Upon rising from my curtsey, I stepped nearer to her. “I am glad to make your acquaintance, though I am very sorry for the circumstances. My husband and I offer our deepest condolences for your loss.”
“That is kind of you.” Her mouth flattened for a moment. “I…um…did not know whether you would come.”
“Even without your note, we should have paid our respects.” My sight wandered around the room. “Since I have no memories from the time I lived here, I have long wanted to see this house.”
Her brown eyes widened, and her palms drew together. “Oh, of course! That is understandable. Shall we take a tour of the house and grounds now and return here for tea afterwards?”
“That is kind of you to offer, but we should not want to burden you. A servant could take us at a later time.”
“Not at all. It would be my pleasure to show the place to you.” Mrs. Collins raised her hand to her chest.
“Well…that would be lovely.”
A new burst of energy fuelled Mrs. Collins’ steps as she led us throughout the manor. Fitzwilliam and I followed, arm in arm, and I attempted to picture a very young version of myself running through the corridors or playing in the nursery. Of course, nothing seemed the least bit familiar. Yet, the dwelling had a cheery ambience and must have made a fitting abode for my family. The park offered cobblestone walks through the gardens, which bordered upon a lush section of wilderness. Narrow paths led to a wooded area to the west of the house, to the out-buildings, and to the surrounding meadows.
Back in the parlour, Mrs. Collins poured the tea. From the assorted refreshments offered, I added a biscuit and a slice of pound cake to my plate. Fitzwilliam, seated beside me on the settee, chose a rhubarb tart.
When she settled back in the chair, her earlier vivacity vanished. Her sight riveted upon me. “Four days ago, whilst poring through my husband’s deskto sort his documents, I made a disturbing discovery. A grave injustice has been perpetrated against you.” A faltering exhalation passed her lips.
I perked to an erect bearing. What sort of injustice could she mean?
“Among Mr. Collins’s writings, I discovered a journal in my late mother-in-law’s distinctive hand. She had written about her life over the past thirty years. I read the diary out of curiosity, for my husband had never spoken of his life before he and his mother moved to Longbourn. He had been a child of eight at that time.” She bowed her head. “The late Mrs. Collins had known that if she bore a son, he might inherit Longbourn one day. Yet she suffered many miscarriages and feared she would never have a successful pregnancy. She finally gave birth to a son, William, but the surgeon told her she would never have another child. Unfortunately, William died from ague at the age of two.”
“What?”The word squeaked from me. I glanced at Fitzwilliam, and his hand settled atop mine. I took a beat to summon a more measured tone. “Did you say that my cousin Mr. William Collins died before he could have inherited Longbourn?”
“Yes, that is what happened. Based upon my mother-in-law’s journal, the child, William, had appeared to improve during the day, but his condition took a fatal turn late that evening. Mr. and Mrs. Collins discovered their son’s lifeless body in the morning. For two days, the couple remained shut up in their home with their dead child, grieving the loss of their son’s future inheritance as much as the son himself.
“Mrs. Collins pressed her husband to make burial arrangements for William, but Mr. Collins devised a plan to conceal their son’s death. They took his body to Oxford, where they believed they would not be recognised, and buried him there under a false name. Next, they repaired to town. Mr. Collins went to the St. Giles neighbourhood and purchased a two-year-old male who bore a vague resemblance to their child from a destitute woman for forty pounds. He had this boy christened as William Collins and thereafter passed him off as their own. The elder Mr. Collins perished fromconsumption a few years before his wife and adoptive son took possession of Longbourn.”
Mrs. Collins paused, her chest heaving. “Four years ago, I married a fraud, an impostor. This scheme cheated you out of your rightful legacy.”
Mylegacy? “But as a female, I could not have inherited in any case.”
“In actuality, that is not true.” My husband’s remark drew my gaze. “If no eligible living male relation existed upon Mr. Bennet’s death, Longbourn should have gone to you, his sole living child.”
“Oh my!” I sank lower in my seat, my emotions in flux.
“There is no doubt of that.” Mrs. Collins reached out to the nearby table and grasped a vellum book. “I have perused the entail documents and set them aside for you.” She placed the volume in her lap, leafed to a place marked by a ribbon, and studied the page.
Fitzwilliam squeezed my hand and held me in a steady gaze. I took strength from his calm, assured presence. When I gave him a fleeting smile to indicate my wellbeing, he faced Mrs. Collins. “This is a shocking allegation. Does this diary provide pertinent dates and locations?”
“Yes, the death of the true William Collins is recorded at St. Michael’s Church at Oxford under the name Robert Smith. And my mother-in-law’s former abigail, who has remained in my employ, has admitted her knowledge of the Collinses’ contrivance. Before you depart, I shall summon her here to answer any questions you may have.”
“May I see the journal?”
“Rest assured, I shall ensure you take it with you. First, though, there is another matter I must relate.” She turned to a page near the end of the journal. “My husband and mother-in-law took a trip to town in June 1811. They attended a party where my mother-in-law encountered an old friend, Mrs. Cooper, a widow who resided on Park Lane.”
Fitzwilliam stirred beside me, moving to the edge of his seat. It took a moment for the significance of the name to hit me: Mrs. Cooper, the neighbour who had been murdered last year. My husband had related theentire disturbing saga, which had led to his questioning my friend Mr. Rowe, of all people, as a possible suspect. Despite a renewed effort by the Bow Street office to find new clues, the crime remained unsolved.
“After forming a friendship at a school for girls, the late Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Cooper sustained the association, and they corresponded for much of their adult lives. On the day following young William’s death, my mother-in-law had written to notify her friend of the loss. Once she and her husband agreed upon the plan to replace William, Mrs. Collins dissociated from Mrs. Cooper. So, you may imagine the lady’s surprise upon encountering her estranged friend accompanied by her son, Mr. William Collins.”
A grimace distorted Mrs. Collins’s countenance. “My late husband could always be relied upon to boast of his inheritance at every opportunity, and he found an eager listener in Mrs. Cooper. She soon deduced the fraudulent scheme that had been perpetrated. Thus, she accosted my mother-in-law and demanded two thousand pounds in compensation to maintain her silence.
“My mother-in-law agreed to pay the requested sum. But upon consideration, she realised that to grant the requested amount would provide no assurances whatsoever that the lady would not make further demands.
“Rather than acquiesce to the extortion, my mother-in-law resolved to silence her former friend forever. With knowledge of the lady’s habit of staying awake past midnight, my mother-in-law went to Mrs. Cooper’s house late at night, when most of the servants had retired. She sneaked inside and managed to creep behind Mrs. Cooper whilst the lady sat upon a chair. My mother-in-law had taken a knife with her but at the last moment rejected the weapon as being too untidy. Instead, she threw her silk scarf over Mrs. Cooper’s head and strangled her.”
Good God!Could this be true? My gaze shifted to my husband. A knot had formed on his forehead.
