35. Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

June 20, 1812 Hunsford, Kent Jane

J ane looked up as Martha shuffled into the room. The girl’s shameless behavior had prompted the desire to relieve her of her position, but Mr. Collins had overruled his wife’s decision and retained the disloyal maid.

“An express, madam.” Martha handed her the letter and curtseyed. At least she does not treat me with disdain, Jane thought, rubbing her bulging stomach. Her child kicked within her, and she smiled.

Her good humor dissipated as she noted the black edging on the express in her hand. Longbourn’s seal told her of its origins, and she tore it open, her heart sinking.

Dear Jane,

Papa died during the night. We are all well, except Mama, who has taken to her rooms in distress. Pray, come as soon as you are able.

Mary

Jane’s fragile emotions emerged, and she wept bitterly. Was this not the very reason she had lowered herself to marrying Mr. Collins? Now her family would be protected from the hedgerows. Elizabeth is safe, too. Her sister had married Mr. Darcy in May and would never be cast out by Mr. Collins or Mrs. Bennet.

Her husband came home in the midst of her sorrow. Instead of comforting her, he picked up the express and read it.

“It is a miracle! God is very good! I am to inherit! Oh, joyous day! I must inform Lady Catherine at once. We shall need to find a curate.” He left the room, leaving his gaping and mourning wife alone.

Any tender feelings for her husband that might have remained were instantly gone. Shaking, Jane stood and left the room, climbing the stairs to her chamber. She tugged her trunk from the corner where it had sat since her arrival in December and opened it. Numb, she slowly packed clothing and other necessary items in preparation for their departure. Mr. Collins’s excitement likely meant they would depart on the morrow. He would go tonight were it not so late in the day, she thought, irritation filling her heart.

“This is my life now,” she said aloud to the empty room. I had best become used to it.

Jane had grown strong and independent whilst dwelling in Kent, though still subject to her husband’s demands. Managing her house and her life had filled her with a sense of purpose that had only been magnified when she discovered her delicate condition. The first time she had felt her baby kick, resolve had filled her soul, and she promised herself that her child would thrive, despite having a father as nonsensical as Mr. Collins.

Preparations for the evening meal had been seen to, and they were to dine shortly. Mr. Collins had not yet returned from Rosings Park, and Jane briefly considered eating without him when a knock sounded at the door.

Curious as to who it could be given how late in the afternoon it was, she stood and went to the hallway. Martha had opened the door, and one of Lady Catherine’s footmen stood on the stoop.

“Hanson,” Jane said, “how do you do?”

“Mrs. Collins.” Hanson’s sober expression caused Jane’s heart to squeeze in anxiety. He twisted his hat in his hands, mangling the brim. “I am to bring you to the great house as soon as may be.”

Concerned, Jane nodded. “I shall just change into my boots and bonnet, then.” She proceeded to do so, also snatching her gloves. There was no need for a shawl or other outerwear. The weather had warmed enough to do without.

The walk to Rosings Park was accomplished expeditiously, despite Jane’s slower pace, and she entered the grand hall with trepidation. Brisby showed her to the sitting room, and she entered cautiously.

Miss de Bourgh and her companion awaited her. There was no sign of Lady Catherine or Mr. Collins.

“Mrs. Collins, I am terribly sorry to call you here without any explanation. You deserved to hear the news in person.” Miss de Bourgh did not rise; her frailty was very apparent at that moment.

“I am afraid I do not comprehend your meaning.” Jane laced her fingers together nervously, wondering what the lady meant.

“Mr. Collins came to see Mama,” Miss de Bourgh continued. “She was visiting from the dower house, and when he could not find her there, he came here. He had great news, or so he said. He met Mama in a sitting room upstairs, where they used to discuss his sermons. I do not know what he told her, but in his haste to leave, he tripped and fell down the stairs.”

Jane gasped. “Where is he? I must… I must…” Her breathing sped, and she grabbed the arms of the chair she sat in with both hands.

Miss de Bourgh did not speak. She bit her lip and turned to Mrs. Jenkinson, who said, “I am afraid he landed badly, Mrs. Collins. His neck broke, and he… he died.”

Jane’s face went slack, and all feeling left her body. She felt as if she were floating. Was this a dream? Hope and joy blossomed in her chest and were immediately replaced by guilt at her feelings. How could she be so unfeeling as to feel happiness when she had just been told her husband had died?

“Has the undertaker been called?” Her voice sounded hollow to her ears, as if she were speaking from far away.

“Yes,” Mrs. Jenkinson confirmed.

“My mother has locked herself in her old rooms,” Miss de Bourgh admitted. “She claims his death has sullied the great house of Rosings Park. I assure you, I do not share her sentiments.”

“We shall do everything we can to help you, Mrs. Collins,” Mrs. Jenkinson continued. “Pray, will you tell us what was so important that your husband needed to see Lady Catherine with such urgency?”

Grief returned and Jane choked on a sob. “An express,” she said brokenly. “My father has died.”

She buried her face in her hands, weeping openly, uncaring of what Miss de Bourgh or Mrs. Jenkinson thought. Fragile arms came around her, and Jane recognized the embrace as coming from Miss de Bourgh.

“I am so sorry, Mrs. Collins. How very dreadful to lose your father and husband so close together. You are welcome to stay at the parsonage as long as you need.”

Jane nodded. Composing herself, she eased out of Miss de Bourgh’s embrace. “I thank you.” She sniffed and stood. “I should be going now. I need to send an express to my sisters.”

Feeling strangely broken yet whole, Jane left Rosings Park. Once she returned to the parsonage, she quickly wrote a message to Elizabeth and addressed it to Longbourn. Her sister was likely already on her way home.

She picked at dinner, her appetite gone but eating because her child needed the sustenance. When she had finished, she went to her chamber and sat on her bed, staring blankly out the window. The house was strangely quiet. Martha had disappeared, and Cook had left after cleaning the kitchen.

What am I to do now? Exhausted, Jane closed her eyes and went to sleep, resolving to think on the matter in the fresh morning light.

She awoke feeling somewhat better, dressing in a simple gray gown. I shall have to dye some of my wardrobe black. She grimaced at the distasteful thought of marring her beautiful clothes in honor of the man she had married. The fondness she had developed in the first months of her marriage had been squelched after Elizabeth had been cast from the house.

The first order of business after breakfast was to write a more detailed letter to Elizabeth. Jane sat before her writing table, wondering where to begin. She dipped her pen in the ink and put it to a fresh sheet of paper.

Dear Elizabeth,

I am sure you have many questions after the express I sent yesterday. Here are the further details I promised.

Yesterday, upon learning of our father’s death, Mr. Collins hurried to Rosings Park to consult with Lady Catherine. In his excitement, it seems he fell down a flight of stairs, breaking his neck in the process.

I ought not to speak ill of the dead, but he was very exultant upon learning that he would inherit Longbourn so soon. He left me in distress, and I do not feel as though I can forgive him at this time.

I have packed my trunk but must see to the rest of the house. When I leave here, I have no intention of returning, despite Miss de Bourgh’s kind offer for me to remain as long as I need. You know my story, Lizzy, and I am eager to put the past behind me as soon as may be. As such, I shall not be at Longbourn for our father’s funeral. Pray, put roses on his grave for me.

I must prevail upon you, dear sister, for something more. I could carry Longbourn’s heir, and so the nature of the entail is uncertain until my child is born. I do not wish to return to Meryton unless I must for the sake of a son. Memories of the last weeks in our father’s house torment me, and I cannot bear to be around our mother’s nerves. She will fret endlessly until she knows her future is secure. Can I prevail upon you to open your home to me and your niece or nephew?

I felt so strong just two days ago, my dearest sister, and now… I do not regret my choices. I married for the love of my family, and I shall press on for the love of my child. I shall await word from you at Hunsford.

Yours,

Jane Collins

She signed the letter, sanded, and sealed it. Donning her outerwear, she resolved to see it posted personally, and walked into Hunsford Village. The letter safely on its way, Jane went back to the parsonage. She could not call it home anymore, for in a short time, she would leave it forever, never to return. The thought filled her with anxiety and pain, but also hope for a new beginning, free of her nonsensical husband.

Over the next few days while she awaited Elizabeth’s reply, she dyed several of her least favorite gowns out of respect for mourning customs. Ever proper, Jane knew she would dress in black for six months and in half mourning for six more, despite not loving her husband. I shall think of the gesture as being only for my father, she reasoned.

She had developed a sort of fondness for him before he banned her from speaking to Elizabeth, and like a seed starved of water and sunlight, her growing affection had shriveled and died. Now she could only put on the appearance of distress and sadness, for she knew those sentiments did not truly exist in her heart.

Elizabeth’s letter came two days later. She opened it wearily and read.

My dear Jane,

How alone you must have been, first with news of our father and then with the sudden death of Mr. Collins! We have not told Mama yet. Our sisters are being circumspect. Yes, even Lydia. I have sent word to Uncle Phillips, and he has informed me that we know nothing until the birth of your child. Should it be a son, the entail will be ended, and he will inherit. Our uncle states that you will be guardian and trustee for your child unless your husband had another will.

Jane paused, breathing a sigh of relief. Her husband had left no will, and so there would be no one to challenge her right to her child’s guardianship. Longbourn would be a tempting prospect to unscrupulous relatives. She returned to Lizzy’s letter.

When you have finished your preparations for departure, I beg you to come to Pemberley. We are not to return to town. My husband has said I may invite whomever I wish, and so I extend the offer to you, my dearest sister. Come and stay with me. I shall install you in a chamber near to mine and spend every day in your company.

I have sent a letter to my new cousin, Miss de Bourgh, asking if one of her carriages will carry you to London. From there, one of my husband’s coaches will transport you to Derbyshire. Travel as slowly as you like and put any expenses on the Darcy accounts. The coachman will stop at the usual establishments frequented by my husband.

In happier news, Charlotte has become engaged to Sir Andrew. I do not know when they will marry. I sent a note informing her of our father’s death, so if they marry before we are out of mourning, which I believe they will, then we cannot attend. I am very happy for her. At least one of us married for love.

Be safe, dear sister.

Elizabeth Darcy

Jane folded the letter, breathing a sigh of relief. Her future had been determined, at least until her child was born.

She spent the next week carefully sorting through her husband’s things. She kept a small trunk of mementos for her child and arranged for the rest to be donated to parish families. When she had gone through the entire house, a small pile of trunks had accumulated in the front hall. Hanson appeared the morning she intended to depart, along with a coach and another footman. Trunks loaded, Jane climbed aboard and closed the door. Having given her farewells when her neighbors called to condole with her, she had nothing more to do than to depart.

With a final glance at the parsonage, she turned away, determined not to look back. The only way to go is forward now, she told herself. Hand on her stomach, she smiled at the prospect of the future for the first time in months.