A Death at Rosings: A Pride & Prejudice Variation
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Authors: Renata McMann,Summer Hanford
A Death at Rosings
A Pride & Prejudice Variation
By
Renata McMann
&
Summer Hanford
Table of Contents
By Renata McMann and Summer Hanford
With special thanks to our editor, Joanne Girard
Cover by Summer Hanford
Copyright 2015 by Renata McMann & Summer Hanford
All rights reserved
As Elizabeth walked the half mile to Rosings, she was glad Mr. Darcy and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam were no longer there, even though Rosings would be less interesting without the two gentlemen. Certainly, her present company would not be entertaining. The absurdities of her cousin Mr. Collins were too predictable. Her good friend Charlotte Collins would defer to their hostess, Lady Catherine. Charlotte’s sister Maria Lucas would say little because she had little to say. Lady Catherine’s daughter and her daughter’s companion would say almost nothing. Lady Catherine would do most of the talking with Mr. Collins supporting her and praising her.
Elizabeth could no longer flirt with Colonel Fitzwilliam or spar with Mr. Darcy. Now that she realized she’d been wrong about Mr. Darcy, she also realized she found her verbal battles with him stimulating. This evening at Rosings would offer neither the pleasure of Colonel Fitzwilliam nor the challenge of Mr. Darcy.
Which brought her to the crux of her ill temper, and to the one thing she was trying chiefly not to think about, Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth frowned, her hands clenching. It irked and embarrassed her that she had so fully misjudged the man. Nearly all of the things she once held against him had been explained away in his lengthy letter, leaving behind a bitter tasting truth: Elizabeth had been completely taken in by Mr. Wickham.
She was ashamed she’d ignored the evidence of the inconsistencies of Wickham’s actions and believed his lies. He’d made a fool of her, and she let him. All because Mr. Darcy had pricked her pride, saying she wasn’t handsome enough to dance with. What a silly, shallow creature she turned out to be. She smiled wryly. She would never have guessed it of herself.
Darcy’s letter even explained why he’d warned Mr. Bingley off her sister Jane. Elizabeth could understand his reasoning. She could even grudgingly admit that Jane was often hard to fathom, for it was difficult to know where her kind nature left off and her true feelings began. Mr. Darcy had been wrong to come between them, though. Of that, at least, Elizabeth was still confident. He’d ruined Jane’s happiness and Elizabeth couldn’t forgive him for that. She pulled that thought about her, using it as a balm for her bad judgment in refusing Darcy’s proposal with such animosity.
Nor should she forgive him for the nature of that proposal. Elizabeth hadn’t thought anyone could deliver a less flattering offer than her cousin had put to her, but Mr. Darcy’s request made Mr. Collins’ proposal sound like one of Shakespeare’s sonnets of love. Great men like Mr. Darcy, she supposed, must do everything in a magnificent fashion, even be it insulting Elizabeth and all those she loved.
Still, as angry as his proposal made her, she wished she hadn’t misjudged him. Not that the content of his letter would have influenced her answer. Even a more charming proposal wouldn’t have. All the money in England couldn’t persuade her to marry where she held no regard.
She and her companions reached Rosings, the door opening before they could knock, and she resolved to set aside her inner disquiet. Elizabeth was not formed for ill humor. She intended to enjoy herself in spite of the circumstances.
They were shown into the ostentatious parlor Lady Catherine preferred, where their hostess awaited them. After greetings were exchanged, Mr. Collins perched on the edge of the chair adjacent to Lady Catherine, fixing his reverent gaze on her. “May I say your ladyship is looking in fine health this evening.”
“You may not,” Lady Catherine said. “I feel abysmal.”
That certainly stopped the conversation.
Elizabeth sat next to the frail heiress Miss de Bourgh, who nodded slightly in greeting. Miss de Bourgh hadn’t spoken a word yet, having relied on her mother to make her greetings for her. Elizabeth couldn’t help wondering, should Mr. Darcy ever marry his cousin as Lady Catherine wished, if the two would ever speak. Miss de Bourgh seemed even more reluctant to do so than he was.
“One wouldn’t suspect you aren’t feeling yourself by looking at you. You look quite well, my lady,” Charlotte said, earning her a smile from Mr. Collins.
“Well, I’m not,” Lady Catherine snapped. “I should know how I feel far better than any of you.”
Elizabeth privately agreed with the lady’s assessment of herself. Lady Catherine looked grayer than usual and her shoulders slumped under the weight of her thick fur tippet.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” Mr. Collins asked. “Shall I send a servant for anything?”
“I am perfectly capable of requesting whatever I like from my own servants,” Lady Catherine said.
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Collins said, looking about helplessly.
Lady Catherine’s temper was even shorter than usual, Elizabeth reflected, or perhaps she was more acutely aware of the lady’s temperament than normal, given recent occurrences. Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without recollecting that, had she chosen it, she might by this time have been presented to her as her future niece; nor could she think, without a smile, of what her ladyship's indignation would have been. "What would she have said? How would she have behaved?" were questions with which she amused herself.
Silence fell again and Elizabeth struggled to set aside her musings and think of something suitable to say. She wished for more guests to provide conversation, though she could understand why the local families were reluctant to augment the guest list. Though excellent, Lady Catherine’s cook simply wasn’t talented enough to draw people in at the price of listening to her ladyship all evening, though Elizabeth didn’t know if there was a cook alive who would be.
Really though, with Mr. and Mrs. Collins, Maria, Miss de Bourgh, Mrs. Jenkinson and herself in the room, there ought to be enough for one conversation to take place, if not two ongoing. Usually, Lady Catherine did all of the speaking, using them as an audience for her close-minded notions and ideas. Elizabeth scrutinized her more closely, wondering how unwell Lady Catherine felt. It wasn’t like her to remain silent before so many guests.
Lady Catherine just sat, her mouth clamped tightly shut and gray about the edges. Elizabeth glanced at Charlotte, wondering if they should send for a doctor and if she dared suggest as much. If Lady Catherine wasn’t as ill as she looked, the question would only aggravate her.
“Mother,” Miss de Bourgh cried.
Elizabeth swiveled back around to watch Lady Catherine topple sideways on the settee, her eyes open wide in shock. Mrs. Jenkinson ran across the room, dropping to her knees before Lady Catherine. Mr. Collins sat with a startled look on his face, his hands gripping the arms of his chair, but Charlotte jumped up. It took Elizabeth a moment to realize she was standing as well.
“Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine is ill. Get a doctor,” Elizabeth ordered in an urgent voice.
Mr. Collins turned to look at her, his mouth hanging open.
“She’s right,” Charlotte said, crossing to stand between him and their hostess. “You’re the best one to send for a doctor. Hurry.”
“Yes, yes of course,” he mumbled, coming unsteadily to his feet.
He stumbled from the room, glancing back at nearly every step. Elizabeth moved back out of his way. She would have told him to hurry, but from what she could see from where she stood, there was likely little to be done for Lady Catherine.
“Maria, see to Miss de Bourgh,” Charlotte ordered her sister as she knelt by Mrs. Jenkinson’s side. “Lady Catherine seems to be struggling to breath. Hand me those pillows, Elizabeth. Let’s loosen her collar,” she added to Mrs. Jenkinson.
Elizabeth gathered the pillows and helped Charlotte and Mrs. Jenkinson prop up their ashen and gasping hostess. She stepped back again while Charlotte unwound the tippet and unfastened the buttons at Lady Catherine’s neck. A glance in their direction showed her that Maria had pulled her chair closer to Miss de Bourgh’s and held her hands, though it was difficult to say which of the two looked more frightened.
“Elizabeth, could you send for Lady Catherine’s maid, please?”
Elizabeth nodded and went to the door. She was glad Charlotte was taking charge, knowing her to be a capable and leveled headed person. Turning to the nervous looking footman standing without, Elizabeth said, “Could you please ask Lady Catherine’s maid to come immediately?”
“Yes, miss,” the man said, hurrying away.
“Do you think we should remove her to her room?” Mrs. Jenkinson said as Elizabeth turned from the doorway.
“I think we should wait for the doctor to decide,” Charlotte said. “She seems better able to breath now.” She peered down at a diminished looking Lady Catherine. “My lady, can you hear me? It’s Mrs. Collins. Can you tell us what’s wrong? What do you need?”
Lady Catherine looked up at Charlotte with glazed eyes. Her lips moved slightly, but the only sound to come out was a low, meaningless mumble. Miss de Bourgh choked back a sob, pulling her hands from Maria’s to cover her face. Charlotte looked over her shoulder at Elizabeth, nodding in Miss de Bourgh’s direction in a meaningful way.
“Miss de Bourgh,” Elizabeth said, crossing the room to stand before her chair. “May I send for your maid? Would you like me to assist you to your room?”
Miss de Bourgh nodded. She struggled to her feet, dropping her hands to reveal a pallid, tear-streaked face. For the first time, the enormity of what was happening struck Elizabeth. Lady Catherine might very well be dying, leaving Miss de Bourgh with no mother, siblings or father. Only more distant relatives would remain.
Impulsively, Elizabeth embraced Miss de Bourgh. Though some of them might vex Elizabeth at times, she couldn‘t imagine a world with no parents or sisters in it. Miss de Bourgh went ridged for a moment before dropping her head to Elizabeth’s shoulder, muted sobs shaking her thin frame. Behind her, Elizabeth could hear Charlotte trying to rouse Lady Catherine in gentle tones.
Elizabeth held Miss de Bourgh, offering what comfort she could. When she stepped back, Maria pressed a kerchief into her hand. Miss de Bourgh blotted her face.
“Thank you,” she said, clutching the small handkerchief. “I should like to go to my room now.” She looked toward her mother, who still hadn’t spoken.
Elizabeth nodded, taking Miss de Bourgh’s arm and helping her across the room, Maria trailing behind them. Elizabeth’s last glance at Lady Catherine showed her color to be unimproved and her eyes closed. They passed her crying maid coming down the hallway as they walked slowly toward the stairs.
Elizabeth woke quickly the next morning as the events of the evening before crowded into her thoughts. She sat up, wondering if there was any news of Lady Catherine, for she and Maria had returned to the parsonage before the doctor had arrived. After settling Miss de Bourgh into her room with her maid and waiting for some time to see if she could be useful, Elizabeth had decided the best they could do was to stay out of people’s way. She bid Charlotte goodnight and took Maria Lucas with her.
They had only just turned off the drive when a carriage had come racing up at a dangerous speed. Elizabeth assumed the carriage held the doctor. Perhaps, she mused as she made quick work of readying for the day, running people down was one of the ways the man created new patients.
She let that notion entertain her as she made her way to the parlor to find Charlotte already there. She looked tired, the skin around her eyes puffy and her face pale. Elizabeth wondered how late she’d stayed up and why she was already out of bed.
“I’m surprised to see you up so early,” she said, sitting down across from Charlotte.
“Up early?” Charlotte said. She turned blurry eyes to Elizabeth. “I haven’t yet gone to bed.”
“Then you’re silly,” Elizabeth said. “Why ever don’t you go now? When did you return?”
“Only a short time ago. I thought I would wait for Mr. Collins. He’s still at Rosings, trying to help Miss de Bourgh with arrangements for the funeral.”
“Lady Catherine died?” Elizabeth asked, shocked. She hadn’t realized. No wonder Charlotte and Mr. Collins had stayed the entire night. “When? What did the doctor say?”
“He said it was her heart,” Charlotte said. She rubbed at her already red eyes. “It happened a few hours ago. Miss de Bourgh is very distraught, as is the staff. No one knows what to do.”
“Surly family will be sent for?” Elizabeth said, wondering if that meant Mr. Darcy would return.
“Yes, Mr. Collins has been helping Miss de Bourgh dispatch letters.”
“I would think Miss de Bourgh would be capable of writing her relatives without his help. Is she truly that distressed?” Elizabeth also thought Miss de Bourgh, or most anyone, would prefer writing their letters without Mr. Collins hovering nearby.
“He’s doing all he can to ingratiate himself.” Charlotte’s tone was touched with annoyance. She sighed, rubbing her eyes again. “He doesn’t seem to realize that he’ll hold the living regardless of who owns Rosings. There’s no reason for him to toady to Miss de Bourgh, any more than there was for his continued adoration of Lady Catherine. I think it must be his nature to behave so.”
“So Miss de Bourgh is to inherit, then?”
“Everyone seems to believe so, but I don’t think it’s been made certain.”
Elizabeth nodded. She thought of the frail, closeted heiress and the trouble that was sure to come her way. “Well, she won’t be shy of suitors,” Elizabeth said dryly. “I can’t imagine her coping with all that she needs to do.” Writing letters was one thing, but managing Rosings and fending off opportunistic men was another. If Elizabeth had been so easily taken in by a man like Mr. Wickham, what chance did someone as completely inexperienced as Miss de Bourgh have of seeing through similar gentlemen?
“Mr. Collins and I will do what we can, and family is being sent for,” Charlotte reiterated. “There’s nothing more to be done. We must hope that, when she weds, she chooses well, for her sake and ours. Mr. Collins will likely spend a great deal of time with whomever Miss de Bourgh takes to husband.”
Elizabeth wasn’t sure of that. She couldn’t imagine most people wishing to be so much in Mr. Collins’ company as Lady Catherine had. “Would your life be easier if Miss de Bourgh chose to distance herself from him?”
“I don’t know,” Charlotte said. “Perhaps Mr. Collins would spend more of his time attending to his parishioners, or perhaps he would devote himself to winning Miss de Bourgh’s and her husband’s favor. I’m not sure if either would alter my life significantly. Hopefully, she’ll seek advice and we can influence her into a good match.”
Elizabeth nodded, but she wasn’t sure she approved. She could understand Charlotte’s desire to have an amiable patron, but if Charlotte and Mr. Collins were giving advice crafted with their best interests in mind, would that advice also be what was best for Miss de Bourgh? There was a time when Elizabeth would have assured anyone that Charlotte was the soul of integrity and could be trusted to give Miss de Bourgh advice completely lacking in selfishness, but that time was past.
She knew the moment of its passing, and it saddened her. She remembered what she’d told Jane when they’d discussed Charlotte’s acceptance of Mr. Collins’ proposal. Jane, as was her nature, had defended Charlotte. Elizabeth had replied, “You shall not, for the sake of one individual, change the meaning of principle and integrity.” Charlotte had married solely for financial reasons. Elizabeth didn’t know if she’d ever be able to forgive her.
“I should see to some tea for us, if you’re insistent on waiting up,” Elizabeth said, standing abruptly. She needed something to distract her from her uncharitable thoughts. Charlotte was her friend.
“Thank you,” Charlotte said, resting her chin in her hands. “You must wish for breakfast, as well. I doubt the servants are sure what to do, as we were gone all night.”
“I’ll let them know,” Elizabeth said. She crossed to the door.
“I hope Mr. Darcy doesn’t marry her,” Charlotte mused, her voice soft. “I can’t imagine life with him looming over us, so severe all of the time.”
Elizabeth headed down the hall, searching for a maid. She had no notion of Mr. Darcy’s intentions toward Miss de Bourgh, but he was the one man she trusted not to marry her for money. Firstly, because he was reputed to be wealthy in his own right. Secondly and more significantly, because of his proposal to her.
In spite of how belittling his proposal had been, he’d obviously meant to marry her for love. He couldn’t help but be aware that she brought no financial gain to a union. In truth, a man as intelligent as Mr. Darcy would surely realize Elizabeth was likely to cost him money. As her husband, he would be required to support her mother when her father died, and any of her unmarried sisters. When looked at through such heavy obligations, Elizabeth supposed it was quite flattering that he’d proposed.
Even if she hadn’t such irrefutable evidence that Mr. Darcy wasn’t inclined to marry for fortune, his letter had revealed a man of integrity. If Mr. Darcy gave Miss de Bourgh advice, it would be sound advice not marked by his own interests. Hopefully, for Miss de Bourgh’s sake, he was one of the relatives summoned soonest.
“Can I help you, miss?” a voice asked.
Elizabeth realized she was standing outside the kitchen, lost in thought.
“Mrs. Collins would like some tea,” she said.
“Yes, miss,” the woman replied, dropping a curtsy.
“I’m pleased to help,” Elizabeth said.
“That won’t be necessary, miss,” the maid answered as she turned away. She entered the kitchen, swinging the door closed behind her.
Elizabeth smiled slightly. She knew Charlotte helped in the kitchen, but she’d little notion of what would be helpful. She wondered if the maid was keeping her out because she was a guest, or if Charlotte had warned her staff that Elizabeth was useless for such tasks.
How to be valuable in the kitchen was likely something she’d have to learn now that she had passed up two suitors, Elizabeth reflected. She headed back toward the parlor, an image of Mr. Darcy’s face as she’d last seen him, when he’d handed her the letter, filling her mind. Though she’d badly misjudged the man, she was still sure she’d done the right thing in refusing him. She was, however, sorry she’d done so with quite so much acrimony.
She returned to the parlor to find Mr. Collins coming out, looking even more exhausted than Charlotte. “Cousin Elizabeth,” he called, hurrying toward her. “You must make haste to Rosings. Miss de Bourgh wishes your presence there.”
“I haven’t yet had breakfast,” Elizabeth protested. She was growing rather hungry, having made do with a light meal hastily put together by Charlotte’s cook the previous evening.
“That doesn’t matter,” he said. He wrung his hands. “She’s asking for you. She was quite insistent.”
“What does she want me for?” Elizabeth asked, dubious that it was actually anything important.
“I didn’t presume to inquire,” he said. “Come. We must hurry.”
He took her arm, ushering her outside. There was no carriage, of course. Elizabeth wondered if Miss de Bourgh agreed with her mother’s policy of conveying people away from Rosings but not to it, or if no one in her household had the presence of mind to send one. Mr. Collins set a quick pace, but Elizabeth kept up with ease.
“We really must hurry,” he repeated. “Oh, that my patroness, Lady Catherine, should die, and with Miss de Bourgh still unwed. What a terrible thing. Hardly a worse thing could have happened. We have to hurry.”
Elizabeth broke into a run. Mr. Collins’ exhausted ramblings were not to be endured. He wished her to hurry, so she would, right away from him. She smiled, pleased with both the exertion and the solution. It felt wonderful to be making all haste across the yard, the wind blowing through her hair and catching her clothing as she ran.
She slowed to a walk before reaching the door, so as not to be breathless when she entered, especially as there was likely no real reason for haste. What, after all, could possibly be so urgent? Elizabeth had no special skills that Miss de Bourgh could be in need of.
Somewhat to her surprise, she was immediately shown into Miss de Bourgh’s presence, though she wasn’t taken to the parlor where Lady Catherine had habitually received guests. The room Miss de Bourgh awaited her in was no less richly appointed, but more understated. Elizabeth preferred it immensely to the other, more ornate, parlor. Looking around, Elizabeth realized the heiress was alone and wondered where Mrs. Jenkinson was. “Miss de Bourgh,” she greeted, curtsying. “May I express my condolences on your loss?”
“Thank you,” Miss de Bourgh said. She was seated on a settee, a shawl clenched about her shoulders and a blanket in her lap like a woman three times her age. She looked pale, and her eyes were slightly red from crying, but she didn’t look as if she’d cried recently. “I assume Mr. Collins sent you?”
“He accompanied me, but I was a bit faster,” Elizabeth said.
“Could you please advise the footman outside that I don’t wish our conversation to be disturbed, then, and close the door? I want to speak to you in private.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said, realizing that must be why Mrs. Jenkinson was absent. She returned to the doorway. “Miss de Bourgh asks that we remain undisturbed.” The footman nodded and Elizabeth slid the door shut.
“You must be wondering why I asked to see you,” Miss de Bourgh said as Elizabeth returned. “Please, sit down.” She gestured to the sofa opposite her.
“I am curious, but assume you will tell me,” Elizabeth said. She seated herself in the indicated spot. A low table stood between them and she wondered if Miss de Bourgh would offer refreshments.
“It’s a little hard to explain,” Miss de Bourgh said. Her eyes took on a distant look.
Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. She supposed it was too much to ask that someone would think of her stomach when Lady Catherine had so recently died.
“As I suppose you can imagine, I had a sickly childhood,” Miss de Bourgh continued. “I caught everything that went around. The doctor said that if someone had a cold in the next village, I would catch it. I was kept home and barely educated. I now realize it wouldn’t have hurt me to learn while I had a cold, but that apparently never occurred to anyone at the time. I had four brothers who all died of various illnesses and my father was frantic in protecting me. I thought when he died four years ago that I would have more freedom, but I’ve had less.”
“That must have been very difficult,” Elizabeth said with automatic sympathy. Whatever complaints she had about her parents’ skills at being parents, they were not overly protective. Not even of Kitty, who was a bit frail, or of Lydia, who was more than a bit silly.
“It was,” Miss de Bourgh said. “Losing my brothers was difficult, although I scarcely recall them. Losing my father was harder. That was even worse than having no freedom, because he was the one person who truly cared how I felt. My mother always seemed to look on me as some sort of dissatisfying personal accessory.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Elizabeth protested. “She protected you because she cared for you.”
Miss de Bourgh shrugged. “Perhaps. I suppose there’s no way to discover the truth of that now.” She shut her eyes for a moment. Whether in grief or from fatigue, Elizabeth didn’t know.
“Eventually, I realized I could learn about the world from books,” Miss de Bourgh said. “I began to sneak them from our library. I employed the same aspect of myself that my mother used to control me, my health. I convinced Mrs. Jenkinson that I need a long nap each afternoon, and extra sleep at night. I cultivated the notion that I require candles burning by my bedside for comfort. During all the extra time I’m allowed to myself, unsupervised, I read.”
“What do you read?” Elizabeth asked, intrigued. There was more to Miss de Bourgh than she’d expected. In fact, Miss de Bourgh had hid that she had any mind at all so well, Elizabeth had been completely fooled. She smiled to herself. If this sort of thing kept up, she would be forced to conclude that she was an abysmal judge of character.
