CHAPTER 17 – A New Dawn?
Hunsford Parsonage was crowded to the brim.
Every chamber had been claimed, and even Charlotte’s private parlour had been pressed into service to house Rosings’ displaced guests.
Servants hurried to and fro, attending not only to the family’s immediate needs but also to the steady stream of neighbours and villagers who arrived with condolences and offers of assistance in whatever way the household might require.
The first ones to come downstairs were Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Neither had breakfasted, so they asked a servant to send a light meal to Mr. Collins’s library, where Fitzwilliam informed his cousin of the latest news.
“Part of the eastern wing gave way, and some parts were still smouldering when I left the house. Half of the main gallery and everything below is now a pile of rubble. What still stands is too dangerous to enter. There is too great a risk it might fall in. Perhaps in a week or two, we might get in and see what was saved.”
“The servant quarters as well?” Darcy leaned back in the armchair, still tired despite the few hours of rest.
“Most of it. Also the kitchen and the cellars. Thank God no one was trapped inside.”
The colonel gave his cousin a brief account of what had not been damaged by the fire and what precautions had been taken to preserve it. Rosings was not an overly luxurious estate like Matlock House or Pemberley, but it still housed some costly treasures within its five-hundred-year-old walls.
“What of the servants? Where are they going to stay?”
“Those with family on the island were sent home. The others are in the barn and the stables. Only a few of them will remain at the manor, guarding what is still there. I fear most of them shall be dismissed from service sooner or later.”
Darcy assented. “If Anne does not mind, I would like to take Ferguson with me when I leave. In the days he has served me, he has shown great discernment. I could find him a position at Pemberley or at the London town house.”
Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow. “Rather unpolished for a man in town service, would you not say?”
“Perhaps. But if you are now wearing my clothes and not the parson’s, it is because Ferguson was fearless enough to go in and save most of my belongings at the risk of his own life.
” He pointed at the colonel’s attire. “They seem a bit tight at the withers, though. You should consider skipping scones next time.”
The colonel chuckled. “Then I shall thank him appropriately.”
Darcy paused, trying to dispel the fog of exhaustion clouding his discernment. He had too many decisions to make, and was far from clear-headed.
“Lady Catherine’s steward must return soon. Someone needs to manage the estate until then.”
“That is one of many letters we must pen,” Fitzwilliam replied. “The entire family must be notified of what has happened. I have no orders to return to the regiment yet, so I can handle the management of the estate until it is all sorted. I can request an extension, if necessary.”
“Anne will need all the help we can offer,” Darcy said. “Perhaps she can be taken to town or Matlock, whichever your father decides is best. A change of scenery could do her good. Anywhere far from Rosings, where she might escape the shadows of what has happened.”
His cousin sighed. “She will never consent to it. Knowing Anne, she would rather stay and rebuild—make something new out of all this ruin. In the meantime, we might live in one of the cottages. In the meadow or perhaps the one by the beach.”
“We?” Darcy’s brows lifted. “You two are to be married?”
“That is our wish, yes. I have sent a note to the nearest parish informing them of Collins’s death and requesting a vicar to come and perform the ceremony.”
“But what of your father? He is her appointed guardian now that Lady Catherine is gone. What if he objects?”
“Why would he? I may be the second son, but I am not a bad prospect.”
“You know that is not what I meant.”
Fitzwilliam scoffed and waved him off. “You are right. I forgot who I was talking to. ’Tis a fair concern.”
“You will still have to wait a few weeks—the banns must be read. You may even need a licence.”
“A parson’s blessing will suffice for now,” the colonel said, brushing aside the formalities. “We shall see to the rest in due course.”
Although he had half expected this outcome, Darcy was still surprised by the speed with which events were unfolding. Just days ago, such an action would have been unthinkable.
He took a moment to ponder the information. It was a rushed decision, but who was he to object? This was a good match, and they were in love. Well, at least Anne was. He had separated a couple in love before, bringing great pain to both parties, and he would not make the same mistake a second time.
Darcy extended his hand. “Congratulations are in order. This is welcome news, and I wish you and Anne every happiness. She deserves some joy after all she has endured.”
The colonel nodded his acceptance. “You know,” he said, “I always assumed Lady Catherine would outlive us all. Anne’s future was too uncertain, so I never considered her a serious prospect until just recently.
Had she lingered another year or two, I would have been long gone—married to money and dull conversation. ”
“None of us could have foreseen this. Her death has changed many things.”
“Good riddance,” Fitzwilliam said bluntly.
“We only need to await the constable’s arrival. Bevan called this morning to express his sympathy for the fire and offer his house in case we need more lodging. He sent word to the mainland requesting help in the investigation. The coroner will probably arrive tomorrow or the day after.”
The colonel lifted one shoulder. “There is not much to say. The crime is solved.”
“That should be left to others to decide.”
“Collins attacked Anne, and we know he was responsible for our aunt’s murder.” The colonel pounded his fist into his palm to emphasize his words.
“Yes, it appears so.” Darcy rubbed his chin, doubt creeping into his heart once again. “Though I am not certain.”
“Why would you think otherwise? The evidence against the parson is irrefutable.”
“I know not what to think anymore. His last words were so confusing.”
Fitzwilliam's eyebrows arched up. “You spoke with him? What did he say?”
“Nothing that made much sense. He went on like a madman, rambling in regard to the house, Anne, and evils that endure within the walls of Rosings. He even said the family was not to be trusted.”
“God knows what was in his mind. After all the abuse he suffered from our aunt, I would not be surprised if he intended to kill all those related to her, you and me included.”
“Perhaps. He visited the old chapel several times and found some obscure writings within the family chronicles. Perhaps that affected his reasoning.”
“The man was mad. We cannot have expected him to act rationally. Anne told me Collins was completely out of his wits when he attacked her.”
He nodded, too tired to argue a different conclusion. “There is also the matter of Mrs. Jenkinson’s death.”
“I still believe it was an accident.”
Darcy laid his head back on the armchair, lacking the strength to argue further.
His eyelids were heavy, and he struggled to keep them open.
He blinked slowly and glanced at his injured hand.
Could Mrs. Smith’s medicine be the cause of his present fatigue?
Probably not. Five or six hours of rest were not enough to compensate for three days of sleeplessness and the hardships his aching body had been put through.
Perhaps he should retire for the day. Slumber had served to ease the pain that morning, and surely it would make him feel better now.
He slowly climbed the stairs and, without any other ceremony than taking his shoes off, let his body sink into his bed and fell fast asleep.
***
Elizabeth knocked softly on Charlotte’s door before entering. Her friend sat on the bed, her hands resting limply in her lap, eyes swollen from hours of crying.
“Charlotte?” Elizabeth’s voice was gentle as she approached. “Maria told me you were upset and would not come out of your chamber.”
Her friend exhaled shakily. “Oh, Lizzy. . . I cannot believe it. My husband is dead, and the entire world now believes him a murderer.”
She sat beside her, taking her hand. “You do not have to face this alone.”
“But I do,” Charlotte sobbed. “I must go back to Meryton, to my family, with this disgrace hanging over me. How shall I bear the whispers? The stares? My father will be mortified; my mother will never recover from the shame.”
“Your family will support you,” Elizabeth said. “You are blameless in all this.”
“Am I?” Her friend’s voice trembled. “I married him, Lizzy. I stood beside him, defended him. And now I do not know what to believe. What if something happened to him? Something pushed him beyond reason?”
“You knew him best. Was there ever a sign, any indication that he could have done such a thing?”
“No. Never.” Charlotte sniffed, tears pooling her eyes.
“He was weak, Lizzy, not wicked. He feared Lady Catherine, but he was not a violent man. He would rant sometimes about her demands, her cruelty, but it was just words. He never raised his voice to me, never showed a hint of true malice. He was frustrated, not dangerous.”
“Then perhaps there is more to this than we know.” Her words were meant to steady her friend. “But no matter what the world says, you must not carry his sins as your own.”
“What shall become of me, Lizzy?” A fresh tear ran down her face, which she wiped quickly.
Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “We shall find a way together. I shall speak with Mr. Darcy. He will help you.”
Charlotte let out a tired, bitter laugh. “Mr. Darcy? You have changed your tune.”
Elizabeth’s skin heated. “I have. . . come to understand him better.”
Her friend studied her with weary curiosity. “Do you love him?”
She met her gaze, a soft smile forming. “I think I do.”
“Then hold on to that, Lizzy. If you have found happiness, do not let it slip away.”
“I shall not.”
The two friends sat in silence, comforted by each other’s presence, as outside, the world continued to shift around them.