Chapter 26

M adeline Gardiner welcomed her niece to her home. Her husband would have been present, but he had a meeting with one of his investors which he could not defer. Before interrogating Lizzy about her need to be away from Longbourn, and more especially her father, Madeline first sent her up to the guest chamber to wash and change from her journey.

Once she had completed her ablutions, but before she returned to the sitting room, Elizabeth stopped in the nursery to greet her cousins. All were more than pleased to see her, even Lilly, although as she was recently thirteen, and no longer slept in the nursery, she tried to temper her exuberance at seeing her cousin.

After promises of storytelling were made, the three younger Gardiner children, Eddy—eleven, Peter—eight, and May—five, allowed their favourite cousin (whichever Bennet sister was visiting them earned that title) to leave them, at least for now.

Elizabeth descended the stairs to the ground floor where she knew Aunt Maddie was waiting for her. Once she had seated herself on a settee, there was no missing the raised eyebrows or the questioning look on her aunt's countenance.

"Aunt Maddie, there is much to tell, however, as Uncle Edward is not home yet do you object if we wait for him so I do not need to tell everything more than once?" Elizabeth requested.

As it was a perfectly reasonable thing to ask, Madeline could not but agree. "I always wondered when the veil would be lifted from your eyes regarding your father," she said. "I do not expect you to answer now. Your uncle should be home within two hours; I can wait until then."

"Why did you and Uncle never say anything to me if you saw what I did not?"

"Lizzy dear, Jane wrote to us telling of the many times she spoke to you on this subject, albeit not always in a plain manner. Did you listen to her? Would you have heard what we had to say until now when you are open to doing so?"

She wanted to retort and tell her aunt she was wrong in her assertions, but when Elizabeth thought back honestly, she had to admit to herself Aunt Maddie's words were nothing but the truth. "Was I really so very bad? The way I judged people and laughed at them? Oh Aunt, almost everything I believe is based on mistaken premises! My behaviour to everyone merits the severest reproof. It is unpardonable; how can you still all love me? I cannot think of how I have been without abhorrence." The tears of sorrow and shame coursed down Elizabeth's cheeks.

While her niece sobbed Madeline sat next to her and pulled her into a warm hug. "Lizzy, how could we not love you? Never question that. We will never forsake you. Almost from the time you could walk and talk, your father has been making you over in his own image. He fashioned you into a foil which he wielded primarily against your mother, but also against many others for his own amusement. It was all you knew! We, who saw the truth, all hoped you would reach a point where you would see things as they are for yourself. Whatever woke you to the facts must have been like a quake of the earth." Madeline paused as she rubbed her niece's back. "We will not speak more until Edward is home. In the meanwhile, I think you need some rest. When you have recovered, wash your face, go play with your cousins, that will restore you to good humour, and we will speak later once the children have gone to their beds."

After a watery nod, Elizabeth stood and made her way back up to her chamber. Thankfully, she encountered none of her cousins or any servants to see her red, puffy eyes or tear stained cheeks before she entered the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

After washing her face, Elizabeth removed her slippers and then curled up on the bed. She knew the process she had set for herself to undertake would not be an easy one, but if earlier was any indication, it would be far more fraught with pain than she had thought. Elizabeth was prepared to do what she must, consider all of her past actions, and the relationship with her father, regardless of how much it would hurt to do so.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

As much as he enjoyed his solitude, Thomas Bennet did not mind when Sir William Lucas called on him as the man usually amused him greatly. Thanks to the changes in his wife and daughters' behaviour, there had been no sport to be had at Longbourn, so Sir William's call was provident on this day.

"That miscreant, George Wickham, who wanted to ruin Lydia, and by extension your other daughters, has been sentenced to a year at Newgate, with hard labour. No thanks to you, he will never be allowed to inflict his dastardly proclivities on the innocent any longer," Sir William stated seriously.

Much to his chagrin, Bennet saw none of the puffed up person who was overly enamoured with his knighthood before him, rather a stern and contemplative man. Was the whole of the world going mad?

"So you believed the fiction Lizzy told about the man?" Bennet sneered.

"Bennet, we have been friends of a sort for many years, even if you like to make sport of me." Seeing Bennet's eyebrows shoot up, Sir William gave a bark of laughter. "Oh you thought me not intelligent enough to see what you were about? Many of us know exactly how you mock us, and we choose to allow you to make a fool of yourself. Tell me something Bennet. With your vaunted intelligence, would most feel comfortable sharing information with a serious man, or with, what is it you call me, a ‘self-important bumbling fool'?"

It was satisfying to see the smirk wiped off Bennet's face. "As I was saying, the only fool here is the one who dismissed his daughter's words as you did. You forget Jane and Charlotte were with her. What you may not know is we have evidence of his seductions in Westingham as well as the debts he left behind there. If that were not enough former Lieutenant Denny confirmed every word Charlotte, Jane, and Eliza reported they heard. Not one word of it was fiction! How would you have felt had all of your daughters been ruined? Would that have been enough sport for you? You ignored the fact the convict boasted about how he resorts to rape if his targeted girl does not do what he wants."

Rather than a clever retort—Bennet could not think of one—his mouth hung open. How was it everyone knew what he was about? He finally understood why Lizzy wanted to be away from him. Due to his desire not to bestir himself from his study, he had rejected what she and Jane had told him, and it seemed she had acted without him, with Sir William being one of those who had not ignored what he had been told. Well at least everything had been solved without any effort from himself, other than his signature on a sheet of paper.

"You have said quite enough, Sir William. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed I considered you a friend. You have taken up enough of my time!" Bennet blustered. "Good day, Sir." Bennet picked up his book again and did not look at the man sitting opposite him.

All Sir William could do was shake his head at Bennet's inability to own when he was wrong. Knowing him for as many years as he had, the Lucas patriarch was disappointed, but not overly surprised. He did not stop in the drawing room on his way out as he was aware that the ladies, as well as his own daughter Charlotte, were all at Netherfield Park meeting with the engaged couple regarding their wedding. By the time Hill assisted him with his outerwear, his gelding was waiting for him in the drive.

In his study, not being able to concentrate on the words swimming before him, Bennet threw his book down in disgust. ‘ How dare that puffed up former tradesman take me to task? ' he thought indignantly. ‘ My family comes from a long line of gentlemen; we have been at Longbourn for hundreds of years! He owns that pitiful Lucas Lodge for what, six or seven years, and he thinks he can lecture me? ' His ego had been severely bruised and being one who would not, could not, look at his own faults, he had to find ways to denigrate Sir William to make himself feel better.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

William Collins returned to his parsonage, alone and still unengaged. In order to obey Lady Catherine's edict her clergyman had to be married, he had offered for a half dozen local ladies since his ignominious return from Longbourn, where his olive branch and amends had been summarily rejected.

For a reason he could not fathom, neither his future ownership of an estate nor the connection to the noble house of de Bourgh had secured an affirmative response to his proposals. He had explained how attentive Lady Catherine was to everything, especially the running of his home, and that still had not attracted a single positive response.

How was he to go before the great lady in an hour and report yet another failure? Not even Lady Catherine's condescending to call at the home of each lady who refused him, and her berating them, did anything to change their minds. He could not believe the blatant disrespect to his patroness who had been ordered to leave each home. Did the people not appreciate the honour of her lowering herself to enter their homes?

The thought of once again having to admit to Lady Catherine that he had not been accepted, had caused—he believed—a rather bad pain in his head. He reasoned that anytime he did not obey one of his beneficent patroness's orders, the pain was a punishment sent from the Almighty.

As a clergyman he knew he should not resort to a compromise, but surely he would be forgiven as it would be in service of obeying Lady Catherine, who was, after all, never wrong.

As much as he wanted to ring for his housekeeper, who was also his cook, to bring him one of the freshly baked tarts, Collins was aware how his patroness felt about punctuality. He was about to stand up from his chair in order to go wash and change—something Lady Catherine insisted he do each time just before standing before her—when he saw a blinding white light and experienced an excruciating pain in his head. Suddenly his whole world turned black, his eyes rolled back in his head and the vicar fell out of his chair and onto the floor, quite dead.

Hearing a crash and a thud, the maid of all work who had been working in the sitting room, rushed into the dining parlour where she knew the vicar was. She began to scream when she noted the man's unseeing eyes. The manservant and housekeeper/cook soon came to see what the racket was about.

Knowing how angry the ‘ queen ' would be if she were not informed immediately, the man servant was soon on his way to Rosings Park's manor house.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

"It is way past the time for your cousin to do his duty and marry you," Lady Catherine blustered.

"Mother, William and I will never marry. I will not marry anyone because as you know, childbirth will more likely than not, kill me," Anne stated firmly.

"You will do as you are told!" Lady Catherine screeched. "I will not be gainsaid. You have been engaged since you were both in your cradles and in marrying you will unite two great estates and fulfil the fondest wishes of his mother and your own. To this gibber jabber about you not surviving, you are of noble birth and such things do not happen to one of your rank!"

"It is interesting you say that, Mother. Remind me again how Aunt Anne passed away. It was from childbirth, and unlike me who is the daughter of a knight, her father was an earl," Anne pointed out. "And how were we engaged in our cradles? William is a full two years my senior, so are you saying he was in his cradle when he was older than two?"

"That is neither here nor there! I said you are betrothed to Fitzwilliam, so you are!" Lady Catherine insisted. She could not understand why Anne was not biddable and in a stupor. Had the tonic her physician been supplying ceased working?

"I know we have not been in society very much, or at all for years now, but unless I am mistaken, engagements are contracted between the fathers. If you are correct, then where is the contract signed by my late Papa and Uncle Robert?" Anne enquired slyly.

Before Aunt Anne's passing her mother had never spoken of the phantom engagement. When she did, it was out of the hearing of Uncles Reggie or Robert, as the former was the executor of Papa's will. She had asked her late Uncle Robert about it one day when she and her mother were visiting Pemberley and he had told her unequivocally there was no engagement, his late wife had never agreed to anything, and Anne's mother had made it up out of whole cloth.

Lady Catherine was stymied for some moments as she thought of a way to respond to her daughter. She came up with a version which she was sure would help her carry her point. "The engagement between you and Fitzwilliam is of a peculiar kind. From your infancy, you have been intended for each other. While in your cradles, we planned the union: and now, at the moment when the wishes of both sisters would be accomplished in the marriage of their children, you attempt to dishonour the memory of my most beloved sister! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of the family? Are you lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say from his earliest hours he was destined for you?" To emphasise her point, she was sure she would carry, Lady Catherine added, "Honour, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, decree that you must marry your cousin. Yes, Anne, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by our family or friends, if you wilfully act against the inclinations of all."

"Mother, I know for a fact, other than in your head, there was never an engagement between William and me. Both Uncle Robert, before he passed away, and Uncle Reggie confirmed the truth of the matter. Uncle Robert told me Aunt Anne never agreed to anything, especially as you and your ‘ beloved sister ' were not friends due to your jealousy of her. We both know this is a scheme of yours to try to steal my estate from me. So, no, mother. William and I will never marry and you will not retain management of my estate," Anne retorted calmly.

Before Lady Catherine could recover, the butler showed the manservant from the parsonage into the drawing room. "Barlow, what is the meaning of allowing a servant into my drawing room?" Lady Catherine screeched.

"Jimmy, correct?" Anne verified kindly, ignoring her mother's rant. The man nodded. "Please tell us what was so urgent that it caused you to come see us."

"Mr Collins be dead, Miss Anne," Jimmy, hat in hand, reported.

"Return to the parsonage, some help will arrive soon," Anne commanded. "I need to write to the Bishop of Kent and inform him I need a clergyman to take the Hunsford living."

"Of what do you speak? You know as the mistress I will appoint…" Lady Catherine began to object.

"No, Mother, you will not. Did you miss the fact yesterday was the seventeenth of November? I turned five and twenty, and by the terms of my late Papa's will, I am the owner, and mistress of this estate, de Bourgh House, and my late Papa's fortune. I intended to wait until Uncle Reggie and Aunt Elaine were to arrive this afternoon, but as you have forced the issue, you will today be moved to the dower house. Never again will a pusillanimous bootlicker with not a whit of sense be awarded the living in my advowson!" Anne stated firmly.

"You are too ill to manage the estate, you need to rest and take some more of your tonic before you are overset with fatigue!" Lady Catherine was panicking.

"Are you referring to the poison your quack tries to have me take. After the first time I ingested that vile concoction, I have never had it again. Do you think I am not aware of your attempt to keep me ill, drugged, and compliant?" Anne looked at her mother with anger. "Jenki," Anne inclined her head towards her companion Mrs Jenkinson, "has been assisting me, so in your company I played the part you expected. I was only biding my time until my birthday just past."

"You are sacked without a character," Lady Catherine screeched at Mrs Jenkinson.

"As you are not the mistress, you have no say about who I employ or do not employ. Mother, if you fight me on this, my uncle will move you to a cottage at his estate in Scotland or Ireland." Anne stood strong, her arms akimbo. "Which one will it be?"

Knowing how small the cottages her daughter referred to were, Lady Catherine chose the dower house. She was outraged when her daughter explained that any staff or servants Lady Catherine abused, verbally or physically, would be removed to the mansion and not replaced.

"Barlow, have your footmen move the former mistress to the dower house as soon as may be. Also, notify the undertaker and send two men to assist at the parsonage. Once you have issued the orders, return to me with your wife. We have much to discuss," Anne commanded.

"Did he have family, Anne?" Mrs Jenkinson enquired.

"From the babbling between the late Mr. Collins and mother, I understand there is family named Bennet, in Hertfordshire, living at an estate named Longbourn. We will send a letter notifying them," Anne averred.

Later, when Lady Catherine exited the house, not long after her brother and sister-in-law arrived, she entered the oldest and smallest of the de Bourgh conveyances with her nose in the air.