Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“ I do hope Mr Collins makes a speedy recovery.”
No sooner had this statement passed Elizabeth’s lips than she winced at the agonising howl that followed them out. She nodded at the maid who had escorted them to the door, a silent permission to return to her mistress, and proceeded down the garden path on her husband’s arm as the door slammed shut behind them.
Mr Collins’s bravery of the previous afternoon had resulted in a bump to his crown and a twisted knee, but no worse. The apothecary had been called in for a more thorough opinion than Dr Nichols could be bothered to provide prior to expelling the parson from Rosings to his own residence. This was well, for none but Lady Catherine put any stock in the physician’s advice. Mr Julius, a jolly old sort, had declared his patient on the mend but had reasonably adjured him from moving about too much lest he test his luck and more seriously harm himself .
Alas, Mr Collins had attempted another feat of nonsensical gallantry that very morning. Upon being informed of the Darcys’ visit, he had become greatly alarmed by the supposition that they were there to bring tragic news of Lady Catherine. In his garment-rending hysteria, he had insisted on going to her and tripped—calamity had thus ensued.
The small party gathered in the sitting room had become aware of Mr Collins’s escape only when he tumbled down the stairs and landed in a blubbering heap. Darcy had assisted the poor man to a chair, assured him that his patroness was well, and then they had speedily adjourned to allow the household to see to its master.
Darcy’s expression was pained as he opened the gate and guided her through it. “I cannot help but feel responsible for his misfortune.”
Elizabeth patted his hand sympathetically. “No one could have anticipated that he would respond to our visit in such a way.”
“Regardless, someone ought to have sent word to the parsonage of Lady Catherine’s continued good health. It is no secret how devoted he is to her.”
“I am certain that someone did, for Charlotte made only polite enquiries after her. I dare say the blow to his head—and possibly the draughts Mr Julius prescribed—have addled my cousin’s mind. As you are well aware, Mr Collins is not the most perceptive man, even at his best.”
Darcy sighed as they entered the wood, a breeze swaying the treetops. “I think what distresses him the most is being denied the opportunity to dote on Lady Catherine. Were he convalescing at Rosings, perhaps he might be more complacent and would not have attempted such a rash action.”
Elizabeth shook her head at the absurdity of it all. “You may be right, but then there is no knowing with a man such as Mr Collins. He might have fallen down the grand staircase at Rosings instead and not lived to realise his own mistake.”
They strolled along the footpath for a few silent minutes until they reached the overgrown turning that led to Anne’s tower. Elizabeth paused there, searching for the concealed point of entry.
“What is it?” queried Darcy, halting likewise.
“I should like to visit the tower again.”
“Again?” Darcy’s left brow rose in interest—or perhaps suspicion. “I had no notion that you had discovered Anne’s tower, yet you say you have been to it before?”
“Once.” Or twice, if one were to count my dream from last night . Darcy’s expression crumpled into one that heralded a scolding, so Elizabeth hurried to elaborate. “Freddy and I stumbled across it when we last called upon the parsonage. It was the same day she made merry in the gardens there.”
His premeditated lecture apparently thwarted by mortification, Darcy’s scowl shifted into a grimace. “Another reparation we owe Mr Collins. I wonder what she so disliked about your cousin’s daffodils.”
Poor Freddy had been left behind with her friends at the kennels for this particular sojourn. It would have been unfeeling to take her back to the parsonage during Mr Collins’s convalescence, and regardless of how lowly she regarded his intelligence, Elizabeth was not of a mind to finish him off. No doubt hearing of Freddy loose in his garden again would induce apoplexy.
“It is difficult to say, but she was quite thorough in their ruination. Now, help me find the—there!” She tugged on his arm, leading him to the spot where the greenery parted just enough to allow easement.
Darcy followed, though not without protest. “Elizabeth, you cannot go lumbering into the woods. Remember your promise.”
“I promised I would take no unnecessary risks and would bring an escort—a bargain that I have fulfilled. Come now, hold this sapling out of my way.” She pushed the spindly young tree into Darcy’s hand and ducked under it to where the rutted path became more prominent. Her husband sighed in defeat before following suit.
Roughly twenty yards into the trees, the wood gave way to the clearing containing the ruins they were searching for. Elizabeth found herself equally awed as she had been upon first discovering it. The church bells ringing in the background only added to its grandeur.
“Your uncle had a singular sense of style.”
“He did,” Darcy agreed, neck craned back to take in the entirety of the structure. “He had a fascination with King Arthur and his knights, as I am sure must be obvious.”
“Was it due to his own knighthood?”
“You would think so, but no. I believe the interest originated in his father—who was named Arthur, you might recall—and the knighthood came much later. Sir Lewis used to regale my father with tales of how he assiduously courted the favour of the king in order to receive the honour. It would not have been difficult for him—a friendlier man you could not hope to meet.”
Elizabeth smiled fondly at the notion of Sir Lewis making himself agreeable to King George. “I cannot help but think of Sir William Lucas when you speak of him so.”
“I had not considered it before, but there is a remarkable resemblance between them.”
“I would not draw such a comparison before your aunt! Can you imagine her outrage?”
Darcy made a pretence of shuddering, and Elizabeth laughed.
They reached the steps that led up to the whitewashed door, and Elizabeth reached out for the brass ring, but Darcy forestalled her. “Allow me to go first and ensure that the structure within is sound.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him, but there was no true exasperation in the motion. She stepped out of the way, jestingly presenting the closed door with a sweeping wave of her arms, and haughtily entreated him, “By all means, after you.”
Darcy shook his head at her and took up the brass ring himself. With a hardy tug, the door swung free on its hinges, and he leant forwards to peek inside before crossing the threshold for a more thorough inspection.
After listening to him shuffle about and knock on various surfaces for an interminable period, Elizabeth called to him, “I have already been inside and suffered no mishap.”
“It is an old building and could have many hidden dangers. ”
“It is not nearly as old as Rosings.”
At last, Darcy emerged, dusting the grime from his hands with his handkerchief. “Perhaps not, but it is not as well maintained out here in the woods.”
Elizabeth raised a brow at her husband. “Did we, or did we not, just pay a call to a man who was injured by a falling painting in your aunt’s withdrawing room? I have visited Rosings enough times to say with authority that it was an inevitability. I suspect the place has not been renovated since Sir Lewis’s time, and it is in dire need of repairs.”
Darcy shook his head, visibly exasperated. “So I have told her for years, but there is little money for the endeavour. But enough about Rosings—shall we go upstairs?”
“We shall.”