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In the attics, there were two small rooms for two maids, and the other half of the area was left for storage. William went back down to the ground level and thanked Mrs Bellamy. He told her he would take up residence in the next few days. After farewelling his employee, he walked the less than two miles to the town where his stallion, Vulcan, was being stabled at the local inn. He had named the horse after the Roman god of fire and volcanos because he could be rather fiery with those with whom he was unfamiliar.

He was soon on his way to see Bishop Lankershim in Westerham with Lady Catherine’s letter in hand.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

“I appreciate you did not enjoy obfuscating, but you did very well, Collins. Now we know the parish will be in good hands and not at the mercy of Lady Catherine’s mercurial moods.” Lankershim paused. “Perhaps we should have removed the parish from Rosings Park until Lady Catherine has no more authority there, but you know we are loath to do that if there is another way.”

“Does Lady Catherine’s letter suffice, even if it does say that I serve at her pleasure?” William verified.

“With the stroke of my pen, I have just ratified your appointment. From this instant on, other than her duty to add two hundred pounds per annum to your wages, she has no more authority over you, regardless of what she believes,” Lankershim confirmed. “The tithes you will receive have nothing to do with her nor do the glebe lands. They belong to St Cuthbert’s Church and, by extension, to you.”

“What do you recommend I do if, regardless of what I say, she tries to interfere in the affairs of the parish?” William enquired.

“You may warn her that the living will be removed from her advowson if nothing else is effective. If it is needed, and there is no choice, we will act. On a different subject, did you meet Miss de Bourgh?”

“I did, although she did not say a word. With a mother who seems so enamoured of her own voice, I am not surprised the daughter says nothing.”

“When can you begin there?” Lankershim queried.

“It will be a sennight at the most,” William replied. “Davidson at St Peter’s knows I was to apply for a living, but I do need to take my leave of the parishioners and then pack my belongings at Collins Hollow.”

“Then do not allow me to keep you; go to it,” the Bishop stated.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

With the time being later in the day, William did not push Vulcan to cover the almost fifty miles that day. He rode a little more than twenty miles and spent the night at a coaching inn. The next morning, he set out for the final leg of five and twenty miles.

When he reached St Peter’s parsonage in the mid-morning, Davidson and his wife, Sophia, were very happy for William. The two clergymen made their rounds of the parish, where Mr Collins was wished well in his new position, even if the parishioners were sorry to see him go.

Once the farewells were completed, Collins pointed Vulcan towards his father’s estate. His parents and brother were very pleased for him, as was Clem’s betrothed, Miss Bethany Osborne, the daughter of the master of the neighbouring estate. William assured his brother and soon-to-be-sister that he would be back by the final Monday of June to stand up with his brother when he and Bethany married on the Friday following.

William Collins departed Collins Hollow, with promises from his parents they would come visit him at his parsonage when they were able to. His father had allowed him the use of a horsedrawn cart while William rode his stallion. William Bennet Collins arrived at his new home in the late afternoon of that same day.

Chapter 2

Seeing that the day after his arrival at the parsonage was the sabbath, William did not send the cart back to Collins Hollow once it was unpacked on Saturday evening. Rather, he had the two men use the rooms in the attic and told them to stable the horse in the parsonage’s small stables alongside Vulcan. The men were very grateful, but it was not so wholly unexpected given the way the Collinses treated their staff and servants.

On Sunday morning, William sat in the congregation and listened to Mr Keating, the curate from Metcalfe Hall, give his sermon. The theme was about charity and generosity to others, using examples of the Son of God’s works in the mortal world before He ascended to heaven to sit at His Father’s side. Mr Keating spoke very well, and if the pinched look on Lady Catherine’s face was anything to go by, she did not appreciate the message of the sermon. As much as she did not, it was easy for William to notice that the parishioners in attendance heartily approved of the curate’s lesson.

Based on the information Bishop Lankershim had shared, the curate was the first candidate Lady Catherine interviewed, the one she rejected, and then expelled from her house, because he had told her that her understanding of church law and doctrine was completely wrong. In William’s eyes, it made Mr Keating a man worth knowing.

At the end of the service when the concluding prayer was barely finished, Lady Catherine stood and marched down the aisle. She stopped when she saw the man to whom she had just awarded the living seated in the congregation. “How could you allow that travesty of a sermon to be delivered?” She demanded. “Why were you not in the pulpit delivering an approved sermon?”

“Good Sabbath to you, too, Lady Catherine,” William drawled. “As I arrived yester-evening and had to unpack, I will only take up my duties after the Sabbath. Personally, I thought that Mr Keating’s sermon was rather good and represented the ideals Jesus espouses rather well.”

Lady Catherine stared at her new parson as if he had just sprouted a second head. “I can see that I will have to do much to manage you. Come, Anne, let us depart.” With that said, her nose high in the air, the mistress of Rosings Park swept out of the church.

Anne de Bourgh followed her mother as she contemplated what she had just seen. Mr Collins had contradicted her mother before all the parish. Perhaps he was not the sycophant Mother thought he was. She felt a little hope.

The congregants who heard the exchange were shocked. They had heard that Lady Catherine had preferred a new parson to the parish, but everyone knew what type of man she was looking for. One who would obey her and ignore their needs. The new parson had been polite, but he had openly disagreed with the self-styled great lady. There were many gaping mouths along with hope that the new man could possibly not be as they worried he would be.

William Collins stood back and waited for the congregants to file out of St Cuthbert’s, each family stopping and exchanging a few words with Mr Keating. When the last of the parishioners had spoken to the curate, he walked back into the nave to make sure all was as it should be before he made his way back to Metcalfe Hall. When Mr Keating saw the new parson, he stopped and looked at him.

“William Collins here, the new rector of this church,” he said as he extended his hand.

“George Keating,” the man replied as he shook the proffered hand.

It was easy to tell that the man was from the Newcastle or Tyneside area based on his northeastern English accent. “It seems that my new patroness did not extend an invitation to either of us to take the after-services meal with her. I did not expect she would, so I had Mrs Bellamy prepare a meal before she left yesterday evening. Could I interest you in joining me?” William invited.