**Trigger warning: a young Collins is physically abused by his father in the prologue. If this would be disturbing, please skip it and begin wtih chapter 1**
Prologue
Staffordshire, 1791
Five-year-old William Collins shrank further back into the cupboard, burrowing himself further under the soiled linens that had yet to be washed.
"Where's my supper, woman?" he heard his father's loud voice demand.
Her quiet murmur was met with the sound of a fist hitting flesh, causing William to put his hands over his ears. He had learned from prior experience that it would not drown out all of the sounds, but it would help block out his mother's sobs.
After what seemed an eternity later, the door to his cupboard opened. His tear-filled eyes met his mother's, one of which was already swollen and purple. His eyes widened at the sight.
"Come out, love," she said with a overly bright smile and tremulous voice. "I bet you're hungry."
William's stomach growled at the words, and her smile faded slightly. "I've got a bit of bread left for you."
William crawled out and put his arms around her, hiding his face in her apron. "Where's Father?" he asked in a shaking voice.
Her smile faded further as she answered, "He's had his supper and has gone to bed."
Loud snores from the bedroom echoed the truth to her words. William looked at the door fearfully, then back at his mother.
"Not to worry," Mrs. Samantha Collins said comfortingly. "I don't believe he'll be waking before morn. He had a hard day at work, your father. You must be sure to thank him in the morning for all he does to put food on our table and a roof over our heads."
William nodded in agreement; he had been told to do that every day since he had begun to speak. His father was quickly mollified by words of praise and gratitude, although even then sometimes they were not enough to pacify his rage.
William quietly crept over to the table, looking at the small crust of bread left on his father's plate. At his mother's urging, he picked it up and ate half of it. He then extended a chubby fist to his mother, who shook her head in denial.
"You're such a thoughtful boy, but I'm not hungry tonight." The growl of her stomach gave lie to her words, but she pretended not to hear it.
William reluctantly finished the bread, then helped his mother by carrying his father's plate over to be washed with the empty pot of stew that had been the first portion of dinner. His mother thanked him again and told him to wash up and change for bed.
William went to the corner of the kitchen, where a thin pad lay on the floor, along with a ragged blanket that served as his bed. He put on his nightshirt, and his mother winced at the sight of his ribs jutting out from his skin. She smoothed down the worn cotton, then tucked him into bed, humming softly as she did so.
"Mama, could you tell me a story?" he asked her.
"What would you like to hear tonight?" she asked, smiling fondly at him.
"The one about the pastor from when you were a little girl," he responded eagerly.
She laughed and said, "Aren't you tired of that yet?"
He shook his head vehemently, and she laughed again. "Very well," she said, smoothing his hair. "Once upon a time, there was a good pastor. He was the vicar in the town where I grew up. Do you know why he was a good pastor?"
"Because he helped the people!" he said excitedly.
"That's right, my darling. This pastor was very good because he followed the scriptures where it says to love one another. He was kind to everyone he met, and he never raised his voice."
"Not even when the boys threw rocks at his pigs?" he asked eagerly.
"Not even then," she said reassuringly.
Mrs. Collins then continued, telling William wonderful tales about how the pastor saved one person after another who was in need. William's eyes shined with excitement as he envisioned the noble man who cared for everyone, no matter their station in life. When the story concluded, William looked at his mother and said, "When I grow up, I want to be a pastor. Then I will be able to help you!"
She smiled at him. "I would be very proud of you if you were to become a pastor who was kind and helpful. But to be a pastor, you must learn your letters and work hard."
William looked down sorrowfully. "Father says reading is a waste of time."
She shook her head. "He only says that because reading is so difficult for him. He mixes up the letters in the words, and his father was quite harsh on him for it. So he had to pretend he didn't care for so long that now he believes it."
"He still will not allow me to learn."
"Don't worry, love," she smiled at him, "I won't let him find out."
He smiled back at her, then let out a big yawn. She laughed and kissed him on the forehead. "It's time to go to sleep, now, love."
William obediently closed his eyes and listened to her humming until he finally drifted off to sleep.
Staffordshire, 1796
"Get up, boy!"
The angry voice, accompanied by a kick to his ribs, startled William Collins awake. At ten years old, he still slept on the same worn-out mat in the corner of the same kitchen where his mother once hummed him to sleep.
William sat up blearily, rubbing his eyes, only to feel his father's meaty hand strike his head. "Do you think you're better than me, to be sleeping in? Expect me to wait on you, do you boy?"
"N-no, sir," William stammered, but his father's rage continued.
"I told your mother that learning your letters would be the ruin of you! And it has – I've never seen such a proud and disdainful boy."
"No, Father!" William exclaimed as his father reached his hand back to strike again. "I would never dare to dream of thinking myself better than you! You are by far the greatest man in the county. I know it was my own weaknesses that caused me to sleep in. I was only up so late helping Mother that –"
"Now you dare to presume that you are better than I am? All because you helped your mother during the night while I slept? Such insolence!"
"Of course, not, Father! Please, I know you deserve your sleep because you work so tirelessly during the day to provide for us. I only mentioned it to show how much I understand that you are worthy of uninterrupted sleep. I would not dare to…"
"Enough!" cried the elder Mr. Collins.
William flinched, but his father lowered his hands. William sighed in relief; his words had indeed had the calming effect he hoped.
"Hurry up, boy. I need to stop by the tavern on my way to work, and I can't do it on an empty stomach."
William's heart sank at the knowledge that his father would be imbibing before the start of a work shift, but he dutifully arose and went about preparing breakfast. He took the single remaining egg out of the basket and quickly fried it. Glancing at his father and seeing him otherwise occupied, he scraped a small amount of egg off and dumped it into the pot of gruel that cooking over the fire. He then cut the mold off the last of the bread and placed the egg on it, carrying it to his father.
Mr. Collins frowned down at his plate. "Is this all, boy?" he asked gruffly.
"It – it was a small egg, sir, and the only one left," William answered quietly. He silently said a prayer of forgiveness for the white lie.
His father grumbled but ate quickly, then gave his son a stern look. "You take care of your mother, y'hear? And I don't want to hear nothin' about you spendin' all day long readin' instead of finding ways to earn money for more food."
William quickly acquiesced in the humblest way possible, which meant his father left without a final strike. Once he could no longer hear the footsteps down the path, he turned back to the gruel and stirred in the eggs. After it had finished, he carried it into his mother's room.
"Mama?" he asked quietly, knocking on the door.
"Come in," he heard her whisper before breaking into a coughing fit.
William entered the darkened room and crossed to her bed. Sitting on the small chair next to her, he placed the bowl on her lap.
"I put some egg in the gruel for you today," he told her as spoon a few bites of breakfast into her mouth.
"You mustn't have done that," she said in a rasping voice. "Your father needs his strength to keep his job."
"You need your strength," he insisted, "or you will never get well. That is what Dr. Marshall told me."
"Now where did you come by the funds to call the doctor for me?" she asked in alarm.
"I – I didn't," he said, lowering his head in shame. "I was not able to keep them from Father to save enough. I met the doctor in town and asked him what I could to help someone who was sick. He told me a sick person needs rest and lots of good food and water."
His mother raised her eyebrows in surprised. "That was very kind of him. But you should not have importuned him, William."
"But Mama –"
A coughing fit interrupted his protests. William quickly fetched the chamber pot as his mother's body rejected the food he had fed her. The blood mixed in with her stomach contents made William's heart clench.
"Mama, you are bleeding," he whispered. "You must allow me to fetch the doctor."
She shook her head in protest. "You know we haven't the money to pay him, and your father would be furious if he found out."
She broke again into such a coughing fit that William ceased arguing, not wanting to upset her. Once she had regained her breath, he took the chamber pot out the door and dumped the contents at the back of the yard. His eyes filled with tears as he rinsed the bloodstains, but he willed them back, determined that she not see his weakness.
William entered the kitchen and began to clean up the dishes from breakfast. Looking at the clock, he sighed in sorrow to see that he would once again have to miss lessons at the local church. The vicar there, a kind man, often gave free lessons to the poorer children in the neighborhood who could not afford a tutor or school. Although generous, the vicar was also somewhat stern about students being prompt.
Once everything had been straightened, William took the chamber pot back to his mother's room. He knocked on the door softly, calling for her. When she did not answer, he entered quietly. She appeared to be sleeping, so he placed the pot next to the bed and softly shut the door.
William spent the remainder of the day going from house to house, offering to do the odd chore for a spare egg or loaf of bread. Unfortunately, there was little work to be found for a small boy of only ten years old. One woman took pity on him and asked him to sweep the path in front of her house in exchange for a bit of stale bread, which he accepted gratefully.
As the afternoon sun grew strong, William returned home, hopefully that the bread could be softened with some broth he had made the day before. He entered the house and prepared the simple lunch, then knocked on his mother's door. When she again did not answer, he turned the knob and quietly entered.
She was in the same position that she had been in earlier that morning when he returned the pot, which lay untouched by the bed. William approached her with quiet steps and called her gently. "Mama?"
When she did not move, William placed his hand on the sleeve of her faded nightdress, repeating himself. "Mama?"
Again, she did not move. Alarmed, the young boy grabbed her hand. "Mama!" he cried out when felt the ice-cold skin.
Grabbing her by the shoulders, he began shouting over and over. "Mama! Mama!"
Her head wobbled unsteadily as he shook her, desperate for her to wake up. After several minutes, the boy collapsed onto the bed, curling himself into her. "Mama, oh Mama, please wake up. Please wake up," he sobbed into her.
How long he lay like that, he did not know. The hours passed as day turned into evening, the young boy crying hopelessly on the only person in the world who loved him. Not even the slam of the front door and his father's heavy steps could pull him from her side.
"What's this? No supper! Boy, get in here!" Mr. Collins bellowed in anger.
When there was no response, the burly man stormed into his wife's room. He took one look at his dead wife on the bed and his frail son curled up into her. His face turned white, then purple.
"You killed her!" the man screamed in rage.
He ripped the boy from the bed and began beating him savagely with his fists. "You've killed her! I'll kill you for this!"
The boy screamed in fear and pain, then lost consciousness. The beating continued until the father could no longer move, the alcohol he had drunk before and after his work tiring his body more quickly than it should. He stumbled out the front door, muttering to himself.
William finally regained consciousness some hours later. Unable to move from the pain, he lay on the cold floor. The evening hours passed, and finally around midnight there was a knock on the door.
"Hello?" called a sharp voice from the outside. "Is anyone home? This is Constable Baker."
William lifted his head but was unable to do anything but groan in pain at the movement.
The door opened, and the local constable entered. "Hello? I apologize for the intrusion, but I really must speak with Mrs. Collins immediately."
William let out another groan, attempting to respond.
"Good God!" the man exclaimed.
William heard the constable kneel next to him. He attempted to open his eyes, but they were swollen closed. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"Oh thank the Lord, you're alive," Constable Baker said in relief. "I don't see how, however. You stay here, boy. I don't want to leave you, but I must fetch the doctor immediately."
William tried to protest but could not speak. He heard footsteps run out the door, and he began to shake fearfully. What will Father say when he finds out the doctor has been called for? he thought in terror. The trembling caused waves of agonizing pain throughout his entire body, but he could not stop himself.
After what seemed to be an eternity, he heard footsteps running up to the house. "This way, Doctor!" cried the constable. "The boy is here on the floor."
William heard the doctor's swift intake of breath. "Good Lord," he muttered. "I've never seen such viciousness against someone so young."
"Good thing his father's dead," responded the constable. "His death will probably save this poor boy's life."
William startled at this, causing fresh waves of pain again. Father's dead? he thought in bewilderment. He can't be! He was just here!
"Easy there, boy," the doctor said gently. "Try to not to move. I need to make sure nothing's broken."
The doctor's hands moved efficiently over the boy, testing his arms and legs, pressing on his stomach and back. Jolts like lightning shot through William's ribs as the doctor felt around.
"He's got a few broken ribs, and some sizeable bruising and swelling. An arm and a leg are broken, too, by the looks of it. His stomach his soft, however, so I do not believe he is bleeding on the inside," the doctor informed the constable.
"So he will live?" the constable inquired.
"Yes, but it will be a slow, painful recovery," the doctor answered.
"Where is his mother?" the constable demanded in frustration. "Why did she not put a stop to this?"
William heard footsteps walk away and a door open. "Doctor!" shouted the constable. "There's another patient!"
The doctor patted William gently and whispered, "It's okay, boy. I will return shortly."
William could hear the low murmur of voices as the doctor joined the constable in his mother's bedroom. He knew what they were talking about, but he didn't want to hear it. Unable to move his arms to cover his ears, he was helpless to avoid the conversation.
"Looks like she's dead, too, Constable."
"Did the husband do it, too, Doctor?"
"No, I believe she died of consumption. The poor boy asked me just yesterday how he could take care of someone who was ill. Had I known she was the sickly, however, I would never have given him hope of recovery. Perhaps if I had known sooner, something could have been done."
William could feel tears streaming down his eyes. Father was right. It's my fault Mama is dead. I should have asked the doctor sooner. I've killed her.
The two men quickly joined William, and the doctor patted him reassuringly. "It's okay, lad. It will all be okay. I know it hurts. We are going to take you to my home until you have recovered."
"Do you mean to raise him, then?" the constable asked in surprise.
"Certainly not," the doctor said somewhat primly. "I could not expose my daughters to him. Goodness knows the type of man he will grow into with his father as an example."
"I will make some inquiries to see if he has any other family," the constable replied, "but I don't know if it will do any good. They weren't from here, so there's no family nearby."
"There appears to be a letter on the table by the bed," the doctor remarked. "Perhaps it will have some details."
The constable went quickly to the bedroom and returned with the letter. "Well, this is lucky," he said. "This seems to be from the boy's father's cousin. He writes to say that his wife has given birth to another child."
"Then he shall go them," the doctor said firmly. "As soon as he can travel."
"How long will that take?"
"Perhaps a week, but only if he is lucky and an infection does not set in. He can stay in our spare room, but once he can move about on his own, he will need to leave."
"I will write to this Mr. Bennet of Longbourn at once," the constable said. "I will inform him of the death of Mr. and Mrs. Collins and tell him the boy will be sent by post."
"How did the father die?" the doctor asked curiously. "You did not call for me before coming here to inform the mother, so I imagine he was not ill like his wife? Although with the amount of damage to the boy, he could not have been."
"No," said the constable grimly, "he was certainly not sick, unless you call drunkenness an illness. He came into the pub in a terrible fury and insulted a man who was in his cups. The man stabbed him in the gut with a knife, then fled. I was about to pursue him, but after seeing how badly this boy has been beaten, I say good riddance to Mr. Collins."
"Good riddance indeed," the doctor replied with fervor. "Let us hope the sins of his father do not follow this boy."
The constable nodded in agreement, then lifted young William Collins into his arms. The young man let out a groan of agony, then lapsed into unconsciousness again. The doctor followed them out, then gave lingering look at the miserable house he left and closed the door firmly behind him.