Three nights after the Bingleys and the Darcys left Quickentree Hall for town the Dowager Countess of Jeltotford peacefully passed away in her sleep, and it is hoped, was able to rejoin her husband, John, who had departed this mortal coil so many years before her.
The following morning, at dawn, Elizabeth was advised by her maid, Polly, of the death and if she wanted to pay her last respects, she had better hurry as the steward, Mr. Greaves was about to depart with the coffined remains for Roundtree Abbey, in Yorkshire, the ancestral seat of the Earls of Jeltotford.
It appeared that Dowager Countess's demise had been long anticipated and so plans had been made and preparations were in place. When the night nurse noticed that the Dowager Countess had breathed her last Mr. Smithers was immediately notified. While the three nurses washed the body and dressed it in the Dowager Countess's bridal gown (suitably modified given the ordinary and expected ravages wrought by a long life), as per her wishes, Mr. Smithers notified Mr. Greaves, and the coachman, and arranged for the lead lined coffin to be taken out of storage. Notification of the companion was apparently not thought necessary.
By the time Elizabeth made it out the front doors, the coffin had already been loaded into the back of an enclosed wagon and Mr. Greaves closing the tail gate. Elizabeth, having been in a hurry to get there; once there, was paralyzed with the thought - what was she to do. She did not mourn the passing of the Dowager Countess of Jeltotford; felt no grief that she was gone; would shed no tears over her memory. Although she had spent seven hours a day, for fifty weeks, in close proximity to the Dowager Countess, she had never come to know her as a person, had never had the opportunity to do so. To Elizabeth's shame, the only loss she felt was of the bonus; now she would not be able to serve out the full year complete.
In the end Elizabeth, in company with Mr. and Mrs. Smithers, asked Mr. Greaves to convey their sympathies to the Earl and his family. As they watched the wagon move out of sight, they exchanged the usual sentiments expressed on the inevitable passing of an elderly personage for whom one had acted as servant – for all that she was a good mistress, never caused much trouble or fuss, she had had a good innings, she's in a better place, she won't suffer anymore, and the like.
Quickentree Hall did not go into mourning for the Dowager Countess of Jeltotford as she had never officially been a resident there. In fact, evidence of her presence rapidly disappeared. The three nurses, each given a pension by the Earl, were in the post coach headed south that afternoon. Mrs. Smithers (following the direction of Mrs. Bingley, for the Bingleys had decided to complete the purchase of Quickentree Hall) disposed of the rugs, drapes, bedding and upholstered furniture, all of which were impregnated with that ineffable orange and jasmine scent. The army of cleaners would once more be called forth, this time to eradicate the last whiff from the three rooms lately occupied by the Dowager Countess. The scent itself, there was almost a firkin of it left, was destined for sale to the brothels of Nottingham according to Mrs. Smithers, if she could find a man who would confess to knowing where they were located, looking darkly at Mr. Smithers as she said this, his only reasonable response being to throw up his hands in silent supplication. This naturally led to a discussion of how to get rid of the twelve robes à l'anglaise in orange and white stripped silk, Mrs. Smithers being of the opinion that no self-respecting whore would be caught half naked in one. Neither Elizabeth nor Mr. Smithers challenged this opinion, the former adopting the demure guise of a maiden of tender upbringing who had never even heard of such a profession; and the latter professing to have heard his wife suggest the dresses be used as rags to wipe down the horses. This witticism earned a cuff at his head which he easily ducked. It was decided the dresses would be sold to a rag-and-bone man, for as little as a farthing, if necessary, provided that he agreed not sell them anywhere in Nottinghamshire.
Elizabeth wondered what had became of the novel 'Clarissa' and the sheet music to 'Greensleeves', either of which would serve as a souvenir of her annus horribilis, but was told they both had been sent north with the Dowager Countess, as memento mori for the family.
As for Elizabeth, she was left with the twenty-five pounds she had earned for the fifty weeks she had worked, plus the promise of a glowing character letter, which she wouldn't need given her forthcoming nuptials unless - perish the thought, unless William jilted her as revenge for her having jilted him. That slight (he wouldn't, would he?) and unfounded thought, but persistent in a guilty mind, would plague Elizabeth in those odd sleepless moments she would endure in the coming nights.
Jane had made Elizabeth promise that she wouldn't travel to town by post when the time came, but instead would write for a coach to be sent for her. There was a time when Elizabeth would have thought it would be a grand adventure to travel by post, perhaps on top, up in the elements, but not now – there was something about Jane now that made one fear that there would be consequences, medieval consequences, if you broke a promise to her. So, Elizabeth sent an express, the gist of which was 'please come get me'.