“Thank you, Hill.” Mr. Bennet opened the envelope and scanned it. “Good Lord,” he muttered.
“Mr. Bennet, are you well?” Mr. Yarby asked. “You have gone quite pale.”
Mr. Bennet shook his head a moment, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “How soon do you think you can be available, Mr. Yarby? I believe I shall need your services very soon.” He studied the message again, then raised a pained face to the new rector. “It appears my wife is dead.”
Chapter 4
“Mr. Collins is here, sir. Shall I tell him you are too grief-stricken to see him?” Mrs. Hill spoke hopefully but softly, knowing that the rector who would one day claim Longbourn as his own—and perhaps be her new employer—was waiting just outside the book room in the entry hall.
“Thank you, Hill, but I suppose I must allow him in. He has come, no doubt, to condole with me about Mrs. Bennet’s death. Although how he heard of it so soon, I cannot imagine.”
“Sir William Lucas, would be my guess,” she grumbled.
Mr. Bennet sighed. “Yes, he likely sent an express as soon as he learned the news. Very well then, send Mr. Collins in. But do not bring tea unless I call for it. I hope his condolences will be brief, and I am reluctant to extend his visit with courtesies.”
Mrs. Hill nodded, then opened the door and gestured to the waiting rector to enter.
“Mr. Bennet, my good sir, how lovely to see you again!” Mr. Collins burst past Mrs. Hill with a hearty voice and took Mr. Bennet’s outstretched hand firmly, pumping it several times. “How are you? You look very well indeed!”
“I am…as well as can be expected, Mr. Collins.” Mr. Bennet was a bit startled at the effusiveness of the greeting. “It is good of you to call.” He gestured to a chair for Mr. Collins and took his own chair behind his desk.
Mr. Collins plopped down and continued his exuberant address. “Well, as I told my dear Charlotte, it has been far too long since I have visited you all here at Longbourn. I am delighted to return, although I hope my unannounced visit is not inconvenient.”
Mr. Bennet paused, trying to decipher the man’s meaning. “Oh, no. No advance notice was necessary. I suppose I should have expected you by now.”
“Oh, indeed—I am glad to hear you were thinking of me at this time.” Mr. Collins give Mr. Bennet a wink, beaming with happiness. Then his expression turned serious, and he bowed his head, shaking it slowly as he continued. “Such a loss for the whole parish—a good old soul, depend upon it. Although getting on in years. It was not to be completely unexpected, I suppose.”
Mr. Bennet, a good fifteen years older than his late wife, did not know just how to respond. He was feeling more and more confounded and insulted by his babbling guest who continued on without waiting for a response.
“Indeed, I do not know why I did not contact you as soon as I heard of your loss.” Mr. Collins gave another wink.
“But”—Mr. Bennet paused once more, even more perplexed—“did you not? I mean…here you are now. And it only occurred two days ago, after all.”
Mr. Collins gave a start. “But…I was under the impression the tragic loss took place a month ago.”
“A month? She had only been north a little more than two weeks.”
“She? North? My dear Mr. Bennet, of whom are you speaking?”
“My wife, of course! Of whom are you speaking?”
“Why, the reverend Mr. Dudley who passed away a month or more ago. My dear wife informs me that you have not yet filled the position, so I hurried here to assure you of my willingness to step in.”
“I see. So you did not come here today to condole with me upon the passing of Mrs. Bennet?” Mr. Bennet said slowly.
He watched as Mr. Collins finally seemed fully aware of the situation and began to stammer in embarrassment.
“Mrs. Bennet? She has…died?” He fumbled in his coat for a handkerchief and mopped a damp brow. “How on earth…that is…no—I had no idea of your loss! My dear Mr. Bennet, I never would have broached the subject of the open position at Longbourn parish had I known. Please forgive me my rudeness—to discuss business affairs at such a time. I am utterly mortified. It sprang entirely from ignorance of your situation, I assure you. I am quite grieved to hear of Mrs. Bennet’s sudden death—excessively grieved, indeed. How on earth did this tragedy occur?” He bowed his head, then mopped his face again.
Finally able to comprehend his cousin’s bizarre behavior, Mr. Bennet sucked in a slow breath. “That is perfectly all right, Mr. Collins. I can see from whence the confusion arose. It did cross my mind that Sir William had notified you of the accident, which accounted for your swift arrival. But, of course, that would be quite remarkable since word of her death only reached me yesterday. My wife had a fall while visiting our daughter Lydia. The funeral is set for three days from now after Lydia, Lizzy, Jane, and their families arrive.”
“You are too kind to speak of forgiveness, but no, my manners were reprehensible. How can I possibly make it up to you, my dear, dear Mr. Bennet?”
His host sighed. “Do not be hard on yourself, sir. Be assured that I accept your apology.” “Thank you. I am so grateful.” Mr. Collins’s face brightened. “Oh—but I can still be of assistance. Since the living here is vacant, I shall be more than happy to step up and conduct Mrs. Bennet’s funeral service. It will also give you a good idea of the kind of stirring sermon I am capable of when I am rector here and assure you of the good sense of hiring me.”
Mr. Bennet tried to hide a smile. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, Mr. Collins—hire you? Do you mean to say you would quit Hunsford? You would leave the patronage of the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh? I thought you were well situated there. Has something gone amiss?” He watched, amused, as his cousin’s face turned a blotchy red from embarrassment.
“Well…as I said, I heard there is a vacancy here. And my dear Charlotte is expecting our first child; she wishes to be closer to her mother and father. So, even though the living at Longbourn is less than I am accustomed to, we thought—that is, it seemed the best course of action to offer…”
