Chapter 15 #2
Tea was in the dining room, as Mr Collins’s body was laid out in the parlour.
Elizabeth was offended by the youngest girls arguing over the food offerings, and Mama complaining about the ride from Longbourn.
Papa appeared appropriately grim, but said little to comfort his daughters, one of whom had lost her husband in a most violent fashion and both of whom had witnessed it.
Only Jane inquired as to Mary’s well-being beyond the most cursory of questions, but even that did little to console.
The group was so loud that Mary hastily excused herself and shut the door to her room.
The room she had shared with Mr Collins.
To be so alone seemed an agony to Elizabeth, who relished the company of others, but her sister was not similarly inclined.
Even so, to be as alone as Mary would be soon seemed too much, and Elizabeth worried for her.
Mary was not present for dinner, either, so the family set to asking Elizabeth about her stay, about Rosings, and very briefly about the accident.
No one asked what life had been like for the Collinses, but Elizabeth added hints about their general happiness into conversation whenever possible.
She wanted them to know how good things had been before they went so terribly wrong.
“Well, what shall happen with the entail?” asked Mama, and Elizabeth froze with her fork in midair.
“Mama,” hissed Jane.
“What?” she asked. “It’s an important question. Does the land go to Mary since she was Mr Collins’s wife?”
“The land,” said Lydia, “has to go to a male heir. That is why none of us could have it in the first place.”
“Well, dear?” she asked her husband.
He shrugged.
Elizabeth set down her fork. She could not break her promised confidence and tell them Mary was expecting, but that might very well be the answer if she bore Mr Collins’s son. More importantly, she could not stand to listen to her family speak of such matters.
She pushed back her chair and rose quickly, saying, “I must check on Mary.”
Her mother looked at her with shock. Did Mama feel badly about not being the one to do so, seeing as she was Mary’s mother, or did she find Elizabeth rude for leaving the table in the middle of the meal?
Elizabeth gave Mama a moment to insist that she see to her daughter instead, and when that did not occur, Elizabeth was doubly angry.
Elizabeth knocked on the bedchamber door, but heard no answer.
She turned the knob and entered slowly, sad to see Mary sitting on her bed, a pillow held to her face.
Crossing the room, Elizabeth wondered what to say, but realised nothing would do, so she sat at the edge of the mattress and forced herself to keep her lips shut tight.
They sat silently until at last Mary said, “This pillow still smells of him. What am I to do when his scent is gone?”
Elizabeth had no answer, so she merely reached out and took her sister’s hand.
“I do not want them here. Any of them.”
“Who?”
“Our family.” Mary began to shake. “I thought I did. I should. But they—they do not know me. They did not know him. I saw their looks and sneers at our wedding and in the days leading up to it. I know they never respected me and they found my husband absurd, but I did not. I loved him. Do you not see? I loved him!”
Elizabeth squeezed Mary’s hand and said, “I know you did. You two were very well suited. I was so happy he made you happy.”
Mary flung her arms around Elizabeth and wept and wept and wept yet more. Tears seeped through Elizabeth’s dress and to her skin, but she did not move. She held her sister until Mary was finished crying and slumped onto the mattress.
“You must sleep. I know you have not these past days.” Mary had insisted on sitting vigil with the body all night, napping during the day, but it was not enough.
Others had offered to do the service, but she would not hear of inconveniencing anyone.
Elizabeth wanted to mention the effect this might have on the baby, but feared adding to Mary’s misery.
Mary did not move, so Elizabeth unlaced her sister’s boots and set them gently on the floor. She wanted to help her off with her dress, but, as there was still no movement, Elizabeth took hold of a blanket and draped it over Mary, tucking it around her shoulders.
Mary said, “The funeral is tomorrow. I will be relieved when it is over.” She said nothing more, so Elizabeth drifted out of the room and back downstairs.
Their parents had secured two rooms at an inn for themselves and the youngest girls, and Jane would stay at the Parsonage.
Elizabeth, upon returning to the dining room, suggested they might return to the inn early.
Though Mama began to protest, Papa thought the suggestion sensible, and had the maid bring their coats.
When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, Elizabeth took the opportunity to tell her sister all about the contentment Mary had felt in the marriage, about the garden and the meadows, and about dining with Lady Catherine.
She hesitated to speak of Mr Darcy, but could not avoid it, as his carriage had caused the death.
“Before the accident, did you and Mr Darcy get on well?”
Elizabeth nodded, but chose to say nothing more.
“Your expression is odd, Lizzy.”
She feared to know how her face was betraying her. “I am tired, is all. It has been exhausting, and with the funeral tomorrow, I think I shall retire now.”
Jane cocked her head, but then agreed. They went upstairs, and Jane opened the wardrobe where the maid had hung her dresses. She pulled at the skirt of a black gown. “I brought this and one more you had, as I thought you might require both.”
It was the very one she had used for the ridiculous funeral of the guinea pig some months earlier.
How awful to have played at death and mourning.
No, it had not been play for Kitty. She had been distressed, and Jane and Elizabeth had merely attempted to console her with their show of support.
That was what they were all doing now, was it not?
Putting on a show to support another sister?
No. Elizabeth was actually mourning. Not for Mr Collins, exactly, but for the loss of his presence in her sister’s life and the joy he had brought Mary.
Never had she thought Mary would find a match for her unusual interests and temperament.
Would Mary find love again? Elizabeth doubted it.
How sad if those few precious months with Mr Collins were all the true affection Mary might enjoy.
Elizabeth sighed.
“What, sweet sister?” Jane asked, and quietly, lest Mary was awake and might overhear, Elizabeth explained.
When she was finished, her sister whispered, “I suppose one might rejoice that she had love and such a good match, however briefly.” She sighed and added, “But it is a loss. And a painful one.”
The girls readied themselves for bed. When Elizabeth sat at the dressing table, Jane took up a brush and pulled it through Elizabeth’s hair. It had been some time since Jane had done so, and Elizabeth closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation that reminded her of Longbourn.
“Any news of Mr Bingley?” Elizabeth asked, desiring to turn her attention to something less upsetting.
“He…” Jane stopped brushing and Elizabeth opened her eyes quickly, hoping not to see the face of another heartbroken sister. “He asked me to marry him.”
Elizabeth wanted to squeal with joy, but knew Mary was grieving or asleep just down the corridor, She leapt to her feet and hugged Jane, whispering her felicitations in Jane’s ear. Then, like the girls they once were, they took hands and jumped in a circle in celebration.
When they stopped, breathless from the exertion and excitement, Elizabeth whispered, “Tell me everything!”
“I did not want to mention it earlier, of course—” Jane tipped her head in the direction of Mary’s room.
“Naturally,” Elizabeth murmured.
“And I swore Mama and everyone else to secrecy. In truth, I cannot believe that Mama was able to contain herself. She has told every person in Meryton.”
“And some of the animals?”
Jane began to laugh, but clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle it.
She took Elizabeth by the hand and led her to the bed they would share.
Sitting with their heads together as they had done countless times at Longbourn, Jane whispered, “It happened the day we received word of…Mr Collins. Before the letter arrived, Mr Bingley called and asked me to accompany him into the garden, and when he was certain no one could hear, he asked.”
Seeing her sister with lips closed, Elizabeth hissed, “That is all? Come now, Jane, tell me of the proposal!”
Jane sighed dramatically, but was smiling. “You know I am not the storyteller you are.”
“You can try. What did he say? What did you say? What gown were you wearing? Fill my imagination with the details!”
Jane blushed. “I was wearing…my pale blue gown.”
“I love that one!”
“And the weather was surprisingly warm, and the day was sunny.”
“Good. And?”
“And…and he said, ‘Miss Bennet, you know I esteem you greatly. And I find you pleasing to be near.’” She paused.
“And?”
“And… I cannot recall all of his words.”
Elizabeth flopped back on the mattress. “Jane, the most significant moment of your life and you cannot remember?”
“I was so thrilled by the idea that his words escaped me!” She lay back next to Elizabeth. “I know he said that my being his wife would make him very happy.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said yes.”
“That is all?”
“Yes.”
“Oh Jane, you must learn to be more dramatic.”
“And you less so.”
Elizabeth elbowed her sister’s ribs. “Did you smile? Did you cry?”
“I smiled. I am happy about it, but I do not lose myself to emotion the way you do.”