Shall never be forgotten
“Papa.” Elizabeth sat by the grave, caring nothing for her dress. Mr. Darcy sat next to her.
Seeing that this was the thing to do, Emily of course sat as well, saying, “Baby, sit.”
“Papa,” Elizabeth pointed at Darcy, “this is the man I shall marry, his name is Mr. Darcy.”
Emily pointed at herself, perhaps understanding something of what Elizabeth was doing, but more likely not.
“And this is his daughter, Emily,” Elizabeth added. “He is as clever as you, and he loves to read just as much. He is kind andgenerous and able to think and change his mind. I love him so dearly. Oh, Papa, I wish you were here, and that you could meet him.”
Darcy squeezed Elizabeth’s shoulder as she wiped the tears away.
“I miss you, Papa. I miss you so much.”
Emily pointed at the grave, and said, “Papa?”
“Yes, dear,” Elizabeth said, “this is where my Papa is now.”
“Liz-e Papa?”
“Yes.”
Emily made a small formal bow, as she’d been taught to when greeting people the other day, “Hello.”
Elizabeth giggled wetly at the girl’s antics, and Darcy put his arm around Elizabeth and kissed her hair.
“Mr. Bennet,” he said, “I know you are looking down on us from up above in heaven, and I wish you to know that I shall treasure and love your daughter and hold her in the deepest respect and affection. Please give us your blessing on this marriage.”
There of course was no reply, but the day was warm and pleasant, the breeze blew sweetly over their cheeks, and a small bird hopped from gravestone to gravestone — until of course Emily saw the bird, and chased it away laughing and shouting, “Shoo, shoo!”
Elizabeth turned to Darcy and kissed him, and they both stood. They called Emily over, since it was not quite the thing for a child to joyously run about the churchyard, and then strolled onto the lane and over to Longbourn. All of her family were gathered there — except Jane, since Bennet was still much too young to travel.
Epilogue
Now to dispose of the fates of our characters.
Though this will, I am sure, disappoint some, Mr. Collins lived to an old and comfortable age, outliving his wife, who had herself lived to see all of her children, and some of her grandchildren, reach adulthood.
While Jane Collins was never happy with her marriage in the way that a loving connection between equals can make couples, she was content and satisfied. It was not in her character to bemoan that which could not happen, and if she on occasion smiled more at Mr. Bingley and had more glow than she ought when in the company of the friend of her brother-in-law, those thoughts remained inside her.
They did not lead to the sort of pointless discontent that could have made a misery of the tolerable life she had placed into, and she certainly never contemplated taking any actions that might have destroyed her life, damaged the prospects of her children and relations, and brought scandal, discredit, and disgrace to all.
In this matter, it is fortunate though that her circles were far smaller and more constrained than those of her sister Elizabeth. Despite Mrs. Collins’s beauty, she was never the object of the sustained attention of a dissipated man for whom the Holy duties of Jane’s husband made the whole more a matter of challenge than sacred disgust.
Mrs. Collins bore a decent, though not excessive, number of healthy children, before she gently, but firmly made it clear to Mr. Collins that this was a duty that she saw no reason to continue.
The woman was in fact content.
However, I must confess that she felt a little enduring envy in her heart.
She had been raised to see herself as the beautiful daughter, the one who was most likely to make an exceptional match. In the end she married a man who had precisely the same situation in life as her father, but without his favourable personal qualities. Yet her sister Elizabeth had successfully attracted one of the greatest men in the land.
Fortunately for her, Jane’s character was not one that permitted her to dwell on such thoughts or to make herself miserable over the question of “what if”. Especially as she always had ample tasks to bury herself busily in.
Mr. Wickham, who did not appear in person in our story, joined the militia, though in a different regiment from the one that had spent a season settled in Meryton. He found the easy entry and ample company appealing. Over the course of a year in the service he accumulated large debts of honour and trifled with the daughters of many tradesmen.
One such tradesman could thank Wickham for the presence of a bastard grandchild. Further, Wickham owed him a substantial sum of money. When negotiations over rectifying both of these matters did not go so well as might have been hoped, Wickham found himself unceremoniously buried in a shallow grave.
