Chapter 15 #4
At the Parsonage, they discovered the rest of the family in the dining room.
Breakfast was served and there was quiet chatter, much quieter than the day before.
Soon, Papa departed for the church service, and ladies of the town began to arrive.
Mary greeted them with reserved appreciation, and directed the serving of refreshments.
Once the interment was over, the house was overfull, and Elizbeth was relieved that the day was mild so guests could stand outside in the garden, a place Mr Collins loved dearly.
The event was punctuated by two individuals’ arrival: Lady Catherine and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
When Lady Catherine entered the house, the crowd went quiet and parted, allowing her to sweep through the small entry and to the parlour where Mary sat, Elizabeth and Jane beside her.
“My dear Mrs Collins,” Lady Catherine said, voice raised so all might hear her proclamation, “what a tragedy. Mr Collins’s dedication cannot be measured, and his sermons were unmatched.”
Elizabeth could not help but think that the dullness of his sermons might have been matched by someone somewhere in England, but she would never voice such thoughts.
“Had I been a second son, I should have made a magnificent clergyman, offering sage words and tending to my flock with unparalleled compassion.”
Elizabeth doubted this on all counts, but again stayed silent, daring not to make eye contact with Jane for fear of dissolving into a fit of laughter should Jane appear as sceptical as Elizabeth felt.
Mary thanked Lady Catherine, though not as profusely as she once had, and alarm registered on Lady Catherine’s face.
“Child, you seem unwell. I provided ample refreshments. Have you not eaten?” When Mary shook her head, for she had refused all food and drink, Lady Catherine barked orders that sustenance be produced, and to Elizabeth’s wonder, within moments, a plate and cup were brought forth and her sister was eating.
“Good. Now I must depart, but I shall see to your general health.” With that, she spun about, paused to allow the crowd to admire her thoroughly, and swept back to her waiting carriage.
Mama stepped close and said with wonder, “That Lady Catherine de Bourgh is all one could hope for in a great lady: generous, kind, giving.”
Elizabeth could think of other words to describe her, but held her peace.
Mary finished chewing the bite of roll she had taken, and handed her mother the plate.
“Lady Catherine is right,” Mama said with exasperation. “You must eat. That was not enough.”
Mary looked to the floor. Mama shoved the plate at Jane and stomped away.
Elizabeth whispered in Mary’s ear, “You must do it. For both of you.”
Mary whispered back. “Does Jane know?”
Elizabeth nodded, unsure how Mary might react, but Mary simply looked to Jane, and Elizabeth suspected that what passed between them was a promise to keep this secret a while longer. Jane held out the plate, Mary accepted a roll.
Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth noted a man’s approach.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam!” exclaimed Jane. “How lovely to see you.”
Elizabeth felt a chill go through her, and noticed Mary set the half-eaten roll in her lap, directly on her skirt.
“I—” began the colonel as he bowed, but Mary sprang to her feet, the roll tumbling to the ground. She pushed through the crowd, and left the house. Jane hurried after her.
Elizabeth was rooted to the spot.
Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed to her then looked over his shoulder in the direction of Mary’s escape. “I feel foolish asking a question to which I likely know the answer, but how does your sister fare?”
His uniform seemed out of place for its brightness, and she wished he had worn not just a black armband but a black coat.
She knew him to be kind and caring and thoughtful, but he reminded her of the evening her brother-in-law had been killed. The memory of Rosings, of laughing over cards and ducking into the alcove with Mr Darcy, was now tainted.
Her silent musing had lasted too long, so he repeated, “How does your sister fare?”
She forced her mind into the present. “Poorly, I’m afraid. They were curiously suited to one another, and in a short time, she grew very dependent upon him for company and happiness.”
The colonel’s shoulders sagged. “I cannot express how sorry I am. It was an accident, but I feel responsible for having been riding in that carriage.”
At the mention of the carriage, Elizabeth’s rage spiked. “Mr Darcy does not share such sorrow or he would have attended this funeral!”
Colonel Fitzwilliam reared back. “That is not why he has not returned.”
Elizabeth snapped her tongue. “Then why?”
“I cannot say.”
The clattering carriage. Mary’s screams. Mr Collins’s body broken in the road.
She gasped at the recollection, and Colonel Fitzwilliam began to reach for her arm to steady her. She pulled away.
“Miss Elizabeth, I want you to know that Darcy wrote a letter in which he specifically asked for me to send Mrs Collins his condolences, and you his regrets.”
This should have satisfied her, but she was too angry at the injustice of it. The room felt too close, and she wished to breathe in fresh air. Knowing she was being rude but not able to control her impulses, she walked away from Colonel Fitzwilliam and joined her sisters in the garden.