“Mr. Collins! A rabbit! Do be careful, I could not bear it if harm were to come to any living creature!” she shouted as loud as was ladylike.
Shaken from his daydreams, Mr. Collins jerked heavily on the reigns, scanning the road for any sign of an animal, but was immediately directed to a greater problem before him. The mare, feeling not only the familiar tug of the bit in her mouth, but also sharp barbs on her behind, bolted down the road as her driver fought for control. Charlotte, having anticipated just such a reaction, held fast to the iron framework, secretly enjoying the ride. However, it was not the dramatic event for which she hoped, for Mr. Collins was a better driver than expected and soon had poor old Lily plodding along.
“Miss Lucas, I trust you have not suffered any injury?”
“N…no. Your quick reflexes have saved us from disaster.” she replied breathlessly, laying a possessive hand upon his arm.
“I have never known that horse to behave so. You have my gratitude.”
“A man must be ready to handle any calamity; you are safe with me Miss Lucas,” he replied, and covered her hand with his own, allowing it to remain until they arrived.
“I shall be just a minute,” Charlotte insisted and left Mr. Collins with the carriage as she hurried inside to retrieve her forgotten present. The small package lay directly inside the foyer, but she paused to watch him through a window. As she hoped, he did not remain seated but stepped down to inspect the horse’s harnessing. Running his hands along the horse’s shoulders and flanks, it was not long before he found the ball of briars. Examining it closer, Charlotte watched as he immediately dropped the offending item as if it were on fire. In addition to tying the burrs with a scrap of Mary Bennet’s ribbon, Charlotte had added a braid of her own hair and a chicken bone, for good measure. To any observer, it was the epitome of evil charms. Stamping it into the dirt, Mr. Collins made the sign of the cross over it before folding his hands and sinking to his knees in prayer. She could not have hoped for a better outcome. Taking up the wedding gift, Charlotte exited the house just as Mr. Collins finished dusting his trouser legs free from any sign of his having kneeled in the dirt.
“My apologies for taking so long, one of the maids had placed it in another room,” she explained, holding up the gaily wrapped package.
“It was but a moment, and gave me the opportunity to adjust the harnessing. Our return journey should be worry free but…if I may…Miss Lucas, if your offer still stands, I should like to remove myself from Longbourn on the morrow.”
Charlotte could hardly contain her joy and smiled genuinely. He was all but hers.
“I await your arrival. My mother will be pleased to have your company.”
~27~
Fitzwilliam Darcy had chosen not to attend the wedding of George Wickham and Lydia Bennet; it was consolation to know that it had taken place. The prospect of seeing Elizabeth in such a setting was more than he could bear, yet he refused to leave Netherfield. Being obligated to attend his Aunt Catherine at Easter, it left a month before he must make the journey. On the way he would stop at Pemberley and collect his sister. It seemed as if it had been forever since he was last home, but despite its grandeur and fond memories, Pemberley only increased his loneliness. It was here that he had found true companionship, but she hated him. Thinking upon their last encounter, Darcy still did not understand why. Everything he had done was out of love for her. Agreed, her mother was difficult to tolerate even in the best of circumstances, but so was his Aunt Catherine, if not more. As for her lack of money, he had plenty, and the Bennet ladies, contrary to what he had found to be the norm, did not place money as the most important factor in a marriage. If only there were more such women, but they were rare, and one who spoke her mind and made him relax, even laugh, were one in a lifetime. Feeling the need to expend his frustrations, he had immediately accepted Bingley’s suggestion that they spend the morning hunting, the same day that he was to have spent with Elizabeth. Having conceded the rest of his time to being with Jane, Bingley probably felt he was neglecting his guest. Unaware of what had transpired between himself and Elizabeth, Darcy had not chosen to share the details, saying only that he would soon be leaving for Pemberley. Bingley had stared at him strangely, with a mixture of pity and irritation, but had not broached the subject. Instead, true to form he suggested a distraction.
“We have yet to accept Mr. Bennet’s invitation to go shooting at Longbourn. There is a truly excellent stretch of woods that serves as an unofficial border between Longbourn and Lucas Lodge. I insist we go; it will amend this sour mood of yours.”
“Who else will be there?”
“It will be entirely masculine, if that is what you fear, just you, I, Mr. Bennet and of course Sir William. I believe they too need a bit of time away from the ladies. Jane mentioned going to Meryton to order items for our own wedding, but only after they say goodbye to Wickham and Lydia…You really should have gone to the ceremony, if only to see it done.”
“No, I am content simply to have that man gone. But I would not mind a bit of shooting. It has been far too long and I will be quite rusty.”
“Nothing like practice to sharpen one’s skills.”
“Indeed.”
*****
Mr. Collins, having refused the inclusion in the shooting, now wrinkled his nose in distaste. Of course, his host had only been polite, not truly expecting him to accept. But he had more pressing business to attend, for this was his last morning at Longbourn. Not having revealed his imminent departure to anyone, he began furiously packing his meager belongings. With no need for a trunk, his few clothes and personal items easily fit into two hand cases. This was fortunate, for he would be walking to Lucas Lodge and avoiding any further attacks upon his person. Despite the calm reassurances of Miss Lucas, there was something, or someone sinister out to get him at Longbourn. Once he took possession of the house, a thorough cleaning would be had, with each room blessed. With potential years before that possibility, he worried that no inheritance would come his way. Evil had a way of destroying everything. Looking about, Mr. Collins realized he had forgotten one of his most precious possessions. Leather bound books were quite dear enough, but his copy of Fordyce’s Sermons with its inscription from his seminary mentor, was priceless. Searching the chamber one last time to no avail, Mr. Collins went below to the sitting room. It was vacant as the family had disbursed upon personal errands after Lt. and Mrs. Wickham departed. For a moment, he entertained the idea that one of them had taken the volume.
“Probably sell my book to some disreputable peddler in return for cheap wine,” he muttered, but there was no one to hear. Instead, as if in defiance or chastisement of his words, the missing book lay innocent and unharmed upon the pianoforte bench.
“There you are, now I may leave before anything else befalls me,” he spoke to the book before tucking it inside his waistcoat for safety. The bulge of its bulk made for awkward movements as he returned to fetch his luggage, but he was a man with a singular focus. So much was Mr. Collins occupied with escape that he did notice the petite form of Mary Bennet standing in the shadows as he closed his chamber door.
“Leaving us Mr. Collins? So soon?” she crooned with a sinister raise of one eyebrow.
“I…Er…” he stammered as he backed away slightly, bumping into a small table. Upon it was an assortment of candles, that now rolled to the floor, joining Fordyce as the book, dislodged, landed with a thud.
Mary Bennet only smiled, but it appeared to Mr. Collins as the enticement of a succubus as she bent to retrieve the fallen items.
“Do take care of Mr. Fordyce. I shall give my parents your regards as you seem to be in a hurry.”
Recovering, he bowed stiffly and took the book, this time securing it in his luggage before hoisting his burden once again. Turning away, Mr. Collins felt her eyes follow him as he practically ran from her presence, but it was not until he was far away from Longbourn that he began to relax. The road, as it skirted the perimeter o
f the estate, was nearly three miles in length, a distance he could easily make in an hour. However, it was subject to any passerby and his arms were already beginning to ache from the weight of his belongings. What had been designed to accentuate privacy and the natural surroundings, now was his greatest barrier between the safety of Lucas Lodge and the potential horrors he left behind. Not to be daunted, Mr. Collins walked steadily with his head up, humming a hymn for spiritual guidance. The strains of “Onward Christian Soldier” provided little support for the strain on his back and shoulders, but he refused to abandon his possessions. As if evil were trying to harm him further, the day was unusually warm as the sun beat down on his black suit. Beads of perspiration dripped into his collar, daring him to loosen the symbol of his calling. What would Lady Lucas think of his appearance? He was not about to divulge his suspicions to the lady offering him safety. Pondering this unpleasant dilemma, Mr. Collins spied a narrow pathway leading off the road into the woods. The tall copse of trees provided the barest shade along the roadway, but the cooler depths called beseechingly. Surely, he could find his way through the thicket and reduce his journey by half? Perhaps even leave one of his cases hidden behind to be retrieved later? Smiling at his own cleverness, Mr. Collins left the road for that less traveled, and embraced the darkness of the forest. Almost immediately, he met relief as the brilliant sun was mottled, casting shadows of light along the path. Absent were roots an branches, suggesting regular foot travel and he was able to increase his pace. The serenity of chirping birds and scurry of rabbits erased his anxiety so much so that Mr. Collins now believed he had let his imagination get the best of him. Besides, weren’t women soft and gentle creatures? Designed to complement the rough ways of men? Lost in his thoughts, Mr. Collins did not heed the warnings of the forest as a great flock of birds suddenly rose in flight. Nor did he notice how an odd silence now reigned supreme, the only noise coming from his foot as it snapped a twig. If he had, his sense of self-preservation would have made him wary. Unfortunately, Mr. Collins heard only the sound of his own voice until the crack of musket fire nearby shook him from his reverie. The noise, accompanied by a searing pain in his side and shouts of familiar male voices was the last thing he remembered before a strange creeping cold claimed him.
~28~
Fitzwilliam Darcy stared down at the half dead man, unable to feel any emotion but anger. He had never killed anyone, nor any thing for that matter, unless it was for food. Yet the facts were clear, it was his shot that had entered the living person of William Collins and he felt nothing but irritation. Since his abrupt departure from Longbourn nearly a week ago, his mind had been an unsettled jumble. Had Elizabeth actually considered marrying Mr. Collins? What sort of desperation would push a person to do that? Surely a woman such as her had other offers of marriage. Why else would she have been so confident that his would not be the last. The owner of Pemberley had much to offer, yet she had rejected it, believing he had some predisposition against her family. As a result, he had been distracted, even imagining seeing faces of those who irritated him in the targets, but he never intended to harm anyone. What had the stupid man been doing in that copse of woods? Everyone in both houses knew that a hunting party was taking place. It was also private property, and inaccessible unless one were to trespass. Now, as he met with the authorities for the second time in a month, Darcy was relieved that there had been excellent witnesses to the accident. If he were to ever actually kill someone, George Wickham held that first honor, men such as Collins were not worth the waste of shot.
“Just tell us exactly what happened. No one is placing blame on anyone… except perhaps Mr. Collins for being foolish.” Colonel Forster said with exasperation. His own wife, wanting to be sociable, had invited the horrid minister to tea a few weeks ago. It had been the most miserable two hours of his life, but it did seem a bit odd that the man managed to skirt death so often. As before, he also needed to tread lightly with Mr. Darcy. Men of great consequence could make life difficult if offense was taken without credible evidence. And, he had to thank Darcy for arranging Wickham to be removed from his regiment. The continual disciplinary issues that Wickham caused were enough to make a man consider retirement. If not for the incident occurring on Sir William Lucas’ property, he would have happily kept out of the entire situation.
“Start from just before you discovered Mr. Collins.”
Darcy sighed, but did as requested. Colonel Forster had already taken statements from Charles Bingley, Mr. Bennet and Sir William. Afterwards, the servants would also be interviewed. Not that it mattered, it was his fault, even if an accident.
“We had our man go forward and flush out the birds. Mr. Bennet keeps a covey of quail just for hunting, but today it was rather quiet even thought it was high season. We had thought to give up on it and return home, but having purchased a new weapon, Charles insisted upon remaining longer, choosing targets instead. As we were eager, this was readily accepted as an alternative and sights were designated at the perimeter of the trees. It was believed that the woods were empty as proper notification of servants was made to prevent any travel through. Apparently, Mr. Collins either was not aware or chose not to heed that warning. It was after my turn at the target that his cries were heard. As Lucas Lodge was closer, he was naturally brought here and rendered medical attention.”
As if to collaborate his story, Mr. Collins moaned in his sleep. Of his account, there had been no rational words spoken. He had regained consciousness briefly when examined by the doctor, but his speech had been pain filled incoherent mumbling about evil charms and demons.
Colonel Forster had chosen to conduct his interviews in the sickroom. The presence of a wounded man often did wonders to produce a confession in guilty parties. But, to his mind, this was a simple accident, nothing more. Closing his notes, he rose and shook Darcy’s hand, then the doctor and Sir William Lucas.
“I don’t think there is anything criminal here. My report will declare it accidental. But, please inform me if he dies, it will be necessary to include that in my report.”
Mr. Collins, mumbled again, his arms flailing about as if to ward off his demise, but this time he called out for Miss Lucas to save him from Elizabeth.
“Clearly out of his head, but this is normal. I have removed the lead and cleaned the wound, but he lost a great deal of blood. If he doesn’t go to fever, I have hopes for recovery. We shall know more in a few days.”
Charlotte, pale and worried, had not left the chamber since the man she had worked so hard to claim for her own had arrived. All of her planning could be wasted if he died, but it was pleasing to have him say her name. Moving to his side, she took one of his hands in hers. The soothing touch had an instant calming effect.
“I am here…. you rest now. I shall stay with you as long as necessary.”
To this odd declaration of devotion, no man present commented, but it was clear to all that Miss Charlotte Lucas might be the only person alive that honestly liked Mr. Collins.
*****
Charlotte Lucas had felt her heart stop when Mr. Collins had been carried to her home. The sight of his limp person, stained crimson with blood had made her believe he was already dead. For a moment, she wondered if one of Elizabeth’s sisters had finally gotten to him, but as soon as the notion entered her mind, she brushed it away as hysterics. If anyone would benefit by Mr. Collins death, it would be his younger brother. Having endured a lengthy yet, informative conversation with Mrs. Bennet, Charlotte had been appraised of the fact that Mr. Collins had brothers of a marriageable age who were far more agreeable in appearance. But there had been no sign of strangers in the area and Charlotte knew that she would not appeal to handsome men while Elizabeth and Kitty remained at Longbourn. In truth, despite her oddities, even Mary Bennet was more favorable than herself. Mr. Collins had been her only chance at independence, and now it may not happen. As she held vigil by his bedside, she reflected upon the terrible day. Why hadn’t Mr. Collins sent for a carri
age? He was hardly a man that relished great amounts of walking, despite his love for gardening. If he survived… no, WHEN he recovered… she would give him a solid scolding for taking such a chance with his life. But first, she must ensure his recovery and if that meant supplementing the doctor’s ministrations with some of her own design, so be it. A lady of her years might be permitted a bit of eccentricity. Taking the ancient book from where she had hidden it, Charlotte paged through the spidery script until she found what was required. It was a great risk to take, exposure of using folk medicine occasionally had unfortunate consequences. Some of her ancestors had even been accused of witchcraft. While the title bordered more on truth than rumor, Charlotte had laughed to herself when Mr. Collins believed Elizabeth or Mary Bennet could be one. The Bennets were far too kindhearted for that sort of thing, much unlike herself. The life of a plain woman was often jaded and filled with disappointment, too much for one to become sentimental. She was a practical person, and sometimes bad things happened no matter how one tried. It was the dismissal of women as incapable of understanding medicine that irritated her most. Especially when she witnessed many a “learned man” advocate the use of bleeding. Only a man, and a stupid one at that, would diminish the very life that kept a person whole. Mr. Collins had already lost enough blood, what he needed was something to fortify him and staunch any bleeding inside.
“Cobwebs… and plenty of pureed kale and spinach. Nasty, but I shall force it down his throat if necessary. He must live… at least for now.”
~29~
Five weeks later…
If one were to ask Elizabeth Bennet if it were possible for her closest friend to marry a man whom much of the world considered a buffoon, she would have laughed at the impossibility. Yet, here she was, within a few miles of the vicarage at Rosings Park, the new home of Charlotte Collins. Although, in retrospect, it was a good match for her. At twenty-seven, plain of appearance and without fortune, some would argue that it was a miracle that Miss Lucas had married at all. But Elizabeth knew more than most, and had even served as a willing accomplice to ensure the marriage. Now, to all, it was a perfect ending to a fairy tale courtship. Having survived what he believed to be multiple attempts upon his life, Mr. Collins now saw the events as the hand of God, pushing him towards Charlotte. The doctor claimed it was a miracle, for the recovery was rapid enough to allow Mr. Collins to rise from his deathbed in less than a fortnight. During that time, he was the constant companion of Charlotte, who saw to his every need. So, it was no surprise that an engagement was announced, and as soon as the banns were read, the marriage was performed. But as a minister, there would be no elaborate ceremony, only a cold supper before departing immediately for Rosings.
Refusing Mr Collins Page 10