by Jann Rowland
The Companion
Jann Rowland
By Jann Rowland
Published by One Good Sonnet Publishing:
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATIONS
Acting on Faith
A Life from the Ashes (Sequel to Acting on Faith)
Open Your Eyes
Implacable Resentment
An Unlikely Friendship
Bound by Love
Cassandra
Obsession
Shadows Over Longbourn
The Mistress of Longbourn
My Brother’s Keeper
Coincidence
The Angel of Longbourn
Chaos Comes to Kent
In the Wilds of Derbyshire
The Companion
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATIONS
Co-Authored with Lelia Eye
WAITING FOR AN ECHO
Waiting for an Echo Volume One: Words in the Darkness
Waiting for an Echo Volume Two: Echoes at Dawn
Waiting for an Echo Two Volume Set
A Summer in Brighton
A Bevy of Suitors
Love and Laughter: A Pride and Prejudice Short Stories Anthology
THE EARTH AND SKY TRILOGY
Co-Authored with Lelia Eye
On Wings of Air
On Lonely Paths
On Tides of Fate*
*Forthcoming
This is a work of fiction, based on the works of Jane Austen. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are products of Jane Austen’s original novel, the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
THE COMPANION
Copyright © 2017 Jann Rowland
Cover Design by Marina Willis
Published by One Good Sonnet Publishing
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1987929691
ISBN-13: 9781987929690
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, digital, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
To my family who have, as always, shown
their unconditional love and encouragement.
Table of Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Please enjoy the following excerpt from the upcoming novel On Tides of Fate, book three of the Earth and Sky trilogy.
For Readers Who Liked In the Wilds of Derbyshire
Also by One Good Sonnet Publishing
If you’re a fan of thieves with a heart of gold,
then you don’t want to Miss . . .
About the Author
Chapter I
It has often been said that one never knows when one’s time will suddenly come, and at no time was that maxim better proven than one evening at Rosings Park.
Elizabeth could have cheerfully forgone an evening at Rosings and all the attendant vexations without missing them a jot. Lady Catherine, the domineering patroness of her odious cousin, Mr. Collins, was not a pleasant woman, and her table was governed by her ubiquitous opinions on just about any subject, whether the lady actually possessed any expertise on the matter or not. Mix that with the aforementioned Mr. Collins’s tendency to vulgar flattery, Miss Anne de Bourgh’s silence and irritable nature, and Mrs. Jenkinson’s fussing over her charge—though to be completely honest, Mrs. Jenkinson was at least quiet, meaning Elizabeth found her to be the most tolerable—and an invitation to Rosings was to be looked on with exasperation rather than any pleasure.
Only the week before, Elizabeth had arrived at the parsonage in Hunsford to visit her dear friend Charlotte Collins in the company of Charlotte’s father and sister. Charlotte’s father had stayed only a week and then returned to Hertfordshire, leaving the young ladies in the company of his daughter and son-in-law, and if she was not aware of the man’s indefatigable ability to be civil, she might have thought him fleeing in panic. But Sir William’s performance the one time they had visited Rosings for dinner—his awe of Lady Catherine, coupled with his own generously bestowed flattery—gave lie to that supposition.
On the evening in question, the parsonage party had once again been invited to Rosings for dinner, and thither they went, for it was beyond Mr. Collins’s ability to decline. The conversation—if listening to Lady Catherine pontificate could be termed conversation—in the sitting-room prior to dinner had been unendurable, and Mr. Collins’s renewed efforts at praising everything about the lady and her table, intolerable. Elizabeth wished that she could simply leave or that something interesting would happen to break up the monotony.
It has often been said that one should be careful what one asks for, as it just might happen. Elizabeth knew very well that she could not take credit for what happened next, but it was a rather curious coincidence, nonetheless.
There was no sign of trouble during the first or second courses of the elaborate meal, the likes of which Elizabeth suspected the lady ordered daily. Elizabeth had chosen not to hear the inanities emanating from the head of the table, and instead she had focused her attention on Miss de Bourgh and was amusing herself by counting how many times Mrs. Jenkinson fussed over her charge, resettling the heavy shawl back around her shoulders or asking her if she was comfortable.
The first hint that there was anything wrong was Mrs. Jenkinson’s perspiring forehead, coupled with the shaky hand she used to wipe it away. The woman’s pallor, Elizabeth noticed, was becoming quite concerning, for she was beginning to look like a specter in the middle of the night. Elizabeth was just about to ask if she were well when she suddenly rose in her chair with an expression of excruciating pain scored into her face, her hand clutching her breast. Then, as quickly as she had risen, Mrs. Jenkinson sank back down into her chair, her face dropping into her potatoes.
Frightened for the stricken woman, Elizabeth rose to her feet to offer assistance when the sound of Lady Catherine’s sharp voice echoed through the room. “Mrs. Jenkinson! Now is not the time to sleep—see to Anne this instant.”
But the woman did not move, and Elizabeth was beginning to think she would never move again.
“I think she has suffered an apoplexy,” said Elizabeth as she rounded the table and approached the companion.
She stretched her hand gingerly forward and nudged the woman, with no response. She walked to the side of the table where she could see Mrs. Jenkinson’s face as she lay in her plate, and looked into the woman’s face. The pain of the previous moment was gone, and her countenance bore an expression which almost seemed peaceful. But she did not move at all.
“Mama, we should call the apothecary,” said Miss de Bourgh, the first time the young woman had ever said anything audible in Elizabeth’s hearing.
Grumbling, Lady Catherine motioned to one of the footmen to see to it, while another pair of serva
nts stepped forward and lifted Mrs. Jenkinson’s body, carrying it to a sofa in a nearby room, and settling it there. Elizabeth followed them, and when they had set her down, she repositioned the unfortunate woman’s lifeless limbs into a more dignified pose. The lack of any movement or reaction on the part of Mrs. Jenkinson led Elizabeth to believe that she was no longer of this world.
“I suppose we must end our dinner early,” said Lady Catherine, sounding for all the world like Mrs. Jenkinson had died only to cause her the maximum inconvenience.
Mr. Collins appeared unwilling to quit Lady Catherine’s company, regardless of who had just returned to meet their maker, but Charlotte was quick to intervene. “Of course, Lady Catherine. Perhaps, under the circumstances, it would be best for my husband to pray for the soul of Mrs. Jenkinson?”
Though Lady Catherine was clearly put out by the event, she was obviously a good Christian, for she motioned for Mr. Collins to oblige her, which he did with alacrity. Then, only a few moments later, the party departed for the parsonage, about the same time as the apothecary—who apparently lived nearby—bustled in the door to tend to the stricken woman.
When Mr. Collins visited Rosings the next day to offer his assistance, he was firmly informed it was not required and that he should return to the parsonage. That evening at dinner, his demeanor reminded Elizabeth of a kicked dog.
“Mrs. Jenkinson has, indeed, passed to the bosom of our lord,” said he. “Lady Catherine and her daughter are inconsolable, as we must expect. Not only are they both possessed of the most delicate feelings, easily injured by such traumatic events, but Mrs. Jenkinson had been employed by Lady Catherine since Miss de Bourgh was a young girl. I gave Lady Catherine my deepest sympathies, and she received them as stoically as I might have expected. But it is clear this has affected them profoundly.”
Elizabeth did not doubt that the lady and her daughter were affected by what had happened, but she wondered if Mr. Collins were not exaggerating. “Does Mrs. Jenkinson have any family?” asked she, as much to avoid such uncharitable thoughts as from any real interest.
“Sadly, she does not, though your concern does you credit, Cousin,” replied Mr. Collins. “She was never married and, as a result, was never blessed with children. My understanding is that she had one sister, who passed on many years ago, who was also childless. Thus, her only relations are some generations removed. Lady Catherine, in her boundless condescension has decreed that she shall be interred in the churchyard at Hunsford. I shall preside over the funeral service on the morrow.”
“It is a sad story, indeed,” said Charlotte. “I did not know the lady, but she was clearly quite diligent in seeing to her duties.”
“Indeed, she was!” exclaimed Mr. Collins. “It will be difficult, no doubt, to replace a woman who was not only with them for so long, but who clearly doted over Miss de Bourgh so. She shall be sorely missed.”
In the privacy of her own mind, Elizabeth thought it was likely that the greater difficulty would be to find a woman willing to be dominated. Elizabeth had not known Mrs. Jenkinson herself, but she thought it likely that the reason she had been so diligent was because she did not wish to lose her position since she had nowhere else she could go. A glance at Charlotte revealed from her friend’s knowing look that she, too, had the same thought.
The service, Elizabeth was led to understand, was sparsely attended. Mrs. Jenkinson was primarily known to Lady Catherine and her daughter, and as women were, by custom, not allowed to attend funerals, the primary mourners were not present. Elizabeth suspected that Mr. Collins focused more on Lady Catherine’s benevolence than Mrs. Jenkinson's life and the qualities which had made her a good person.
As soon as Mrs. Jenkinson was in her grave, Lady Catherine began to interview potential replacements. The company from the parsonage was not invited to Rosings in those days, and as they relied on Mr. Collins for news, it must be considered suspect. Rare was the day he did not go to Rosings to offer his assistance, and more rarely did he not return with some anecdote of the day’s proceedings.
“Today’s applicants were a Miss Younge and a Mrs. Rutledge,” he would say during the evening around the dinner table.
“Were either acceptable to Lady Catherine?” his wife would ask, although in Elizabeth’s opinion, Charlotte was not asking because of any true interest.
“I cannot know the mind of my patroness,” said he, before proceeding to prove he thought he could. “But I think not. Mrs. Rutledge seemed to possess a much too high opinion of herself, and I do not think Lady Catherine appreciated her ideas concerning how a companion must act. Lady Catherine does prefer to keep the distinction of rank firmly in place at all times, and it is not for the help to question one of her pedigree, for her insights must be superior in all things.”
“And Miss Younge?” Charlotte’s tone again betrayed her lack of interest. Mr. Collins did not notice and responded as if the very world depended on his reply.
“She has a shifty look about her, which Lady Catherine finds intolerable. I do not doubt that she is not under consideration, for Lady Catherine sent her away almost immediately.”
On and on they went. One lady was far too thin; the next one was far too learned (though Elizabeth thought a certain amount of education was what one wished for in a companion.) On another occasion, a lady was deemed to be too stupid, another, too impertinent, while a third was castigated for not being able to play the pianoforte. In short, though Lady Catherine met with many women, there was some fault to be found in all of them, and by the end of the next week, it did not seem she was any closer to hiring a new companion.
The second week after Mrs. Jenkinson’s death began with an invitation to Rosings for the first time since the awful event. Mr. Collins, as was his predilection, was excited to be the recipient of Lady Catherine’s condescension, and he put an entirely unwarranted—in Elizabeth’s opinion—meaning on the invitation.
“Lady Catherine is frustrated because of the lack of success she has had in finding a new companion for her daughter. I am certain she wishes to condole with us and solicit our opinions. Is there anyone you know whom you would recommend for such a position?”
It was difficult for Elizabeth to avoid laughing in the man’s face. How would she know anyone who was seeking a position? Charlotte appeared just as surprised as Elizabeth, for she paused and directed a confused look at her husband for a moment.
“Unfortunately, no, Mr. Collins,” replied she at length. “If Lady Catherine is not able to find someone, I know not how we may be of assistance.”
“Then we shall go and comfort her,” replied Mr. Collins. “She cannot fail to find someone, though because of her exacting standards, it may take some time for the perfect candidate to present herself. She is the soul of patience, so I am certain she will bear up under her tribulations admirably.”
Elizabeth almost snorted at the thought—Lady Catherine had never struck Elizabeth as being blessed with an abundance of patience. Furthermore, Elizabeth suspected he was only disappointed due to his desire to be indispensable to the lady.
But when she made this observation to Charlotte, her friend only looked at her with some asperity. “Truly, Lizzy, it seems to me you have become cynical of late. I am well aware that my husband is not the most gifted intellectual, but he is diligent and industrious, and he means well. You must allow him to be a good man, with his share of good attributes.”
Shocked at Charlotte’s words, Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She held her tongue for the moment, thinking furiously about what her friend said, and she did not like what she discovered. She had become used to thinking meanly of Mr. Collins, and she was forced to own that Charlotte seemed perfectly content. It would be best, now that she was in her friend’s home, to temper her criticism of the man and attempt to see him in a better light.
“I am sorry, Charlotte. You are completely correct.” Elizabeth looked away, marshaling her thoughts.
“I should not continually look for Mr. Collins’s faults.”
“Elizabeth,” said Charlotte, “I understand that you would not be happy in the life I have chosen, and I commend you for your intelligence and your principles. But you must allow the possibility of other viewpoints. Remember, I have my own home now, and I shall one day be mistress of Longbourn, while you are still searching for your perfect husband. Please think well of me, and by extension, allow me the correctness of my choice in my own circumstances. Mr. Collins is, as you have said, not the cleverest of men, but he is entirely respectable. I would like you to see him as he is, rather than through the sardonic spectacles you inherited from your father.”
“I will try, Charlotte,” said Elizabeth.
“Good. Now let us go prepare for our evening at Rosings.” Charlotte laughed a little and turned a playful eye on Elizabeth. “I give you leave to laugh at Lady Catherine as much as you wish. Though the lady is not without redeeming qualities herself, I believe Mr. Collins would be much less ridiculous if he could be weaned from her influence.”
Elizabeth giggled. “I cannot agree more, Charlotte. Thank you for your forbearance, but I will attempt to keep my laughter to a minimum.”
Soon they had departed the parsonage and were approaching Rosings Park, the large house looming over them like some brooding monarch about to pass judgment. They were accepted into the vestibule where their outerwear was taken by Lady Catherine’s servants and from thence into the sitting-room where Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh awaited them.
The moment they walked in the doors, Elizabeth could sense that something was different from the last time they had dined here. It was not the absence of Mrs. Jenkinson fussing over Miss de Bourgh or any other obvious change, but rather the way Lady Catherine regarded Elizabeth herself. She wondered if the lady had come to see her as prey, so intent was her gaze. Elizabeth could not fathom the reason for it.