“For the present, Mr. William Collins, currently of Lucas Lodge, has graciously offered to take up the post.”
A low murmur, mixed with groans had passed through the small crowd of parishioners. Many were familiar with the former heir to Longbourn’s tiresome speeches, but no one voiced any objection. At first, Mary Bennet had recoiled at the prospect of Mr. Collins serving as temporary minister. It was only the firm belief that an appropriate replacement would be found before her wedding. Mr. Bennet, begging fatigue, had suggested that Mary take his place on the council. As the named heir to Longbourn, Mary’s place in the community was such to warrant a voice in its important matters. Unfortunately, that had required a visit to Lucas Lodge. With Atlas at her side, Mary had swallowed her pride and done what was needed for Meryton. Thankfully, the proceedings were not as painful as first imagined. Lady Lucas, feigning surprise at their arrival, graciously welcomed the couple in to her best parlor where Mr. Collins and Charlotte were already seated and just as quickly, left the four alone. For a moment, Mary felt as if she were the member of a stage play; with her part already known to the other actors. After accepting tea and making polite conversation, she broached the purpose of the visit.
“Mr. Collins, we are all sadly aware of the situation in which the faithful of Meryton have now been placed. As you are visiting from Rosings for a period of time, and we are in dire need, I… on behalf of the church council, would like to ask you to provide your guidance and until such time as we may find a replacement. Surely Lady Catherine can spare you under such circumstances?”
Mary had deliberately withheld her knowledge of his dismissal. Knowing all too well of her distant cousin’s fragile ego, she hoped to convince him by suggesting it were a great favor….and indeed it was. How were they to give last rites to poor Reverend Morton? At other times of similar issue in the past, one of the town’s respected landowners had performed the duty. However, Mary never felt it was quite right unless done by a true clergyman. As she finished, Atlas squeezed her hand, but remained silent. From past experiences, he knew how difficult this was for Mary. However, it was not long before an acceptance was eagerly given.
Mr. Collins appeared to look heavenward for a moment, as if requesting divine approval before speaking. His voice, cracked slightly as he strove to restrain his obvious joy in the request. Clearing his throat, and taking a sip of his tea, he slowly replaced the cup and handed the saucer to where Charlotte sat on the edge of her chair.
“My dear Cousin Mary, I shall do whatever I can to ease your pain, and that of all of God’s children. As you know, I have never bore any ill will over Longbourn, despite the expectation of inheritance. Nor have I ever held any resentment towards any member of your family for any other reason that may be imagined. It is my duty to go where God calls… and Meryton is where he has placed me at the opportune moment. I shall write to Lady Catherine immediately to not expect my return for some time.”
“Thank you cousin, it will most appreciated, I shall tell the rest of the council immediately so a public announcement may be made.” Mary replied demurely and began to rise.
Unfortunately, immediate escape was not to be so easily had as Mr. Collins raised a pudgy hand to belay her departure.
“Oh, one more thing… if I may?”
“Of course,” Mary replied with the thought of some trivial request.
“I should also like to offer my services in the selection process. Only another clergyman would be able to make some of the more discerning decisions in regards to rites and practices and such.”
“We would gladly appreciate your expertise,” Mary agreed if it would hasten her leave and again tried to rise, but was stalled once more as Charlotte Collins cleared her throat rather more audibly than necessary.
“My apologies, Cousin... Dr. Sutton, but my dear wife has reminded me of a more personal request.”
“Oh?
“It is just that our visit, while eagerly welcomed, was to be of a short duration. Now, with the expectation of an extended stay, I fear that our presence at Lucas Lodge may incur some inconvenience. As you know, my dear Charlotte comes from a rather large family…” Mr. Collins’ voice trailed off with a touch of embarrassment as he left the rest of the request unsaid. The solution must be offered freely for him to accept without any feelings of charity.
“Oh yes, of course. The vicarage. I suppose that is only practical as your presence in town will be needed. I shall arrange for a thorough cleaning and removal of Reverend Morton’s personal things immediately. Will early next week be acceptable?”
Beaming, the reverend William Collins rose and took Mary’s hand. Bestowing a sloppy kiss of gratitude upon its back, he then shook it vigorously, before resuming his composure.
“Well then, if that is all settled, I shall leave you to what must now be a great deal of work to do,” Mary replied as she extracted her hand and was finally able to take her leave. Once inside Atlas’ curricle, Mary let go of her polite manners and sighed.
“That man may become difficult to be rid of the longer he remains. I do hope that we are doing the right thing.”
Atlas agreed, “Unfortunately, for the present, it was the only option, right or wrong.”
*****
With the earthly remains of Reverend Morton now lain to rest, it was necessary to choose a replacement. It was for this exact purpose that the members of the council had remained in the sodden graveyard after the internment. Now, as the gathering repaired to the vicarage to begin examination of references, Mary was glad that she had the opportunity to assist in the readying of the house for the Collins’ arrival. Considered part of the police investigation, Atlas, Sir Philip and two constables had formed a party to not only pack up personal effects, but also take an accounting of the house and contents. A rather fastidious man in life, Reverend Morton had left his home of over thirty years in good order. Church records had been meticulously maintained and the house was spotless. The only irregularity being the absence of the church coffer.
“I do concur that the murder took place in the church. Dr. Sutton states that His body did not appear to have been moved. But the money box was kept in his study. Whomever was responsible had to have known were it was kept. As far as we can tell, it is the only thing missing. That does not give us much in way of an investigation,” Sir Philip commented as Mary packed up the single trunk holding Reverend Morton’s clothes and personal items.
Everything else belonged to the Parrish, and would transfer to the new occupants for use.
“The last ledger entry was the donation my father made in anticipation of our upcoming wedding… it was five hundred pounds. That, in addition to existing funds, was over a thousand. Quite a sum, and it will not be easy to track. Where does one begin?” Mary asked the magistrate.
“In a town as small as Meryton, it can be difficult. First, we look at those who may have had motive, debts and such. People displaying new spending habits in particular. We also inquire as to any strangers in the area, or those who have left in a hurry. If there are no leads with any of that, it can grow cold. Sometimes, crimes go unsolved.”
Mary only nodded and did not look up from her task of packing the trunk. However, an unshakeable twinge of apprehension crept up her spine as she thought of Lydia. Had she done something foolish again? While Mary could not believe her youngest sister capable of anything so heinous, what did any of them really know about Lt. Bullen? Resolving to discreetly inquire, and perhaps enlist the assistance of Sir Franklin Amesbury, Mary shut the lid firmly on Reverend Morton’s possessions. Her mind was spinning with accusations and suppositions, yet nothing made any practical sense. She needed to focus on the immediate… a new minister and her own wedding. While she disliked the idea, the death of Reverend Morton would be a matter for the police and not her.
~Ten~
With the last of the mourners gone, Mary and Atlas followed the rest of the church council inside the vicarage. Despite Longbourn’s own cook, one
Maybelle Kincaid’s efforts to provide a small repast for the members, complete with table linens and plate, the house was cold and unwelcoming. Their footsteps echoed strangely on the polished wooden floors. It was as if the house itself was in mourning for its former occupant.
After taking refreshment, the council sat down to the business at hand. In all, only six of the usual nine members were present, in addition to Reverend Collins. The strange little man still wore his clerical vestments from the funeral service. Taking a seat at the head of the dining room table, it was clear that he believed himself to be of great importance to the proceedings. Fortunately, all present had former contact with Mr. Collins and were able to divert his attempts to direct the meeting.
“As this council is convened on more serious circumstances than before, I suggest we make a decision today. The sooner Meryton resumes a sense of normalcy, the better, but there have been more recent developments that will reduce our choices to only two candidates,” Sir Philip Evans stated as he drew a letter bearing the personal seal of the county bishop.
“I thought we had at least six people to consider, surely there must be some mistake,” Charles Bingley queried with his usual good humor.
“Unfortunately not, a letter of condolence arrived in yesterday’s post from Bishop Crandall. He wished to have attended the funeral himself, but was called away on a personal matter. That aside, he regrets to inform us that four of the previous considerations have either taken other posts, or decided that Meryton was not an acceptable fit.”
“What exactly does that mean? In what way are we not acceptable?” Mary demanded with a touch of anger. Other members of the council nodded in agreement. An explanation was needed before they could proceed.
Opening the letter, Sir Philip passed it to Atlas to read aloud. Skipping the general salutation, Atlas recited the note for all to assess.
My blessings to you all upon this grave occasion. I bestow my deepest condolences on the untimely loss of Reverend Morton. His life service to the church and devoted parishioners will undoubtedly be greatly rewarded in heaven. I realize that leaves the Meryton living in a bit of difficulty, but not one that was anticipated before Mr. Morton’s untimely demise. However, filling the post has become problematic due to various reasons. First and foremost is the compensation. As many of our new ministers are young either married or expected to do so, the salary provided at Meryton is inadequate to support a family of any size. As Reverend Morton was a man of austere natures, the 200 pounds per annum was never requested to be increased. As a result, three of the potential candidates have taken more promising posts. This aside, the other reason is perhaps more disturbing. It has been brought to my attention that Reverend Morton did not expire from natural means. This omission is not one that can be easily overlooked, and the information, although limited by my own lack of knowledge, has caused another candidate to refuse the living. I had hoped that as a person with intimate concern in church matters, that it would have been a courtesy to have kept me informed. As a police matter, it should be left to the authorities to resolve, but not without appropriate notification of those who are directly responsible for the well-being of God’s children….
“The rest appears to be more admonishments over having not told him about the murder,” Atlas concluded as he refolded the letter and returned it to its envelope.
Brusque and to the point, it was much to the embarrassment of all members, save Mr. Collins, who sat staring off at some unknown fixed point with a half-smile on his face. Multiple voices muttered in derision over the tone of the chastisement, as well as the dilemma now before them. Never one to dwell on the miserable side of things, Charles Bingley again spoke up.
“Well, I say we have but two courses of action. The first is to raise the salary to an acceptable level, and the other is to choose from what we have remaining. As they are both qualified ministers, I am sure one or the other will make an excellent choice.”
As the members voiced their agreement, Mary watched Reverend Collins. He appeared entirely too smug for her liking. It did not take much to believe that he had informed Bishop Crandall of the details involving Reverend Morton. No doubt the weak little man provided an exaggerated tale of gore along with opinions as to the competency of Meryton’s police. Frowning, Mary turned to the matter at hand and withdrew the references of the two remaining candidates. The qualifications were nearly identical, only age and distance separated the two men. Clearing her throat to draw attention, Mary lifted the first sheaf of paper.
“May I call your attention to the choices? We have Mr. Stephen Kendrick, age 30, unmarried and currently serving as curate in _____ton, some ten miles away. His bishop describes him as serene and serious. The other is Mr. Percival Rogers, age 22, also unmarried, but finished his curacy some months ago. Having not obtained a living as of yet, he is currently residing at his family home in _____shire, some thirty miles from here. Mr. Rogers is noted to be quite jovial and well liked. Other than that, there is no difference in education or social background.”
The council members all looked to one another for concurrence, but none had much of an opinion as to whom to choose. Replacing the reference letters, Mary sighed and spoke her mind.
“I believe that it may be best to choose the elder candidate. As his character is defined as serious, it may be an easier transition as Reverend Morton was of a similar nature. Besides, he is nearby, it would only take a day’s coach ride for him to travel. I suggest we send a rider with a letter of acceptance… that is if we are all in agreement.”
All present but Mr. Collins raised their hands in support of Mary’s choice, but nodded in approval.
“I prefer to abstain from voting, as it should be the council’s decision. However, there is still the matter of the salary,” he reminded.
“Indeed, shall we offer say… 350 pounds a year? I believe that is adequate for a minister’s family,” suggested Sir Philip to the continued agreement of all present.
As she raised her hand to vote, Mary raised an eyebrow raised in Mr. Collins’ direction. While she wholeheartedly agreed to the raise in compensation, Mary wondered if Mr. Collins believed that it were to be his. Aside from the use of the house, no form of salary had been discussed for his services. However, Mr. Collins did not acknowledge her stare, but again gazed off into the distance as if preoccupied by a matter more important than his future. Not forgetting that she had asked for and received his assistance, Mary again voiced her opinion.
“There is still one more issue to resolve….As Mr. Collins has so graciously offered to serve as a substitute vicar, and hopefully help transition the new man, he must also be compensated. Can we agree upon a monthly rate of thirty-five pounds?”
Again, the council was in consensus. Mary excused herself to compose the acceptance letter to be delivered that same day as the council returned to conversation of a more social nature. Eventually, after reviewing the letter and consuming the last of Mrs. Kincaid’s repast, they began to depart, and finally, Mary, Atlas and Sir Philip remained alone.
“I realize that I may have been a bit forward in my suggestions of candidate, as well as salary, but I wanted the matter settled as soon as possible. As the council remains unaware of the theft of the coffer coinciding with Reverend Morton’s murder, I shall make up the difference. It is best that some details remain private for police only.”
Sir Philip agreed. He was not pleased that a person held in confidence had seen fit to break trust, even if it were to one such as Bishop Crandall. He had planned to tell the clergyman himself, but apparently gossip traveled far faster than good manners.
“I shall assist in a monetary donation. It should not be your burden alone. However, from now on, any and all details concerning the investigation of Reverend Morton’s death must remain between us in the strictest confidence. It appears that we have a wagging tongue amongst us. I will not have my police procedures compromised.”
~Eleven~
Upon alighting a
t Longbourn, and saying their goodbyes to Sir Philip, Atlas and Mary did not immediately enter the house. It was only early afternoon, but the day had seemed to stretch on forever. As the rain had abated, Atlas suggested a walk down the country lanes as a way of both fresh air and some solitary time with Mary.
Readily agreeable, she took his proffered arm and they set down the drying road that joined Longbourn to Netherfield. Between the two estates, a small parcel had been purchased to build a modest dower house. Once Atlas and Mary married, the elder Bennets would move into the new house. As it came into view, the nearly completed house had turned out truly charming. It boasted three bedrooms of modest size, a separate parlor and library, with the latter fitted with glass faced cabinets to house Mr. Bennet’s collection of books. He had offered to leave them behind at Longbourn, but Mary had insisted. While it sounded charitable, it was in actuality an indulgence of her own. She had grand plans to refurbish Longbourn to her own personal tastes once her parents left. The location of the new accommodations allowed for easy access between Longbourn and Netherfield. With the recent arrival of Jane Bingley’s twin boys, Mrs. Bennet spent more time there than in her own home. Now, as they passed the structure, there was no sign of activity. In actuality, it was complete, save for the furnishings ordered by Mrs. Bennet from London.
“We simply cannot move until after the wedding, it would not be appropriate for you to live here alone with Dr. Sutton… unwed,” Mrs. Bennet had stated primly as she paged through samples of wall coverings and window dressings.
Mary Bennet and the Substitute Vicar Page 5