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Chapter 43. Calamity in Kent.

Posted on 2011-10-14

October 1818

On a cold, icy day in late October, Mr. Collins was summoned to attend his esteemed benefactress in her carriage. Rosings' butler attempted to caution Lady Catherine de Bourgh about the poor condition of the roads, but she was determined to visit one of her tenants whose wife had just given birth to their seventh child and sixth daughter. Clearly something was amiss--if they had followed her instructions, such a situation would never have occurred!

As they made the four-mile drive, Lady Catherine continued to demand greater speed than was sensible, particularly as the heated bricks at her feet cooled and she became increasingly uncomfortable in the chill, damp weather. Calamity struck approximately two miles from Rosings House. As the wagon track curved to the right, paralleling the River Stour, a fox burst from the bushes to chase a rabbit almost directly under the horses' feet. As one mare reared and the other broke toward the riverbank, a wheel cracked through ice that had concealed a deep rut, causing the carriage to tip precariously.

The driver's death was mercifully quick; falling forward as the coach tipped, he was kicked in the head by one of the panicking horses and died instantly. The footman--a boy of fourteen--was able to jump clear as the carriage tipped and slid down the bank of the river. Danny had worked in the stables all his life, only recently being promoted to footman, so his first thought was to help the horses who were still harnessed and scrambling in panic. It did not occur to him to go to the carriage first; the horses were his job, serving the mistress had always been someone else's.

Stripping off the useless white gloves that Lady Catherine insisted upon, the lad talked soothingly to the animals while working feverishly to uncouple the hitch. When his frozen fingers were finally successful, he grabbed the lines and moved to the near horse's shoulder, encouraging the team to scramble back up the bank to the road. Fortunately, the pair of bays were experienced and settled down quickly. Danny led them to a tree on the far side of the road and lashed the reins to it; both mares were covered in mud and had bloodied knees in addition to various scrapes, but amazingly neither appeared to have broken any bones. After assuring himself that they were secure, the boy turned back to the carriage. It had overturned and slid down the embankment on its side, but fortunately had settled on a sandbar instead of sinking into the depths of the river.

Danny worked his way down to the carriage, trying unsuccessfully to avoid looking at the driver whose unseeing eyes stared into the sky while his body lay in an unnatural position. Hearing movement inside, the lad used the axel to scramble up to the exposed side of the vehicle, just in time to see the door fly open and Mr. Collins, eyes bulging, claw his way free, looking for all the world like a drowning rat escaping a sinking ship.

Apparently unable to form complete words, the cleric squealed and grunted his way out, practically crawling over Danny. In his frantic attempt to climb down from the carriage to solid ground, Collins' ungainly form held for a moment from the step as his feet frantically pawed to gain purchase on the carriage underside, only to fall. He landed on his back in two feet of icy water, lay still for a few moments, and then rolled to his stomach and crawled up the bank.

The boy was dumbfounded. Mr. Collins had taken over the parish when Danny was eight and so he had no basis of comparison, but he had been raised to respect a man of the cloth and had not given much thought to the character of the man currently holding the position. Sighing, he righted himself and turned back to the open carriage door, peering into the dark interior.

"Ma'am? Can you 'ear me?"

"Of course I can hear you, fool boy! Where do you think I am, the bottom of a well?!? Get me out of here! Get me out of here immediately!!!" Lady Catherine's sharp voice, made even harsher than usual by fury and pain, lashed at him.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light within, Danny could see that his mistress was lying on the bottom of the carriage in two feet of icy water, the stump end of a tree branch thrust up incongruously through what had been the carriage window.

"Yes, ma'am. Can you stand up ma'am? I can try 'elping you out? "

"You fool. Of course I cannot stand--If I could I would have done so already. Now come here at once and assist me."

A quiet, careful boy, Danny studied the interior to see if he could enter without endangering the lady's position. He suspected that the tree branch she lay by was anchoring the carriage and that, if it was disturbed, the vehicle could rapidly slide further into the river and be captured by the strong current which he could feel buffeting the sides. Taking a deep breath, the boy bravely lowered himself over the edge so that his feet came to rest on the edge of the seat. Moving slowly and carefully so as not to disturb the balance of the vehicle, he eased himself so that he could kneel just above his mistress. From there, he could see that she was very pale and had both hands pressed to her side.

"Ma'am? Can you take my hands ma'am? Let's try ter get yer up right, an' then up 'n out?" Danny wedged himself so that he could lift without tumbling down atop the woman. When she raised her hands to him, he was shocked to see that they were covered with blood.

"Ready? Right then." He braced himself and heaved with all the strength in his lanky body, only to stop when Lady Catherine let out a shriek of pain and released her grip on his arm.

"You incompetent fool! Get your filthy hands off of me. Get someone else in here! Are you trying to kill me? Where is Burns? Get him here this instant!"

Eyes round with shock, Danny's mouth opened and shut before he was able to form words. "Ma'am--Mr. Burns's dead, 'e is. 'E's 'ead were smashed in. I can get Mr. Collins, Ma'am?"

"Keep that pea-brained idiot away from me, you witless peasant." Lady Catherine pursed her lips and pressed her hands to the pain in her side. "You must go for help. Now! What are you gaping at, boy? Go!"

"But ma'am… the cold…" He helplessly motioned to the icy water in which she lay. He knew as well as any the dangers of hypothermia.

"Go, you fool! Immediately! I gave you an order! Surely someone can assist me from this mess without killing me in the process."

The boy paused for a moment but did not have the courage to contradict his employer, so reached up and climbed back up through the opening. Taking one last look inside, he said, "I'll be back as quick as I can, ma'am."

"Go!" was the only response.

Danny nimbly climbed down the carriage and jumped to the bank. Mr. Collins sitting there, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth while staring at the carriage. Seeing the boy climbing up the bank toward him, he leapt to his feet.

"What are you doing? You have left her! Lady Catherine must be saved! The noble house of de Bourgh! What… what…"

Danny warily stopped when the parson's muddy hands clawed at his coat. The random thought flashed through his mind that the man truly did look like a rat--his beaky nose and beady eyes thrust forward, chinless and quivering.

"The mistress has ordered me to go for help, sir."

Mr. Collins jerked his hands back and clutched them to his breast. "Of course, of course… You must go for help. Rouse the countryside to her ladyship's aid! I… I shall remain. To watch over her. And pray! Yes, I shall pray to our Lord that her Ladyship be raised from such a… such an undignified position! With all speed!"

Danny separated himself from the man, who was now mumbling to himself and pulling bits of paper from his various pockets. Having seen Mr. Collin's single attempt at riding, during which the cleric had climbed up one side and toppled over the other nearly scaring the staid old saddle horse to death in the process, Danny did not argue with him. Instead, the lad ran across the road to the team and untied them, unbuckling the harness and slipping off all but the bridles. Turning, he walked and then trotted them a few steps down the road to see their action. He thought he could run the two miles to Rosings, but it would be much faster if he could ride.

Sunny was limping slightly, so he pulled Ollie alongside a stump and used it to swing his leg across her broad back. He'd ridden the mare bareback often enough to cool her down, so she merely flickered her ears. The long reins for the carriage were a problem, but Danny looped and knotted them so that they did not trail on the ground to trip up the horse. Then, guiding Sunny alongside, he urged the mares forward, first in a slow trot until they cleared the icy section of the road, and then into a brisk canter. His head pounded and he laced his fingers into Ollie's mane, praying that he would not faint until reaching Rosings.

Fortunately, the horses knew the road well and had no desire to do anything other than return to the warmth of their stable. Mr. Murray, the Rosings stable master, was crossing the yard when the pair cantered wildly into the drive with Danny crumpled over Ollie's withers. Seeing the man who had trained them and often carried apples in his pockets, the mares slowed and veered toward him, coming to a halt when he put his hands up and made soothing noises.

"Aye there, Ollie, easy Sunny. Easy ladies. Easy. Danny? Lad? What's happened?" Murray helped the boy slide down to the ground and held his arm when he staggered dizzily, handing the reins off to another stable boy who appeared at a run. "What's happened, lad?"

Breathing deeply to clear his head, Danny bent over, bracing his hands on his aching knees. "It's the carriage sir. Uncle John told her it weren't safe on them roads, but she kept ordering him to go faster. It slid on the turn by the river, the one by the big black willow. Tipped over on one side and down the bank, but caught so's it didn't slide all the ways into the river. Uncle John's dead, sir…" He gulped air, desperately trying to block out the image of his uncle's crushed body.

"The parson, 'e got out, but I couldn't get the Lady out, sir. She ordered me to come back for help, she did. I… I think she's hurt bad, Mr. Murray." He held out his hands which were still marked with Lady Catherine's blood. "I tried, but I didn' know what else to do, sir. She ordered me and I came for help as quick as I could, I did."

Danny's knees gave way as his own shock finally caught up to him and he sank to the ground. Murray patted him on the shoulder, saying only, "You did well, lad," and then began yelling orders. In a few minutes, a messenger was running for the de Bourgh's doctor in Hunsford and a wagon was being hitched along with the barouche box and both filled with ropes and blankets. An older woman from the dairy who tended to the servants' lesser cuts and illnesses brought her satchel and climbed into the wagon along with several of the stronger men from the stable and house.

The rescue party was quickly assembled. When Murray swung up to take the reins of the barouche, he was surprised and impressed when Danny scrambled up beside him. "You'll need me to make sure where it is," the boy said simply. The stable master nodded, then clucked to the team and drove them out of the yard, the wagon following.

Even at a smart pace, it took some time to reach the scene of the accident. Mr. Collins nearly caused a second incident when he leapt up at the sight of the coach, his shrill voice proclaiming joy that his prayers had been answered and his patroness would be saved. When the cleric began demanding that they all kneel to give thanks, Murray decided that the man had lost whatever sense he had ever possessed and nodded to Ruthie, who took charge of the deranged parson. While she guided him to sit by the wagon and wrapped him in blankets, Murray turned to the overturned carriage.

Nimble after a lifetime around horses, he climbed to top of the vehicle and peered into the interior. "Lady Catherine?"

"Murray! Whatever took you so long?!? Get me out of here immediately!" Lady Catherine's words were what one would expect, but her voice was barely above a whisper and her face was pasty white against the dark wood.

"Yes ma'am." Murray assessed the situation, before turning back to his men. He was glad to see that Ruthie had covered the dead driver's body with a blanket.

"Bill, Eddy. Get the ropes and tie one to each axle, then out to that big willow. Good and tight, mind you--it won't help anyone if we get her half out, only to have the whole carriage slide off into the river.

"Ruthie--she's real pale but she can talk a bit." He grimaced at Ruth's raised eyebrow; he would never have allowed it from a lesser servant, but he and Ruthie had spent too many evenings at the pub chuckling over her Ladyship's attitudes to reprimand her. "She's layin' on the floor in the water, not sittin' up, and there's a stump poking up by her side--I think that's where she's bleedin' from."

Ruthie nodded, taking the situation in quickly. She'd seen men crushed by overturned plows and wagons before, and knew how fragile the human body could be. "We need to get her out of there quickly to see if we can stop the bleeding, but try not to jar her. If her ribs or insides got hurt in the crash, things can get worse the more she moves."

"Should we wait for the doc?"

Ruth's expression tightened, but she spoke without venom. "Nay, if we don't get her out of that cold water she'll die for sure. Can you and Henry get down in there? Maybe get a blanket under her and wrap her up, then hand her up and out to us on the top?"

"Nay--Henry's too big--he and I'd end up fallin' or stepping on her for certain."

"Sir?"

Murray and Ruth turned to look at the slim, gangly youth standing on the bank, still in his new footman's uniform, now covered with mud and blood. "Danny? You and I would fit, for sure, but are you certain you're up for it?"

"Yes, sir," Danny said quietly, moving forward to climb up the carriage for the second time.

"Well then. Let's go to it, lads." Checking that his men had done their best to rope the carriage to the tree, Murray turned to Ruthie who silently handed up a wool horse blanket. "Henry--when I give the word, you and Eddy climb up here to the top and we'll hand her up to you. Be careful, mind you--don't go shaking the carriage or we'll all end up in the drink." With a final nod at Ruthie, Murray shifted to dangle his legs into the carriage and then eased his way down inside, Danny following close behind.

Working quietly and ignoring the mistress's mumbled orders, the two managed to ease the blanket below her. With Murray at her shoulders and Danny at her feet, they lifted her as gently as possible but froze when the lady moaned. Then, for the first time in Rosing's memory, Lady Catherine de Bourgh fainted dead away.

Frightened but seeing no alternative, Murray nodded to the boy and levered himself up to raise Lady Catherine's torso as high as he could. Hands reached down through the opening and took hold of the blanket, drawing her up and out. Once Henry and Eddy had her securely out of the carriage, they moved together and lowered her down to the men waiting on the bank, the blanket acting as a sling.

Ruthie bustled them up the bank and soon had Lady Catherine laid on the cushioned bench in the barouche. "She's still breathing, but this gash in her side is bleeding something awful." Kneeling on the floor of the carriage, the woman pressed a wad of linen to the wound and continued her quick examination. "Some broken ribs, too, I'd say." Looking out the door to see all the men standing in a semi-circle by the door, she snapped. "Help me put the blankets around her--she's cold as ice but I daren't take her dress off here. Murray--get us back to Rosings as quick as you can, but don't you bounce her about or you'll hear from me."

Murray nodded and the men broke apart to do their jobs. At the last moment, Mr. Collins launched himself into the coach, stepping on Ruthie's ankle as he clambered across her to the seat opposite his patroness and proceeding to mumble inanities about how he might serve the lady and the noble house of de Bourgh the whole way back to Rosings.

Murray drove quickly and carefully back to the house, where even the stone-faced butler Smith rushed out to the carriage. The lady was still unconscious and the parson continued to flutter and make useless proclamations of devotion.

"Mr. Collins, please, you must get out. Sir, you must get out of the way." Ruthie muttered a mild curse and then turned to Smith, who had lasted more than twenty years at Rosings by letting nothing upset his rocklike composure. He nodded slightly in understanding and then gestured to the largest footman, who merely reached into the carriage and, taking Collins by the arm, half-dragged and half-lifted the ungainly cleric out into the sleet.

"Thank God," muttered Ruthie. "Have you got a board to carry her on? We need to get her out and up to her bed as quick as possible to get her warm, but it must be done with as little shaking as possible."

As soon as a wide board was retrieved and slid across the floor of the carriage, Ruthie and a burly footman eased their mistress onto it as gently as possible. The men pulled the makeshift stretcher out and held it as Ruthie wrapped another blanket around both woman and board in an attempt to keep her still, before leading the procession into the house, Mr. Collins trailing in its wake.

The group left outside stood for a moment in silence, the potential repercussions of the accident finally sinking in. Finally Murray turned to Danny and clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Well, we've done what we could. Come along to the tack room, Danny boy. You look like you need to sit by the fire and have a nip of the whisky I've been saving for a rainy day. God knows you've earned it."

Once Lady Catherine had been carried up to her apartments and laid on her bed, Ruthie shooed the men out while the lady's maids bustled about to build up the fire and gently ease the mistress out of her soaked clothing. They had just finished when a commotion was heard outside and the door thrown open.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? Get your hands off her, you hedge-doctoring witch! Out! Get out--this is Lady Catherine de Bourgh, not some peasant kicked in the head by a cow!!!"

Ruthie closed her eyes and sighed, but then made her way out of the room without argument. Mr. Reginald Humphrey was a rotund little man whose oiled hair did nothing to hide the growing baldness of his pate. He had been the de Bourgh's physician for many years; a man of minimal medical education and no interest in new advances, but a mean understanding of how best to maintain his comfortable position. As long as he kept Lady Catherine's trust, he had enjoyed years of pecuniary advantage for the small bother of watching over her sickly daughter.

Once outside the Mistress' chambers, Ruthie was about to turn toward the servants' stairs and return to her own duties when her attention was caught by a commotion in the main hall. Drawing closer, she recognized Mr. Collins.

The cleric had followed the group who had carried Lady Catherine into the house, but an alert footman had prevented him from actually following into her bedchamber. Since then, several servants had attempted to convince the gentleman that he must be checked for injuries himself, or at the very least change into dry clothes and warm himself. He had stubbornly refused, however, declaring to all and sundry that his presence was necessary to her ladyship's well-being, both physically and spiritually.

Someone had sent a boy running for Mrs. Collins, but even Charlotte could not convince her husband to be sensible. Rosings was a modern house, but Lady Catherine saw no reason to waste money on heating rooms that were not used regularly by herself or her daughter. The hallway where Mr. Collins was determined to locate himself had a distinct chill and Ruthie could see that the man's colour was poor.

Assessing the situation, she drew herself up to her most imposing and approached the group. "Mr. Collins. Lady Catherine is being seen by her physician and will not require your services for the remainder of the day. She desires you to return to your own home and see to your appearance. Really, sir, what can you be thinking? You cannot possibly attend her ladyship while soaked to the skin and reeking of river mud!"

After a moment of stunned silence, Mr. Collins dissolved into a flurry of apologies and began urging his wife to hurry so that they might depart Rosings immediately. Ruthie dared a sly wink at Charlotte and received a strained smile in return.

The following week was not an easy one for Mrs. Collins. Not only did she have an infant to care for (Lady Catherine had deemed it unnecessary for her curate's wife to merit the extravagance of a wet nurse, and to herself Charlotte admitted she was glad for the intimacy with her son), but also an extremely ill husband. When that gentleman had arrived home and been urged out of his wet clothes, it quickly became obvious that in addition to a chill, he had suffered some blows around the abdomen during the carriage accident. Once the shock began to wear off, he could barely breath without a great deal of pain.

Charlotte immediately sent for the apothecary and, after a bit of poking and prodding, that gentleman diagnosed Mr. Collins with a number of broken ribs. He carefully bound them and prescribed a powder for the pain, but went away with a worried look on his face because the chill appeared to be settling in Mr. Collins' chest.

For five days and nights, the cleric wheezed and coughed, sometimes fainting from the pain his ribs caused him. Charlotte remained at his bedside as fever made him delirious, bathing her husband's face in cool water and soothing him as she would a small child. In his miserable, helpless state, he won more affection and sympathy from his wife than he ever had when lucid.

On the afternoon of the sixth day, Charlotte finished feeding her son and returned to her husband's chamber to find him sleeping under the watchful eyes of a maid. Though his breathing was still shallow and labored, he was not thrashing about as he had on the previous night, and she was sorely tempted by the view from the window to venture outdoors for a bit of fresh air. She made a sudden decision.

"Millie, I am going to call at Rosings and inquire after Lady Catherine. Baby Collins has been fed and changed, so I expect him to nap for at least an hour and I will certainly return by then. If Mr. Collins wakes or worsens, send for me immediately."

The maid nodded agreeably to her mistress, perfectly happy to be spared from the laundry to just sit and watch over the sick man while mending some linens.

Charlotte enjoyed her short walk immensely, allowing herself to relax for the first time in days and feeling as though it had been a year since she had last enjoyed sunlight and fresh air. When she arrived at Rosings, the butler showed her in to the drawing room just as usual, except that neither Lady Catherine nor her daughter were present to acknowledge her.

"If you will wait here for just a minute, Madame," intoned the butler, but Charlotte thought that she caught a glimmer of anxiety in his eye.

After nearly ten minutes of waiting, Smith returned and asked the parson's wife to come with him. As she followed him through the house, Mrs. Collins noted that the servants seemed hushed and anxious. Even so, she was surprised to be shown into Mrs. Jenkinson's private sitting room and then to find Miss de Bourgh's companion quite alone.

The two women greeted each other warily, neither having ever met the other without the presence of at least one of the de Bourgh ladies present. Once tea had been served and the servants shut out behind closed doors, Mrs. Jenkinson held her cup in both hands for several moments, as if drawing strength from it. When she finally spoke, it was in a whisper.

"I am so very glad that you have come, Mrs. Collins, for I am quite out of my depth."

Chapter 44. Calamity in Kent, part 2.

Posted on 2011-10-14

October 1818

The arrival of Mrs. Collins' express announcing the involvement of both Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Mr. Collins in carriage accident caused a great deal of activity in the Darcys' London home. Notes summarizing the news were quickly dispatched to both the Earl of Matlock and the Gardiners' homes, and the servants were directed to reorganize the luggage so that the couple could take a trip of undetermined length to Kent, instead of traveling to Derbyshire directly on the morrow.

Lizzy informed her lady's maid of what they might face, and Tilly sadly put aside the Mistress' lovely autumn-hued gowns for those of somber grays and lavenders. A footman was sent out to quietly purchase a bolt of black crepe, just in case the worst came to pass.

The Earl's reply arrived at Derwent House first, carried by a messenger boy in the unlikely form of Colonel Fitzwilliam. Finding both Darcys in the library, he handed his father's note to his cousin while simultaneously firing off questions.

"Your note mentioned only Aunt Catherine and Mr. Collins. Was no one else in the carriage?"

Noting that her husband was preoccupied with his uncle's letter, Elizabeth answered for them both. "Not as far as we know. They were on their way to visit one of Rosing's tenants. I am afraid that the driver was killed, but the footman was able to jump free and get help."

When the Colonel continued to demand information that she did not have, Lizzy simply handed him Charlotte's original letter. "This is all that we know. However, understanding my friend as I do, Mrs. Collins would not have sent an express had not the situation been very bad indeed."

As his cousin read, Darcy looked up from his uncle's letter with a look of vexation. "Lord Henry is needed in London for now and instructs us to visit Kent and determine the state of things. We are to report back to him and then he will decide if it is worth his time." When Lizzy responded with a look of mild reproof for his tone, he merely handed her the Earl's letter. "See for yourself."

Colonel Fitzwilliam had moved to stand by the window and, though his eyes were still upon the page in his hand, he replied to Darcy's comment. "The vote that Father has been working on is scheduled for tomorrow; I fear that his mind is much upon it. And Mother and Lucy left for Bath this afternoon, before we got your message."

"But this is his sister!" responded William with a hint of outrage.

Elizabeth touched his arm. "Lord Henry does not know Charlotte as I do, William. And he makes a good point--why have we not heard anything about this from Rosings?"

Darcy's anger at his relative retreated, although he was still quite certain that if there had been even a hint that his own sister had been in an accident, he would have traveled to her side immediately. He could only shake his head at Lizzy's question.

"I doubt anyone at Rosings knows what to do with themselves, they are so accustomed to Lady Catherine ordering them around," replied the Colonel. Finally handing Mrs. Collins' letter back to her, he continued, "When shall you depart for Hunsford? I shall have to arrange some things with my commander, but it shall only take a few hours."

After some argument, it was agreed that the party would depart at first light. While the gentlemen discussed the logistics of travel, the butler knocked lightly and then entered the library with more letters. At a glance, Elizabeth recognized both her aunt and uncle's writing. Passing the latter to her husband, she opened Mrs. Gardiner's envelope, only to have a second note fall out. It was addressed to Miss de Bourgh and Lizzy immediately noticed the agitation in her aunt's handwriting.

My dearest Lizzy,

Although my first instinct is to fly with you to Kent in order to comfort Miss de Bourgh and assist in any manner possible, Edward and I have discussed the matter and agreed that her mother might not take it well, should a new-found relative of Sir Lewis de Bourgh suddenly appear by her sickbed like some sort of vulture. I have enclosed a note for Anne, but as you will be there in person, Lizzy, please assure her that our prayers are with her and her mother, and that she has but to ask and we shall come immediately.

Your parents and sisters departed around noon, but I have forwarded your note to Hertfordshire and hopefully it shall arrive not long after they do. Your father was determined to return to Longbourn as soon as possible. Mary mentioned that he seemed rather melancholy after your and Jane's weddings, particularly when he returned from taking Lydia to school. Edward asked him about it, but Thomas would only say that spending hours alone in a carriage with Lydia had made him see just how poorly educated and misinformed about the world his youngest daughter truly was. I fear it was quite as eye-opening an experience as that that which resulted in her accompanying you to London two months ago.

But this is neither here nor there. I am sure that you must be busy preparing to depart, and I am very sorry that you and Mr. Darcy shall have to delay your return to Derbyshire. I pray that you shall arrive in Kent to find everything returned to normal; please write to me with any news. Though I have not known Anne long, I care for her very dearly.

If there is anything that Edward and I can do, please, please do not hesitate to ask.

Your loving aunt,

Madeline

After receiving permission, Richard had read both letters over Darcy's shoulder. Reaching the end before his cousin, he met Elizabeth's eyes. "Your aunt and uncle are good people, and perceptive as well." Elizabeth nodded her agreement, not for the first time pleased that someone recognized the worth of her relatives, rather than dismissing them because their living was derived from trade.

The Colonel left for his regimental headquarters soon after and the Darcys decided to retire, having gotten little sleep the night before on account of the ball, and though neither said it aloud, both knew that the days ahead might afford them even less chance of rest.

It seemed mere minutes after her head touched the pillow that Elizabeth was required to rise again. She dressed warmly, for the weather was grey and cold, and she knew that they would want to stop only as necessary to change horses. In the end, however, she had her husband to warm her, for Colonel Fitzwilliam was determined to ride alongside the carriage, allowing husband and wife to snuggle more closely than would have been proper with an observer present.

They arrived at Hunsford just as the sun was reaching its apex. The parsonage appeared a much more forlorn place than Elizabeth remembered from the spring. She stood observing the house for a moment after William handed her down and noted that, although its brick was just as red, the flowerbeds had all died away and the leaves turned to brown with the last frost.

A curtain twitched and then, a moment later, Mrs. Collins burst from the house and threw herself into her friend's arms. "Oh Lizzy, I am so glad that you have come!"

Elizabeth held her friend and murmured comforting words, but even so it was some time before Charlotte was able to communicate that her husband had passed away during the night. The Darcys exchanged shocked glances, for although they had understood the accident to be serious, one can never be truly prepared for such news.

Eventually, the sound of a baby's wail recalled its mother to the needs of the living. Mrs. Collins stepped back to greet Mr. Darcy and accept his handkerchief with as much dignity as she could assemble. When the second gentleman stepped forward, however, the new widow positively started. "Colonel Fitzwilliam! I did not expect you here, sir."

She was not unwilling to have her hand shaken and the Colonel bowed over it with a serious look. "My sincere sympathies, madam, upon your loss. We would have come yesterday, but it was too late to depart by the time that the news reached us."

William started, for indeed, on the previous evening, his cousin had argued that they should leave London immediately and ride through the night. The threat of highwaymen he had disregarded (despite the fact that the extensive smuggling known to occur along the coastline made thievery more of a probability than a possibility). The Colonel had finally capitulated at Darcy's argument that Elizabeth must come (given that Mrs. Collins was her friend, and the letter directed to her) and that he would not expose his wife to such a long, hard and potentially dangerous ride.

Before Darcy could think of what to say, however, Mrs. Collins led them into the parlor, pausing only to ask a maid to bring refreshments. Elizabeth took the seat beside her and finally had a chance to study her friend. "My dear Charlotte, you look exhausted. Tell us everything, and particularly how we may help."

Mrs. Collins gave her a grateful look and, as soon as her guests were served, she apprised them with all she knew. "I fear that I have spent much of the last week nursing my husband with no time for anything else. He seemed a little improved yesterday afternoon, so I took the time to walk to Rosings and inquire after Lady Catherine. I was surprised to find that Miss de Bourgh knew nothing about her mother's injuries."

Darcy was clearly taken aback, and demanded, "But how can this be?"

Charlotte shook her head. "I asked the same, for when I was first summoned to the house to retrieve Mr. Collins, it was made clear to me that her ladyship was very severely injured. I questioned Mrs. Jenkinson, and she let me know that the doctor has allowed no one but his own man and Lady Catherine's maid to see his patient. He has ordered the servants to tell Miss de Bourgh only that her mother suffers from a slight chill and she should not go near her chambers for fear of its catching.

"He claimed that any shock could do serious harm to Miss de Bourgh's delicate constitution and, as the servants are so accustomed to such claims, they obeyed without question. It was only after so many days had passed with no word of any improvement that Mrs. Jenkinson and the others began to consider disobeying."

"But in your letter you said that Lady Catherine had been severely wounded and was bleeding a great deal! That does not sound like the same diagnosis at all!" exclaimed Lizzy.

Charlotte shut her eyes for a moment. "My reaction was much like yours, Eliza." She glanced toward the gentlemen. "I fear that when Mrs. Jenkinson took me to talk with Miss de Bourgh, I was not as gentle as I should have been and my manner frightened her, for she immediately demanded to see her mother."

Mrs. Collins paused, searching for the right words. Darcy and Fitzwilliam watched her intently, but it was Elizabeth, reaching out to squeeze her friend's hand, that gave her the nerve to speak.

"We were let in to Lady Catherine's bedchamber and it was immediately obvious that she was in a very bad way. Your aunt was so feverish that she did not recognize her own daughter and, though it was obvious that every movement gave her great pain, the servants were having difficulty keeping her from thrashing about."

Charlotte paused to rub a hand over her tired eyes. "I am so sorry--I did not stay much longer, for my own maid appeared but a few minutes later to inform me that Mr. Collins had descended into fever again." She sighed. "I wrote you, but I knew not else what to do…"

Mr. Darcy responded immediately. "Mrs. Collins, my family is extremely grateful to you; without your message, I wonder if we would have been informed at all." He was about to continue when the door opened and a maid carrying a wailing infant entered.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am, but 'e just won't stop crying." The girl stopped and blushed, clearly having expected to find her mistress alone.

Charlotte responded with her first smile of that dismal day. "It is alright, Millie. He just wants his mother." She took the bundle and held her son close in her arms. "There, there, my little man. No more tears."

Elizabeth was drawn to her side and laughed out loud when the hairless babe grabbed her finger and held on tightly. "Oh Charlotte, he is a dear. Have you decided on a name, yet?"

Mrs. Collins shook her head good-naturedly, forgetting her troubles for a just a moment. "No, we are still calling him 'Baby Collins.' We shall have to decide soon, though, for the baptism has been arranged for next week."

Suddenly recalling her new circumstances, Charlotte shut her eyes and corrected herself falteringly. "Or I shall have to choose, I suppose I should say."

Elizabeth wrapped an arm around her friend's waist and looked to Darcy. He nodded and said kindly, "Mrs. Collins, thank you for the tea, but I believe we should go on to Rosings and discover the situation there. Again, we are most grateful for your express."

Once their hostess had responded correctly, the gentlemen stood to leave. With an encouraging smile to her friend, Elizabeth followed them outside in order to have a word with her husband alone. "I believe it would be best for me to remain here with Charlotte. I can help her set the house for mourning, and you and I both know that my appearance is not likely to sooth your aunt."

Despite the public setting, William could not resist briefly touching his forehead to hers. "I fear what we will find," he murmured before stepping back.

Lizzy touched his cheek. "Courage, my love. You have only to send word if you need me."

After a few more words of reassurance, the two gentlemen climbed resolutely into the waiting carriage. Elizabeth stood for a moment, watching the coach turn back onto the lane and disappear around the hedge. She too wondered what they would discover. For all of her imperious attitudes, Lady Catherine was such a presence that it was hard to imagine her ill, and impossible to imagine Rosings without her.

Eventually Lizzy shook herself from her melancholic ponderings and returned to the parsonage. After a brief discussion with Mrs. Collins, Elizabeth sent the exhausted mother and child to bed and began doing what she could, setting the footmen to hang black crepe at the front of the house and the maids to sewing. She herself checked that all the mirrors had been covered and then settled at Charlotte's own writing desk to compose a note informing her father that Longbourn's heir had breathed his last.

Meanwhile at Rosings, Darcy and Fitzwilliam had discovered that the situation was even worse than they had imagined. For reasons that they could not begin to comprehend, their aunt had retained the services of Dr. Humphrey, the very same physician who had so injured Anne's health with all his opiatic poisons and other quackery over the years. He had used Miss de Bourgh's shock over her mother's condition as an excuse to dose her again, and William feared his cousin was once again returned to a laudanum-induced state of lethargy.

Of more immediate importance, however, was Lady Catherine. They found her shut up in a smoky, airless chamber, occasionally mumbling but incapable of being woken. By questioning the servants, they discovered that Humphrey had ordered the windows shut and herbs burnt continuously at her bedside. As the Colonel strode to throw open the windows and air out the room, Darcy focused his questions on the lady's maid. It took little urging for her to admit that the doctor had bled her mistress so often that she had feared for her.

Darcy was deeply concerned by his aunt's pallor, but it was the Colonel who fearlessly moved aside the bedding so that he might inspect the wound in her side. Both were horrified by what they saw; although it had been stitched closed (and poorly, at that), the wound was an angry red and oozing.

Richard had seen enough battlefield injuries to recognize a wound gone bad--he could smell the infection from across the room. Turning to the maid, he demanded, "Dawson, is it?" At the older woman's frightened nod, he began firing questions at her. "How long has it looked like this? What has been done? Has it been drained, or just left to rot like this?"

It rapidly came out that, after stitching the gash immediately after the accident, Humphrey had refused to look at it again, claiming that Lady Catherine's modesty must be preserved and that he need do no more than check her pulse and eyelids to assess her progress.

The Colonel snorted, having spent enough time in military hospitals (where traditions were far less important than whatever kept the patient alive) to know such methods were often worse than useless. Before he could say anything, however, the physician himself burst into the room, bristling with rage.

"What the devil is this?!? I ordered you to keep this room closed!!!" Suddenly he noticed that it was not solely servants in the room. "Who the devil are you two?!?"

William rose to his full height and frowned at the rotund little man. "I am Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and this is Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam; we are Lady Catherine's nephews."

Mr. Humphrey was clearly startled but recovered quickly. "Regardless, you should not be here; my patient needs quiet."

Colonel Fitzwilliam's anger was obvious. "From what I have seen, you, sir, are a sorry excuse for a doctor and as far as I am concerned, you no longer have a patient in this house. I suggest that you remove yourself now before I give in to the desire to kick you out myself."

When the corpulent gentleman began to protest, Fitzwilliam stepped forward and escorted him out none too gently.

Although Darcy would have happily assisted his cousin, he found that his attention was required elsewhere. The raised voices had roused Lady Catherine enough that she could recognize her nephew's tone.

"Darcy, is that you?" she whispered weakly before descending into a coughing fit.

William moved closer so he might hear her better. "Yes, aunt--Richard and I have just arrived."

Lady Catherine attempted to speak but began to cough again, grimacing in pain.

Feeling helpless, William turned frantically to a maid. "You there, fetch her a glass of water, quickly!" Turning back to his aunt, he took her hand. "Can I get you something else? A glass of wine perhaps, or tea?"

Lady Catherine shook her head very slightly, her breathing shallow. Her eyes drifted shut until the servant helped her raise her head and take a few sips of water. Catching the maid's eye, Catherine murmured, "Thank you, Dawson."

The elderly maid had been with Lady Catherine since that lady's marriage. For just an instant, she touched her mistress' shoulder with a look of infinite understanding and sympathy, but then retreated to her proper place.

Lady Catherine shut her eyes as if gathering her strength. A minute later, a most unusual sensation caused them to pop open again. Her nephew, that quiet boy who had grown into a self-contained, undemonstrative gentleman, had moved to cover her hand with his own.

"It is that bad, then?" she said softly, looking into his face.

Although Darcy abhorred deception of any kind, he found he could not tell his aunt what he suspected. He opened his mouth but then shut it quickly without speaking. Before he could try again, Lady Catherine had read the truth in his eyes.

She sighed and closed her eyes for just a moment before speaking again. "Fitzwilliam, you will look after Anne, won't you?"

"Of course, Aunt. You have my word. But you must not give up…" He spoke encouragingly for some minutes, but although he spoke well, he eventually trailed off when his aunt's eyes drifted shut. He tried to rouse her, but Dawson stopped him.

"Please, sir, allow her to rest. That was the longest that she's been clear-headed in days."

William nodded slightly and ceased his efforts. If he remained in the same place, holding his aunt's hand, until Richard returned, the servant said nothing.

Before the Colonel could speak, Darcy waved him toward Lady Catherine's private sitting room, shutting the door behind them so that they might converse without disturbing her.

Richard began his report immediately, while William moved to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of wine, quickly drinking a large swallow before realizing that it was in fact a particularly sweet variety of cordial which he detested. Shrugging his shoulders, he took another swallow and forced himself to listen to his cousin.

After making sure that Humphrey was sent on his way, the Colonel had questioned the housekeeper and then checked on Miss de Bourgh. "She was still abed, but her maid roused her long enough to talk with me. I fear she is barely coherent; Jenkinson confirmed that that quack has been pouring some new syrup down her throat. I've half a mind to go hunt him down and kick him from here to next Sunday." Finally taking notice of the glass in his cousin's hand, Richard demanded, "Is that any good?"

"No," replied William grimly, but poured a glass for his cousin anyway.

Richard took a small sip and grimaced, but then drank it down. After a few moments, he spoke again, this time more tentatively. "I'm no surgeon, but I've seen wounds like that. It needs to be opened up again and cleaned, at the very least. She's so weak, though. But then, it might be a blessing for her to remain unconscious through it."

William stirred. "She woke for a few minutes and was able to speak to me."

"What did she say?"

Darcy moved to stand at the window, staring out at the dismal grey landscape beyond. "She asked me to look after Anne." Suddenly he desperately wanted to hold Elizabeth in his arms.

Turning back to his cousin, William tried to focus on what needed to be done. Though he had little hope, they could not simply sit and wait for Lady Catherine to die; something must be attempted. "We should send for my physician in London, but I fear that he would not arrive until midday tomorrow at the earliest."

Richard nodded, running a hand through his hair. "And yet, I know of no other doctors in the area. We could send to the next village, but I fear we could end up with someone just as bad as Humphrey, or possibly worse."

Darcy shut his eyes for a moment before setting his glass down decisively. "Send to London for the doctor--I recommend John Ruckers unless you know of someone with more… experience… with these sorts of injuries."

When Richard nodded his understanding, William continued. "I shall return to the parsonage; if anyone would know of a doctor or even a qualified apothecary in the area whom we can trust, it will be Mrs. Collins."

The Colonel opened his mouth but then immediately shut it, leaving Darcy ignorant as to what he intended to say. After a moment, Richard merely nodded his approval to the plan and added, "Ruckers is very good, but I believe I shall also send an inquiry to another man I know; he was an army surgeon, recently mustered out, and lives in a smallish village west of London. I know not if he is at home this time of year, but it is worth a try."

After recommending that Richard also send to his father and urge him to Kent with all possible speed, Darcy departed, leaving his cousin to the first watch.

Elizabeth was hemming black armbands when her husband arrived at the parsonage. She took one look at his grim visage and excused herself from the others, taking his arm and drawing him into the hall. It took just a minute for her to collect her coat and gloves; when she returned, she found William staring back at the parlor.

"Who are they?" he asked softly.

It took a moment for her to understand of whom he was speaking. "Ladies from the village, some even came in from the countryside to help when they heard of Mr. Collins' death." She sighed and tugged his arm until they began walking in the direction of the park. "They have a great deal of respect for Charlotte, for she has done much good in the parish, and now they have come to help in her time of need."

William nodded in understanding and they walked on in silence. It occurred to him that he could think of no one who might do the same for his cousin if her mother passed away.

Elizabeth respected his need for some quiet but eventually they reached a fence and, rather than climb the stile, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist. "How are you, William?"

For just a moment, he buried his face in her hair and held her tightly. "She is dying, I think."

"Oh Will… I'm so sorry."

He shrugged and began walking again, the unacknowledged guilt he was feeling for not having better protected his aunt driving his need to move. The pair strolled about the garden for some minutes, each considering the effects that the dead and dying had upon the living.

After a while, Darcy was reminded of something and told her of the Colonel's plan to summon a physician from London. "But do you know of anyone in the area who might be of help?"

Lizzy nodded thoughtfully. "There are two apothecaries in Hunsford, but I would suggest you ask old Ruthie." Observing William's doubtful look, she elaborated. "Ruth Gibbons… she works in the home dairy for the estate, but she is the best herbalist in the area. All of the villagers and servants go to her. From what I have heard, Dr. Humphrey is entirely supported by administering to the de Bourghs--no one else in the area will go to him."

Although Darcy was skeptical, he acceded to his wife's suggestion and by the end of the afternoon, Ruthie had been summoned to look over Lady Catherine. She had not seen the mistress since the day of the accident and was horrified at the dreadful state of the wound. First she recommended that the stitches be cut open so that the wound might drain and be cleaned, but Darcy, unsure of how much to trust an elderly milkmaid, preferred to defer until a real doctor arrived from London.

"I can make a poultice and try to draw out the infection," offered Ruthie, "but I will not lie to you, sirs; it looks very bad indeed."

The gentlemen acquiesced to that offer and she quickly set about her business. Lady Catherine moaned when the hot poultice was applied, but thankfully she did not waken.

When the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, Elizabeth decided that she had done as much as she could for Charlotte and made her way to Rosings. Miss de Bourgh was clearly relieved to see her cousin's new wife and thanked her repeatedly for bringing the note from Mrs. Gardiner. She did say anything explicitly, but it was quickly clear to Lizzy that the young heiress was desperate for some female companionship.

A quiet word to the housekeeper produced a simple meal for the pair to eat in Miss de Bourgh's sitting room. With some gentle encouragement, Elizabeth was eventually able to draw the young lady into some limited conversation.

After a pause, Miss de Bourgh swallowed a bit of cake and spoke in the hesitant tone of one unaccustomed to making requests. "Mrs. Darcy... do you think… I mean, do you think it would it be acceptable if…"

When she trailed off, Lizzy felt a wave of pity for this woman-child. Reaching out to touch her arm, she said, "Please, call me Elizabeth. We are cousins, now, after all."

Anne gave her a grateful look. "Do you think… might I sit with my mother for a few minutes? They told me that she needs rest and quiet… and my cousins said that I need not distress myself, but…"

Elizabeth swallowed the tart comment that came to mind when considering that people might attempt to keep a daughter away from her dying mother's bedside. Instead she merely said, "Of course you may sit with her… and for as long as you desire. She is your mother, and this is your house, after all."

Anne gave a small nod and studied the other woman for some moments. "You are very honest."

For some reason, Elizabeth found herself blushing. "I speak as I find… unfortunately I fear that it is not habit that my acquaintances always appreciate."

The other lady actually smiled at that. "My mother likes people who speak their mind. I have always wished that I were strong enough to stand up to her. I think she would like me more if I did."

At that, Lizzy actually took the other lady's hand. "Oh Anne, she is your mother. It is obvious to anyone who has been around her how much she cares about you."

A glimmer of a tear sparkled in Miss de Bourgh's eye for just an instant before she blinked it away. "How is she, really? Cousin Richard made it sound like everything will be fine, but I can tell that Cousin Fitzwilliam is very worried, indeed."

Elizabeth studied her hands, thinking about how much she should say. In the end, she told the exact truth, feeling that it would do Miss de Bourgh no good to be kept ignorant of the actual state of affairs. The daughter should be prepared if Lady Catherine were to die, and even if she survived, any child with an elderly parent should be ready to take on more responsibilities as their parent aged, no matter how strong-willed that parent might be.

Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were surprised when the two young ladies presented themselves at Lady Catherine's chambers. However, given that neither gentleman had eaten since breakfast, it was not difficult to convince them to take leave the watch to the ladies.

Anne remained resolutely at her mother's side through the night, and although she never asked directly, Elizabeth would not leave her. The irony of her position was not lost upon Lizzy and she took care to sit where the elderly woman who had so desired Darcy as her son-in-law would not see his new wife if she woke.

In the end, however, the precaution proved unnecessary; Lady Catherine de Bourgh drew her last breath just before dawn. Even when it became clear that her parent was gone, Anne continued to sit, staring at her mother's still face as if she might suddenly return to life.

Mrs. Darcy shared a look with Dawson and then stood. Touching Anne's shoulder, she said softly, "Shall I go tell your cousins, or do you wish to do that?"

Miss de Bourgh shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving her mother. Elizabeth took that to mean that the communication fell to her.

Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had spent the night in their Aunt's sitting room, so Elizabeth had only to step through a small passage. Both had fallen asleep where they sat, but where she had to shake her husband's shoulder and whisper, "William? Will, wake up," Richard's eyes opened with an immediate alertness that could be attributed to a career soldier.

While his cousin was still shaking the cobwebs out of his mind, the Colonel took one long look at Elizabeth and said brusquely, "So, she is gone, then." At her small nod, he shut his eyes for a moment, nodding to himself and taking a deep breath before standing. "Anne?" His voice held the ring of an officer taking command.

Darcy remained still and silent, staring at the carpet, so Elizabeth sat and stretched an arm across his back even as she answered the question. "She remained at her mother's side all night."

Richard retrieved the coat that he had discarded during the night and began putting himself to rights. "Very well. I shall tell the butler and housekeeper and let them inform the rest of the staff. The house will need to be properly adorned for mourning, but I fear that Anne will not be up for arranging the funeral and such." He looked toward Elizabeth who nodded her willingness to help.

None of them knew what Miss de Bourgh's emotional response would be to the death of her mother, but it went unsaid that Lady Catherine's daughter was unlikely to have any more than the most general idea about what needed to be done, and how to do it.

"Very well. I shall write the Bishop immediately so that he may send someone suitable to perform the funeral ceremony. As soon as we can set a date, there shall be a great many letters to write. And the newspapers, we must not forget to publish a notice of her death… and an obituary."

Darcy finally raised his head and there was more than a spark of resentment mixed with his anguish. "How can you speak of such things! Our aunt has just died… her body is still warm and you are treating it like the start of some military campaign!"

Richard stared at the other gentleman for a moment before squeezing his eyes shut. "Forgive me, Wills. I am a soldier, and I suppose that this is how I have been trained to deal with death."

The cousins shared a long look before William broke eye contact and made a small gesture with his hand. "No, you are right. I know very well that a great deal needs to be done. Please give me a few minutes, though."

After the Colonel left to see to his self-appointed duties, Elizabeth remained at her husband's side in case he might need comforting. Darcy remained determinedly silent, however, and in the end, she decided to leave him to his thoughts and retired to their suite of rooms alone.

Her maid's sensible manner was perfectly suited to her mood. "Shouldn't you like to have a bit of a lie-down, ma'am? I dare say you've earned it."

Elizabeth managed a smile. "Thank you, Tilly, but just a bath and fresh clothes for now. I fear that there are quite a lot of things needing to be done." The maid tut-tutted but went about drawing the bath and setting her mistress' things out efficiently.

Lizzy was tired; she not gotten a full night's sleep for several days because of the Matlock ball, and none at all during the past night while she helped Anne keep watch over Lady Catherine. However, she also knew that there was much that needed to be done, and no one else to do it. With a small sigh, she sat down at the small writing desk and began a list.

Some hours later, when the sun had risen near its zenith, four matched blacks pulling a large carriage came to an abrupt halt before Rosings House. The servants were still reeling from the news that their mistress was gone, so when two gentlemen presented themselves at the front door demanding entrance, the footman could only mumble an argument.

Finally, the older gentleman burst out, "By God, man! I am the Earl of Matlock, Lady Catherine's brother, and this is the doctor I've brought from London. We have been on the road since before dawn-- let us pass immediately!"

The servant stepped back in shock and Lord Henry took advantage of the opening, leading the way up the stairs and through the house. He barely paused to knock before striding into his sister's bedchamber.

Anne had remained sitting at her mother's bedside all morning, trying to comprehend that her parent was dead. There had been times when she might have wished for more space, but never had she imagined a life without the potent presence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

The sudden appearance of her intimidating uncle and a strange gentleman left her entirely incapable of speech. As a result, it was Darcy who responded to his uncle's booming voice. Unfortunately, he was in the next room, and so was not able to prevent Lord Henry from stepping up to his sister's bed and taking her hand.

"She is cold!" exclaimed the Earl, unconsciously recoiling. His doctor began examining the body on the bed, but could only shake his head in defeat.

"Uncle…"

Lord Henry turned to see his nephew standing at the door, looking exhausted. "Darcy! I came as quick as I could--see, here is Dr. Burrell, my own personal physician."

"Uncle…" William tried to interrupt, but the Earl could not seem to face what was right before him.

"Burrell--how is… what…" He trailed off as his doctor gave him a grim look that gave no hope.

Henry Fitzwilliam barely made it to the nearest chair before his knees gave out. "Oh dear God…" He looked wildly to his nephew and niece. "I came as soon as I could… I had no idea..."

Darcy made an effort to swallow his own guilt in order to reassure his relation. "Sir, she passed away during the night. I doubt that there was anything that you could have done even had you arrived earlier. She woke only once since I have arrived."

The Earl gave the younger man a grateful look but the pain over losing his only remaining sibling prevented him from speaking.

Meanwhile, the doctor continued his examination, even though his patient no longer required it. "What the devil…" He had pulled back the bedclothes and begun to investigate the injury to the lady's side.

"What is that mess?!? What has been done to her!?!" demanded Lord Henry, turning pale at the poultice that Ruthie had applied.

William easily understood his uncle's dismay for the soft, moist mass of plant material had soaked through its linen bandage and looked unsanitary, to say the least. He was suddenly wracked with guilt. "Dr. Humphrey had been seeing to her, but we dismissed him when we arrived. We sent for a physician from London, but given my aunt's critical condition, we brought in a well-respected local herbalist last night and asked her to do what she could."

"Herbalist!!! What quackery is this? Did you desire Catherine to die for some reason I cannot comprehend???" The Earl had leapt to his feet and advanced several steps toward his nephew.

Luckily, Elizabeth arrived at that point, having been summoned from a meeting with the housekeeper by a distraught footman. She took in the scene at a glance; her husband looking pale and hurt, Lord Henry red-faced and furious, and poor Anne de Bourgh, crumpled in the corner and appearing thoroughly terrified.

"Gentlemen," she said calmly to alert them to her presence.

Despite his upset, the Earl remembered his manners and greeted his new niece politely. The doctor took this opportunity to speak up. "Sirs, madam, the poultice is perfectly well-prepared, and most likely would have done a great deal of good had it been applied sooner. The wound itself is another matter, entirely."

Dr. Burrell showed them where he had peeled back the bandage and snipped open the stitches. "There are still splinters and dirt deep inside, and that almost guaranteed infection. Was this cleaned at all before it was sewn up?" The physician was becoming as upset as his patron, but unlike the Earl, his anger was taking a more correct direction. "Who did you say saw to this lady?"

Observing that the gentlemen appeared pale, Elizabeth responded. "Dr. Reginald Humphrey. He lives in Hunsford and has been treating Miss de Bourgh for some years."

Burrell's brow wrinkled. "I have never heard of him." He took another long, careful look at the body before turning to the Earl with a serious look. "Usually I would not be so forward in criticizing another member of my profession, but after seeing this… I should like to ask this Dr. Humphrey a few questions, if you will direct me to him."

Such a statement, however calmly delivered, could only produce agitation among her ladyship's kin, particularly when the arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam necessitated repetition of the facts. Meanwhile, Lady Catherine's daughter had remained so quiet and still in her corner that the gentlemen had entirely forgotten her presence. Unfortunately, she had been in exactly the right position to observe the doctor's investigations, and the result was a look of such horror that Elizabeth moved to her side immediately.

"Miss de Bourgh? Anne? Come, you do not need to see this." While the gentlemen converted their grief into anger and were soon sending for a carriage so that they might confront Dr. Humphrey immediately, Miss de Bourgh had descended into a state of nearly catatonic wretchedness.

Elizabeth gently but firmly drew the girl away to her own rooms and sent a maid running for Mrs. Jenkinson. "You must be exhausted; wouldn't you like to rest for a bit? And I could have cook prepare a tisane, perhaps?"

In the end, Mrs. Darcy convinced the young lady that a steaming bath followed by a tisane would be just the thing. However, when she tried to leave, the lady appeared to waken from her stupor. Miss de Bourgh had remained nearly silent throughout the ordeal, but when she realized that her new cousin intended to depart, she began to beg, "Please, don't go… Please… I don't want to be alone! I know I will have the most horrible nightmares if I try to sleep…"

When Mrs. Jenkinson appeared, Elizabeth would have easily yielded her place, but her kind heart understood intuitively that her new cousin desired a friend but had no one upon whom she could call. Not for the first time, she felt pity for the young heiress stir in her breast; though death might release the suffering to their final reward, it also marked the beginning of tremendous pain for the living.

Chapter 45. La Morte d'une Dame.

Posted on 2011-10-18

October 1818

"Mrs. Darcy?"

Elizabeth was still slightly slow in responding to her new moniker. In this instance, however, it was the person making the request that caused her pause. "Yes Dawson?"

Lady Catherine's lady's maid was a lean woman with salt and pepper hair and no hint that laughter had ever creased her face. "If I might trouble you, ma'am, there is something from my mistress' dressing room which I believe you should see."

Elizabeth straightened and could not stop herself from giving the woman a disbelieving look, for surely Lady Catherine's most personal servant would be well aware of her late mistress' disapprobation for the former Miss Bennet. Doing her best to hide her surprise, she responded in a level tone, "I am sure that I am not the appropriate person for any task related to Lady Catherine's personal things. Perhaps the Earl?"

She would have returned to the sewing she was doing for Miss de Bourgh, had not the servant taken the rather startling step of sitting down and placing a well-used, red calfskin portfolio between them. Looking closely, Lizzy could just make out the Fitzwilliam coat of arms embossed on the surface. Despite her curiosity, she refused to reach for it. "Truly, Dawson, I do not believe that Lady Catherine would have desired for me of all people to read her private letters."

Dawson's face softened slightly. She had been hired just before Lady Catherine's marriage and knew her mistress better than anyone else at Rosings. "It is only one letter (although I saw her ladyship go through many drafts) and though it is not addressed to you, I know that she intended for you to read it."

Against her better judgment, Elizabeth set aside her sewing and took the folder. Although she began reading with foreboding, her emotions quickly softened and by the end, there were tears in her eyes.

Lizzy looked up to Lady Catherine's maid with gratitude. "Thank you, Dawson. I shall take this to Mr. Darcy."

The elderly woman gave her an approving nod, feeling that she had fulfilled one of her mistress' last unspoken but fervently desired commissions. Then turning her attention to the lady's workbasket, she asked composedly, "Very well. Now, how may I help you?"

With most of her attention still on the letter, Elizabeth's response was slightly absentminded. "Oh yes, thank you. Miss de Bourgh will likely order some new mourning gowns, but for now we have just dyed a few of her simpler dresses black. I am just taking the opportunity to update some of the styling at the same time." Suddenly realizing that the comment could be rightly taken as criticism of the servant's late mistress, she glanced up with concern.

Dawson, however, looked wholly unruffled and possibly even amused. Quirking an eyebrow, she took up one of the other gowns and noted the chalk marks on the bodice. "The mistress was always very determined with regard to the styles she liked and disliked. It will do Miss Anne good to have another young lady to talk with about modern fashions."

Not quite trusting herself to respond, Elizabeth merely smiled and excused herself to find her husband.

Darcy had spent the morning closeted away with his uncle and Colonel Fitzwilliam, writing letters to various personages and continuing the laborious process of going through Lady Catherine's business papers.

As Elizabeth descended toward the library, she could hear the sound of raised voices even from the stairs. A second later, the Colonel emerged from the doorway, red-faced and clearly irritated. Seeing her on the stairs, he sketched an exaggerated bow and called out a greeting, accompanied by a long-suffering grin. Before she could even form a response, however, he strode away looking like a man in desperate need of some fresh air uncluttered by relatives.

Lizzy was unsurprised when Darcy appeared at the library door next, looking grim. Guessing that this was not the best time to share Lady Catherine's last epistle, she tucked Dawson's letter in her pocket and merely smiled at him.

"Elizabeth." William's tone wasn't exactly happy, but his visage lightened perceptibly at the sight of her.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy. I was just going to take a walk in the park. Might you have a few minutes to accompany your poor, neglected wife?"

He stood silently for a moment, studying his shoes, clearly considering whether he could justify a short respite from the mountain of paper work that lay just within.

Luckily, at that moment, the deep voice of his uncle called out from the library's interior. "Oh, go walk with your wife, Darcy. It's nearly noon anyway and we could all do with a break. This will wait until after luncheon."

William seemed to relax slightly and, after a nod to his uncle, offered his arm to Elizabeth. Once outside, the couple strolled in silence for some time, unconsciously turning their steps toward the grove where they had spent so much time together during the spring.

Eventually desiring some conversation, Elizabeth made a comment about the weather and Darcy responded with a statement on the unusually poor productivity of the orchards that season. They lapsed into silence again for some minutes until he suddenly released a great sigh and swatted at a tall weed with his walking stick. "I apologize for being such poor company."

Lizzy squeezed his arm and smiled encouragingly. "Well, we both know my preference for tall, taciturn gentlemen." She was pleased to see the corner of his mouth twitch. "Shall you tell me what you gentlemen were arguing about, or will I be forced to guess?

Darcy's tone was long-suffering. "Richard is being difficult."

Given that the adjective was not normally one she would have attributed to the Earl's second son, Lizzy merely raised an eyebrow and looked at him, waiting for additional information.

William sighed again. "His father desires him to marry Anne and he flatly refuses. I cannot understand why he doesn't see that it would be the best solution for all involved. Anne needs the protection of a husband or she will have every fortune hunter in the Kingdom attempting to land her, through fair means or foul. And Richard is in need of an income so that he may resign his commission; Rosings would do very well for him."

Had an observer been watching the couple, she would have been struck by the reversal of expressions between the two. As Darcy became more animated describing all the benefits of a de Bourgh-Fitzwilliam marriage, Elizabeth became increasingly stern.

Finally he paused and she spoke, attempting to keep her tone level. "But I had understood that Miss de Bourgh did not desire to ever marry?"

William was studying a flock of geese flying high in the western sky and did not notice her increasing agitation. "Lord Henry does not believe that Anne has seen enough of the world to know what she wants and I am inclined to agree with him. Clearly she is incapable of managing the estate, and perhaps not even a household. Neither I nor the Earl have time to do it properly; Richard would have a great deal to learn, but I am sure he could do well enough with a good steward."

Lizzy's voice rose slightly as she inquired with exaggerated casualness, "And is no consideration to be given to affection?"

William waved his hand negligently. "Certainly they share affection. And they have the advantage of knowing each other for all their lives."

Elizabeth barely refrained from snorting at that bit of high-handedness. She tried to be more direct in her questioning without unleashing her burgeoning temper. "Has the Colonel ever indicated a preference toward Miss de Bourgh as a wife?"

"You observed yourself how it was when we visited Rosings at Easter; Aunt Catherine would have quashed any relationship between them while she still considered me available to marry Anne."

"But perhaps he has other plans for himself."

Darcy grunted. "Richard enjoys flirting with the ladies, but he has never given any sign that he is looking for a bride. This would be best for all involved."

This time, Elizabeth did not bother to suppress her sniff. "I am afraid that I cannot agree with your sentiments. Although I have not spoken with her about it directly, Miss de Bourgh has given me no reason to suspect that she desires a husband--quite the opposite, in fact. And the Colonel is a grown man, entirely capable of deciding who and when he shall marry."

Despite her effort to control her temper, Darcy was sensitive enough to her emotions to recognize that somewhere he had stepped on a nerve. Unfortunately, he had not yet learnt to consider such a state as the result of his faulty opinions rather than her understanding. As a result, his response did nothing to quell her pique.

"That is immaterial. They both have excellent connections; Richard is in need of an establishment, and Anne is in need of someone to manage her estate and finances. Surely you see that it would be an excellent arrangement?"

When she replied, her voice was sharp. "By your calculations, I should have married Mr. Collins," she said, and the tilt of her head told him that he had made her very angry indeed.

"Elizabeth… it is not the same…"

"Oh, it is very much the same. In truth, you should have obeyed Lady Catherine and married your cousin--that would have done nicely to consolidate all that money and land with one wedding. Perhaps your uncle can still write to your pet bishop-- surely he would grant you an annulment so that you might repair your coffers by making a far more appropriate marriage than to some unknown, penniless, country girl. "

"Elizabeth…" William was now entirely aware of how furious he had made his wife. Unfortunately, her diatribe left him no room to attempt retreat.

"For shame sir, I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family fortune in days such as these! I am certain that you shall be quite content, sitting in your vault at Pemberley and counting your gold pieces like the dragons of yore."

Somehow it seemed entirely appropriate to Elizabeth that they had just come in sight of the parsonage, a place that could not but bring up memories of the terrible words that they had exchanged over his first proposal. For an instant, she considered removing herself from her husband's presence under the pretext of calling upon Mrs. Collins.

However, just then she caught site of a profile through the drawing room window that she thought she recognized. If it was as she suspected, then she had no desire to disturb the conversation that was currently taking place within, even if it meant continuing to walk with her blockheaded dolt of a husband.

Sighing, Elizabeth turned onto a path that led away from the parsonage and into the wilder parts of the park. She walked swiftly, concentrating on holding her tongue so that she would not say anything more rash than what had escaped already. She had hoped never to feel such anger against man walking beside her, but currently she could not vouch for her temper.

It was some minutes before Lizzy realized that the gentleman who so consumed her thoughts was no longer at her side. Her current irritation was such that she refused to look around for him, but instead continued to stalk through the grove. Unfortunately, the beauty of her surroundings was entirely lost upon her.

William remained standing precisely where he had stopped during her final salvo. When one is under great stress, it is often easier to revert to old, comfortable habits. In Darcy's case, these old habits manifested themselves as an imperious determination to manage other peoples' lives in whatever manner he thought best.

While he was still reeling from his wife's outburst, William suddenly recalled a memory of Charles and Jane Bingley happily chatting about their adventures in France and realized (not for the first time) that perhaps he was not the best person to manage someone else's love life.

Luckily, Darcy was a clever man and once he put his mind to it, he rapidly comprehended how much his words had reminded his wife of his former attitudes. "Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are such a git," he said to himself gruffly before starting off with a ground-eating stride to catch up to his wife.

Luncheon at Rosings was rather quiet that day.

Darcy appeared somewhat subdued and was largely content to observe rather than enter into any debate (however well-intended) with his wife or relations. She had forgiven him, but there remained a look in her eye that indicated he would do well to retain a contrite attitude for the near future.

The Colonel smiled and joked, but there was a hint of rebelliousness in his eyes whenever he turned toward his father. The Earl sat down to the meal with the irritable manner of a powerful man accustomed to having his own way and who cannot understand why his directives have not been accepted.

Lord Henry's manner gradually lightened, however, primarily due to Elizabeth's efforts drawing him and his niece into conversation. Eventually, she was able to coax the Earl into telling stories of his childhood with Lady Catherine and Lady Anne and the meat course ended in shared laughter.

When Elizabeth inquired as to their efforts with regard to Dr. Humphreys, she was amused to see identical grins appear on the Colonel and his father's faces.

"Mister Humphreys shall not be practicing medicine again, in this country, at least," announced the Earl with obvious satisfaction.

Richard added, "Drs. Burrel and Ruckers shall be presenting a joint paper to the Royal Society next month on the ill effects of closing a wound without properly cleansing it, as well as the necessity of direct observation of such wounds during the healing process; Humphrey's treatment of Lady Catherine shall form the case study they describe."

"And," chuckled Lord Henry, "just in case he tries to change his name, the Times and several other newspapers have been provided with all the relevant information, as well as an excellent likeness, which shall be published within the week. With any luck at all, he shall soon be one of the most reviled men in Britain."

"Goodness. Shall he be remaining in Hunsford, do you know?" inquired Elizabeth. However inept, she hoped that the man would not be made desperate.

"We have given him until the end of the month to vacate his house," declared the Earl. Seeing Mrs. Darcy's look of surprise, he elaborated, "The property is part of the estate, and I, as executor, am perfectly within my legal rights to demand that a non-paying tenant evacuate the premises."

Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled unrepentantly. "He has an exceptional opportunity for the future, if he will but have the sense to take it! Father has offered him a first class berth on the next ship bound for Australia, and a letter of recommendation… as a veterinarian!"

While the gentlemen chortled gleefully, Lizzy only smiled, not entirely certain that their "punishment" would not merely transfer the problem elsewhere. William saw her hesitation and said quietly, "He shall never practice any medicine again--we shall make certain of it."

She nodded gratefully and he felt the iron bands that had locked around his chest since their quarrel loosen another notch.

Darcy was just considering how he might excuse himself and his wife so that they might retire to their chambers (where he might continue apologizing in a more intimate manner) when a commotion in the yard signaled the arrival of another visitor. From the window, he observed a tall, well-dressed gentleman climb down from a bright yellow curricle with the ridiculously large wheels that were currently the height of fashion among the fast set. When the gentleman turned his dark features toward the house, William felt his hopes for a quiet afternoon with Elizabeth evaporate.

Moments later, the butler opened the door and intoned, "Lord Edward Fitzwilliam, Viscount Ashbourne."

It was unclear if Ashbourne was ignoring his relations' surprise at his appearance, or honestly did not notice. Regardless, he greeted his father with an exaggerated manner that was thoroughly inappropriate for a family in mourning.

"Father! How are you? I came as soon as I received your letter!" Lord Edward did not bother to wait for an answer but continued on, complaining about the roads and the fact that he had had to leave a house party that had promised excellent shooting.

Eventually, his monologue ran down and he looked around at his audience expectantly. "Well, shall we retire to the study and discuss what is to be done, then?" He waved a hand at Anne and Elizabeth dismissively. "I am certain that the ladies shall not wish to have their pretty heads bothered with such weighty matters as wills and taxes!"

Without bothering for an answer, he turned on his heel, clearly anticipating that the other gentlemen would follow. Unfortunately, his grand exit was somewhat diminished when he was forced to ask the butler for directions, it having been many years since he last visited Rosings.

The Earl shut his eyes tightly for just an instant and drew a breath, but then excused himself and followed his eldest son. Darcy exchanged a look with the Colonel, both wondering what bit of chicanery the Viscount was up to this time (and whether the Earl would allow his heir to get away with it).

Before following the other gentlemen, William drew his wife aside and quietly made a request. "Will you talk to Anne this afternoon and try to discover her wishes for the future? I believe she is more likely to speak openly with you, and it will help me make sure that we do not make any decisions that go against her wishes."

Elizabeth smiled and touched his cheek, trying to reassure him that she had truly let go of her earlier anger. "Of course. But you might remind your uncle that she has only just begun mourning her mother and cannot be seen to be courted, much less married, for many months unless he desires to scandalize all of Society."

William's eyes brightened and he kissed her hand in gratitude.

After watching his handsome form until he was out of sight, Lizzy turned to find that Miss de Bourgh was observing her curiously. "Well, Cousin Anne, it appears that we have been left all alone. Shall we go check on how your gowns are coming along?"

While the ladies had a companionable afternoon discussing the relative merits of long versus short sleeves and the Christmas celebrations that Elizabeth was planning for Pemberley (interspersed with gentle probes regarding Anne's desires for the future), the gentlemen had a far more contentious conference.

It began when the Earl asked if Richard was ready to "see sense." At Lord Edward's inquiry, his father explained, "We have been discussing the advantages of an alliance between Anne and Richard."

Darcy was surprised when the Colonel merely rolled his eyes and said, "I appreciate your concern for my future, Father, but I will not now, nor will I ever, marry Anne." Much of his anger and agitation from the morning appeared to be gone, replaced with a calm, cheerful certainty.

Hoping to prevent another confrontation, William was about to bring up Elizabeth's point about Anne's mourning when help arose from a most unexpected source.

"Father," said the Viscount. "I, above anyone, know that my little brother has a stubborn streak a mile wide, so perhaps it would be better to explore another avenue, for the present at least. Perhaps it would be best if I took on the oversight of Anne's assets for now."

It was rare enough for Edward to side with his brother that even the Earl looked at him oddly. Unfortunately, the silence prompted the gentleman to rattle on. "I'm just saying, you are so busy with parliament, and Darcy here, well he has his own business to attend. Besides, Derbyshire is days away and I am usually just over in Essex, when I am not in London."

Richard snorted slightly. "Why this sudden interest in Rosings, brother? I can't even recall the last time you visited Kent."

The Viscount shot him a venomous look before turning back to Lord Henry. "Like everyone else, I had assumed that Darcy would marry Anne and look after her estate. With recent changes," he could not quite control the contempt in his voice over William's choice of bride, "it is now entirely appropriate that we step in to see that Lady Catherine's estate and assets are properly managed."

"For the benefit of Matlock," added the Colonel, beginning to catch on.

"Of course," responded Lord Edward with every appearance of earnestness.

William stirred but before he could speak, the Earl held up a finger and he lapsed into a discomfited silence.

After a moment, Lord Henry spoke in a level voice. "Rosings does not belong to Matlock."

"But Lady Catherine…"

"My sister was born a Fitzwilliam, but she died a de Bourgh. I have Catherine's will here, but Sir Lewis' final testament trumps that of his wife."

"But Anne is the heiress of Rosings Park!"

The Earl's lips tightened. "Sir Lewis' wishes are very clear. If Anne does not marry and produce a male heir, then the bulk of the estate is entailed to his youngest brother."

The Viscount sprang up from his chair and threw his arms out. "And who on Earth is that?!? This man could be dead, as far as we know!!!"

William directed a narrow stare at his cousin. "Reverend Jonathan de Bourgh has indeed passed away, and I would ask you to speak of him with respect."

"Oh, and what the bloody Hell is it to you, Darcy?!? You had your chance at Rosings… and it's not like you need the money--you're already richer than bloody Croesus!!!"

Richard was already standing, so it was only a few short steps for him to be face to face with his elder brother. "And that is what this is all about, isn't it Eddie? You want to be put in charge of Anne's finances so that you can bleed her estate dry, just as you have done with Chafford and Ravensdale?"

Ashbourne glared at his brother. "Stuff a sock in it, Richie."

"Let's see… Ascot and the Derby are months past so I can't imagine you still have outstanding bets on the ponies, and I doubt that any of those pheasants you were shooting last week have tried to fleece you… so, visit any gambling hells lately, brother dearest? Your self-importance always did trump your abilities with cards…"

Before the Viscount could let loose his fists, the Earl spoke loudly. "Oh for heaven's sake, sit down and be silent, the both of you! Mr. Jonathan Gardiner is the heir of Rosings and that is the end of it."

Edward stared at his father with dismay verging on desperation. "But surely we are not going to let this go without a fight!!! Who is this Gardiner anyway? There must be some legal recourse!!!"

Darcy rose to his full height and lanced his relative with a look full of disgust. "Jonathan Gardiner is my wife's cousin; his parents are Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, whom you have met on several occasions this autumn."

William did not wait to hear any further discussion but left immediately. He went directly to the stables and ordered his horse saddled.

When the exhausted horse and rider returned some time later, Elizabeth was waiting for him. "Colonel Fitzwilliam came by to tell me that you had gone for a ride."

Darcy hung his head for a moment. "I apologize, I should have left word for you. But I was… My cousin…" He actually grunted with frustration, being unable to describe his feelings toward the Viscount without a great deal of inappropriate cursing.

Lizzy merely smiled and drew him toward the rose garden where they might talk unheard. "Yes, Richard told me a rather colourful version of your afternoon."

"I doubt he needed to exaggerate--Edward is…" Again he threw his hands up in the air, unable to speak.

"Yes, well… The viscount departed soon after you. Apparently his efforts to work on the Earl did not meet with any success." Darcy grunted. She waited for him to say more but when he remained silent, she added softly, "Thank you for standing up for the Gardiners."

At his look of surprise, she smiled and merely said, "Richard."

"Of course. But please know that I did not do it for your thanks; they are truly excellent people and their son shall make a fine landlord. Edward cares not for the land or the people… or even his heritage. All he wants is to line his pockets."

This last was said with such disgust that Elizabeth could easily imagine why her husband had needed such a long, solitary ride to regain control of his emotions. She hugged his arm. "Well, he is gone, and the Earl shall be taking Anne with him when he departs tomorrow."

At William's look of curiosity, she elaborated, "She does not wish to remain here. They are going first to London to file whatever papers are necessary with the solicitors and to spend time with the Gardiners, and then on to Bath, where Lady Eleanor and her daughters are staying. From there, they shall all travel together to Matlock."

"Perhaps we should offer to take her to Pemberley…"

"Actually, I did raise the possibility, but the Earl pointed out that this might not be the best time for Miss de Bourgh to revisit the house where her father and brothers died. Hopefully she shall come with the Fitzwilliams for Christmas; but for now, I believe that Lady Eleanor and Lucy will be very good for her. "

Darcy shut his eyes tightly for a moment and his hands tightened into fists. "Yes, that all sounds very logical. I just feel as if I should do something… I do not regret Anne in any way, but I feel such guilt that Aunt Catherine and I parted on such poor terms… I feel that I must make it up to her in some way…"

Elizabeth stopped and held his arm so that he was forced to halt and turn to her. Reaching up, she cradled his face in her hands. "You would not be the loyal, honorable man that I love if you did not. We shall look after Anne as if she were our own sister. And as for your aunt, I believe that you should read this."

Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved the letter that Dawson had given her that morning, and then stepped back to watch the emotions play across her husband's face while he read.

Be not alarmed, Nephew, that this letter shall contain a repetition of those sentiments which were so disagreeable to you upon our last meeting. I do not take well to surprises and, although I suppose you attempted to prepare me for the path you intended to take, I was exceedingly shocked by the announcement of your engagement.

I shall expect to see you and your wife at Rosings next Easter.

William shut his eyes tightly for several moments upon finishing the letter, but when he opened them, there was relief and even a little humour in them. In one motion he enveloped his wife in a tight hug and his voice was muffled by her hair. "How did you come across the letter?"

"Lady Catherine's maid insisted that I read it. Apparently her ladyship began composing it almost a month before our wedding, but kept finding faults with each draft. Dawson was adamant that her mistress would have desired us to read it this last one she completed."

"Remind me to thank her." Suddenly William realized that he was holding his wife against his dirty, damp coat. Stepping back, he smiled with a lighter look than she had seen him wear in days. "Come, let us go change. I need a bath, and I believe that I still have some apologizing left to do from this morning."

Elizabeth laughed, more so when he practically dragged her back to the house by the hand like a little boy determined to show a recalcitrant adult some new treasure.

The Darcys were slightly tardy for dinner that evening, but their contentment was so obvious that none of the others mentioned it.

The next day, after seeing the Earl and Miss de Bourgh off, Darcy and Elizabeth spent some time with the housekeeper, determining which servants would be let off and what accounts needed settling. William had hoped that his cousin would assist them, but Richard disappeared immediately after breakfast.

When the Colonel found them some hours later, he seemed not the least apologetic. He allowed Darcy to lecture him for some minutes about the decisions that had been made with regard to the estate, but eventually interrupted, reporting that they were all three invited to the parsonage for tea.

Darcy accompanied his wife to their rooms to change and commented on the amused look on her face. Elizabeth's smile broadened, but she refused to say much on its cause or why she had so eagerly accepted the invitation to tea.

The four settled in the parsonage drawing room with a fair degree of ease. Mrs. Collins served and each enjoyed an appreciative sip of the hot liquid, for it was a chilly day. Elizabeth noticed that her friend was biting her lip and guessed that whatever seemed to be weighing upon Charlotte was making it difficult for her to begin an easy conversation.

"Charlotte, how is Baby Collins today? Did he sleep well last night?"

The grateful look that her friend gave her seemed out of proportion with such a minor conversational gambit.

"Oh, very well, Lizzy… he is such a dear boy… he woke only twice last night. In fact…" Charlotte glanced toward Colonel Fitzwilliam who gave her a small nod of encouragement.

"In fact, I wished to speak to you about him…" Mrs. Collins trailed off again, but then took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and adopted a more formal tone. "Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, I realize that this may seem terribly crass, but I wanted to consult with you both before you departed the county. I love my son very much, you see, but I know next to nothing about how best to manage his rights as heir to Longbourn."

Seeing Elizabeth go slightly pale, Charlotte rushed to explain herself. "Oh, Lizzy, I am so sorry--I have thought and thought on the matter but knew not how to be more delicate about it… It is just that, I shall have the four thousand pounds that my father settled on me, but nothing else. This all," she waved her hand around, encompassing the house, "it belongs to the estate, to Rosings."

Darcy quietly pressed Elizabeth's hand and was reassured to see her regain some of her colour. "Mrs. Collins, you are welcome to remain at the parsonage for as long as you desire. Surely you do not think that we would throw a parson's widow and her newborn child out onto the street?" He was slightly angered and it showed in his clipped tone.

Richard decided to speak up. "Easy, Darce; Mrs. Collins said no such thing."

Charlotte began apologetically, even before the Colonel had finished talking. "No, no… Truly, I know Miss de Bourgh better than that… nor would I think it of you, any of you." She looked carefully and was relieved to see that Mr. Darcy no longer appeared quite so nettled.

"However, the fact remains that the parish will need a new vicar as soon as it can be arranged… and that gentleman will need a place to live. It would be neither proper nor comfortable for me to remain."

Darcy was beginning to regret his prior tone. "Surely some other arrangement can be made. A small house might be rented in Hunsford, or perhaps a cottage on the estate?"

Charlotte smiled crookedly. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy, but for various reasons, I believe it would be better if I left Kent. I had already planned to spend Christmas at my father's house in Hertfordshire and it seems logical to follow that plan."

Elizabeth had remained quiet throughout the conversation, but at this statement she inhaled sharply. "Oh Charlotte, I fear that Mama will not make it easy for you in Meryton, particularly once she realizes that Longbourn is now entailed to your son."

Mrs. Collins smiled weakly. "That is why I wished to speak with you." She included Darcy in her glance and he nodded in response, beginning to better understand the lady's predicament.

"I discussed the entail with Mr. Bennet at one point." Seeing Elizabeth's questioning look, William expanded further; "When I was in Hertfordshire before the wedding, we started talking about it one evening after dinner." When she nodded, he continued, "Though I have not read Elizabeth's grandfather's will myself, Mr. Bennet was very certain that the entailment could not be broken. We also spoke of the prospect of your child," he nodded at Mrs. Collins.

"Mr. Bennet indicated that if your child was a boy, then he would be next in line to inherit Longbourn, as long he is willing to take the Bennet name. Although we were speaking about it in the context of his own daughters' futures, Mr. Bennet made it clear that he had consulted several solicitors and there was no possibility of revoking the entail."

For the first time in her life, Elizabeth felt a sense of relief at that information. Although she loved her father, she was confident that Darcy and Bingley would never allow her mother and sisters to be left homeless should the worst come to pass. Charlotte, on the other hand, was in an extremely precarious position. Her friend had been willing to marry Mr. Collins in order to have a home of her own. How horrible would it be for her to return to her father's house now, after this brief taste of freedom?

The Darcys shared a long look and Lizzy squeezed her husband's hand. When they turned back to Mrs. Collins, Richard smiled. He had observed their silent communications before and suddenly knew that everything would be well.

In short order, a plan was worked out. Charlotte and her son would remain in Kent until the beginning of December, saying goodbye to her husband's parish and packing their belongings. Darcy would contact the Bishop and ask for an acceptable candidate to be sent as a temporary replacement; no one mentioned that it would not be difficult for the new curate to be an improvement over the last.

Charlotte and her son would return to Meryton just after the Bennets departed for Christmas in Derbyshire. The Darcys would discuss the situation with Mr. and Mrs. Bennet while they were at Pemberley, hopefully sparing Mrs. Collins from the brunt of Fanny Bennet's response.

Although Charlotte had written to Mr. Bennet with the news of Baby Collins' birth (and gender) she had received no reply, nor had Elizabeth heard from him with regard to Mr. Collins' death. "Although it shames me to say it, Papa is a poor correspondent at the best of times. I apologize--he should have written to acknowledge your son's birth, at the very least… and to attend his heir's funeral, whatever his personal feelings for him."

Charlotte reached out a hand to touch her friend's knee. "Don't fret, Eliza. We both know that your father is in essentials an excellent man, but he has had to deal with a great many disruptions to his household over the last few months, what with your and Jane's marriages, Lydia leaving for school, and then bringing your mother to London for the ball… I know he does not mean any disrespect."

Elizabeth desperately wished that she could argue, wished she might say something to the effect of "but he has changed! They all have!" but there seemed little evidence upon which to base such a claim at the moment.

In the meantime, the Colonel had softly prompted Mrs. Collins; "I believe there was something you wished to say about the baptism?"

Darcy noticed that as Charlotte's expression brightened at the reminder, she unconsciously reached out to touch his cousin's arm. It was small yet intimate gesture between two people who appeared to understand each other far better than he would have expected. William's brow wrinkled but everyone else's attention was on Mrs. Collins.

"I have decided to name my son William, for his father and mine; he shall be christened William Collins Bennet. Mr. Darcy, I should be deeply obliged if you and your wife would agree to be his god parents."

Darcy nodded in agreement but was thinking rapidly even as Elizabeth moved to hug her friend, the pair shedding a few tears over their new understanding. He had to admit that it was a very shrewd decision on the part of Mrs. Collins. Baptizing the child as a Bennet cemented his place as heir, and naming him William properly honored both sides of his family.

Suddenly Darcy realized that Richard was watching him closely. He raised his eyebrows, but his cousin only smiled and shook his head, indicating that it was not the proper time to explain. Even so, Darcy was fairly certain that Mrs. Collins had not come up with the plan entirely on her own.

When her husband decided that it was time to return to Rosings, Elizabeth indicated that she wished to remain at the parsonage to see young Collin (as his mother had determined he would be called) when he woke from his nap. Darcy was exceptionally agreeable to this plan and quickly herded his cousin out into the crisp fall afternoon.

As they walked, Darcy considered how best to broach the subject that was bothering him. "Richard, forgive me, but I feel I must ask… In addition to being Elizabeth's friend, Mrs. Collins is also family, albeit in a round-about-way… She is in mourning… and with you remaining at Rosings…"

Instead of being angered as William had supposed he would, the Colonel actually looked rather amused.

"Darce, are you attempting to ask me about my intentions toward Mrs. Collins?"

"Er… yes, I suppose so."

"Well then, that is easy enough… I intend to marry her and treat her son as my own, just as soon as she is done mourning that ridiculous husband of hers." Richard was vastly amused to watch the series of emotions that flashed across his cousin's usually stoic face, particularly as it finally settled into a sort of grudging respect.

"Elizabeth told me that you had an affection for someone; I should have listened."

Richard grinned. "Indeed you should have… as always, Mrs. Darcy has proven herself to be an excellent studier of human character."

After agreeing, William inquired awkwardly, "And Mrs. Collins… does she… er… return your feelings?"

He really did not need to hear his cousin's joyful "Indeed she does!" for at that moment, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, decorated and battle-hardened officer of his Majesty's cavalry, a grown man who had stared down more than a few enemies in his years both on the battlefield and in ballrooms, took three running steps and leapt high enough into the air that he might snatch a leaf that dangled precariously from the otherwise bare branches arching above them.

Then he turned to catch his cousin's eye with such a sparkle of boyish glee that Darcy could not help but join him in laughter over the simple joy of finding personal happiness in a world that so often seemed determined to prevent it.

Chapter 46. Christmas at Pemberley.

Posted on 2011-11-13

November 1818

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy settled into Pemberley with a sigh of relief. Although the first fortnight of their honeymoon had been all that was quiet and restful, the subsequent time in London and the unexpected trip to Kent had left both emotionally fatigued. Not long after Lady Catherine's funeral, they departed Rosings for Derbyshire; Pemberley embraced them like a soft, wool blanket on a cold day.

The Derbyshire landscape was vastly changed from when Elizabeth had last observed it. Then, the lush spectrum of summer greens had been lit with a rainbow of flowers. Now, the lawns and woods were brushed from a much more subdued pallet of tawny yellows and browns.

"And yet, the house is still so perfectly situated… as if it were built to compliment this perspective precisely," commented Elizabeth, having caused her husband to stop with her and look back to admire the limestone as it was warmed by the early morning sun. They had formed a habit of walking out together in the mornings, often even before they had broken their fast.

Soon after their arrival in Derbyshire, Lizzy had realized that the responsibilities of Pemberley's master, coupled with her husband's deep sense of duty, often meant that she might see him only briefly between breakfast and supper, and sometimes not at all. Lunch was regularly taken in his study as he worked through a mountain of paperwork, or as a packet in his saddlebag if he were out riding the fields or visiting tenants. In addition to managing the family's holdings, Mr. Darcy served as magistrate for both Lambton and Kympton and was often called upon to broker disagreements among landowners and merchants throughout Derbyshire.

Accustomed as he was to being responsible for it all, it was not easy for William to give up any of these duties, even to the woman whom he had asked to share his life. This transition was made even more difficult by the fact that the estate had functioned for so long without a mistress at all, as William had always striven to protect Georgiana from having her childhood abbreviated by the pressure of those adult responsibilities.

Each morning, however, William found himself talking over all that he had to accomplish that day with his sympathetic wife. Then, while breakfasting in their private dining room, he would be encouraged to write out a list of what needed to be done, only to find it being whittled away as she pointed out those tasks that more properly fell under the mistress' purview. It was not many weeks before Will found himself enjoying significantly more time to do as he wished, and more often than not, he wished to spend it with his wife; an activity which that lady highly approved.

The new Mr. and Mrs. Darcy made all the appropriate calls upon the other major landowners in the area. Elizabeth met several ladies whom she felt might make interesting acquaintances and more than a few that would make tolerable and perhaps even amusing neighbors. However, Lizzy admitted to her husband one morning that she did not resent the fact that the rules of mourning prevented the Darcys from entertaining for three months after the death of his aunt.

"Shall you not be lonely? You are accustomed to much lively company, and I know very well that I am altogether a dull companion." Although William's tone was light and teasing, Elizabeth detected an underlying note of insecurity.

She smiled up at him, cupping one cheek and placing her other hand against his chest. "There is nothing lacking in your company, my love. I only wish that there was more to be had of it, sometimes."

Taking her tease seriously, William began to apologize for having neglected her, but Elizabeth stopped him. "You have done no more nor less than I would expect of a man with your character and responsibilities… and I hope that my being here has lightened that load a bit."

He agreed but still seemed slightly doubtful, so she explained further; "I only meant that this month is like the calm before the storm… What with all the company that we are expecting at Christmas…" For a moment, she could only wave a hand, incapable of finding the right words.

"Well, it certainly shall not be dull," replied William with an inscrutable expression. Inscrutable, that was, until his wife directed such a look of such willful disbelief that he could not hold back a chuckle. Soon, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy's laughter could be heard throughout the dormant gardens.

The gay sound caused an elderly gardener to look up with surprise and then pleasure, glad to see the young master so lively and his new wife displaying such happy manners.

Although Pemberley was intimidatingly large for a daughter of Longbourn (Lizzy occasionally thought to herself that it resembled a small, bustling village more than a house), she had quickly gained the approval of Mrs. Reynolds. Such was the household's respect for that woman that even those who did not come into direct contact with the new mistress were inclined to approve of her for no other reason than the housekeeper's approbation.

Even so, the thought of so many, disparate personalities from both Darcy's family and her own coming together for more than a fortnight over Christmas filled Elizabeth with not a little trepidation. Certainly she looked forward to seeing the Bingleys again, but with Jane and Charles came Caroline, whose insincere attempts to make up every arrear of civility had not impressed either of the Darcys. Lizzy hoped that the atmosphere of a family party might prompt Miss Bingley to improve her behavior, but even so she planned to be on her guard.

Both Elizabeth and William were delighted that the Gardiners had decided to come with all of their children. Although it was a long trip to make in winter weather (even with a large, well-sprung Darcy carriage at their disposal), both Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner desired to see their dear niece happily settled at Pemberley. That it would also allow them (and their eldest son) to spend time with Miss Anne de Bourgh and that lady's family was a not insignificant additional benefit.

Although Elizabeth was happy to see her cousin Jonathan so well settled, even Darcy's assurances could not quite stop a niggling worry that not all of the Fitzwilliams were so well-disposed toward the inheritance of Rosings by the young Mr. Gardiner. She was not at all disappointed that, amid all the Fitzwilliams who were scheduled to descend upon Pemberley for Christmas, the Viscount and his wife had sent their regrets.

Certainly there would be bright spots in the company; Elizabeth was particularly pleased that Sir James Darcy had accepted their invitation and would be visiting his childhood home for the first time in years. She honestly looked forward to knowing her new cousins and their spouses better; from her interactions with the Matlock family thus far, she rather suspected that the four Fitzwilliam daughters had personalities quite as disparate in as the Bennet girls.

Had that been the end of the guest list, Elizabeth believed that she would be quite calm. However, the thought of dropping the entire Bennet clan into that mix caused her stomach to churn. Her mother had behaved with astonishing decorum at the Matlock's London ball, but Lizzy was quite certain that Mrs. Fanny Bennet could not maintain such a pretense for an entire month.

There was nothing to be done but prepare for the worst. Sitting alone in the mistress' study, Lizzy allowed her self to relax back in the chair for a moment and stare out the window, ruminating upon the possibilities. Finally, she laughed aloud. As she had explained to Mr. Darcy, she loved her family dearly, but that did not make her blind to their faults; there was nothing to be done but to hope for the best, and plan for the worst.

Elizabeth considered several strategies to prepare Pemberley for the arrival of her mother. Eventually she decided to be direct; Mrs. Reynolds was intelligent and capable, and Lizzy rather thought that the woman would appreciate directness from her new mistress. Picking up a leather folder with her notes, the newest Mrs. Darcy made her way to the housekeeper's office.

Mrs. Reynolds smiled when her mistress tapped on the door and entered. After years of running a widower's household and then, after old Mr. Darcy's death, that of a rather reclusive bachelor, she had been understandably trepidatious at the changes that a new mistress might insist on.

Although it was still early days in their relationship, Susan Reynolds considered her worries to be quite laid to rest. Mrs. Darcy showed the same excellent taste as had Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and the same reluctance to make changes solely for the sake of making her mark on the place. The water damage in Lady Anne's sitting room had certainly provided her with an opportunity, but the new mistress had insisted on restoring the room to its previous décor as closely as possible, preferring to redecorate a little-used room that looked out across the lake to the woods for her own use.

To herself, Elizabeth looked upon the restoration of the rose sitting room as an entirely proper way of keeping Lady Anne's presence alive in the house where she had lived and died, and a small way for Lizzy herself to come closer to a woman whom she would never have the chance to know.

That the young Mrs. Darcy had no reservations with coming to Mrs. Reynolds' office (rather than summoning the older woman to the other end of the house for the smallest question) was one more trait that endeared her to the housekeeper. Young Master Wills had chosen very well, she thought contentedly to herself.

Elizabeth began, "Mrs. Reynolds, I've finalized the list of guests whom we are expecting for Christmas, with their arrival and departure dates and so forth. You will notice that Mr. and Mrs. Hurst will not be coming--Mr. Hurst's father has fallen ill and they will be staying in Somerset with his family. I've begun to plan which rooms to assign to whom, but I would greatly appreciate your advice… particularly as I still get lost if I move beyond the route between my bed chamber and the library!"

This last was said in such a pert, self-effacing manner that the older woman could not help but smile, knowing that the statement was not entirely true.

"Of course, Mrs. Darcy," said Mrs. Reynolds, glancing down the page as her mistress settled herself in a chair. "We could go up now and look through the rooms so that you might get a better sense of them, if you wish."

"An excellent notion, Mrs. Reynolds. I've seen most of the rooms in the family wing and poked my head into some of the rooms in the south wing during my explorations, but you will know which rooms Mr. Darcy's family have been assigned in the past. Lady Edna's journals have been invaluable, but certainly there have been some changes since my husband's grandmother's passing--I cannot very well assign Colonel Fitzwilliam to the nursery, for example." Elizabeth did not add that William's grandmother had also included humorous asides on the idiosyncrasies of the motley array of guests who had visited during her time as mistress, many so droll that they left Lizzy laughing out loud.

Once the housekeeper managed to school her face and agreed to the plan, the two women worked through the other various matters as came up in the day-to-day management of such a large household. With the final decisions made on menus and staff replacements (a Pemberley kitchen maid was leaving to marry the son of Kympton's blacksmith), Mrs. Reynolds began to put away her notes in preparation for their tour of the guest rooms.

Elizabeth straightened her back and, after fiddling with the wedding band on her finger, sighed slightly. Get on with it, silly, she told herself firmly.

"Mrs. Reynolds," she began. "Before my family arrives, there are a few things I would like to speak to you about. Warn you, really." Lizzy quirked an eyebrow with a conspiratorial air.

The housekeeper nodded but remained silent, not at all certain of what was to come.

"As you know, I have four sisters, the three youngest of whom will be traveling with my parents. My elder sister, Jane, has recently married Mr. Bingley, whom you already know. She is as sweet and undemanding as he, and I expect nothing but joy from their visit. My sister Mary is next in age to me, and should be little trouble--she spends much of her time practicing the pianoforte and studying religious texts. I have some hope that Georgiana may help her with the former and distract her from the latter. Catherine, or Kitty as we call her, is a good girl, but easily led.

"Much will depend on the disposition of my youngest sister, Lydia. I will be honest with you; she has just turned sixteen and grew up spoiled and unrestrained. She has only recently been sent to school, and although I hope to see improvement in her manners, I will not be surprised to hear a great deal of complaining. When I last saw her in September, her mind was full of little but flirtations and fashions. I hope that her wildness will be under control, but… well, with so many guests, I thought it best to warn you so that we might prevent her from getting into too much trouble."

Mrs. Reynolds nodded understandingly. She was quite looking forward to seeing Pemberley filled with people (and children!) for the Christmas holidays. To be honest, she was exceedingly curious to see the new Mrs. Darcy's family. The aunt and uncle who had visited Derbyshire with her in August would have won her full approval with their manners and good humor alone, even if she did not have fond memories of little Miss Madeleine the vicar's daughter growing up in Lambton.

Elizabeth continued, "I doubt that my father will be any trouble. Expect him to appear at odd times in odd places; he enjoys observing the idiosyncrasies of human behavior, but at heart is a kind man. If he is ever missing, look for him in the library or some other quiet corner with his nose buried in a book."

Lizzy closed her eyes for a moment and thought of how best to word her next point. "My mother… oh, how to say this… Mama is a good woman who loves us all very much, but she is very … enthusiastic, very voluble… particularly in her joy over Jane's and my marriages. Mama has spent much of her life afraid that she would lose her home when my father passed away. I am afraid that she will be more interested in the… prosperity that Pemberley represents than its history as the Darcy family's ancestral home." She smiled weakly at Mrs. Reynolds.

"I… I have every expectation that she will delight in inspecting every nook and cranny, from attics to cellars." Lizzy looked at Mrs. Reynolds carefully and saw understanding in the older woman's eyes. "Please let the staff know that she is somewhat easier if cosseted, but any significant demands should be checked with me. My mother gives many orders, few of them sensible, and I do not wish the servants to be confused by… by how much deference I expect them to give her."

Seeing the worried look on her mistress' face and recognizing how difficult it had been for her to speak so, Mrs. Reynolds took the liberty of an old servant and patted the young lady's hand. "My dear, I thank you for your consideration, but I am sure that Mrs. Bennet shall be no trouble at all. I shall pass the word among the staff that she can be a demanding guest, but believe me, we have managed with worse."

Seeing that the young lady was only partly reassured, the housekeeper continued. "You have not been here long, but you should know that your kindness and good sense have won the affection and loyalty of the staff." She did not add that the good humor of Pemberley's master, obviously caused by the love between him and his new wife, also went a long way toward winning the good will of the servants. Few could remember when Pemberley's family had been happier.

Elizabeth finally relaxed enough to smile fully. She was not convinced that her mother would not cause some perturbation in the household's affairs, but knew herself well enough to understand that she would not be calm until Mrs. Bennet was safely back in Hertfordshire. "Thank you for your support, Mrs. Reynolds." Standing, she brushed out the wrinkles in her skirts before continuing. "Well, shall venture into the wilds of the north wing and sort out the room assignments, before these hordes of southerners descend upon us?"

Mistress and servant smiled companionably at one another and then set out upon their appointed task.

In the end, it all went surprisingly well. The Bennets, Bingleys, and Gardeners arrived more than a week before Darcy's relations were expected, so Mrs. Bennet's initial exclamations over her daughter's new situation were heard only by those who already knew her well. In general, her most tactless comments were smoothed over by the presence of so many other well-bred guests who sincerely desired Elizabeth's mother to present her best side to their new acquaintances.

When the Fitzwilliams arrived, it was soon discovered that they themselves were quite a lively bunch when gathered together, particularly when the Earl's various grandchildren were introduced to the Gardiners' progeny. Indeed, there was such a mob of under-twelves running about that the Pemberley drying room seemed to be permanently decorated by damp mittens, scarves and other such articles of clothing that were barely allowed to dry before another round of ice-skating, snow fort building, or other outdoor activities were announced.

When he was not instigating snowball fights (outdoors) or scavenger hunts (indoors), Colonel Fitzwilliam could often be found discussing various matters pertaining to the management of Longbourn with Mr. Bennet over a chessboard. The older gentleman had always enjoyed the Colonel's lively good humor and now, once he had recovered from certain information relayed by Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, he quite enjoyed poking fun at the Earl's second son.

One night, when the Darcys were curled up together in bed, she teased him that his family was quite as rowdy as her own.

William chuckled even as he pulled her closer. "I shall never forget the sight of the Earl being pelted by snowballs, set upon by his own grandchildren. I don't believe that I have ever seen him laugh so hard!"

He did not need to say how relieved they all were to see Lord Henry's spirits rallying. Lady Eleanor had readily admitted to Elizabeth that the Earl had been decidedly melancholy when he and Miss de Bourgh had reached her in Bath. The weeks they had spent at Matlock seemed to have only exacerbated his depression.

Every effort had been made to make Lady Catherine's brother feel comfortable at Pemberley, although Elizabeth rather thought that the good spirits of his grandchildren had been the best medicine. It helped that their fathers (and occasionally mothers) were all easily drawn into the building of snow forts and tunnels, and not even the Earl of Matlock could count himself too high to be drawn into a snowball fight when challenged by Sir James Darcy.

While some of the guests enjoyed the glorious Derbyshire winter weather, others were perfectly content to appreciate Pemberley's warm, interior comforts. Mrs. Gardiner's new baby was admired and petted by all, but the tiny girl reminded Mrs. Bennet most strikingly of her own experiences. As a result, she became most intent upon sharing all of her knowledge on the bearing and raising of children with Jane and Elizabeth, and, to a lesser extent, her other daughters.

Mrs. Darcy managed to escape these lectures as often as possible, claiming her duties as hostess. Although Jane's serene smile appeared attentive, her closest sister suspected that Mrs. Bingley's mind to be far away. Indeed, it appeared that the greatest benefit of Mrs. Bennet's discourse was to leave both Kitty and Lydia much more leery of the aftereffects of catching a husband.

Although she remained inside most of the time (disliking the frivolity of the outdoor activities being offered), Miss Mary Bennet neatly avoided her mother's lectures by the simple action of being almost constantly elsewhere.

At some point between his engagement and his wedding, Mr. Darcy had found the time to interview several candidates for the open position at the Pemberley chapel. He had settled on a young man who had grown up in western Derbyshire and been educated at St. Andrews. Mr. Tucker was from a good if impoverished family and William had been impressed by both his intelligence and good sense. The more experienced clerics who held the livings at Lambton and Kympton had interviewed the gentleman and found his divinical understanding sound and his eager plans for serving his parishioners praiseworthy (if somewhat ambitious).

Both Darcys were well-pleased by young Mr. Tucker's devotion to his new flock. Soon after her arrival Derbyshire, Elizabeth had begun visiting the tenants and other cottagers associated with Pemberley, and she often discovered that the young curate had preceded her visit by days or even only hours. If the cleric's sermons tended to be slightly overlong, his eagerness in sharing the revelations that had come to him during his university studies tended to quell the rustles and whispers.

Mr. Tucker was always invited to Sunday dinner and occasionally attended other evenings when he was not otherwise occupied. It was during one of these meals that Miss Mary Bennet found that she had much to discuss with the young curate. She even found herself engaging in lively debates, much like those she had observed her sister enjoy with Mr. Darcy.

Of course, it was not long before Mrs. Bennet noticed the interaction and pointed out the potential of a match between the single gentleman and her least attractive daughter. Mary only blushed and retreated from the company. Later, Elizabeth sought out her sister, hoping to discover her own feelings on the matter.

"Although I might not like the way Mama presented the idea to you, Mr. Tucker would be a good match, and I would be delighted to have you settled so near," she said gently. To herself, Lizzy wondered if her mother was aware of the effects that her attitudes had on her daughters. Only that morning, Jane had mentioned that she and Charles were looking for an estate in the north where Mrs. Bennet could not insert herself into the daily workings of the Bingley household.

Mary was quiet for several minutes, pondering her sister's words. Finally, she sighed and dared to peek up through her fringe. "I admit that I enjoy talking with Mr. Tucker… I… esteem him… but I do not believe that I could ever care for him as you and Jane do for your husbands. When I find myself thinking back upon our meetings, it is to consider the intellectual content of our conversations, not… not the man himself."

Suddenly Mary peered up her elder sister, clearly perturbed. "But perhaps… perhaps I am being overly romantic, too caught up in girlish fancies… to think that I might find a man who could feel… that way… towards me."

By the time she finished speaking, Mary's voice held such a wavering tone that Elizabeth set aside her sewing and moved to a position where she could wrap her arms around the girl.

"My dear sister, you are just as deserving of love as any of us… The very fact that Jane and I have been so blessed only proves that you are right to wait for some one whom you do have such feelings, and who returns them with equal force. Don't worry about Mama… Our father shall never force you to marry where do not wish."

Mary gifted her sister with a watery smile and, although she said nothing further, Elizabeth could feel her gratitude. Lizzy passed her knowledge on to Jane and the Gardiners, and between them and general liveliness resulting from such a large company, Mrs. Bennet was kept too distracted to badger her eldest unmarried daughter (much).

Mary's equanimity did not falter until, twelve days before Christmas, she arrived in the drawing room before dinner and was faced with not one but two Mr. Tuckers. The gentlemen were alike enough to make it obvious that they were brothers, but where Mr. Owen Tucker (Pemberley's curate) was a gentle, steady man, his twin fairly sizzled with energy.

While their older brother had inherited their father's small estate, the family's finances suffered from a brutal mortgage brought on by poor crop yields and poorer planning by previous generations. The twins had heard the Lord's calling early in life and it was no surprise to those who knew them when they chose to take orders. However, while Mr. Owen Tucker's vision of the future involved providing guidance and succor to a small English community such as he had grown up in, Mr. Avery Tucker's divinical ambitions extended much farther afield.

Mr. Tucker (the curate) had applied to and received permission from Mr. Darcy for Mr. Tucker (the missionary) to spend Christmas with him, for the latter was to depart in May for darkest Africa where he planned to spend as many years as necessary to bring the Word of God to the natives. Owen looked upon his brother with quiet pride while Avery expounded upon his plans with the passionate zeal of an evangelist.

Needless to say, Miss Mary Bennet was fascinated.

Elizabeth had seated her sister beside the untried missionary, thinking that the pair of young people might find some common interests to discuss over dinner. What she had not planned was that they would become so absorbed in their conversation as to forget the presence of everyone else in the room. After dinner, an atlas of Africa was brought to the drawing room and the pair spent the remainder of the evening pouring over the strangely named rivers and mountains and speculating over what Avery might see and do.

Mr. Bennet, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Sir James Darcy sat nearby and occasionally contributed tidbits of knowledge (although at times Mary suspected her father of teasing). However, even the specter of her father's sarcasm did not cause her to withdraw. Occasionally she stopped and simply stared at Mr. Tucker while the young man expounded upon some point. She felt like a moth drawn to a particularly brilliant flame, yet his conversation made her feel as if she might have the capacity for some brilliance as well.

Mr. Bennet's amusement became mildly tinged with concern when, on the very next morning, his daughter attached herself to her newfound object of admiration immediately after Sunday services and proceeded to spend the remainder of the day almost exclusively in his company. The pair expanded their conversation beyond Africa and began discussing the various theological arguments that they expected would be most effective for converting the godless heathens.

However, the allure of Pemberley's magnificent library, combined with the presence of several companions whose conversation he found infinitely more interesting, made it easy for Mr. Bennet to set aside his worries. After all, he reasoned, Mr. Tucker shall be leaving for Africa in not so many months, so there is no need to diminish Mary's amusement for now.

One might think that the various events of the past year should have prompted Mr. Bennet to be more perspicacious, but the gentleman who entered the library one afternoon, several days after Christmas, and firmly shut the door behind him was clearly shocked.

Darcy and Bingley looked up from their position at one of the tables, first with surprise and then with concern. Charles had received a packet from his agent just that morning, and the two friends were studying maps in order to determine the locations of several purchasable estates.

"Mr. Bennet, are you well?" asked Darcy, immediately concerned by his father-in-law's obvious agitation.

Thomas' eyes popped open, for he had not realized that the library was already inhabited. Once he identified his companions, however, he merely threw up his hands and grunted, before throwing himself into one of the comfortable armchairs by the fire with far less than his usual equanimity. "Perfectly well in body, my boy, just excessively disturbed in spirit… though it is no more than I deserve, I fear."

The two younger gentlemen exchanged apprehensive glances and moved to sit near him, although not before Darcy poured out a glass of wine which Mr. Bennet accepted with a sardonic smile of thanks.

After taking a sip and appreciating the superior vintage, Thomas recollected himself and noted the looks of concern being directed toward him. "You needn't look quite so anxious, gentlemen. I have merely had a most surprising conversation with the brother of your curate," he gestured at Darcy with his glass, "and my middle daughter."

The younger men exchanged another look, having vaguely noticed that Miss Mary Bennet conversed somewhat more with Mr. Tucker than was her normal habit with new acquaintances, but no more than that.

"Sir?" prompted William, concerned that someone of his household had caused some sort of trouble.

"Oh, their behavior has been perfectly proper, have no fear! Mr. Tucker has just informed me that he desires to marry my Mary, before they leave for southern Africa where they shall spend some unknown number of years working as missionaries. I suppose that I should be merry at the thought of my Mary wishing to marry!" Mr. Bennet's half-hearted attempt at a pun did little to amuse any of them.

"Goodness!" Bingley exclaimed, as such an inclination was quite beyond him.

"Indeed," responded the older gentleman shortly before settling into a thoughtful silence.

After a moment, Darcy spoke carefully. "Your daughter is not yet of age, I believe."

Bennet nodded his agreement but showed no relief. "Mary is nineteen, so legally I could forbid her from having anything to do with the man." He eyed William keenly. "You, I believe, would forbid your sister from even considering such a path."

The younger man nodded decidedly, but before either could speak further, Bingley snorted and then burst into chuckles. Eyes watering, he waved at the other two to continue, explaining, "Please, ignore me… I was only considering what I might say if my sister came to me with such a request…"

The bizarre image of Miss Bingley proselytizing to the African tribes was enough to cause chuckles all around, and so it was in a lighter atmosphere that the gentlemen returned to the original subject some minutes later.

"I should forbid her, I know that," said Mr. Bennet thoughtfully. "However, this enthusiasm for evangelism is not new, and to be quite honest, she has never enjoyed any of the usual entertainments that English society has to offer. Indeed, I have never seen her happier than she is currently." He sighed and allowed his head to fall back.

After several minutes of earnest contemplation, William spoke slowly, "Does Mr. Tucker have some means of support? I have heard of the Missionary Society in London, of course, but I do not know any of the practicalities."

While Bingley's eyebrows rose to his hairline at this new evidence of his friend's less rigid view of the world, his father-in-law opened his eyes and studied the younger man. "I know only what Mr. Tucker has told me, although rest assured that I shall be writing some letters of inquiry. The expedition is to be led by Reverend John Philip--a Scottish methodist, as I understand it. The Missionary Society has established several stations in the Cape Colony where the newcomers would reside for several months before being sent out by themselves to form their own parish… or tribe, or whatever they call it."

"And for how long…" asked Bingley, still uncertain how seriously to take the discussion.

Mr. Bennet did not bother to suppress his sigh. "Tucker could not say precisely, but he was speaking in terms of years, not months." After a moment's pause, he added gruffly, "In addition to paying their living expenses, an annuity of two hundred pounds will be deposited in a trust account each year, the entirety of which shall be made available to Mr. Tucker upon his return to England… or else released to his widow or heirs."

The three gentlemen remained quiet for some minutes, digesting the implications of such an arrangement. However, before anything further could be added, a servant came to announce that it was time to dress for dinner.

In the end, Mr. Bennet agreed to allow a courtship. Mary would accompany the Gardiners when they returned to London, and Mr. Tucker might call upon her there. Lizzy and Jane assured him that they would include their sister in as many social gatherings as they could once the Darcys and Bingleys arrived for the Season, with the hope of exposing her to other young men, but to be honest, Thomas hoped rather than believed that the attachment might lesson upon further acquaintance.

Mrs. Gardiner was perhaps the least dismayed by Mary and her new beau's ambition. As the daughter of a vicar herself, she had met several missionaries who had worked in China and Africa and did not think it quite as mad an adventure. In addition, she and her husband were active in the anti-slavery movement and many in that circle were evangelists. She spoke kindly but bluntly to her niece regarding the dangers of such a life, but even in her cautions she did not dismiss the spiritual rewards of such an endeavor.

Mrs. Bennet could not understand the notion at all, but what she did comprehend was that a suitable gentleman (brother to Mr. Darcy's cleric) was interested in her least attractive daughter and that was quite enough for her. Kitty and Lydia were mainly relieved because their mother left off lecturing them about child-bearing in order to focus her energies on prompting Mary to act in a demeanor best calculated (in her opinion) to maintain Mr. Tucker's interest.

Fortunately, Mr. Bennet had delayed informing his wife of the courtship until after the Fitzwilliam party returned to Matlock, so Mary's embarrassment over her mother's attempts to put her forward were witnessed only by her closest and most empathetic family members. In addition, he coupled the announcement with other information designed to capture Mrs. Bennet's attention; namely, the status of Mrs. Collins' son as Longbourn's heir and the widow's relocation to Meryton. Her mother's reaction was quite as Elizabeth had predicted.

"Oh, that artful Mrs. Collins! How in the world am I to go on living while she hovers about, just waiting for your dear father to die? I have half a mind to refuse her entrance to Longbourn! I am sure that she planned it all, somehow!"

Jane attempted to mollify her unhappy parent. "Now Mama, I am sure that Charlotte has no such intentions. She was perfectly content at the Hunsford parsonage."

"Well then, she would do better to stay there!"

Lizzy sighed and spoke crisply, hoping to end the discussion. "But surely you can see that she cannot, Mama. A new vicar is taking Mr. Collins' place, and that gentleman shall need a place to live. It is only proper for Charlotte and her son to return to her father's house."

Mrs. Bennet was not calmed at all, and instead turned upon her least favorite daughter. "Oh, don't think that I've forgotten that this is all your fault, Miss Lizzy! If only you had had the sense to accept Mr. Collins' offer, I would not have to worry about losing my home!"

Even Jane was shocked that her mother would say such a thing even as she was enjoying Pemberley's hospitality. "Mama!"

Mr. Darcy stood and excused himself in a colder manner than any of the Bennets had seen him display since his first visit to Hertfordshire and, after directing a look of marked hostility at her mother, Elizabeth followed her husband out of the room.

"Oh Fanny," exclaimed that lady's brother. "Will you never learn to hold your tongue?"

"What did I… oh… oh, well…" To her credit, Elizabeth's mother looked faintly embarrassed. "But surely Mr. Darcy understands that I did not mean… that…"

"And just what did you mean, Fanny?" demanded Mr. Bennet in a harsher tone than he was accustomed to use. Seeing tears appear in his wife's eyes, he sighed roughly before standing and offering his arm to her. "If you will all please excuse us, I believe that my wife and I need to continue this discussion in private."

No one else would ever know what passed between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet that afternoon, but when the pair appeared in the drawing room before dinner, the lady's demeanor was far more tentative than any had ever seen her. Leaning on her husband's arm, Fanny made her way to her son-in-law and apologized contritely for her earlier intemperance.

Mr. Darcy accepted her apology with a few words but a kinder manner than one might have expected of him, having noted his mother-in-law's strained expression and the way she clung to Mr. Bennet.

The interaction certainly captured Miss Bingley's attention. Though she had not been present for the afternoon's discussion, she could smell tension in the air and, to her, any hint of strain between the Bennets and Mr. Darcy was like a whiff of the finest French perfume.

The entire visit had been excessively disappointing from Caroline's point of view, particularly given the effort that she had put into convincing Mr. Bingley that she had much better come with him to Derbyshire than be sent with her sister to Somerset. (Little did Caroline know that Mr. and Mrs. Hurst had begged Charles to take her.)

Not only had the detestable Eliza proven herself to be a calm and capable hostess, but Mr. Darcy, Georgiana, and indeed the entire Fitzwilliam clan appeared to be completely under her spell. Indeed, Caroline was beginning to think that the Countess of Matlock and her daughters were unworthy of her attentions, peerage or not, for despite all of her stratagems, none of the Ladies had treated her with more than a sort of distant coolness.

The final indignity came when she attempted to assist Miss Darcy with her music and then, when the younger lady decided she was too tired to practice further, with planning to redecorate her private sitting room in the latest fashion. Miss Bingley was convinced that dear, sweet little Georgiana had always looked up to her. As a result, she believed the girl's excuse of a headache and retired to her own rooms alone to write her letters.

Not much later, Caroline found that she had run out of fresh material for her compositions and decided to prowl the public rooms in the hope of finding such gaffs and blunders that she might use to criticize the former Miss Eliza Bennet's taste and conduct. Passing an open door, she perceived the sounds of girlish laughter emanating from the conservatory. However, when she peeked through the foliage, she was dismayed to see not the Mrs. but the Miss.

Once free of Miss Bingley, Georgiana had sought out Kitty Bennet. The pair had quietly gathered paints easels and set them up side by side in the conservatory where they might both attempt to recreate the likeness of a particularly lovely orchid. Kitty had made significant progress with her sketching and was delighted to benefit the other girl's instruction and encouragement in a new medium. Even Miss Bingley could perceive that both young ladies were having a marvelous time.

Had the Darcys not been quite so rich, Caroline believed that she would be well on her way to disliking them.