Elizabeth’s stomach turned cold. The finality of it sank in. Malcolm’s hint had not been empty boasting—Mr. Collins had been dead since the night before.
Chapter Thirty-Three
November 28, 1811
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Thestudyseemedtoclose in on them, the quiet punctuated only by the low crackle of the fire. Sir William stood very still, his gaze lingering on Mr. Collins’s lifeless form where it was laid out before turning to Mr. Bennet.
“I am sorry for your loss, Bennet,” he said gravely, “but there is nothing to be done here that will bring him back. We can, however, ensure that his killer faces the fullest extent of the law.”
Malcolm Bennet the Third was brought back into the room under heavy guard, the footmen flanking him as if expecting a violent lunge. His face was a mask of smugdefiance, though a shadow of wariness flickered at the edges when Sir William addressed him.
“You will be taken to Meryton gaol at once,” Sir William said, his voice hard and unyielding. “You will stand trial for the crimes of theft, unlawful entry, assault, attempted murder, and the killing of Mr. William Collins. Your boasting has already provided enough testimony to condemn you, but I will see every witness heard, every stolen item accounted for, and every trespass laid bare before the magistrates. Do you understand me?”
Malcolm gave a slow, mocking bow, still seemingly confident in his success. “I hear you.” He turned to Mr. Bennet and smirked. “Cousin, we shall see who wins in the end.”
“You have already lost,” Sir William replied coldly. He turned to the footmen. “Take him to the stables. The constable will be here within the hour with a wagon for transport to Meryton.”
The men seized Malcolm by the arms and hauled him away. His boots scraped the floor, his muttered curses echoing down the hall until the door to the outer yard slammed shut.
The removal of Mr. Collins’s body was a quieter affair, but it carried a heavier weight. The same footmen who had earlier borne him from his chamber returned with a plain wooden bier, their movements slow and respectful. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Bennet stood aside as the shrouded figure was lifted and carried towards the rear of the house.
“Where will he be buried?” Jane asked softly, her voice tinged with both sorrow and unease.
“In the Bennet family plot,” Mr. Bennet replied, his tone subdued. “For all his faults, he was still kin.”
Elizabeth stood in the doorway, watching the slow procession until it vanished into the shadows towards the carriage yard. A knot formed in her throat—less grief for the man himself, perhaps, than for the unsettling reminder of how swiftly life could be stolen away.
When Mrs. Bennet was told of all that had occurred—Malcolm’s capture, Mr. Collins’s death, and the end of the danger that had plagued Longbourn for weeks—her reaction was as dramatic as Elizabeth had feared.
She clutched at her bodice with both hands, eyes wide. “Oh! Oh, my poor nerves! My heart will never recover!” Then, with a shuddering breath, she sagged backward against her pillows, closing her eyes. “Butat least,” she murmured faintly, “at least that dreadful man will never inherit Longbourn. Oh, what a relief.”
Elizabeth bit back the urge to roll her eyes. Jane pressed a cool cloth to her mother’s forehead, murmuring gentle reassurances until Mrs. Bennet’s breathing steadied and she drifted into a fitful sleep.
Downstairs, Mr. Bennet wasted no time in summoning Mr. Phillips. The solicitor arrived not long after, stamping the mud from his boots in the front hall before being shown into the study.
Mr. Bennet again recounted the night’s events in meticulous detail: Malcolm’s confession, the discovery of Collins’s body, and the capture of the intruder. Darcy and Bingley filled in the moments of pursuit through the servants’ passages, and Elizabeth described, with careful brevity, her time as Malcolm’s captive.
When all was told, her uncle Phillips leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “The legalities of the entail may now be in question,” he said at last. “With Mr. Collins dead and Malcolm not a legitimate heir under the law, the line of succession is less than clear. The originalentail’s language will be key—and I will need to review the family papers to determine whether the estate can pass directly to your daughters, or whether another distant male relative might yet have a claim.”
Mr. Bennet’s expression was one of tempered hope. “I would be delighted to see Longbourn secured for my girls without interference from fools and rogues. But I will not count the matter resolved until you are certain, Phillips.”
“You have my word I will investigate immediately,” Mr. Phillips replied. “I should have an answer within a fortnight.”
By mid-morning the next day, the household felt different. The oppressive weight that had hung over Longbourn for weeks seemed to have lifted, leaving in its place a cautious relief. Servants moved through the corridors with renewed purpose, and the family, though subdued, spoke in more measured tones.
Elizabeth found herself on the terrace outside the study, breathing in the cool air and watching the pale winter sunlight creep across the lawn. She heard footsteps behind her and turned to find Darcy approaching, his dark coat buttoned high against the breeze.
“It feels strange,” she admitted, “to know that it is over. I have been bracing for the next theft, the next shadow inthe hall, for so long that I hardly know what to do with myself now.”
He stopped before her, his gaze steady and warm. “If you were not a gentleman's daughter, I would say you would make a marvelous sleuth.“ he said softly. “However, you may begin by never being placed in such danger again—if I have anything to say about it.”
She felt a smile tug at her lips despite the heaviness still in her heart. “And how do you propose to accomplish that, Mr. Darcy?”
He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he might say it—might offer the words she had half-expected last night in the study. But instead he reached for her hand, holding it lightly in both of his.
