***
Sir William’s departure the following week was marked by bittersweet farewells. The parting between father and daughter was tender, and his discomfort at leaving Charlotte in such uncertain circumstances was impossible to miss. Ever the jovial one, he drovehimself to appear cheerful, but sorrow clung to his features as he boarded the ship back to the mainland. Charlotte, calm as ever, reassured him with gentle words and steady hands. Yet a tightness settled in Elizabeth’s chest at the scene. For all of Charlotte’s steadfast appearance, her eyes betrayed a lingering disquiet. If only her words of comfort rang true.
Two days after Sir William’s departure, on a Sunday after the morning services, the Hunsford party was required at the mansion. Lady Catherine had found the parson’s sermon inadequate and made her objections known in the harshest of ways.
“Mr. Collins,” said Lady Catherine in her severest tone, “your last sermon did not live up to my expectations. It lacked the fire and brimstone necessary to inculcate the fear of the Lord in the sinful heart.”
“Of course, madam, I shall take note of your request and be more imperative in my next sermon,” Mr. Collins replied with a vehement nod that almost made Elizabeth want to laugh. But she did not, not in front of Lady Catherine.
“Be sure you do. Peasants will never understand their Christian duty if they are not warned about the evils that might befall them should they disregard the Lord’s will. I wish flogging and physical chastisement were not so disparaged these days. A good whack is the best way to erase unholy thoughts and straighten the path of those who go astray.” Lady Catherine continued, her eyes fixed on the parson. “Or to make one’s point come across.”
The response in both Mr. Collins and Miss de Bourgh caught Elizabeth’s attention. Their stiffness, the brief flicker of discomfort in their gazes: This was not mere rhetoric on Lady Catherine’s part, rather, it was a reflection of practice at Rosings. How could someone be so vicious?
That night at the parsonage, as she lay in the bed she shared with Maria, Elizabeth could not help but overhear a conversation that was without a doubt not meant for her ears. The night air, damp and restless, carried voices from the open window of the next room. Mr. and Mrs. Collins, usually so guarded in their discussions, seemed to have reached the breaking point.
“I cannot stand her abuse any longer, Charlotte, I cannot!” Mr. Collins’s voice was strained and raw.
“Pray, do not distress yourself,” Charlotte said. “We must endure just a little longer. You have already written to the bishop requesting another parish. I am hopeful we shall be granted a new living soon enough.”
“I wish I could share your hope, my dear. I waited more than a year for a good vicarage. This one was offered to me suddenly, and with little recommendation, and I was imprudent enough to accept it without question. It seemed too good to be true, and now I understand why. What a fool I was! How could I not have seen it?”
Elizabeth turned her head towards the window, her pulse accelerating. Never had Mr. Collins spoken with such despair.
“You are not to blame, my dear.” Charlotte’s tone was gentle. “You could not have known.”
“But I am! My ambition brought us here. I was only a young curate eager to improve his station in life. I never imagined we would find ourselves ensnared in this wretched place.”
A gust of wind stirred the trees outside, masking part of Charlotte’s reply. When Mr. Collins spoke again, his voice was filled with barely restrained frustration.
“I cannot live under her tyranny much longer. I will not expose you to her mistreatment! God help me, wife, but I swear I shall lose my temper if she continues to torment us. I will not be responsible for my actions!”
“Hush! Do not say such things!” Charlotte chided him, her voice edged with concern. “If matters grow worse, I shall write to my father. . .”
The wind rose again, carrying their voices away. Maria’s muffled sobs broke the silence inside their room. She too had been an unwilling listener of her sister’s misfortunes and grief.
Covered to the chin by the counterpane, Elizabeth lay restless, her mind unsettled. Mr. Collins—so endlessly deferential, so absurdly devoted to Rosings and his patroness—had revealed a side of himself she had never imagined: that of a man utterly desperate, a man who saw no escape.
Had he been deceived? The whole idea unsettled her deeply. That Lady Catherine wielded power over Rosings and the parish was no surprise, but if she could orchestrate the placement of a vicar and silence a bishop’s response, how far did her influence truly reach?
A chill ran through her, and she shut her eyes tightly, unwilling to dwell on what else Lady Catherine de Bourgh might be capable of.
Despite her initial opinion of Mr. Collins, she condoled with him. He and Charlotte were trapped in a nightmare with nowhere else to go.
Chapter 3 – Unexpected Guests
One of the attributes Elizabeth liked best at Rosings was the magnificent view from the top of the taller cliffs. A tenacious walker, she spent her time either strolling along the beach or exploring the higher terrain in search of new sights. Today was the first clear-skied day since her arrival, and the warmth of the sun on her skin after so many cloudy days was delightful. A particular spot had become her favourite: a broad rock ledge over the sea midway between the parsonage and the mansion. From that height, the scene unfolded with vivid detail: gannets, puffins and seagulls circling over restless waters, Hunsford village in the distance, and, most enticingly, Rosings’ private dock. On a day as clear as this, even the mainland’s shore was visible, and she found amusement in watching ships come and go.
A large vessel caught her attention, its elegant white sails on full display as it glided towards the island. It was not a trading ship or a fishing boat but something grander. Strangely, instead of going southward to Hunsford, it moved directly towards the manor’s wharf. Despite the distance, the commotion was discernible: two carriages and a retinue of servants from the manor waited. Miss de Bourgh was also there, standing on the pier ready to greet them.
Lady Catherine was expecting visitors. Important guests, judging by the number of trunks unloaded. Two gentlemen descended from the ship, both well attired, and were greeted by the young heiress. They soon climbed into a fine carriage, which then setoff towards the manor while Rosings’ servants busied themselves with the luggage.
Elizabeth rose from her seat on the rock. “Well, it seems that the Rosings party has increased. Hopefully, the newcomers will keep Lady Catherine occupied and spare us from her most disagreeable company.”
A seagull squawked overhead as if in disagreement.
“No, I suppose you are right,” she sighed. “She will have us there too, so she can abuse the Collinses in front of a greater audience.”
***
