Posted on Friday, 25 May 2007
The private ball at Netherfield was delightful in every respect, if one disregarded the subsequent fatalities. The company was genteel and agreeable; the music, dancing, food, and décor were all excellent; and if Miss Bingley as the hostess was not particularly friendly or sincere, she was at least coolly elegant, disposed to ensure that the event reflected well on her management and her chef.
Mr. Bingley’s good cheer was contagious, and his attentions to the eldest Miss Bennet quite remarked upon. She was the most beautiful woman in the county, and in need of a fortune; he luckily in possession of one, and a man of sense and good humor besides. The match was canvassed, considered, dissected in every particular, and at length determined – with dissent only from those few who still harbored a hope of securing Mr. Bingley for their own daughters – to be an excellent thing.
In the entire ballroom only two people were unhappy with the events of the evening. The first was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who although thrilled on Jane’s behalf, felt publicly humiliated by the behavior of the rest of her family, and who had furthermore been forced into conversation with Mr. Darcy, for whom she had a profound dislike. Of the other dissatisfied person at the event, it is best not to speak just yet.
The Longbourn party was the last of all the company to depart from Netherfield at the conclusion of the ball; and by the time their carriage finally arrived, exhaustion was visible on every face. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley scarcely opened their mouths except to complain of fatigue. Mr. Collins took his leave with lengthy and studied compliments to Miss Bingley upon her general hospitality and the elegance of the entertainment, and expressed particular gratitude to Mr. Bingley for having just shared with him a bottle of the most excellent port. Even Lydia, normally so exuberant, was too much fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of “Lord how tired I am!” accompanied by a violent yawn. As much as Jane had enjoyed the glorious evening, she also was eager for them to depart, as she could see Mr. Bingley was stumbling with fatigue, his face grey and sweating with exhaustion. She feared for his health, and encouraged him in her sweet manner to seek repose at once.
Jane’s fears in this case turned out to be prescient. Early next morning, the entire Longbourn household awoke to the bustling arrival and vocal lamentations of their Aunt Phillips, come to condole with Mrs. Bennet over the tragic news now spreading throughout the county. It seemed that Mr. Bingley had been found collapsed on the floor of his bedchamber at Netherfield, stone dead.
Jane’s quiet sobs, and the heartfelt tears rolling down her face throughout the day, were wholly overshadowed by the frequency and volume of her mother’s distressed wails and shrieks. Mrs. Bennet’s disbelief, shock, and horror were expressed in screeching tones that rang down every hallway and reverberated through every room in the house, so that an impartial visitor, subjected to the earsplitting din of her woeful cries, might have imagined she was herself in love with Mr. Bingley, rather than lamenting the loss on behalf of her daughter.
Jane was of course disconsolate, and although her family did their best for her, most of them were ill-suited to the task. Mary attempted to share a few of her favorite sermons. Kitty offered to sit and sew with her, a great concession on her part since Kitty had no love of sewing herself. Even Lydia hugged her close, but then rather ruined the effect of her sisterly compassion by incautiously observing that she hoped Jane would “find another man soon, for it won’t do to be so dull!” Jane burst promptly into grief-stricken wracking sobs, perhaps indicating that she found this helpful suggestion less supportive than Lydia had hoped; and Mr. Collins stepped forward into the breach, for he was sincerely moved by the depths of Jane’s misery.
“Perhaps, dear Jane,” he said with a gentle voice, “I may offer my assistance? I would be happy to condole privately with you in your hour of distress. Lady Catherine has often complimented me upon my supportive attention in times of woe. Shall we take a walk outdoors together, where I will share with you some relevant passages from the bible, and express my dearest hopes for the rapid improvement of your spirits?”
Elizabeth had scarcely left Jane’s side for a moment, and she keenly observed that while Mr. Collins’ speech was gentle, the smile on his mouth had a disturbing leer to it, and his eyes were directed not to Jane’s downturned face and tear-stained cheeks, but rather to the hint of cleavage visible beneath the neckline of her gown. “Thank you, cousin,” she said in a sharp tone, “but Jane has no need of your private condolences. In fact I was just about to take her upstairs, as she is in need of a quiet nap.”
“I only wish to be of use to my dearest cousin,” said Mr. Collins, looking at Elizabeth with reproachful surprise, for her manner of speech had not been friendly.
Elizabeth nearly regretted her words, and was about to make a less confrontational reply, but as she assisted Jane to rise she saw that Mr. Collins’ gaze was again directed at Jane’s figure, and his manner was openly appraising of her bosom.
“You will please excuse us, sir,” replied Elizabeth shortly, stepping between them to shield Jane from his improper gaze; and giving him a cold look, she escorted her sister up the staircase.
Jane was wholly unaware of Mr. Collins’ lascivious glances, but was glad to remove herself from company and retire to her bedchamber. Her injured soul was soothed by the quiet companionship of her most beloved sister, and by all the tender care that a deep affection could provide.
“How am I to bear it, Lizzy?” she sobbed. “If he had simply gone away, even without any plan of coming back again, I should at least know he was alive in the world and thinking well of me. But this! He was so young, so healthy! How could he fall sick all at once, and with such horrible result? I had not even the chance to say goodbye!”
Elizabeth could offer no palliation, no diminution of her loss; but she could hold her sister in her arms and share her tears of misery for the hopes and dreams so disastrously shattered. After a long conversation full of shared tears and sorrows for the death of the man Jane had seemed destined to marry, Jane fell at last into a fitful slumber.
Upon returning downstairs, Elizabeth found that Mrs. Bennet’s nervous volubility had driven the rest of the family away. Mary and Mr. Bennet had withdrawn to his library and shut the door, while Lydia and Kitty had gone to seek the company of the officers. As for Mr. Collins, he had fled the incessant noise by means of a prompt offer to escort the two younger girls, claiming a sudden need to bespeak one of the officers with whom he had recently become acquainted.
“There you are, Lizzy,” cried her mother. “I’ve been quite abandoned, all alone in my misery, as you can see! Nobody knows how I suffer! Come and sit with me, for I am having such flutterings in my side, such spasms in my chest, as I know not how I shall bear them!”
“I should like nothing better, mama,” replied Lizzy, crossing her fingers quickly behind her back, “but now that Jane is asleep, I was just going out for a short walk to stretch my legs. I shall be back in plenty of time for supper!” Before her mother could raise an objection, Lizzy had her pelisse and bonnet in hand and was out the door, walking briskly towards her favorite path.
In the midst of such turmoil, it is no great surprise that Lizzy’s continued absence went unnoticed until nearly an hour after supper. Her younger sisters, returning home with Mr. Collins, naturally assumed she was still upstairs with Jane; and Mrs. Bennet had entirely forgotten their brief conversation that afternoon until reminded of it by Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper.
Elizabeth was not in the habit of staying out so long, nor was Mr. Bennet inclined to take chances with the safety of his most beloved daughter. Every manservant was sent out at once to find the missing girl, with Mr. Bennet personally leading the search. When this effort produced no quick result, he appealed for help to Colonel Foster, whose militia regiment was luckily bivouacked on training maneuvers nearby. A large-scale search began, designed to cover every path and trail within walking distance of Longbourn. Several hours passed without word, during which the level of general concern at Longbourn steadily rose. Jane was the most frightened of all, for having lost the man she truly loved, she could not conceive of surviving if anything had befallen her favorite sister.
At last Colonel Foster himself came to Longbourn, appearing out of the darkening night like a somber-faced omen of doom to request a private audience with Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. Within minutes, Mrs. Bennet’s hysterical shrieks had brought the household running and revealed the horrible truth: Elizabeth had been found upon a walking trail not two miles from the militia encampment, slain by strangulation, her delicate neck tightly encircled by a man’s silken cravat.
Jane’s natural feelings, though fervent, were generally hidden beneath her sedate façade. Under the shock of two events so utterly horrible, however, her feelings could not possibly have been repressed by any human effort. Wholly overcome, she took to her bed, soaking Elizabeth’s favorite pillow with the desperate tears of her anguish.
“Please allow me to express my sorrow – and that of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of course – for your grievous loss,” said Mr. Collins as he entered Mr. Bennet’s private library. “This sad business, well, it could hardly be worse. I am particularly concerned on behalf of poor Jane – excuse me, I mean Miss Bennet, of course – for her feelings must be so greatly oppressed by the recent deaths that I scarcely know how she can bear up under the strain.”
“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” replied Mr. Bennet, with politeness but little patience, for the loss of his favorite daughter had struck him most cruelly. Mr. Bennet had previously found the foolishness and nonsense of Mr. Collins highly diverting, but under these tragically changed circumstances he wanted nothing so much as solitude in which to grieve, and was strongly disinclined to suffer the continued irritation of his guest’s presence. “Perhaps, given the trouble in this household, it would be prudent for you to cut short your visit and return to Kent?”
“But I could not think of leaving, sir, not when Miss Bennet – and the rest of the family, naturally – remain in need of my spiritual counsel. In fact now that I consider the issue, it occurs to me that Miss Bennet’s needs and my own may benefit from mutual comfort. She is obviously in need of emotional support in this time of woe; and for my part, Lady Catherine de Bourgh has charged me specifically to choose a wife from among my cousins. Now Miss Bennet is quite enchanting in both face and figure, and some consideration is due to her seniority as well, as she is the eldest of your daughters. Mrs. Bennet warned me upon my arrival that Jane was expected to engage herself shortly, to Mr. Bingley as I understand it, but obviously in light of recent events that can no longer be a valid concern. Viewing therefore her manifest charms, and considering my determination to soon be wed, I should like very much to have your consent and your blessing for a private audience with your daughter Jane tonight, for the purpose of offering my most affectionate and sincere–”
“Upon my word, Mr. Collins,” cried Mr. Bennet, flushed with amazement and agitation, “this is most extraordinary! Jane is hardly in a proper state to hear a marriage proposal today, even if I would allow you to make one! Surely a clergyman such as yourself must comprehend that Jane cannot possibly marry, or even discuss an engagement, when our entire family must now be in mourning for the next six months. It would be insupportable!”
“Six months! But such a lengthy delay is unthinkable, sir! Truly it would be most inconvenient–”
“Your convenience is not my concern, sir! I absolutely forbid you to make any such offer to Jane while she is mourning Elizabeth’s loss. I should not want her, in a single moment of loneliness and sorrow, to make a decision that would doubtless bring her an entire lifetime of misery and regret.”
Mr. Collins’ face colored with mortification and wounded pride, and he coolly replied, “I perfectly comprehend your feelings, sir, and have now only to be ashamed of even raising the issue at such a time. You must be distraught by recent events. Is there nothing you could take for your present relief? A glass of wine, perhaps? Let me get you one.”
Mr. Bennet at first declined any wine, but once it became apparent that Mr. Collins would leave him to his solitary sorrow only after being assured of Mr. Bennet’s having drunk an entire glass of the restorative liquor, soon obliged him. Mr. Collins, satisfied with having ministered to the bereaved father as befitted his Christian duty as a clergyman, returned to the sitting room and the company of the ladies.
Shortly thereafter Mr. Bennet, trembling with exhaustion, retired to his bedchamber, his face grey with sorrow and beads of sweat upon his brow.
Fate, having already harrowed the Bennet family so cruelly, was not yet done; for next morning the body of Mr. Bennet was found lifeless in his bed. Mrs. Bennet was so wholly overcome by grief as to substantially diminish her usual volubility; and she could barely be heard muttering about “hedgerows” as she cast nervous, sideways glances at Mr. Collins.
It was only with great trepidation that she agreed to a private audience with him, for she had no great opinion of his kindness, and every expectation of being asked to vacate Longbourn on the very day of the funerals. Her delight at receiving news of a very different sort – and the lack of delicacy with which she expressed it – can easily be comprehended by anyone familiar with her nature.
“Jane! Oh my dear Jane! We are saved! We shall not starve in the hedgerows after all! I insist that you come down at once and hear Mr. Collins, for he has something very particular to ask you! Oh dear, you certainly can’t go down looking like this! You must put on that lovely blue dress, and where is Sally to fix your hair? For heaven’s sake, girl, cease crying at once! All our problems are solved now, you’ll see!”
Within minutes poor Jane, all in confusion, was shoved through the door and harried down the stairs into the sitting room wherein Mr. Collins paced, awaiting with scant patience the chance to lay his overflowing heart at her shocked and dainty feet.
“Sir,” she gasped in amazement, “you cannot mean it! You are making me an offer of marriage today, after all our cruel bereavements?”
“Nothing could be more proper, dearest Jane. I am certain that Lady Catherine would approve my condescension and generosity under the circumstances. A quiet marriage ceremony would be entirely within the bounds of propriety despite your mourning, so long as there is no dancing or entertainment, and only immediate family present. I desire the quickest marriage possible, and since the banns can be cried no sooner, you shall welcome me as your husband in three weeks’ time.”
Mr. Collins threw open the sitting room doors and begged Mrs. Bennet for her consent, her blessing, and her congratulations, all of which were given with the greatest alacrity and joy. Jane, so shocked that she could barely find her voice, finally cried out, “But Mr. Collins, I have made no answer! My heart is so full of sorrow at the moment that I cannot imagine marrying at all, and to marry in just three weeks would be quite unthinkable!”
Mr. Collins turned back to her at once, and the look on his face was so intense and so frightening that Jane actually took a step backwards without knowing what she did, and nearly tripped over Lizzy’s sewing basket. But before Mr. Collins could say more than “my dearest Jane,” Mrs. Bennet grabbed her painfully by the arm.
“You shall marry him, Jane, and on whenever day he likes,” hissed Mrs. Bennet furiously. “He owns this house and everything in it, do you understand? He can put us out to starve in the hedgerows if he chooses, for with Mr. Bennet dead, we have not tuppence of our own!”
“But mother, Lizzy and I were both determined to marry only for the deepest affection!”
“Well it’s no surprise that Lizzy has filled your head with fluff, but now she’s dead, and your father besides, so everything depends upon you. You must marry Mr. Collins, or your mother and your sisters shall be forced to beg in the streets for our daily bread! Is that what you want, to see us shivering and hungry?”
Jane’s delicate shoulders could only slump beneath the crushing weight of her mother’s expectations. She had deeply loved Mr. Bingley, and would have given him her hand with the greatest of joy, expecting such felicity as few women ever attain in the wedded state. At the revolting thought of giving herself instead to Mr. Collins, of taking into her marriage bed a man she could neither love nor respect, her stomach turned, her delicate throat tightened so that she could hardly draw breath, and her lovely eyes filled with tears. But Mr. Bingley was gone forever, and her family was now dependent upon her sacrifice for their very survival; and Jane was a dutiful daughter.
“I would be honored to be your wife, Mr. Collins.”
Even as Mrs. Bennet joyously congratulated the happy groom upon his betrothal, a more sinister matter was being addressed in the woods nearby. The violent death of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, found strangled upon a country trail, was obviously murder most foul; and her restless spirit must cry out for revenge upon the villain responsible.
The local landowners were fortunate in having selected for the commission of the peace a man whose distinguished tenure as mayor of Meryton had made him very well suited for the role, and whose general excellence of character had brought him the distinction of knighthood. As the local magistrate, Sir William Lucas had rarely been called upon; and then only to handle cases of wandering livestock, broken fences, and the occasional poacher. A murder case was wholly beyond his ken. Sir William however took his responsibilities seriously, and there was a further spur to his diligence in the person of his own daughter Charlotte, who, having been for several years the nearest companion of the slain girl, advocated with tearful vehemence for the harshest and most comprehensive justice allowed under the laws of England. Sir William felt his daughter’s distress deeply, and swore a solemn oath to bring the full weight of his legal authority down upon the miscreant who had shuffled Miss Elizabeth Bennet off this mortal coil.
Nothing of interest was found upon the body of the deceased, excepting the fine silken cravat by means of which her youthful life had been extinguished. At Sir William’s request, Colonel Foster and his officers searched the entire area around the murder scene with great care, searching for any clue: a footprint, a scrap of cloth, or any detail whatever that might offer the smallest hint of the killer’s identity. There was a brief moment of excitement when a clear footprint was discovered near the body; but upon closer examination it clearly belonged to the boot of a dashing young Lieutenant who was assisting in the search, and who had (as he suddenly recalled) accidentally stepped in the soft mud just a few minutes prior. Nothing further of interest was found, and Sir William was beginning to lose hope when he was approached by the young Lieutenant himself.
“Sir William, I have noticed something strange and thought I should report it to you. It may be nothing important, but you said we should come forward with the least clue, no matter how small.”
“Quite right, Mr. Wickham! What have you discovered, then?”
“Do you recall that necklace that Miss Elizabeth always wore? The one with the garnet cross?”
“I do indeed.”
“I do not see it around her neck, sir.”
“Indeed! Most strange! Do you think it fell off, then?”
“I should rather suspect that the murderer took it, Sir William. If we can discover who has the garnet cross, we shall know our killer!”
“Excellent thinking, Lieutenant! You seem to know something of these matters. Have you investigated crimes before?”
“I should not wish to suffer the grievous faults of arrogance or pride, Sir William; however I flatter myself that I know something of criminals and their schemes.”
“Capital! Capital! This is a difficult investigation, and I can make good use of a man with your knowledge and keen skills of observation. Now, how would we find this mysterious man with a garnet cross?”
“Well, sir, we might begin by discovering who wished her ill. Did she have any enemies? Was there anyone with whom she had any recent disputes or public disagreements?”
This was a difficult question, for Miss Elizabeth Bennet was universally well-liked in the neighborhood. Her joyful ways and outspoken personality had made her popular, and hardly anyone could think of a person who might wish her harm.
Sir William’s next clue came from a surprising source. Interviewing the entire Bennet family upon Mr. Wickham’s recommendation, Sir William had asked each of them who might have disliked their sister; and it was Miss Lydia who supplied the answer he needed.
“The only person who disliked Lizzy was that frightful Mr. Darcy! He quite slighted her at the assembly, you know, and said she wasn’t pretty enough to dance with; and then at Netherfield they were arguing on the dance floor, and after the dance he stormed off in a fury!”
Upon further inquiry, Mrs. Bennet confirmed that Mr. Darcy had treated them all with the greatest disdain, and even the lovely Miss Bennet, sitting pale and downcast beside her new fiancée, was forced to acknowledge that her sister had said some very harsh things about the faults of Mr. Darcy’s character.
“Do you really think that Mr. Darcy is involved?”
“Given my previous experience at his hands, Sir William, I hardly know how to be impartial on the topic. Certainly he is capable of causing great suffering, and showing no remorse afterwards, as in my case. His refusal to honor his father’s written bequest is certainly evidence of his lack of respect for the standards of society. And of course his scornful disdain for Miss Elizabeth was universally known. But still, to accuse him of murdering a young lady would be a very serious matter, and there is no evidence of him having ever been violent with a woman before. Well, not unless you count Anne Younge, I suppose.”
“Anne Younge? I have never heard the name before. Who is Anne Younge?”
“Oh, she was in Mr. Darcy’s employ for several years, as companion to his young sister. But he never really liked her, you see, and one night in Ramsgate, taken by a sudden irrational fury, he grabbed her bodily and threw her out into the street without so much as a farthing in her pocket or a coat upon her back, raining down upon her head such rude and insulting language as I thought never to hear from the lips of a gentleman! It was quite a vicious scene.”
“That sounds utterly shocking! But we must be cautious not to believe in gossip, for such a tale of strange and wild behavior can hardly be true.”
“Gossip is insidious indeed, sir; but in this case I can personally attest to the facts, as I myself was present and saw it all. After Mr. Darcy slammed the door in her face, she was left without resources and far from her home. She would have been in dire straits indeed, had I not considered it my duty as a gentleman to escort her back to London and her family.”
“What an ill-tempered fellow! Would she be willing to testify against him, if needed?”
“I feel confident she would be eager to assist in such an enterprise.”
“It is remarkable indeed, that he should fly into such a violent rage! And yet, now that I think upon it, he said something strange to me once. We were observing some young people dancing in my home, and he seemed quite annoyed, and said that he disliked the customs of polished society, and preferred the habits of the savages. Savages, I say! Well, it is clear that his temper is quite bad, and prone to fits of the most violent rage. We also know that he hated Miss Elizabeth most passionately. This is not enough yet to assure us of his guilt, however. How are we to gain more evidence?”
“The cravat used to kill Miss Elizabeth – it was of very fine quality silk, was it not?”
“Indeed, it was! And Mr. Darcy wears very fine clothes!”
“And he often rides out from Netherfield, on the same trails where Miss Elizabeth met her untimely death?”
“Very true! Yes, very true! He could easily have come upon her there!”
“And according to the servants at Netherfield, was he not already in quite a foul humor as a result of his best friend’s unexpected demise?”
“Already in a vicious mood, such an intemperate man could fly into an insane rage at the slightest provocation!”
“Well then, Sir William, our next step seems obvious.”
“Yes, indeed! Perfectly straightforward! It’s quite obvious that we should… er… that is to say, have you any suggestions regarding how we should accomplish our next step, Mr. Wickham?”
“The search of Mr. Darcy’s chamber at Netherfield seems a fairly simple proposition, sir. We need only a few good men, acting under the lawful authority of your magistrate’s warrant. I can recommend some reliable men from the regiment, and we can be ready whenever you wish.”
“Hm, yes. Yes, of course. A search of his chamber must be undertaken at once!”
“Utterly ridiculous,” fumed Mr. Darcy. “You imagine that I would have done such a thing, Sir William? What possible motive could I have?”
“I’ve been given to understand that you held a very low opinion of the young lady.”
“I certainly did not! She was one of the most beautiful women of my acquaintance, witty and clever and full of life! Excepting only my sister and my late mother, there was no woman of whom I thought more highly!”
“But I distinctly heard that she wasn’t tolerable enough to tempt you, sir.”
Darcy winced. “I acknowledge that my unguarded comment on that evening was rude and ungentlemanly. My initial impression of the young lady was quite mistaken, however. Upon nearer acquaintance, I soon realized that–”
“Sir William! Sir William! Look what we found in the drawer, beneath his silken cravats!”
Elizabeth’s garnet cross lay sparkling with accusation upon the hand of young Lieutenant Denny. There was silence throughout the room as all eyes stared at the cross, then turned to the ashen face of Mr. Darcy.
Stunned, Darcy looked from the damning cross into the triumphant visage of Mr. Wickham, standing with a smirk behind Denny. “It was you,” he breathed. “You illegitimate whoreson! You killed her! You killed my Elizabeth!!!” Darcy flung himself bodily upon Wickham, managing to land several solid punches before Denny, Saunderson, and Chamberlayne pulled him away.
“Seize him and lock him up!” Sir William cried. “Colonel Foster, it’s obvious the man is dangerous and prone to violent outbursts. May I impose upon you to have the prisoner taken to London in shackles, under military guard?”
“I only hope,” said Mr. Wickham piously as Darcy was dragged shouting from the room, “that no one informs the London newspapers of this situation. They would of course pay a handsome fee for a full account of these events; but how could Mr. Darcy possibly receive a fair trial once such a sensational scandal were published? It would irreparably tarnish his good reputation.”
BEASTLY BACHELOR BRUTALLY MURDERS MERYTON MAIDEN stood in enormous letters upon the front page of the London Observer, a copy of which was folded neatly on the desk before Mr. Collins.
Seated on the other side of the desk, Mr. Hamilton stared at him in amazement. “But why should you wish to do such a thing, sir? Miss Elizabeth was your own flesh and blood. Why would you choose to withdraw the murder charges against her killer? How could you let such a man go free?”
“The family has suffered enough, Mr. Hamilton. A trial can serve no purpose. We would rather put the matter behind us.”
“No purpose!” cried the distinguished barrister. He grabbed up a copy of the Times of London (“DERBYSHIRE DEVIL: DESTINED TO DIE?”) and waved it at Mr. Collins like a fishmonger selling a mackerel. “Look you, sir! This case is garnering the feverish interest of the entire nation! It will be the public trial of the decade! The century! How can you simply forgive him?”
“Because what you call ‘the trial of the century’, Lady Catherine de Bourgh calls ‘a disgraceful public spectacle’. You are aware, I believe, that Mr. Darcy has begun making scurrilous accusations regarding the deaths of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bennet, even claiming they were slain by poison? Nobody is paying attention to his mad ravings yet, but once the first flush of news is past, and the newspapers begin looking for more details to publish, his ridiculous claims will be heard, and they will bring shame and humiliation to the bereaved families. Lady Catherine herself – who is Mr. Darcy’s aunt, you know – has encouraged me to resolve the matter at once, as quietly as possible. She has even offered me her most generous future support if I show compassion to her nephew and spare her family the shame of a public trial and execution! I consider myself bound by the claims of honor and gratitude to grant her petition. I have decided to withdraw all charges, upon the conditions that Mr. Darcy accepts immediate transportation to the Australian penal colonies and promises never to return to England. Do you think he will comply?”
Mr. Hamilton tossed the Times of London down on his desk, right next to his copy of the Daily Mirror (“WEALTHY WASTREL WRATHFULLY WRINGS WINDPIPE OF WANDERING WENCH”) and leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh.
“Of course he’ll agree. The terms you offer are so lenient that he’ll have no choice. If he goes to trial, he’ll probably hang; and if by some odd chance he were acquitted, his reputation is already destroyed. He’ll never be received in polite society again, no matter what the jury says. He would have to leave England in any case.”
“It’s done! I watched with my own eyes as they put Darcy aboard the ship to Australia. I wonder how his famous pride will bear it, traveling as a prisoner in a ship’s hold full of debtors and criminals?”
“And with him departed from English soil, there is no one left to raise uncomfortable questions. I have my inheritance secured, and furthermore stand engaged to the most beautiful woman in England! I wish to thank you, Mr. Wickham, for your capable assistance and advice these past few days. Your friendship has been invaluable.”
“I am very glad to have been of service, Mr. Collins! Considering my history with Darcy, you may be assured that the sight of him in prison chains, awaiting transport to a penal colony, was excellent compensation for my modest efforts.”
“Nevertheless, sir, I still hold myself bound by my promise to help you advance in your profession. A man with your skill, ingenuity, and diligence should not remain a mere lieutenant! I shall exert all my influence on your behalf. What would you say to a major’s commission?”
“That is most generous of you, sir!”
“Come to Longbourn tomorrow, and we’ll discuss the details.”
“Can we postpone the discussion a few days, sir? I have urgent business in the north that cannot be delayed. There is a shy young lady in Derbyshire whose acquaintance I have long neglected; but now that the impediment to a nearer connection has been removed, I feel myself bound to pay my respects and offer, in her time of trouble, comfort of a most affectionate and determined nature.”
“Indeed? I had imagined you might be calling upon the elegant Miss Bingley. With her late brother’s fortune now added to her own, her dowry is considerable.”
“True; but the man who gains it must remain shackled to Caroline Bingley for the rest of his life! Better to live with a meek, obedient, beautiful wife than a shrewish harridan with opinions of her own.”
“I can hardly disagree with you, sir, considering that I chose Miss Bennet for myself. Speaking of which, shall we see you at the wedding?”
“Of course, Mr. Collins. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
Mr. Collins lived happily ever after with his wife Jane and, in due time, his four sons and three daughters. When his first daughter was born he allowed Jane to name her “Elizabeth”. Despite his wife’s diffident suggestion with the birth of each new son, however, he never did consent to name any of the boys “Charles”.
In token of his unparalleled mercy and kindness to her disgraced nephew, Lady Catherine’s patronage was steadfast and generous until her death, and even afterwards Mr. Collins profited from several valuable bequests in her will. With her aid he was able to expand the wealth and consequence of his estate through the purchase of several adjoining farms.
His example of Christian principles and charity, in forgiving the man widely known to have murdered his own cousin, was spoken of with much admiration; and when next a bishop’s see came open, the Archbishop begged him to accept it. However Mr. Collins was happily occupied with the concerns of his estate, the society of his neighbors, and the pleasures of his library and his garden. In respectfully declining such a lofty position, he ensured that his name would be remembered as much for grace and humility as for his other manifest virtues.
Mr. Collins was always delighted in the gentle temperament, biddable nature, and extraordinary beauty of his wife Jane. His experience proved the worth of love at first sight; and he frequently flattered her in greater company by describing how he was so struck by her luminous beauty as to irrevocably choose her, at the very first glance, as the companion of his future life.
Mr. Collins was ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who, by advising him to seek a bride among his cousins in Hertfordshire, had been the means of uniting them.