Author's Note: I'm not sure about the proper funeral customs of the time; I have read a lot of conflicting accounts, so I have settled for focusing on who doesn't attend instead.

Part XXI.

Georgiana, memories of her father's funeral still vivid in her mind, broke down and had to remain at the house. Elizabeth stayed with her, her own mind still in a state of shock about the whole course of events. Anne's death had an unreal quality to it, one that she could not ignore, even though she had witnessed the passing herself.

It was not right, it was unfair that she should have so little time on this world compared to others. Elizabeth was well aware of the injustices of life, in her situation it would impossible to avoid them, but nothing seemed just in the death of her friend. She had only known her a short time. Was it really only since Michaelmas last? Time was frequently all too cruel.

The house, if it was possible, mourned all the more deeply now the event had occurred. The sadness, the grief, had drifted to the outside, where a thick mist hung over the grounds and formal gardens, clothing everything in its despondency. A coldness, like some deadly plague of centuries past, had inflicted the house and it occupants, one that was impervious to any fire, no matter how blazing. Fortunately none of the occupants seemed to notice it.

Elizabeth knew not how the day had passed. She felt herself at times to be watching the world as if she were an outsider and did not exist within its harrowing aftermath. She did not witness the mist fade into the darkness of the night. She did not remember standing with Georgiana to welcome Lady Catherine, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr Darcy back. She knew nothing of the meal that followed their arrival, nor her escort back to Hunsford Parsonage where a dour-faced Mr and Mrs Collins were waiting.

Indeed the only thing that did manage to somehow force itself upon her notice was a thin piece of paper, folded in half and sealed, lying on the bureau in her bedchamber. Closer examination revealed the directions written by a familiar hand; it was her father. Anxious for some partial relief, no matter how temporary, Elizabeth set herself down and opened the paper.

The contents were brief and succinct, as such that might be expected coming from a source so usually hateful of sending correspondence. He asked her to come home. The letter, delayed by the usual modes of travel for such mail, was dated earlier than the express she had sent to Longbourn, informing them of her friend's death.

However at this moment, none of that concerned her. She wanted to go home, to put some distance between herself and the weeks at Rosings now so horrible to her. She wanted the chaos of her sisters, the nerves of her mother, her father's whimsical and often barbed humour. But most of all, she wanted Jane. The outlet to whom she could finally pour out all her grief. She had been forced to be strong for others far too long.

It was time for her to grieve herself.

The morning brought little alteration to either the people or the weather. At breakfast Elizabeth informed her hosts of her desire to be on the road by the afternoon. Unfortunately proprieties interceded, Mr Collins vowing on their behalf. Elizabeth was forced to delay a day, so she could make proper farewells to those of Rosings.

Whether Lady Catherine had realised her daughter was dead or not was not for Elizabeth to judge. All she could remark about to herself after the visit was that her cousin's patroness seemed unchanged by the circumstances around her. Nothing of the outcry concerning their last encounter in her daughter's room was recalled or referred to by the lady, and Elizabeth chose to remain silent over the matter in light of such. Whether or not Lady Catherine remembered the matter was up to none but her. All that lady could seem to focus on now was a departure which was not following her desired manners and customs. That Miss Bennet should leave so soon was not to be borne.

That her father could not do without her was, to Lady Catherine's mind, even more incomprehensible. Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father. Why would she not stay a fortnight longer? If she would stay but another month complete, it would in her power to take Miss Bennet to London herself;- in the Barouche box.

Careful to make sure her host was placated, and desirous of causing the mother of her departed friend as little grief as possible, Elizabeth exclaimed that as sensible of the honour as she was, she believed that she must abide by her original plan. To which, her host's reply was to make inquiries as to if a servant was to be sent with her.

When she heard that Miss Bennet's uncle had already taken care of that, Lady Catherine turned to making sure that the equipage by which Elizabeth was to travel would change horses in Bromley, and that if Miss Bennet mentioned her name at the Bell, she would be attended to.

The visit ended shortly after that. Mr Darcy, understandably morose and silent, escorted Elizabeth and the Collins to the carriage. As he held her hand in assistance, Elizabeth had occasion to look into his eyes. Seeing the sadness she felt and more besides, she turned away, only to glance up once more as he pressed a thick envelope into her hands. She had no time to question its author or contents, only to stare at him from the carriage window as it moved out of the front drive.

Not until she was inside the parsonage did Elizabeth open the envelope and take out the two sheets of letter paper contain therein. Even then, it was only to skip to the end and find out the author.

It was Anne.

Elizabeth rapidly put the letter back, and then out of her immediate sight. She was not ready to face such a letter yet, nor did she presently possess the will or ability to read it. Her emotions and thoughts were still tangled too complexly for the contents of the lettered sheets to make any sense to her current frame of mind.

Slowly she returned to her trunks and travelling clothes, making a final check on all their contents. She placed the letter in a deep pocket of her coat, hoping to read it after she had put a distance between the neighbourhood of Hunsford, Rosings and herself.

The next morning passed slowly. Mr Collins sequestered her company soon after breakfast, thanking her for the honour that she had paid him and her sister in coming to visit them so soon after their happy union.

At length did he hold monologue over the bliss that was his marriage with Mary, and how well suited, in fact seemingly designed, they were for one another. Most fervently did he summarise the hours and days spent in the company of his gracious patroness, underlining the value she had showed by choosing to invite them so many times to Rosings Park.

At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate parting between sisters, Elizabeth was attended to the carriage by Mr Collins.

As they walked down the garden, he commissioned her to send his best respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks for the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and his compliments to Mr and Mrs Gardiner, whom he had been so happy to make an acquaintance of at the happy occasion of his wedding.

He then handed her in, and the door was on the point of being closed, when he reminded her with some consternation that she had hitherto forgotten to leave any message for the occupants of Rosings.

For that duty however, he was willing to take on himself, and then the door was at last allowed to be closed, whereupon the carriage drove off.