Where The Heart Belongs

by Tilly Davis

  ‘I realise this, Aunt,’ Mr. Darcy replied, as the trap approached the front of the great house, ‘but Caroline is somewhat …’

  ‘Somewhat out of place,’ Lady Catherine interrupted, ‘besides, she should know that when one’s Aunt makes a decision that decision is final, particularly when one’s Aunt is a Lady of title, I repeat again, there is no possibility that I should attend Mr. Collins’ wedding unaccompanied, and Anne is not well enough, you saw her coughing last night at dinner, poor girl.’

  She emphasised the ‘poor.’

  But Mr. Darcy had never realised the intentions of his aunt with regard to a possible courtship between him and her daughter, he viewing his cousin along more pitiable lines, she having always been invalided, and often in her bed during their childhood.

  Anne was indeed ill and, and there was certainly no way in which she would be in a suitable condition to attend the nuptials the next day. Reluctantly, though mindful of his aunt’s words about the importance of asserting his authority, Mr. Darcy had agreed to attend the wedding, though he had asked her not to inform Mr. Collins, lest news get back to the Bennets. He felt certain that Caroline Bingley would discover the fact, but he would deal with that upon his return to London, resigned for now to attend the wedding of the only woman whom he had ever truly fallen in love with.

  For having pondered upon the matter these past months he had come to the conclusion that if he knew anything of love, and he readily admitted that he did not know very much, he had indeed experienced its tender effects towards the young Bennet girl, who had first touched his heart at Netherfield all those months ago.

  ‘Kitty and Lydia, where have you been?’ Mrs. Bennet asked her two daughters, as they appeared in the parsonage kitchen just as the family were finishing their breakfast of bread and jam.

  ‘The beds were so comfortable that we did not wish to rise,’ Kitty said.

  ‘What she means is that there are no officers in Hunsford worth getting up for,’ Mary said, looking disapprovingly at her sisters.

  ‘Whoever heard of a comfortable bed at an inn,’ Mr. Bennet said, ‘even in these venerable quarters I failed to sleep anywhere near as soundly as I do in my own bed.’

  ‘The quarters here are perfectly adequate, Mr. Bennet,’ his wife said, as she fussed around, whilst the housemaid cleared away the breakfast things.

  Elizabeth had remained silent whilst the family were at breakfast, the thought that this was her final day as Miss Elizabeth Bennet weighing heavily on her mind. Her sister had been unable to sleep, Elizabeth’s words going around in her head. Elizabeth could not marry Mr. Collins simply for the sake of saving the family, it was a sacrifice which none should have to make. Longbourn was not worth a life of unhappiness at the hands of Mr. Collins, but it seemed that Elizabeth was determined to go through with the marriage, her own well-being placed behind that of the family.

  At length Mr. Collins himself appeared, fresh-faced from his prayer, extolling the virtues of early rising in a veiled criticism of his family who were still seated at leisure around the table in the parlour.

  ‘I have a few errands to run, and then I shall settle myself here for the day. I presume, Elizabeth, that you shall stay at the inn tonight for it would not be proper of course for us both to remain under the same roof the night before our nuptial feast.’

  Mr. Collins was a superstitious man, he disliked black cats and he was forever throwing salt over his shoulder, much to the annoyance of the housemaid. It had not occurred to him to absent himself from home that night, assuming, in his usual pompous way, that Elizabeth herself would see to this necessity.

  But Elizabeth was only too happy to swap rooms with Mary and Charlotte that evening, imploring Jane to join her, not wishing only Lydia and Kitty for company on the night before her life changed forever.

  The day passed uneventfully, it was a most pleasant spring day, the younger Bennet sisters entertained themselves, Lydia and Kitty going off to walk on the downs around the village whilst Mary sat and read to Mr. Bennet who had found the expedition far more tiring than he had thus far admitted.

  Mrs. Bennet found herself without employ, there being really very little left to do, except to move Elizabeth’s dress from place to place, and admire her own newly purchased bonnet which was a light shade of peach with a garish pink ribbon attached.

  Elizabeth too was restless, and found herself unable to eat a great deal during the day, Jane herself faring little better.

  Mr. Collins had locked himself away in his study, the forthcoming ceremony now beginning to unnerve him a little, though of course he was ever mindful of his duty, particularly with regards to Lady Catherine de Bourgh to whom he wrote for the third time that week assuring her of his thanks and obeisance for permitting the union to occur, and for deigning to be present. A letter which, unread, was placed onto the fire in the drawing room at Rosings Park, Lady Catherine commenting upon Mr. Collins’ astonishing ability to infuriate her even from a distance.

  That day Mr. Darcy had ridden out from Rosings Park northwards, away from Hunsford, seeking some time in which to think and ponder what was about to occur.

  Elizabeth’s marriage to the clergyman had not only ensured that the prospect of Mr. Darcy’s own future happiness had dwindled but also that of his friend Mr. Bingley. That gentleman had only one fault, if we discount his staggering wealth, and that was his ineptitude in matters pertaining to the opposite sex. If Mr. Bingley had been more forthcoming in his feelings for Jane then the two may well now have been engaged to be married. But he had dillied and dallied around the prospect to such an extent that no action on his part had occurred. And upon hearing that Elizabeth had deigned to accept Mr. Collins’ proposal, he had assumed that her sister would no longer wish to pursue a romantic attachment, Caroline Bingley having done much to encourage such a notion.

  As the day drew on, the family became restless, and having returned from their various activities they sat in the parlour awaiting direction. Normally it was Mrs. Bennet who provided them with such but she had remained surprisingly quiet throughout the day, perhaps realising that there was little left to say.

  Mr. Bennet had his foot up on a stool and Mary had just closed her book when Mr. Collins emerged from his study and announced that an early dinner would take place to allow Elizabeth good time to depart. She would ready herself at the inn the next morning, assisted by her sister, though there was really very little to do.

  Her parents had bought her a new dress from the seamstress in Longbourn. It was white, with an attractive sash around the waist, she would wear a white lace cap, and carry with her a posy of wildflowers which Kitty and Lydia had picked for her on their walk across the downs, and which were now attractively arranged in a little vase on the table.

  ‘Dinner will be served at six o’clock,’ Mr. Collins said, ‘I am sure we shall all wish for an early night, I, for one, shall, and I hope for no disturbance until the morning,’ at this he glanced at Lydia and Kitty, who smirked, ‘this time tomorrow you shall be Mrs. William Collins of Hunsford,’ he concluded, looking proudly at Elizabeth, ‘and I am sure Lady Catherine will be most satisfied with that conclusion.’

  And with that he returned to the study, the family exchanging nervous glances as Elizabeth sat quietly, unable to speak since if she had done so she would have offered the true thoughts of her heart

  Dinner was a simple affair: soup, followed by a stew alongside potatoes with a little fruit afterwards. Mr. Collins spent much of the meal in a mood of exposition, informing the family at great length of his considerable knowledge relating to the state of matrimony, of which he had been reading considerably since his own proposal had been accepted.

  ‘Marriage is of course, first and foremost, a holy union between man and woman, blessed by Our Lord himself at the wedding feast of Cana,’ he said, ‘one hears of marriages ending, in almost every case that is the woman’s doing and not the man’s, a woman’s place is to be faithful to her husband. Take
the example of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, on that good lady’s part her widowhood was a chance for sanctity, she could have chosen to marry, no doubt any man in the kingdom would have wished to make a proposal, but instead she clung to those first vows as though her dear husband were still with her to this day, one can only imagine what she herself thinks of the dissolving of marriages, an astonishing stain upon our society.’

  ‘No one would have the miserable old woman, her husband must have been blind,’ Lydia whispered to Kitty, as the two burst into laughter.

  ‘What was that, girls?’ Mr. Collins said.

  ‘Oh, we, er, we saw Lady Catherine this morning from the window of the inn,’ Lydia said, quickly asserting herself, ‘she was riding in the trap with … er, with her daughter, yes, her daughter, that’s why we were late for breakfast, we wanted to watch her progress, she is a really very fine Lady.’

  ‘You can’t have seen her with the Lady Anne,’ Mr. Collins said with authority, ‘she is sick and at her bed, I visited her yesterday morning.’

  ‘Maybe she’s better,’ Kitty said, receiving a sharp kick from her mother beneath the table.

  ‘Lady Catherine rides out each morning before she breakfasts,’ Mr. Collins continued, ‘she always rides alone, perhaps you are mistaken, but never mind, it will have been a fine sight, of that I have no doubt, a fine sight indeed.’

  Kitty and Lydia remained quiet for the rest of the meal, Lydia grateful that she had not uttered the name of Mr. Darcy in Elizabeth’s presence, and as the plates were cleared away both girls made their excuses and went back to the inn and to bed, still wondering as to the question of whether Mr. Darcy would be present tomorrow when the church bells rang out across Hunsford.

  Elizabeth and Jane did not remain for much longer at the parsonage, Mrs. Bennet had carefully wrapped her daughter’s dress in preparation for the next day, and as the evening drew in the two sisters carried it, and the bonnet box, along with one or two other necessary items, across to the inn where they would spend the night.

  The innkeeper had kindled a fire in what had last night been Mary and Charlotte’s room. They now lodged with Mr. Collins, the parsonage really not big enough to accommodate such numbers. The room in which Elizabeth was to spend her final night simply as one of the Bennet sisters was comfortable enough. Jane hung her sister’s wedding dress up, and placed the bonnet box on the washstand, as Elizabeth lay back on her bed and sighed.

  ‘What is it, Elizabeth?’ Jane asked, ‘you have been melancholy all day and it has made me so too, do these thoughts still weigh heavily upon you?’

  Elizabeth felt uncertain of her tongue lest she should reveal the true extent of her current feelings, but then if she could not speak in honesty to her sister then to whom could she speak? She had tried to resolve herself to this marriage, tried her best to settle at Hunsford, tried to accept that she could still find joy and happiness in life, and remind herself that she would still see her sisters, and in particular Jane, at regular intervals.

  But all this had been in vain, for the truth was that she had no desire to marry Mr. Collins, and every moment she spent in his company confirmed this fact. He was everything that she could not fall in love with, and this situation was everything which she detested. All she could do was to resign herself to it, and embrace a future life of unhappiness, her father’s ill health playing upon her mind, and confirmed by his presence.

  ‘I am simply resigned, Jane,’ she said, ‘you must find happiness for us both, let me sleep now, and pass one final night in something resembling happiness for if you are here with me, then I am happy.’

  ‘I wish I could remain at your side forever, dearest sister,’ Jane said, ‘that is the desire of my heart, not to see you married to our cousin, though that must make me a wicked sister to say that.’

  ‘Only a speaker of truth,’ Elizabeth said, ‘if only I had spoken the truth, I could have prevented this sadness but only for another one to emerge when father passes from this life.’

  The two sisters held each other close, as the fire crackled in the grate and they fell asleep in no less a state of despair than they had done the previous night, except that today Elizabeth’s fate was closer than it had been, the steady and unrelenting march of time drawing her closer to her destiny.

  6

  A Most Unusual Wedding

  ‘Mr. Bennet, wake up,’ Mrs. Bennet said, shaking her husband awake, ‘you have slept far later than usual, come now, there is much to do.’

  ‘What is the time?’ Mr. Bennet said, wearily opening his eyes at his wife’s persistent tone.

  ‘The clock of the church has just struck the ten o’clock,’ she shrieked, ‘none of the girls are even ready yet.’

  ‘And what time is the wedding?’ Mr. Bennet continued.

  ‘You do not remember the time of your own daughter’s wedding? The first of our daughters to be married and you do not remember the time, my dear Mr. Bennet, it is two o’clock this afternoon.’

  ‘And so, if now is ten o’clock then there are approximately four hours before two o’clock and even you, my dear, have been known to ready yourself for an important event in shorter time than that,’ Mr. Bennet said, rolling over in his bed, his wife once again letting out a shriek of despair, as she hurried away to continue her own preparations, a task largely accomplished, though one which she was determined to have perfected by the time her daughter entered the church that afternoon.

  The rest of the Bennet family were in a similar state of disarray to that of their father, though they had at least all risen from their beds, Lydia and Kitty having come across from the inn to devour yet more of Mr. Collins’ bread and jam, whilst Mary sat quietly reading on the chair before the fire.

  Jane and Elizabeth had been joined at the inn by Charlotte Lucas who was keen to assist her friend with her nuptial preparations. Lydia and Kitty had gotten their way and been named as Elizabeth’s bridesmaids, the far more important role of assisting Elizabeth prior to her arrival in the church given over to her dearest sister, and her closest friend.

  Elizabeth was sat on the stool by the washstand, as Charlotte held a small mirror up before her, and Jane combed her hair, tying it in the most attractive way she could manage.

  ‘You look the most beautiful bride I have ever seen,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘And how many brides have you seen?’ Elizabeth asked, as the three girls laughed together.

  ‘I have seen many drawings, why, I think you look prettier than any of the royal princesses on their wedding days, at least from their sketches in the papers,’ Charlotte continued.

  ‘You flatter me a little too much,’ Elizabeth said, ‘though if it were true it would seem that Jane is destined for far higher things than combing the hair of her sister here in Hunsford.’

  ‘There is no fairer hair I would wish to comb, dear sister,’ Jane said, finishing her work, and letting Elizabeth’s hair fall so that she could admire it in the mirror.

  It is a woman’s prerogative on her wedding day to spend much of the day in preparation and so such machinations continued until it was almost time to walk to the church.

  In her dress, and with her hair so beautifully combed and tied, Elizabeth did in fact feel something of a beauty such as she had read of in the accounts of royal weddings and those of high society. But such superficial sentiments could not disguise her deep sense of foreboding at what was about to transpire as she became Mrs. William Collins of Hunsford parsonage.

  Mr. Collins had risen early, as was his custom, and he was waiting at the church door when the carriage transporting the Lord Bishop of Rochester to the church approached.

  It had been Mr. Collins’ youth in that pleasant city of Rochester which had first introduced him to the then Dean of the cathedral, the Very Reverend Percival Boneley, who had taken holy orders after going up to Oxford, and who even then was tipped for higher things. His elevation to the episcopacy was a matter of great personal pride to Mr. Collins, who enjoyed inse
rting his name in association into conversations almost as much as he enjoyed inserting that of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

  To have his two foremost associates in one place at one time, and to also be marrying a woman whom he had believed would never assent to such a union, was, for Mr. Collins something of an answer to prayer.

  The carriage drew up, and out of it stepped the Lord Bishop of Rochester, he was an impressively tall man, and supported himself with an ivory-topped stick, his black top hat adding an extra foot of height to him. He dwarfed over Mr. Collins who gave a bizarre form of bow which appeared more like a curtsey and shook the bishop warmly by the hand.

  ‘Greetings, sir, greetings, and welcome to Hunsford,’ Mr. Collins said, for though Mr. Collins boasted of his association with the bishop, this was in fact his first visit to the parish, he having sent a suffragan to preside at Mr. Collins’ licencing, along with a card assuring him of his prayers.

  ‘I trust your journey was a pleasant one, sir?’

  ‘It was indeed, Collins, it is always nice to see one’s diocese from the vista of a carriage, it is many years since I came to Hunsford, at least the church is still standing.’

  ‘Standing indeed, and thriving,’ Mr. Collins said, ‘and today of course marks a new chapter in my life here.’

  ‘A new chapter indeed, a marriage is always a solemn ritual, and to one’s cousin, you say in your correspondence that it will secure your inheritance?’

  ‘That is correct, most correct, my cousin’s home at Longbourn in Hertfordshire, mine upon my uncle’s death.’

  ‘You sound eager to hasten it along,’ the bishop laughed, leading the way into the church as Mr. Collins continued to talk about himself.