After all, she was obviously either foolish, blind or grasping in her assertion that love existed between her sister, Miss Jane Bennet, and Darcy’s friend, Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth had reproached Darcy in the strongest terms possible for his role in separating Miss Bennet from Mr. Bingley. She refused to see the two were not truly in love and their union would end with Bingley, if not both parties, miserable. Darcy’s choice to assist Bingley’s sisters in keeping the two apart was entirely laudable. It was the sort of thing a man did for his friend.
When Elizabeth did appear, her face was as composed as his own. He suffered her indifference as his due, using it to bolster his resolve to forget his feelings for her. “Miss Bennet,” he said, offering a stiff bow.
“Mr. Darcy,” she greeted with a nod.
“It would be my pleasure if you would read this.” He held out the letter.
She eyed it, not reaching to take it. She knew as well as he that it was inappropriate for him to write her. Only their engagement would render such a thing acceptable.
“I do not intend to renew my pursuit of you,” he assured her. “I wish only the opportunity to explain myself.”
Nodding, she took the pages from him. “I cannot think how you mean to do so, sir, but I shall read it with as little prejudice as I can muster.”
He nodded, offered another bow, and turned away. It occurred to him he’d likely looked upon Elizabeth Bennet for the last time. He didn’t permit himself to turn back.
It was that realization, as he retraced his steps to Rosings, that informed him his heart had already concluded it was time to leave Kent. Forget Elizabeth he must, and meant to, but that would be impossible if she was forever near. Darcy didn’t care where he went, but it must be somewhere far from Elizabeth Bennet.
As he strode through his Aunt Catherine’s manor, voices emanated from the breakfast parlor. They reminded Darcy he hadn’t eaten. He had no appetite, but refused to permit that to dissuade him. He would not pine after a simple country miss who was too ill educated and removed from meaningful society to appreciate the offer he’d made her, and the sacrifice it would be to him.
Entering the parlor, Darcy found his Aunt Catherine and two cousins, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam and Miss Anne de Bourgh, dawdling over a late breakfast. For once, Anne’s companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, didn’t appear to be in attendance. Darcy bowed to the room, offering the appropriate pleasantries before filling a plate. A footman hurried forward to pull out a chair for him, another to bring him coffee. Taking a sip, Darcy wrapped his composure tight about him.
“I believe I shall depart today,” he said, setting his cup down. “Richard, will that be convenient to you?” Richard was to accompany him, as Darcy had conveyed his cousin to Rosings in his carriage.
“If it is convenient to you, Darcy, it is to me,” Richard replied, always amiable. “I was enjoying the rarefied air of Kent, but not more than I enjoy the advantages of traveling with you.”
Darcy nodded, accepting the compliment as his due. Without him, Richard would have to pay his own way back to London, something disagreeable to a man on his cousin’s budget. “I’ll send for my coach after breakfast.”
“As well you should,” Lady Catherine said. “If you must leave, it’s best done early. The weather won’t hold, mark my word. We’re in for a dark afternoon.”
“I’m sorry to see you both go,” Anne murmured. “I’m sure our frequent visitors will be as well,” she added in what Darcy could only assume was a reference to the Collins, Miss Lucas and Elizabeth.
“We must go to the Hunsford parsonage and say goodbye to them,” Richard said. “Not realizing you tired of Kent, I’ve an ongoing debate on Walter Scott with Miss Bennet.”
Darcy hoped his face revealed none of the emotions Richard’s request stirred. Would Elizabeth have read his letter yet? Would she regret refusing him?
Lady Catherine frowned. “Darcy, you should have apprised us of your plans last night. Farewells could have been said then. You would have saved yourself the trip. Now you shall be delayed.”
“It won’t take long,” Darcy said. He turned back to Richard. “Give me a moment after I eat, and I’ll walk over with you.” The words were out before he could call them back, his desire to see Elizabeth one final time outweighing discretion.
“Certainly,” Richard said.
Darcy nodded in absent acknowledgement of his cousin’s acceptance. Was it truly wise to see Elizabeth again so soon? How would she react to his letter, and to him? What if, in view of his words, her anger cooled, clearing the way for other, more amiable emotions? No. Seeing her was proper. He would say his farewells to the Collins, paying no special attention to Elizabeth. Even if she drove him away from Kent, he would not let it look like she had any influence over him.
“Well, don’t sit there like a lump, Darcy,” Lady Catherine snapped. “Finish your meal and get to it. I tell you, if you must go, an early start is the only correct option.”
Darcy applied himself to his plate while his aunt carried on a monologue about the day’s weather, the inconveniences of travel, and the proper means of overcoming them. As soon as it seemed polite to do so, he excused himself, heading to his rooms. He was followed by Richard, Anne remaining with her mother.
Darcy required only a moment to pass along instructions to his servants. They were intelligent and practiced, needing little more from him than to know they were to set out soon. In short order, Darcy and Richard were strolling toward Hunsford, and Elizabeth.
Their first knock went unanswered. Frowning, Darcy knocked again. He and Richard exchanged a glance as the door remained closed. Surely, Darcy thought, Elizabeth wouldn’t have requested he be ignored if he called? That would be absurd, and he couldn’t fathom Mr. Collins agreeing to it.
He was considering knocking a third, and final, time when the door swung open. Miss Maria Lucas stood framed in it. She appeared out of breath, as if she’d run the length of the parsonage.
“Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam.” She looked back and forth between them, blinking in surprise. “How did you hear so quickly?”
“Hear?” Darcy repeated, frowning.
Miss Lucas’ eyes widened. “You’ve not heard? Mr. Collins is dead. We only recently discovered it. The doctor arrived moments ago, though I can’t imagine there’s anything to do. I was showing him to Mr. Collins’ room when you knocked or I would have answered sooner. I’m afraid the staff is in a fit in the kitchen. They’re terrified it’s something that could kill them too.”
Darcy exchanged a stunned look with Richard.
“May we enter?” Richard asked. “How did he die?”
Miss Lucas backed into the foyer. “Yes, of course. I don’t know where my manners are. Come in, please.”
For all she was speaking rapidly, Miss Lucas appeared little affected by the death of her brother-in-law. “How did he die?” Darcy repeated.
“I don’t know.” Miss Lucas shook her head. She looked over her shoulder. “I am so sorry, but I really should get someone to fix tea for my sister. She hasn’t been well in the morning, of late.”
Darcy frowned, wondering if it was indeed something contagious. They were already inside. There was nothing for it now. “May we question the doctor?”
“Yes, yes certainly. I’m sure Charlotte would prefer it.” Miss Lucas gestured toward the main staircase. “It’s the first door on the left.”
Darcy and Richard both bowed to her. After a quick curtsy, she turned and hurried away. Darcy lead the way upstairs.
Mr. Collins’ room wasn’t difficult to locate, for the door was open. A man Darcy recognized as Lady Catherine’s doctor was standing by the bed, bending low over a still form. He looked up when they entered.
“Mr. Darcy, Colonel,” he said, nodding in greeting. “Did they send for you first, then? Always the lords before the physician, not that time is a factor here.”
“We arrived on other business,” Darcy said.
The doctor no
dded, his expression taking on a more amiable cast. “It’s sheer luck I’m here so soon myself. I was returning from setting a broken arm when one of the Collins’ servants hailed me. I just started conducting my exam. I don’t mind witnesses. In fact, I’ll have to look for wounds, and he looks pretty heavy. Does Mrs. Collins have a manservant?”
Darcy shook his head. “No, but I can help,” he offered, unable to stifle his curiosity over what had killed the man. Collins looked unharmed.
“As will I,” Richard said.
They commenced to follow the doctor’s instructions, it taking both Richard and Darcy to turn Mr. Collins’ still form. Darcy found the whole of it decidedly grim, though Richard appeared unaffected. Of course, his cousin had seen more than his share of death in service to the crown, and in much less savory ways than Collins appeared to have died.
The doctor was thorough. When he finished, he started stowing his instruments back in his bag. “He’s been dead for most of the night, I’d say, and I don’t know why. There are no wounds or injuries. Mrs. Collins said something about a medicine. Let’s look into it.”
Darcy and Richard followed the doctor downstairs. Darcy found it fortuitous he was the last of the three, for, upon entering the parlor, he stopped. Elizabeth was there, sitting beside Mrs. Collins. A tea service rested on the table between them.
Both women stood when they entered, but Darcy’s gaze skimmed over Mrs. Collins. Elizabeth must have recently arrived, for her hat rested on an empty seat beside her. Her cheeks were a fine, lively shade from walking outdoors, though her eyes were wide and serious. Of the three women he’d seen in the parsonage so far that morning, Elizabeth was the only one who appeared to have been weeping, but her red-rimmed eyes were dry now.
“Mrs. Collins,” the doctor said, coming to stand before her. “Your husband is dead.”
Mrs. Collins nodded gravely. Obviously, she knew as much. She held out a hand to Elizabeth, who clasped it, her eyes on the doctor. “How did he die, sir?” Mrs. Collins asked.
“I can find no obvious cause,” the doctor said. “You mentioned a medication when I arrived. What did he take?”
In her first sign of weakness, Mrs. Collins looked to Elizabeth. “I put it in the tall cupboard, opposite the oven. You’ll require a stool.”
“I’ll help,” Darcy found himself saying.
Elizabeth turned to him, appearing startled, though whether by his offer or because she’d only then realized he was there, he didn’t know. She nodded. Releasing Mrs. Collins’ hand, she hurried from the room. Darcy followed.
Once in the small kitchen, Darcy could hear the sounds of weeping women. He also heard Miss Lucas murmuring reassuringly. Fortunately, whatever histrionics were ensuing were taking place on the other side of a doorway.
Elizabeth cast a look in that direction before leading him to a tall cupboard. The top set of doors was high, though easily reachable by Darcy. He could see that Elizabeth, diminutive as she was, would indeed need a stool.
“In there,” she said, gesturing. “It’s a square bottle with no label, not large.”
Darcy reached passed her, opening the cupboard. It was neatly arranged, the bottle Elizabeth described readily found at the front. He took it down, turning to her. “This one?”
She nodded. She looked up at him, making no move to leave the kitchen. “I did not expect to see you again, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy couldn’t read her tone. “I came to say my farewells before leaving Kent.”
Elizabeth regarded him with steady eyes. “I see. We should take that to the doctor.”
Darcy nodded, following her as she led the way back to the parlor.
Mrs. Collins had reseated herself, looking pale. Taking in more of the room this time, Darcy noticed the tea set out beside her was untouched. No steam emanated from the cup, indicating it had cooled. Darcy wondered if that was a sign Mrs. Collins was more affected by her husband’s death than she revealed or the result of the ailment her sister mentioned when he arrived.
The cup beside the chair Elizabeth occupied, when he first entered, was likewise undrunk. She did not return to it now, lingering by his side. Darcy found himself surprised Elizabeth should be disturbed enough by the loss of her cousin not to take even tea. He offered the bottle to the doctor.
The doctor opened it, sniffing the content. He turned to Mrs. Collins. “May I have a spoon and cup of tea?”
Mrs. Collins nodded. Elizabeth hurried to retrieve them, offering them to the doctor. He took the spoon, carefully coaxing a drop onto it. He touched his tongue to the reddish-brown syrup. Grimacing, he handed the spoon back to Elizabeth and retrieved his handkerchief to wipe his tongue. He then took the tea, swished it around his mouth and spit it back into the cup.
Returning the cup to the saucer Elizabeth held, he turned to Mrs. Collins. “Laudanum syrup. How much did he take?”
“Six tablespoons full.”
The doctor raised his eyebrows. “That’s what killed him. Why did he take so much?”
“He said that was the dose Lady Catherine told him to take.”
Chapter Three
I will have absolutely nothing more to do with that man or his relations.
“I did not.” Lady Catherine’s strident voice sounded like a clarion bell, echoing through the large parlor she preferred at Rosings. “I told him to give his wife six drops.”
Darcy had offered to return to Rosings to learn the exact nature of the laudanum and the dosage, and pass on Mrs. Collins’ claim that Lady Catherine was executor of her husband’s will, confirmed by an exploration of the man’s desk. Darcy would normally have stayed to help, asking Richard to handle their aunt. Richard was more adept at dealing with Lady Catherine, but Darcy was finding proximity to an obviously distraught Elizabeth taxing. He had the overwhelming desire to take her into his arms and comfort her. Not doing so was a nearly physical pain.
“No, you didn’t, Mama,” Anne said, looking up from her book. Beside her, Mrs. Jenkinson remained still, her gaze on her sewing. “I heard you say six spoonfuls.”
“You did not.” Lady Catherine leveled a glare at her daughter.
It would take a more formidable person than Anne to withstand that look. She turned to Darcy, her eyes pleading. Darcy gave a small shake of his head. He saw no reason to belabor the issue. Whatever Lady Catherine had actually said didn’t matter. Mr. Collins’ death was undoubtedly an accident.
Darcy cleared his throat, drawing Lady Catherine’s glower from Anne. “Mr. Collins named you as executor of his will.”
Lady Catherine’s look of displeasure only deepened. “I will not serve. I refuse to do anything for someone who so misunderstood my instructions.”
“Aunt Catherine, be reasonable.” Darcy tried for a soothing tone. He should have let Richard handle this. It hadn’t occurred to Darcy their aunt would refuse a dead man’s wish, especially when she, however inadvertently, had a hand in his demise.
Lady Catherine stood. She was in no way near Darcy’s height, but she was a formidable, strongly proportioned woman. She tipped her chin up, her lips pressed into what seemed an eternal frown. “I said, I will not.”
Darcy exchanged another look with Anne. She shrugged her thin shoulders. He tried to guess what Richard would say, but couldn’t bring any of his cousin’s easy phrases to mind.
Lady Catherine stalked over to a small desk, her skirts all but swallowing the delicate chair as she sat. Taking out paper and ink, she wrote several lines. “Anne, Mrs. Jenkinson, I require your signatures.”
Mrs. Jenkinson rose immediately, setting aside her sewing. Anne cast Darcy an apologetic look and followed. While they leaned over the desk, taking turns signing the paper, Lady Catherine turned toward Darcy.
“I’ve written that I will, under no circumstance, be executor of that ridiculous man’s will, as witnessed by Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson.” Lady Catherine was at her most imperious, looking down her nose at Darcy even though she was seated. She retrieved the p
aper from the desk as Anne set down the pen. “You will take this to Mrs. Collins. You will also inform her I want her out of the parsonage tomorrow. I have to find a replacement for Mr. Collins. I will not have her here spreading lies about me. I will have absolutely nothing more to do with that man or his relations.”
“Aunt Catherine, that’s insensitive even for you,” Darcy said, stunned even his domineering aunt would expel a woman the day after her husband’s death. “At the very least, you must wait for the funeral.”
Lady Catherine pursed her lips. Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson slunk back to the couch they’d occupied. Finally, Lady Catherine let out a sigh. “Very well. One week from today.” She proffered the paper to Darcy.
Knowing he would get nothing more from his aunt than that, Darcy took it with a bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Gladly,” she snapped.
Offering a bow to the other two women, Darcy strode from the room. He went first to his quarters, countermanding his order to his servants to prepare to leave that day, and then walked over to the parsonage. During the walk, he lamented his lack of ease in dealing with people. Richard would have gotten their aunt to behave in a more reasonable manner. If Richard had Darcy’s money and connections, he would likely have been able to persuade Elizabeth to marry him. Darcy sighed. He was not Richard.
Shaking his head, he turned his thoughts to Mrs. Collins, wondering what would become of her. Should he offer her a sum, as his aunt should have? Not as an admission of guilt, but as a parting gift to ease the widow’s transition from the parsonage. Mrs. Collins had a family who would likely take her in, but to uproot her so quickly and viciously, with no administration of extra means, was morally reprehensible. It fell to a landholder to administer care to those beholden to him, or her. Darcy rubbed his jaw, realizing his aunt’s behavior offended him in the extreme.
He spent the remainder of the walk composing himself. Upon arriving at the parsonage, he was shown into the parlor. One of Mr. Collins’ parishioners had brought food and was talking to Mrs. Collins. Richard sat in a chair between Miss Lucas and Elizabeth, though only the former appeared to be listening to him. Elizabeth wore a distracted, worried look. She turned wide eyes on Darcy when he entered. Conversation ceased with his bow, and greetings were exchanged.
Believing in Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 2