Chapter 55 Death At Pemberley
“Hark back! Hark back!”
The gamekeeper’s voice rang out across the hillside, loud and urgent.
“Rabid dog! Rabid dog!”
Darcy wheeled his horse in the direction the man indicated. Then he saw it.
One of the dogs was unmistakably rabid.
The animal had turned toward the hounds, snarling and snapping at the air. Its movements were erratic and unnatural, but the most alarming sign was the saliva streaming from its mouth. Darcy felt certain he would never forget the strange, hoarse barks it emitted.
The hounds were well trained and obeyed the gamekeeper’s command at once, retreating with him as he led them away from the infected animal.
Darcy and several of the men raised their rifles and fired.
The dog fell, along with three others.
The remainder of the pack scattered and fled.
Selkirk rode up beside him, his expression grim.
“This is bad, Darcy. If that rabid dog has bitten any of the others…”
“Yes. I have heard it can take weeks, sometimes even months, before an animal shows symptoms.”
Selkirk nodded. “Aye, and by then the damage is already done.”
Darcy dismounted and approached the carcass cautiously. Even dead, the animal inspired revulsion. Foam and saliva coated its jaws, and its eyes stared blankly into the distance.
“We shall have to assume the entire pack is infected,” Darcy said. “No risks can be taken.”
“No,” Selkirk agreed. “Not with sheep, cattle, horses, and certainly not with people.”
Darcy looked toward the woods where the remaining dogs had disappeared. “We must hunt them all down.” He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his jacket. “How many of your flocks have been attacked?”
“Only one. The fencing required repairs in several places. Once those were completed, I lost no more lambs.”
“Have your shepherds inspect the others for bite wounds. Did all your losses occur within the past week?”
“It has been nearly two weeks. I will keep that flock under quarantine.”
The underkeeper said, “Mr. Darcy, we shall set traps to capture the remainder of the pack. Several of them may already be diseased.”
Selkirk swore under his breath. “Rogers, take our men and go back and burn the animals we have already dispatched, lest the contagion spread to scavengers of the wood.”
“I only hope we are not too late,” Darcy said. He turned to the underkeeper. “How many dogs remain?”
“I counted twelve yesterday, sir. We have dispatched seven animals, including these three.”
“I will have traps set as well,” Selkirk said. Warn your men not to touch the animals lest they pick up the madness.”
At that moment, Peter Miller rode up at a gallop.
“Sir! Mr. Collins has taken a fall.”
Darcy’s expression hardened.
“What happened? Where is he?”
Peter gestured toward a spot a short distance beyond where the rabid dog lay. About twenty feet away, Darcy saw Mr. Collins sprawled upon the ground while Robert Miller knelt beside him, his ear pressed to the fallen man's chest.
“He took fright, sir, and put the whip to his horse in his haste to escape the rabid beast. The horse reared, and Mr. Collins was thrown onto the stones.”
Darcy and Selkirk rode over at once.
“His head lies at an unnatural angle. His neck is most likely broken,” Darcy said as he dismounted and knelt beside the body.
Peter nodded grimly. “Yes, sir. I can find no pulse, and he does not appear to be breathing.”
Robert Miller lifted his head. “Nor do I hear a heartbeat, sir.”
Darcy was silent for a moment before speaking.
“Peter, ride back to Pemberley and fetch a wagon. I shall remain here with the body. Wait while I write a note for Mrs. Darcy.”
Drawing out a small pad and pencil, he wrote a short message.
He then turned to Selkirk.
“You should return home. We shall burn these three dogs while we wait for the wagon. There is no sense in your remaining. That storm will be upon us before long.”
“No, I will wait with you. A little rain will do no harm.”
“No,” Darcy insisted. “You should leave now. You are a good seven miles from home.”
Selkirk shook his head.
“Darcy, I shall not abandon you now. Besides, you will need my written statement and signature as a witness to his death.
With statements from both of us, there should be no difficulty settling the man's affairs. I am deeply sorry for his loss, considering his wife is even now delivering his children. He was a personable man, Darcy. I enjoyed his company at dinner last night.”
“Yes, it is a tragedy. The uncertainty of life is a bleak thing, Selkirk. Here this morning, gone by noon.”
Darcy added, “Send your men home. You may spend the night with us, and tomorrow I shall have my carriage convey you back to your estate.”
Darcy handed the note to his footman.
“Get along, Peter. The rain will be upon us shortly.”
Selkirk said, “I will do as you suggest. I shall send my men home and accept your hospitality.” He rode over to where his men were gathering wood.
“Once you have burned the other carcasses, return home. I shall remain with Darcy and spend the night at Pemberley.”
“Very good, sir.”
After Darcy's men had packed the rifles into the gig, he sent it back to the house.
An hour and a half later, Peter returned with a cart. Mr. Collins's body was carefully loaded into it and covered with a heavy canvas. Once all was ready, they began the journey home.
By then, the rain was falling in sheets.
Darcy glanced toward Peter and Robert Miller. Both men wore greatcoats, oilcloth capes, and broad-brimmed hats that Peter had brought back with him.
“I fear you and Robert are destined to bear the worst of the storm, Peter. I intend to ride on with Selkirk and the others and make for home as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, sir. We shall manage well enough.”
Darcy nodded and turned his horse toward Pemberley. The storm had arrived in earnest, and the road ahead was already disappearing beneath the driving rain.
Elizabeth stood in the rose garden with the note open in her hand. Mr. Collins was dead.
She could scarcely comprehend the words Mr. Darcy had written. She stood motionless, staring at the paper. Mr. Collins, the heir to Longbourn and her sister's husband, was dead.
The footman shifted his weight.
“Mrs. Darcy, you do not look well, mistress.”
Elizabeth lifted her eyes to the servant.
“There has been an accident. Mr. Collins is dead.” She swallowed. “Send Mrs. Reynolds to me.”
“Yes, mistress.”
Elizabeth sank onto a wooden bench to wait. Her thoughts raced from one concern to the next, leaving her unsettled. What was she to tell Mary? Dead? Had he been shot? A coffin would need to be procured. Where ought he to be buried? Would this be a matter of the law?
At length, Mrs. Reynolds joined her.
Elizabeth motioned for the housekeeper to sit beside her and handed her Mr. Darcy's note. When she had finished reading it, Mrs. Reynolds looked up.
“Where is the body, ma'am?”
“In the woods. Peter is fetching it.”
Mrs. Reynolds folded the note. “Do you wish me to send for a carpenter to construct a coffin, or shall we send to Bakewell? Do you have any instructions as to where the body is to be laid?”
“I do not know.” Elizabeth looked to the housekeeper. “I have never had to manage such a thing.”
“With your leave, I shall attend to all the particulars, mistress. Have you informed your sister?”
“No. I have been sitting here trying to decide what ought to be done.”
“There is a small private room at the back of the house. It contains a bier, and through the years we have used it to prepare the dead.”
Elizabeth raised her eyes in surprise.
“You have prepared other bodies?”
“Yes, mistress. We have a large household, and deaths do occur from time to time. One year, we lost three servants during the influenza that swept through this part of the country. Both of Mr. Darcy’s parents passed away at Pemberley.
More commonly, however, it is an accident or old age that claims them. ”
Mrs. Reynolds paused before continuing.
“If you wish it, we can lay Mr. Collins there until arrangements are made. It is cooler than a bedchamber and more suitable for the purpose.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly. “Yes. That seems best.”
“Very good, mistress. I shall see to everything.” The housekeeper excused herself, and Elizabeth watched as Mrs. Reynolds returned to the house and disappeared through the French doors. She remained in the garden until the first drops of rain began to fall. Then she reluctantly went inside.
When she reached Mary's bedchamber, she tapped upon the door before letting herself in.
Mary sat in a birthing chair, deep in hard labor. Both midwives attended her. Elizabeth heard her sister grunt and then cry out in pain.
“Push, Mrs. Collins, push,” Miriam urged. “I can see the head.”
Elizabeth moved closer while taking care to remain out of the way. The second midwife stood ready with a blanket, prepared to receive the first infant.
After another minute of strenuous effort, the child was born.
Tears filled Elizabeth's eyes as she watched Miriam tend the infant. The baby appeared alarmingly blue. For one dreadful moment, Elizabeth feared the worst.
Then the infant gasped. A moment later, a lusty cry filled the room.
Miriam’s voice was bracing. “Mrs. Collins, you have a baby boy. He has all his fingers and toes.”
Miriam handed the infant to Mrs. Harwood, who carried him to the bed and began gently cleaning him.
Almost immediately, Mary cried out again as another contraction seized her.
Half an hour later, the second infant was born.
Miriam bent over the newborn and began working with him.
“Mrs. Collins, you have another baby boy.”
She passed the child to Mrs. Harwood, who continued tending him.
Elizabeth saw at once that this infant was much bluer than his brother, and he made no sound. Fear gripped her as she watched the midwife work over the small, lifeless form. Then she heard Mary cry out.