Chapter Twenty-Four
“Maria,” Mr. Bennet said behind her then, and Elizabeth sighed with relief as her father, face drawn with shock, nevertheless put a gentle hand on the shoulder of the younger girl and gently pushed her forward. “I am so sorry, but we have some quite dreadful news.”
Charlotte had grabbed a shawl from the back of the sofa as Maria looked away, hastily swathed it around her chest and neck to conceal her bruising. One glance at Elizabeth and it was silently communicated between the two; Maria never, ever needed to know the truth of what had happened here.
“Sit down,” Mr. Bennet said quite gently, to Maria, and then to Jane when she came back in, the tea tray in her hands.
“Papa, whatever has happened now?” Jane said a little plaintively, but she set the tray down and seated herself.
The front door closed again just then, and Elizabeth, closest to the window, looked out to see Darcy, the doctor and Mr. Gardiner hurrying down the path. Something terrible has happened, she thought, and looked back at her father just as he began to speak.
“I am very sorry to have to be the bearer of such news, Mrs. Collins,” Mr. Bennet said, and his voice was very gentle. “Mr. Collins has met with a most terrible accident.”
Charlotte just stared at him. Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other. Maria was the only one who reacted in a manner that Mr. Bennet, ignorant of Mr. Collins’ crimes, thought appropriate. She put her hands to her mouth and let out a horrified cry.
“Oh, no! Oh, my poor brother! Say it is not so!”
“I am so sorry, my poor dear,” Mr. Bennet, unnerved by the silent staring of the other three, turned to Maria in some relief. “It appears that he was on his way to Rosings in some haste when he startled Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s carriage horses. He - did not suffer.”
“Lady Catherine?” Elizabeth asked, startled.
“Yes, the carriage overturned, it must have been quite a collision. Lady Catherine and her companion, a lady named Mrs. Johnson I believe…”
“Mrs. Jenkinson,” Elizabeth corrected.
“Mrs. Jenkinson,” Mr. Bennet gave her a stern look, “have both tragically perished also.”
Charlotte began to cough, covered her face with the shawl. Elizabeth hastily attended to her, found to her shock that Charlotte was actually laughing hysterically even as tears streamed down her cheeks. Maria was crying too, great gulping sobs of real grief.
Jane looked at her father and saw him beginning to hastily retreat, which she thought was probably the best possible thing for him to do, in the circumstances.
“Why don’t you go to the library and pen a letter to Mama,” she suggested to him quickly, “I will tend to Maria and Lizzy will stay with Charlotte…” Hastily she urged him from the room, wrapped her arm around Maria’s shoulders and led her out.
“Charlotte, please, you must stop,” Elizabeth begged.
“This cannot be good for your throat.” She patted gently at her friend’s back, not at all sure what to say to her as Charlotte choked and wheezed, patting at her eyes with the shawl.
“Let me pour you some tea, you must try to take a sip!” She added several spoonfuls of honey, despite knowing Charlotte would despise the over-sweetness; the honey would soothe her throat.
It was several minutes before Charlotte was able to stop her hysterics and calm herself, taking sips of the tea as Elizabeth held the cup.
“Thank you, darling Lizzy,” Charlotte whispered at last, leaning back exhausted.
“You must rest. This is all so… so…” Elizabeth couldn’t think of a word that even began to describe the events of the last few days. “Overwhelming,” she settled for at last, “but you’ve been hurt. I know how frightened for your health Dr. Trent is. You must rest.”
“You too, dear one,” Charlotte tugged gently on her hand. “Come sit with me.”
“Do not try to talk, then,” Elizabeth admonished, and Charlotte nodded. Elizabeth sat down beside her and they waited in silence, Charlotte’s head resting on Elizabeth’s shoulder, both wondering what the outcome would be from the day’s extraordinary events.
Anne’s reaction was not at all what Fitzwilliam might have expected, when he made her sit down and gently broke it to her that Lady Catherine had been killed, along with Mrs. Jenkinson and Mr. Collins. She just stared at him silent for several long minutes, her eyes dark, before nodding.
“I understand. Thank you.”
“Anne?” Fitzwilliam said, puzzled. “Your mother…”
“Do you expect me to weep and wail and gnash my teeth with grief? I am afraid I will not do that, cousin. My mother was not a good person, and I will cry no crocodile tears for her. Her death sets me free, for the first time in my life.”
Anne looked as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, he realised. She smiled at him, her eyes bright. “I will play the suitably grieving daughter in public, of course; I cannot bring shame upon the family, but cannot you be at least a little happy for me, Fitzwilliam?”
“Dear one,” he said fondly, crossing the room and kneeling to take her hands in his, “to see that smile on your face, I would have gladly slain her myself, the old dragon.”
Anne shushed him with a scandalised giggle.
“I am truly sorry about Mrs. Jenkinson, though,” she said, when she sobered.
“She did her best to be kind to me, despite Mother’s directives.
Mr. Collins - well, I never liked him, but I am most grieved for Mrs. Collins.
I must go to see her as soon as possible, assure her that she will not have to leave the Parsonage at all if she does not wish to. ”
“I think that she will wish to, and likely as soon as possible,” Fitzwilliam said, making the snap decision to trust Anne with everything.
She knew about the letter, after all, had been witness to Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine conspiring to use it against Darcy, and had been brave enough to defy her mother to thwart their plans.
Anne’s expression, when he finished, was pure horror.
“Well, I never heard anything so terrible,” she said finally.
“What wickedness! I did not care for the man, but to think that anyone, much less someone who purported to be a man of God, could act so…! It is almost beyond belief!” Her expression hardened.
“His behaviour here, and that Mother sanctioned it… no, no she could not have known, could she? That, at least, is not a sin which can be placed at her door. I shall be grateful for small mercies.”
“I should return, Fitzwilliam said, “they will want to bring her up to the house.”
“Go,” Anne said. “I will go and find some black clothes, and prepare to play the suitably grieving daughter in public. I shall depend on your - and Darcy’s - advice in the days to come, though, cousin.
Do not dare abandon me to the tender mercies of my De Bourgh cousins!
They will have me married off to one of them in a trice in order to control Rosings, and I cannot imagine anything worse. ”
“You will never have to marry anyone you do not want to, Anne. Darcy and I promised you that many years ago and nothing has changed now,” Fitzwilliam reassured her.
“I have no wish to marry at all, thank you. My health will never improve enough for me to be able to bear a child, and I have no intention of living out a marriage being constantly reproached for my inability to have an heir for Rosings.” Anne’s response was quite composed.
That stopped Fitzwilliam dead, even on his way to the door.
He was so accustomed to thinking of Anne as the heiress to Rosings, that the question of who was next in line to inherit had never occurred to him.
“Remaining unmarried will leave you open to potentially dangerous situations,” he warned.
“There will always be the unscrupulous who will covet Rosings’ wealth, and you are of age to be married without your guardians’ consent. ”
Anne’s smile was curiously secretive. “You are sweet to worry about me, cousin, but you need not. I have it all planned out. You shall see.”
Fitzwilliam arrived back at the scene of the accident a few minutes after Darcy, Trent and Mr. Gardiner, to find that everything was well in hand.
The coachman was being examined by Dr. Trent, who pronounced him concussed but likely to recover in a few days.
A groom led the surviving carriage horse slowly back up the lane to Rosings, and the three deceased had been laid carefully on the verge and covered with cloths.
“Presumably, we will need another parson to perform the necessary offices,” Mr. Gardiner said, making Fitzwilliam and Darcy start and look at each other, slightly alarmed.
“There must be someone in Sevenoaks,” Fitzwilliam said after a moment. “Might I suggest that you ask Bingley to go?” he suggested quietly to Darcy. “I don’t think that we necessarily want him to know everything that has happened here. The secret has spread too far already.”
Darcy nodded, looked at where Bingley was assisting the injured coachman to take a few unsteady steps. “You are quite correct. Such an errand will both give him something useful - nay, essential - to do, while getting him out of the way for a few hours. I will ask him directly.”
Clearly utterly bemused by the morning’s events, Bingley agreed with alacrity when offered the chance to be useful.
Darcy and Fitzwilliam felt it incumbent on themselves to return with Lady Catherine’s body to Rosings; after only a brief debate it was decided that Mr. Collins should be taken there also, there being little space at the Parsonage.
Bingley agreed to escort whatever clergyman he was able to find directly to Rosings and set off to collect his horse.
Mr. Gardiner elected to return to the Parsonage with Dr. Trent, for the time being. “Will you be returning to the Inn at Sevenoaks tonight?” he enquired of Darcy.
“We will have to stay at Rosings,” Darcy realised at once, “we cannot possibly leave our cousin Anne unsupported at this time.”
“Why do you not bring your belongings and stay at Rosings also?” Fitzwilliam suggested.
“I could not possibly intrude on the grief of the household at this time,” Mr. Gardiner said, shocked.
“Anne knows everything, Mr. Gardiner. Everything,” Fitzwilliam emphasised when Darcy turned to look at him. “In addition, she has suffered much over the years under Lady Catherine’s oppressive hand. Her primary emotion right now is relief, I believe.”
“Please,” Darcy added when Mr. Gardiner still looked undecided. “Our acquaintance is short, as yet, but already I respect you as a gentleman of great wisdom. Your close presence and influence at this trying time for both our families can only be of benefit.”
Gratified by such praise from a gentleman of such substance as Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, Mr. Gardiner agreed to send his coach back to the Inn to collect his belongings, and to join Darcy and Fitzwilliam at Rosings later that day.