Chapter 32

L ady Catherine de Bourgh was angry that her parson had had the temerity to expire in her chaise. Not only that, now she was delayed, and that useless Mr Collins had known how she hated not keeping to a schedule, and how she valued punctuality. Worst of all, she had been ordered to remain until the magistrate, a plain commoner, Mr Hempstead, was able to question her.

The door to the parlour opened and a man of average height, his brown hair greying around the edges stepped into the parlour without so much as a by your leave. “I am the local magistrate, Mr. Alfred Hempstead. You are Lady Catherine de Bourgh, are you not?”

“How dare you keep a member of the pe…nobility waiting in this way? It is unconscionable that I have been forced to delay my return home,” Lady Catherine blustered.

“My Lady, I care not who you think you are, but I have an investigation to complete, regardless of your desire to be on your way home. Do you care not that a man breathed his last in your coach? If you would prefer, I will return on the morrow and we will try this again,” Hempstead barked at the imperious lady.

In Lady Catherine’s mind the world had gone mad. Here was another nobody who was not only not awed by her but took her to task freely. As angry as she felt, she did not want to be forced to spend another night in the Hissing Gander Inn. “As to your questions, I will reply to the best of my ability,” she responded. The words were a bitter pill, and very hard for her to say, as it was the opposite of what she felt, but she knew this man had the power to delay her for as long as he chose.

“Your coachman and footmen tell me the deceased was a Mr William Collins, rector of the Hunsford Parish, is that accurate?” Hempstead questioned. Lady Catherine nodded. “And he is married, is he not?” Another curt nod. “Where is his wife?”

She had not considered that Mrs Collins was not with them in the conveyance until that moment. Lady Catherine realised a nod would not do, as much as she despised conversing with this man. “I suppose she is with her friends and family in that nothing town, Meryton.”

“I am told you had been to the estate of Longbourn in Hertfordshire where you called on the late parson’s family. I need the name of the master of the estate,” Hempstead demanded.

Hearing an allusion to the man who had been so disrespectful to her almost caused Lady Catherine to respond vociferously. However, her desire to be on her way won out. “I know not his familiar name, but the family name is Bennet.” How she wished she had never heard that damned name.

“Did you not notice the parson in the carriage when you exited?” Hempstead queried.

“I had much on my mind and assumed he had already alighted. I did enquire after him this morning, and well, you know the rest,” Lady Catherine reported. Had she thought that Reggie would support her, she would have asked her brother to take the nobody before her to task.

“Did he look well when you departed the estate of Longbourn?” Hempstead inquired.

“He was somewhat pallid, and rather than seek my advice as was his wont, he seemed to fall asleep. I was benevolent and allowed him to sleep even though he was sweating in his sleep,” Lady Catherine related.

Hempstead was sure that the virago before him did not care a whit about any other except herself. From what she was saying the clergyman had been ill, and had the woman any compassion in her body, she would have taken him directly to a doctor or apothecary. As much as he would have liked to arrest her for being an uncaring, self-important, selfish woman, they were not crimes, so he could not.

“I see no reason why you cannot be released to continue your journey; Mr Collins’s mortal remains have been removed from your coach,” Hempstead pronounced. He turned so she would not see his smile. Her conveyance did not smell very pleasant thanks to the escape of bodily fluids when the man passed from this world into the next.

His first duty was to write two missives—one to Mr Bennet and the other to Mrs Collins. Hempstead would send both letters to the estate of Longbourn by express, sure that the Bennets knew how to contact the widow.

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

The day after the wedding was a lazy one for the remaining residents of Longbourn. The Darcys and Mrs Annesley had arrived at eleven that morning. The latter and her charge had joined the youngest two Bennets and Mrs Doubtfire for the one lesson they would have that day. Darcy, of course, sat next to his beloved, and they were soon debating the merits of Lord Byron’s latest poetry.

On the way to Longbourn, Darcy had stopped at Lucas Lodge where Anne and her companion had alighted so that the former could be in the company of Mrs Collins.

After the midday meal, those at Longbourn were all to travel the short three miles to Netherfield Park, where they would be joined by those at Purvis Lodge, spend the afternoon, and afterward to enjoy dinner with the residents of that estate. It was the reason that Catherine and Lydia only had one lesson on this day.

Fanny and Bennet were in the study discussing the household budgets when Hill knocked on the open study door and entered carrying a salver with some letters on it.

He proffered them to his master. “They arrived express, Sir.” Hill intoned.

Bennet did not recognise the script or the name of the writer. He certainly knew no one in the town of Revington which was more than an hour from Longbourn. Then he noticed one was addressed to Mrs Collins in care of himself. “Hill, have a groom ride this one to Mrs Collins at Lucas Lodge with all speed,” Bennet instructed as he replaced the one to her back onto the salver.

The butler bowed and exited the study to carry out the master’s orders.

“I suppose the only way to tell why a man I know not in a town I have never visited has written to me is to open the thing,” Bennet stated as he broke the seal and opened the page.

29 February 1812

The Hissing Gander Inn

Revington

Mr Bennet,

It is my sad duty to inform you of the death of a family member, one Mr William Collins.

From what I have been able to glean, he was sick and fell asleep in Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s coach. No one noticed him inside after she alighted, and the conveyance was left outside for the night as the coach house was full.

We are not sure if he expired from the freezing cold or the illness he obviously had. The apothecary here opined it was more likely a combination of both.

I am sorry for your loss.

Mr Alfred Hempstead

Magistrate

Bennet handed the missive to his wife.

She looked up after reading it. “Had the man not been determined to leave with his patroness instead of remaining with his wife, I am sure Charlotte would have noticed he was ill and sent for Mr Jones to see him. The chances are he would still be alive. As sad as a loss of life is, Mr Collins was killed by his own obsequiousness,” Fanny shook her head.

“I cannot dispute your words, my love. It makes the breaking of the entail academic, but it still needs to be done. Mrs Collins should have her letter in hand by now,” Bennet opined after looking at his fob watch.

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

“Charlotte, why would this Mr Hempstead from Revington write to you via Longbourn?” Sir William asked as he handed the missive over to his eldest daughter. He had just seen Miss de Bourgh and her companion off who were returning to Purvis Lodge for the former to rest.

“As I know no one in that town, I cannot answer that question without reading the letter,” Charlotte replied. Her father watched as she broke the seal and opened the page. Her face remained impassive as she read the words before her. Her parents looked at her expectantly.

“Mr Collins is dead. The man who wrote the note is the local magistrate. For some reason my husband slept in Lady Catherine’s coach, and he froze during the night.” Charlotte did not want to admit that she felt a certain measure of relief that her husband had no more power over her life. Also, she would never have to discover if she had been correct, that he would have become violent with her at some point in the future.

“You will move back here, of course,” Sir William insisted as his wife nodded her agreement. “You will not be without means thanks to the way Phillips crafted the settlement. All his property will go to you and a child—if one is born.”

“Is it possible you are with child?” Lady Lucas enquired.

“No, I am not, Mama,” Charlotte responded unequivocally. “I recently had my…indisposition, and we did not join after that.” Charlotte had told the truth, but she left out that she and Mr Collins were yet to consummate their marriage. It had been one of his many frustrations, and Charlotte had been sure he would have taken his husbandly rights by force soon enough. She was grateful she had escaped that particular fate. She was surprised her husband had believed her courses had lasted for months, but then again given that the man had been a dunderhead, she supposed it was something of which he had no knowledge. The reason she had dissembled, was that she could not bring herself to have his corpulent, odoriferous body in her bed.

“The next question is how long will you mourn him?” Lady Lucas enquired. “The custom for a husband is one year, but some mourn for more and some for less. Given the neighbourhood’s opinions of your late husband, no one would say a word against you if you chose to mourn for three or six months.”

“I am sure they would not, Mama, but I will speak to the Bennets before making a decision. He was their cousin, and I am related to them through my marriage. I know there was no love lost between them and the late Mr Collins, but I still want to confer with them,” Charlotte decided. “In the meanwhile, I need to dye one or two of my older dresses black. I will not spend money on mourning clothes.”

If William Collins had been alive to see that not a single Lucas or Bennet repined his death, he would have been seriously displeased. Neither would he have been sanguine that the Bennets agreed Charlotte need not mourn for more than three months complete.

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

The day she arrived back at Rosings Park, Lady Catherine wrote a letter to the Bishop of Kent demanding he send her candidates to choose from for the advowson which was hers to gift.

Two days later the butler brought her a letter just arrived from the Right Reverend Francis Sellner, Bishop of Kent. Lady Catherine broke the Bishop’s seal hungrily. She was sure she would find the name of at least one who would venerate her just like Mr Collins had done. After the setbacks she had suffered recently, she needed the reassurance that she still wielded much power. She admired the Bishop’s crest on the top of the page.

2 March 1812

The Bishop of Kent’s Office

Canterbury

Lady Catherine I am writing to you on behalf of the Right Reverend Francis Sellner, the Bishop of Kent.

The Bishop cannot send you a list of names as you are not authorised to make an appointment to the Hunsford parish, or any other parish. Bishop Sellner is in receipt of a letter from his Lordship Reginald Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock and executor of the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s will.

In it the Earl explained that you are forbidden to make another preferment to the advowson in the gift of Rosings Park.

Thank you and God Bless you,

Reverend Kenneth Rossington

Private Secretary to the Bishop of Kent

“ HOW DARE HE !” Lady Catherine screamed at the top of her voice. It seemed that Reggie had not made an idle threat and had contacted the bishop.

Before she could unleash any more vitriol, Lady Catherine felt a blinding pain on the one side of her head causing her to fall to the ground with a crash. The noise of her falling attracted the attention of nearby footmen and the butler, all of whom came running into the drawing room. They found the mistress lying on the floor, barely able to move and unintelligible sounds emanating from her mouth, which itself did not look normal.

The butler dispatched a footman to summon Lady Catherine’s physician and the local apothecary. He then directed other footmen to carry her ladyship to her bed while preserving her modesty as much as possible.

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

“From the way her eyes are darting about, Lady Catherine is awake, but it seems she had a massive apoplexy which has robbed her of the ability to move her limbs or speak,” the doctor announced and the apothecary nodded his agreement. He turned to her ladyship. “Blink twice if you are able to hear us.”

Two blinks were given in response. To Lady Catherine it seemed like she was trapped in her own personal hell. She could see and hear, but no more than that. How could it be that one who used to command all about her was now totally dependent upon everyone, even the servants? No matter how much she commanded her mouth to speak or her limbs to move, her body refused to comply.

“Is there a possibility of her recovering?” the butler queried.

“In my experience, based on the seriousness of the attack, I would say there is no chance she will recover. In apoplexies, when the patient only loses limited control of their bodies, there have been cases where some little recovery has occurred, but never in such a case as this one,” the doctor explained.

‘ What do you know you quack ! ’ Lady Catherine screamed, but it was not aloud, so she was left with her thoughts, and no one in the chamber heard her. ‘ At least the butler is worried about me .’

“I apologise if this is indecorous to say, but that is a relief,” the butler said. Those employed at Rosings Park all nodded their agreement.

“The truth is Lady Catherine is disliked throughout the neighbourhood,” the apothecary said, “I, of course, would not have wished this on her or any other, but her imperiousness and interference will not be missed in the area. Neither will Mr Collins, I am afraid. Let us hope the next rector of Hunsford serves his parish and not his patroness.”

“An’ that we be able to speak to ‘im in confidence,” a footman added.

“I must write to the new mistress and the Earl,” the housekeeper stated. “Is it certain her ladyship will not recover?”

“Do not worry, Bessie,” her husband, who was the butler, assured his wife. “Miss Anne reached the age of five and twenty, today I believe. That means that the estate is legally hers already. Even if there is a miracle and the former mistress recovers, she will never hold that post again.”

A much-relieved housekeeper made her way to her office to scribe the needed letters.

Trapped in her useless body, Lady Catherine screamed. However, no one but she was aware of it. The death of Mr Collins had distracted her, and she had not formulated a plan to keep control of the estate from her daughter. And now that her body had failed her, there was nothing she could do.

To rub salt into her wounds, the servants all spoke about her infirmity with glee. They were not shy to speak of how much they disdained her, and what they called her interfering ways . She would love to sack every last one of them without characters! But no, she could not do that. She could not even lift her hand or grip a quill. No, this was not hell; it was far worse than that. She was in a gaol from which it seemed that death would be the only escape.

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

When the missive arrived explaining what had occurred to Lady Catherine, Anne, with Darcy’s agreement, decided she would not disturb her cousins’ honeymoon.

She wrote to her Uncle Reggie and asked him to come as soon as his mourning allowed. Then she, the Darcys, the two companions, Charlotte, Elizabeth, and Maria Bennet set off for Rosings Park. With two companions, Charlotte Collins, Anne, Maria, and Giana in residence, Bennet was assured that Lizzy would be well chaperoned at all times. Mrs Collins had assured him that she would share a chamber with her friend as she had no desire to spend another night in the parsonage.

As a surprise, the four Bennets remaining at Longbourn, along with Mrs Doubtfire and others, would depart for Rosings Park the next day at first light so they could all be together for Lizzy’s all-important birthday when she reached her majority in two days.