by Jann Rowland
Soon the party broke up, the Hursts returning to their rooms, while the others took themselves away, either to take time to themselves or to speak in whispered voices. Even the youngest girls remained largely quiet, the gravity of the situation affecting them as it did anyone else. Anne rose at the same time, Elizabeth assumed to return to her rooms. She hesitated, however, and after a moment’s thought turned and approached Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth,” said she in a soft voice, sitting by Elizabeth’s side, “I wish you to know that I do not hold your family at fault for Mr. Collins’s actions.”
“Thank you, Anne,” replied Elizabeth, accepting the other woman’s offered embrace. Elizabeth did not know to what extent Anne was affected by her mother’s death, but she was relieved her family had been exonerated.
“I do think much of you,” said Anne, pulling away and directing a serious look at her. “We have not known each other long, but I hope we are able to put this behind us and become friends.”
“I hope so too, Anne,” replied Elizabeth. “I assume you will return to Kent with your cousins and your mother as soon as you can travel?”
Anne shot a look at her cousins, who were in earnest conversation with each other. “I have not spoken with them yet, but I assume we shall.”
“Then I wish you Godspeed, my friend,” replied Elizabeth.
They spoke for some few more moments before Anne excused herself to return to her rooms. Elizabeth was left in the company of her family and the gentlemen, Mr. Bingley also having left with the Hursts, no doubt to make his own preparations to return with his sister to his ancestral home. Jane sat nearby, immersed in her thoughts, and Elizabeth could not help but feel for her sister. Before Mr. Collins and his perfidy had come into their lives, she had never seen a more promising inclination. Now, she supposed, it would all come to naught.
With the improving weather, the roads became passable, first to horses, then to a carriage, and as such, contact with the outside world was re-established. First footmen were sent to the militia encampment to inquire about Lieutenant Wickham. The returning visit by Colonel Forster was surprising in some ways, and less surprising in others.
“Wickham has been here all this time?” asked the colonel, almost the first words out of the man’s mouth when he dismounted and entered Netherfield. “What in the blazes was he doing here?”
“He claimed you had sent him here, and his fellows to the other estates of the area,” said Fitzwilliam. They had agreed he would take the lead, speaking one colonel to another. “He said you were concerned for the welfare of the people of Meryton when it Bennets did not return to Longbourn after the ball.”
“I have a healthy respect for those who possess the rank of gentleman,” said the colonel. “We have all experienced bad weather and know how to ride it out. I was not even aware the Bennets were missing.”
Darcy and Fitzwilliam shared a glance. But Colonel Forster was not finished speaking.
“Wickham has been missing since that night. I had assumed he had deserted, though I could find no reason why he would do so.”
“I believe he did, after a fashion,” replied Fitzwilliam. “I have no notion what kept him at Netherfield, but it seems he sensed an opportunity here and acted accordingly.”
“Then I believe I desire to see my lieutenant,” said the colonel. “I believe there is, at the very least, time in the stockade in his future.”
“I am afraid we cannot comply,” said Darcy breaking into the discussion. “There are certain events about which you are not familiar.”
When Darcy had explained what had happened at Netherfield, the colonel’s silence for several minutes after the communication revealed his utter shock. When he finally did speak, his words were not what Darcy might have expected.
“It seems Wickham paid for his actions in a manner none of us might have expected.”
“Given the kind of man he was, it is unsurprising to me he should end in such a way,” muttered Fitzwilliam.
“We have called the magistrate,” said Darcy. “Once he has been informed, and the constable has taken Mr. Collins away, we will, of course, release Mr. Wickham’s remains to you.”
The colonel shook off his shock and said: “Would you not, perhaps, prefer to inter him next to his father? He is also deceased, as I understand.”
“That is true,” replied Darcy. “I suppose I could arrange for it.”
“I understand he was not a friend, sir,” said Colonel Forster.
“No, he had long since lost all claim to such ties. But in memory of his father and mine, I am willing to do this.”
The colonel nodded and soon departed. The next visitor was more difficult. Sir William Lucas was a jovial man, and though Darcy thought him more than a little silly, he had no true ill feelings for the man. When they explained the matter to him, his shock was akin to what the colonel’s had been.
“This is most . . .” stammered the man. “Well, what I mean is . . .” Sir William sighed and looked to Mr. Bennet, who they had summoned due to his long acquaintance with the gentleman. “I sympathize with you, Bennet. Who could have thought your cousin was such a man as this?”
“Not I, to be sure,” said Mr. Bennet. “I rather thought him far too silly for rational thought, let alone a proclivity for such heinous acts.”
“Er . . . I suppose that is so.” Sir William paused. “I suppose we must call the constable. Meryton is too small, but the constable from Stevenage may be called to transport Mr. Collins to the gaol there.”
“That would be for the best,” said Mr. Bennet. “The sooner he is removed from the neighborhood, the better.”
Sir William gave a distracted nod. “Yes, I suppose that would be for the best. You and your family will have my support and that of Lucas Lodge. Though there will be whispers, I am sure you have apprehended, I know you were not at fault. Between us, hopefully, we can stem the tide of gossip.”
“Thank you, my friend,” was Mr. Bennet’s heartfelt reply.
The constable arrived the next day, and Mr. Collins was escorted away. Though he had proven himself not to be a stupid man, he was also revealed to be a coward, for he departed, whimpering in fear, obviously understanding what his likely fate was to be. When he caught sight of Darcy and Mr. Bennet, watching him with implacable loathing, he attempted to break away and throw himself at their feet.
“Have mercy upon me, Cousin!” wailed Mr. Collins, pulling against the constable and his two burly deputies.
Mr. Bennet replied with a sardonic laugh. “I assure you, Collins, that I have none to offer. And even if I was, you have taken a family member of these two men, and another of our host. You will pay for your crimes.”
“No!” screamed Mr. Collins. “I beg of you!”
By that time, the men had dragged Mr. Collins out, his gibbering sobs echoing back through the door. Soon he was enclosed in the prison cart, which pitched into motion, throwing him against the back bars. He continued to wail and plead with them, but none of the men gathered said anything. Within a few moments, the cart had pulled from sight.
“In the end, he is nothing more than a coward and not nearly so clever as he believes himself to be,” said Fitzwilliam. “Even if we all spoke in his favor, he could no more avoid his fate than had he had wings to fly away to safety.”
“We will all be required to appear at his trial,” said Darcy. He turned to Mr. Bennet. “Have you any notion of when that will be?”
“I am not certain when the next assizes will be held,” replied Mr. Bennet, rubbing his chin in thought. “Not likely until the New Year, I suspect.”
“Sooner would be better,” remarked Fitzwilliam.
“It will give him plenty of time to consider his misdeeds,” said Darcy.
The other men grunted, and the subject was dropped. The very next day saw the first members of the party depart, for Bingley was for the north with the Hursts. Little was spoken between them, Bingle
y giving Darcy thanks for his role in solving the mystery. He also spent some few moments speaking with Miss Bennet in earnest, but Darcy had no desire to hear the results of that conversation. Given the serenity in Miss Bennet’s countenance, she was not overly distressed by his going. Then again, she had always been rather inscrutable, and Darcy could not say how much he trusted his observation of her.
At the same time, the Bennets were preparing to return to their own home, as were Darcy and Fitzwilliam to return Anne and their aunt to Kent. Darcy watched Miss Elizabeth, thinking back on the time they had spent together, their joint attempts to solve the puzzle, her laughter and spirit. He knew he was in a fair way to being in love with her. As their departure approached, Darcy found that he was less willing to allow her to leave without some words passing between them. Thus, he used a moment when she stood alone to approach her with the intention of informing her of his feelings.
The smile with which she greeted him set his heart to soaring, and he bowed, saying: “It seems we are destined to part at present, Miss Bennet.”
Her gaze clouded over a little at his words, and she nodded. “We must.”
“I have obligations to my family,” said Darcy. “I must inform my uncle of his sister’s death and see Anne installed at Rosings as its new mistress. However,” continued he, hoping she caught the expressive look he was directing at her, “just because we must part now, does not mean that parting must be of long duration. The mores of our society say I must mourn my aunt for three months. I will be half-mourning in six weeks.”
Miss Elizabeth nodded, seeming to understand what he was trying to say to her. “It is, of course, necessary for you to show your respect for your mother’s sister.”
“Yes,” replied Darcy. “This stricture must be adhered to, regardless of how trying I found the woman.”
They shared a shaken head and commiserating smile, Darcy knowing how much Elizabeth had been targeted by Lady Catherine’s insistence concerning his marriage prospects. Though he would not have wished to gain his freedom from such continual pressure by Lady Catherine’s death, he was forced to conclude he was finding his freedom rather liberating.
“I shall be required to return for the trial, and Sir William has my direction to keep me apprised of that. But I have a more personal reason to return.”
“You do?” was her arch reply. The corners of her lips rose, and the sight made him wish he could kiss her senseless if only to stop her teasing. Instead, he contented himself with assuring her of his regard.
“I have created a connection with a young lady of the neighborhood, one forged in trial, but sweeter for all we have endured. I should very much wish to continue that association, to call on that young lady when I return to the area.”
“If you so wish it, Mr. Darcy,” replied she, “I am certain she would be the happy recipient of your attentions.”
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. When the time is appropriate, you may expect my company at Longbourn.”
“I await that day with bated breath, sir.”
Epilogue
AS EXPECTED, THE EVENTS which occurred at Netherfield Park those few days were on the tongues of every local gossip within days after the parties had departed it, leaving the manor empty and forbidding. While the Bennets were affected by the whispers of society, and some gleefully pointed out that it had been a Bennet relation who had been responsible for the murders, the more sensible among them held that the Bennets could not be held responsible for the actions of a man who had not been known to them, after all, before his unexpected arrival.
That did not stop certain comments, often within the family’s hearing, or the whispered conversations which sprung up wherever they went. For the most part, the family accepted this change with philosophy, comforting themselves in the knowledge that they had truly done nothing wrong. The first few times they were subjected to such behavior, however, were trying, particularly for Mrs. Bennet, who had enjoyed a sort of reputation in the neighborhood by virtue of her position as wife to one of the most prominent gentlemen, as well as her reputation for being a consummate hostess.
“You appear to be taking Mrs. Goulding’s incivility with patience, Lizzy,” observed Charlotte Lucas one of the first times this had happened. They were attending the annual Christmas party only a few weeks after the events. Though Elizabeth had not been close enough to hear what had passed between the two women, she had noticed her mother stalking away from the other lady, her back stiff with affront.
At first, Elizabeth made mention of her ignorance of the particulars of the matter, but when Charlotte persisted, she could only shrug. “People will say what they wish, Charlotte. It will do little good for me to be offended every time someone alludes to it.”
“Your mother should adopt a little of your philosophy,” said Charlotte.
Elizabeth shook her head and watched her mother, who was now sitting close to Mr. Bennet, listening to whatever he was telling her. She suspected that her father was repeating the gist of what Elizabeth was currently engaged in telling Charlotte.
“Unfortunately, I cannot expect my mother to allow such slights to pass unanswered,” replied Elizabeth. “You know how she is. She will almost certainly respond in kind when she hears such comments.”
“I suppose you are correct,” replied Charlotte. “It is unfortunate. For it will only make matters worse.”
In time, after talk had died down, Elizabeth noted her mother did, indeed, begin to develop some ability to ignore when something was said. But that ability would depart whenever challenged, and she would respond in kind. There was no changing Mrs. Bennet, so the rest of the family simply adopted the practice of protecting her from it as much as they could. As for the sisters, they found they faced little overt censure, as their friends were, as a rule, much less inclined to meanness than the matrons.
Mr. Collins was tried at the next assizes in Stevenage and was found guilty of murdering the four people who had been staying at the estate. The women were not required to testify, for which they were all grateful. Mr. Bennet attended, of course, as did Sir William. Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam testified and ensured that Mr. Collins received the full penalty of the law in response to his actions. He was hung only a few days later. The account Mr. Bennet bore back to his family was a surprise to no one, knowing that whatever cleverness and bravado the man had possessed, he was naught but a coward.
“You will be interested to know what your brother Phillips has discovered regarding the disposition of Longbourn,” said Mr. Bennet one night when the family was sitting at dinner. It was only a few days after the trial of the insidious Mr. Collins. “As you know, I commissioned him to perform a search, as per the terms of the entail, for another heir of my great grandfather’s line.”
“And what did he discover?” asked Mrs. Bennet. While it was clear she was interested, she seemed almost fearful, for the entail was still a matter of great evil for Mrs. Bennet, especially given how Mr. Collins had turned out and how she might have been put in the man’s power. The fact that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley had not yet returned—ignoring the fact that both would still be in mourning for their family members—led to worry of her daughters all ending as old maids.
“Do not be cast down, Mrs. Bennet,” said her husband, and Elizabeth detected a hint of actual compassion for her. “I believe this is good news. There are, in fact, no more living heirs of my great-grandfather. In short, there is no one to inherit Longbourn, and consequently, no one to cast you into the hedgerows when I leave this mortal life.”
Mrs. Bennet blinked, her confusion showing in her stare at her husband. “Then who will inherit?”
“As there are no further heirs, the entail is broken, and the estate becomes mine to do with as I see fit. As I have no sons and no intention of breaking Longbourn up to leave to all my daughters, I shall instead leave it to my eldest daughter. Then when she marries, the estate will be the property of Jane and her husband a
nd shall pass to their eldest son, or to another, however they see fit.”
A gasp escaped Mrs. Bennet’s lips, and she stared the length of the table, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “I will not be required to leave my home?”
“No, my dear,” replied Mr. Bennet, a tender note in his voice and in the look he bestowed upon his wife. “Longbourn is now ours, is not entailed, and will be your home for as long as you live, or as long as you wish it. You may put your fears of the entail to rest, for they no longer have any power over you.”
Though her posture never altered, Elizabeth thought her mother sagged with relief, as tears streamed down her face. Dinner was finished largely in silence, even her youngest sisters realizing something momentous had just happened. Mrs. Bennet retired soon after dinner that night, but when she emerged the next morning, she was not a changed woman. She remained ever after silly, prone to gossip, and possessing only the faintest grasp of proper behavior. But the edge of her manic nervousness had been removed, and all her children found her much easier to tolerate. Even her husband found himself drawn from his library more often and was heard to say more than once that the companion of his early marriage had returned to him. But that was not the end of the changes for the Bennet family.
As he had promised Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy’s horse was spied riding up Longbourn’s fine driveway one afternoon not long after his official mourning was complete. Elizabeth, who had thought about the gentleman much in the months of his absence, was happy to receive him. Her sisters, or the observant ones, watched her with amusement, while those less observant were surprised. He was given a cordial welcome as one befitting his status—that being a suitor to one of Mrs. Bennet’s daughters, which even she soon recognized. Between him and Elizabeth, the chance for a private discourse was requested and soon obtained, and they walked Longbourn’s back lawn in earnest discussion.