Catherine had advised her to take the right fork.
Sometimes, Elizabeth had found, Lady Catherine’s advice wasn’t as good as others.
“I believe we go right?” she asked the maid.
The girl peered into the thick, snow laden pines lining the righthand path. “Right takes us to the back of the parsonage, Miss. Left will bring us out on the lane and around to the front.”
Elizabeth peered down the trail Lady Catherine had recommended, finding it deep in shadow in the morning light, and doubly draped in the oppressive gloom of her reason for heading to the parsonage quite so early.
Fear.
She swallowed. “I believe the key I have is for the front.” She went left, where the path wound between leafless deciduous trees, their bare branches letting in sunlight.
Perhaps she should have brought a footman along with the maid, but she didn’t want to appear timid, or demanding, or silly. But she was silly, heading to Hunsford Parsonage barely past the crack of dawn simply because she’d concocted the theory that miscreants didn’t rise from bed early.
A twig snapped and Elizabeth suppressed a start.
She darted her gaze left, in the direction of the sound, to see a deer disappear deeper into the forest. Not an enraged, invective spewing madwoman with a rock, or even a smug, up to no good Mr. Wickham.
Definitely not Miss Bingley, looking down her nose.
Elizabeth sucked in a breath, lengthened her stride, and wished Mr. Darcy hadn’t informed her of his efforts to keep abreast of the three.
She especially wished he hadn’t told her of their subsequent disappearance, especially in the case of Miss Bingley.
For Mr. Wickham or Mrs. Clegg to go missing seemed easily explained, but for Miss Bingley to behave in such a strange manner could not be.
That information, coupled with Mrs. Clegg’s earlier mad attack, had Elizabeth’s nerves on edge.
And yes, Mr. Darcy had said she would be safe at Rosings, but did that include on a walk to the parsonage?
Why hadn’t she brought a footman or two? She could have claimed they were meant to carry books.
Or she could have asked Mr. Darcy to accompany her.
She would take considerable comfort from his strong presence.
He’d seemed, at dinner, almost as if he might offer to escort her, right before Lady Catherine told Elizabeth which maid to take, the girl being familiar with the parsonage.
Her ladyship then went on to announce that, once Elizabeth finished her inspection of Mr. Collins’ possessions, they would be ready for the more joyous task of making and accepting calls.
That extended interruption had effectively cut off whatever Mr. Darcy had been about to say, and Elizabeth had deemed asking him far too forward.
He seemed to show a strong preference for her company, and she’d come to find his quite pleasing, but he’d given her no real reason to hope he held her in true affection.
She did hold onto her hope that his poor assessment of her musical ability stemmed from regard.
Or, perhaps, the desk he’d commissioned from Gavin had been an indication of his affection for her.
If so, the man was being entirely too inscrutable.
A desk could be for a relative, a different woman who tempted him, or even his housekeeper.
If he esteemed her, Elizabeth would certainly encourage him.
She’d come to know him well during her weeks in London, and the more she knew, the more there was to like, but she would not make a fool of herself.
Especially after being too transparent in her original interest in Mr. Wickham, before she sorted out his true personality.
If she weren’t careful, she’d earn a bad reputation.
“Miss? Is anything wrong?” the maid asked.
Elizabeth looked to see that her long strides had the maid jogging to keep up and slowed her pace. “My apologies. I’m eager to get out of the cold.”
“Won’t be much warmer at the parsonage,” the girl said. “The staff’s been let off until the middle of January. Lady Catherine said it was better they have a long Christmas with their families than tend an empty house.”
Elizabeth hadn’t known that. She would have to lock the door behind them after they went in.
They reached the road and walked down it, Elizabeth looking over her shoulder at every sound, but only a single cart, manned by a farmer the maid knew, passed.
Soon enough, they turned down the drive for the parsonage.
No tracks marred the white-blanketed walk.
Elizabeth pressed ahead, not worried about the snow clinging to gown and boots. Her least worry was a damp hem.
She unlocked the door and let them in, then locked it behind them and pocketed the key. Standing in the small entrance hall, she and the maid brushed off the snow as best they could and Elizabeth said, “Lady Catherine told me that everything that’s still to be seen to is assembled in the kitchen.”
“This way, Miss.”
They headed to the kitchen and a hodgepodge collection of items on the table there, mostly papers and books.
Only one chair remained at the table, apparently belonging to the parsonage rather than to the building’s former occupant.
Light shone in the lone kitchen window and Elizabeth realized she’d another reason for taking on her task so early.
She’d no idea if the parsonage held any candles at the moment, but this way, she had plenty of daylight.
Mustering determination, she marched over to the table and reached for the first pile of papers.
Deciding she would have to read at least part of them, she sat in the chair.
After a few moments of reading, Elizabeth found the kitchen too cold for inactivity and asked the maid to light the stove. Her clothing had kept her warm enough on their walk but wasn’t enough while she was still. The maid complied, looking relieved.
Once the stove was lit, she asked, “Miss, do you mind if I find a place to sit? Only, I’m on my feet a lot most days.”
“Certainly,” Elizabeth said, flipping another page off the top of the pile. “Let me know where I can find you.”
“There’s a sofa in the parlor,” the maid said, pointing. “Do you think I might light a fire there, as well?”
“A small one, so it will go out quickly.”
The girl nodded, gathered supplies, and left the kitchen.
Mr. Collins’ papers contained sermons and ideas for sermons.
From what Elizabeth read, he knew how to develop an idea, but he clearly picked his Biblical passages to support what he believed and never seemed to realize that his respect for rank and wealth wasn’t echoed in the Bible.
After skimming through, Elizabeth saw no reason to keep any of them.
Mr. Collins’ account books were more interesting.
Even while a student at Oxford, his net savings increased every year.
His savings plus what Lady Catherine had received for everything she’d sold amounted to over two thousand pounds, and that number did not yet include the house and lands he’d inherited from his father.
Elizabeth had no idea what those would sell for. Asking Lady Catherine seemed far too money-grubbing, and no number had been offered. Whatever they sold for, more money would be a boon. Elizabeth didn’t like to feel greedy, but she could help support her family in some comfort, if—
She refocused on the ledger. No. Supporting her family was not what was needed.
Before the fire, Mrs. Bennet had often bemoaned what would happen to Elizabeth and her sisters if their father died, but now, with the entail broken, that was much less of a worry.
No distant connection would own the estate.
Mr. Bennet could allocate it as he saw fit.
Jane’s marriage was also a form of security, and Kitty was engaged to Mr. Carter, which meant she would be cared for. With what Mr. Collins had left her, Elizabeth could have a good enough life even if Mr. Darcy never felt about her as she now felt about him.
If he didn’t, would she ever find another man who sparked such interest in her? She’d never been in love before. She didn’t know if what she felt was love, but the idea of Mr. Darcy being out of her life was something she did not want to contemplate.