The Three Keys of Rosings

You are the last man on earth I could ever be prevailed upon to marry!

Darcy inhaled, staggered back from the window, and fell into the chair beside it. It had been hours since Elizabeth had said the words that had removed all the light from his world and set his heart and soul wandering, troubled and broken, like a vagabond, desperate for a home.

He picked his glass up from the side table. It was empty, again. So, as he did the last five times it had suffered that particular issue, he refilled it and knocked it back. Then he leaned forward with his elbows to his knees and bowed his head. The pain was agonizing, crushing, and relentless. How was he to live without her? How was he to live without that light, that sparkle, that impertinence, that smile…those eyes. How could the one woman who owned him, body and soul, care so little for what he offered? And to champion Wickham! Darcy's face twisted, and he threw the glass into the fire, shattering it and sparking the flame.

Darcy stalked to the window again and looked out at the waning light. He gazed at the sky, the trees, the roads, before inevitably returning to what he really desired to see, Hunsford Parsonage. She was there. Somewhere within those fortunate walls, she resided. Perhaps she was asleep, her face softened by slumber and her chest rising and falling slowly. Or maybe she was reading and biting her lower lip as she improved that beautiful, agile mind. Or perhaps she was weeping, or pacing, or doubled over in pain. Yes, that was it, doubled over in pain, regretting having rejected him, having thrown him away as if he were dung.

Darcy released the window frame he held as if it were a thousand hot, burning coals. He swiveled, breathing harshly, then he closed his eyes and dropped back into the chair. He would do anything for her, bring her the world and lay it as an offering at her feet. But he had nothing she wanted. Darcy blew out a harsh breath and ran his hand down his face. He reached for the glass that had been his companion the last few hours, but it had defected, too, shattered like his hopes and dreams. Darcy leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes.

"Hateful man!" Elizabeth paced in her room. She had just returned from a walk where she had stomped down lesser traveled paths for more than an hour, muttering unladylike curses at the most insufferable man she had ever met. The temerity to tell her that he loved her against his better judgment! And to expect her to accept him, and expect it he had, for when she had refused, for just a moment, she thought she had never seen a more dejected countenance. Elizabeth stilled as the bleak look in his eyes arrested her senses. Then she shook her head, "No! I will not empathize after what he has done to perhaps the sweetest soul in all of England." Her indignation restored, Elizabeth's harsh breathing resumed. She repeated what she must have said a hundred times since his disastrous and insulting proposal, "What right did he have to judge another's feelings? And he, who had rarely spoken to Jane beyond a greeting, how dare he decide he knew her heart." Elizabeth hmphed and flopped upon the bed. Her bed in the Hunsford Parsonage was the most uncomfortable she had ever experienced. "Of course, the beds would be coarse, what would Lady Catherine care how her inferiors slept? She is just like her nephew. Look at what he did to Mr. Wickham, subjecting him to a life of penury for his jealous vindication."

Elizabeth rose from the offensive mattress as if her rejection of it could be felt by its purchaser and her arrogant nephew. At any rate, she was too upset to sleep and the bed too uncomfortable for reclining. She looked about the room, the only other chair was scarcely better; it looked as if it belonged somewhere in a medieval dungeon. Elizabeth chuckled at her exaggeration, grabbed a book from her table, and proceeded to the parlor that Charlotte kept for her own particular use.

As Elizabeth traveled down the corridor, she saw Charlotte exiting her husband's study. "No, dear, I must work on my sermon for Lady Catherine's approval," Elizabeth heard her cousin speak. "In her great condescension, Lady Catherine has charged me to arrive for breakfast tomorrow. She has told me that after last Sunday's sermon, she needed to see me even earlier this week! I believe she anticipates, with great excitement, my insights!" Mr. Collins sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers upon his chest while smiling like a schoolboy.

Charlotte covered her smile with her hand, then she cleared her throat and said, "I am sure she does, dearest. Well, I will not wait up for you, and since you shall breakfast with Lady Catherine, I shall wish you now an enjoyable morning."

Collins beamed. "Thank you, my dear. It is just as I imagined; we are of one mind! You recognize the condescension that Lady Catherine shows us, and you understand the respect that she is due. It is just as I imagined! Just as I imagined! Good night, my love, sleep well, but of course you will, Lady Catherine selected the mattresses herself, optimally chosen for the best sleep…"

"Yes, dear. Good night." Charlotte, who stood halfway into the corridor as she spoke to her husband, turned to Elizabeth who was waiting to pass.

"Oh, Lizzy! I did not notice you there."

"All is well, Charlotte."

Charlotte tilted her head to the side, "Truly, you are well, Lizzy?

Elizabeth smiled a quick close-lipped smile and spoke rapidly, "I am, Charlotte. I seek the use of your parlor. I would like to read a while if you do not mind."

Charlotte looked at Elizabeth for a while with her head tilted slightly, then she smiled, "Very well, Lizzy, keep your own counsel. I shall not badger you, and, of course, you may use the parlor," Charlotte whispered, "especially since the mattresses have been chosen for the best sleep, we cannot have you fall asleep before you have read one word!" Elizabeth and Charlotte giggled and parted ways.

Elizabeth settled onto the comfortable couch in Charlotte's parlor. As she began to read, the stress of the day, the long walk, the rancor she felt for Darcy – all took their toll, and before long, Elizabeth dozed.

In the meantime, in the study next door, Mr. Collins read his own sermon and fell asleep! He did so having forgotten to remove the candelabra from the place by the curtains that gave him the best light, but, about which his wife had warned him. The rector's head landed upon his desk with a slight thump, but not loud, nor hard enough to wake the snoring gentleman.

She stood, her chestnut curls flowing and her emerald eyes sparkling. She smiled that impertinent smile and beckoned him with her finger. He felt as if his entire face smiled, his heart raced, and every cell in his body came alive. He tried to lift his legs to run to her, but they would not move. Darcy frowned and looked down; the valley fog that swirled around him had gripped him like tentacles. Darcy pulled his legs again, but they felt like cement. He looked up as Elizabeth's smile crumbled and confusion marred her lovely face. He tried harder to move, straining with everything in him, but he could not. Suddenly, Elizabeth's face twisted and she and was pulled by an unseen force. Darcy reached for her and screamed, the agonizing scream of loss and desperation that can only be purchased by misery. He watched as Elizabeth reached for him, her face twisted in agony. He leaned forward, his face distorted and his eyes bulging from the strain and was just able to touch the tips of his fingers to hers – then, she was yanked away, and Darcy fell to his knees. Seeing her no more, he lifted his head to the sky and screamed.

Darcy woke with a gasp; he was drenched in sweat, and his heart raced like a thoroughbred."Elizabeth," he whispered, then he lurched from his chair and stood at the window. His eyes were blurry from sleep, drink, and tears. He rubbed them and peered into the night. Then he gasped, his eyes as wide as a beaver's moon, and turned and raced away.

Hunsford Parsonage was on fire.