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 hadfilled 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 feelhappinesswhen 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.
