Master of Longbourn Chapter 2 - Aid and Avarice, a pride and prejudice fanfic

To answer some questions: I deliberately made Collins 2 years older, so that when he arrives at Longbourn he is 25 and already has the living at Hunsford – as in canon.

~MoL~

Aid and Avarice

1792

The young boy huddled in the bushes where he had found sanctuary from his father.

It had been but a month since his mother's passing, an event young William Collins felt certain could have been prevented. But, when his mother had become ill, his father refused to call a doctor, preferring to spend the little coin they had on strong drink.

Now that the father had not the comforts of a wife, he drank even more and took out his displeasure and frustration on his eight-year-old son.

Horace Collins blamed his impecunious state on his Bennet cousins.

It had all started with his grandfather, George Bennet, who objected to his younger son's need to sow his wild oats. George Bennet insisted that John had to marry Mary Collins when John Bennet importuned her and got her with child – Horace being the result. Not only that, but to receive any support from his father, John also had to change his name to Collins.

Then, to ensure that no potential heir could squander the estate, George Bennet implemented an entail on Longbourn.

To John Collins' chagrin, the following year his older brother Henry married and the year after his wife presented him with their first son. Two years later Henry's second son was born.

To the great relief of Mary Collins her husband John drowned his sorrows in a bottle and as a consequence he drowned in a creek. The small jointure which came to her on his death was enough to ensure that her own family were prepared to house her and her son, especially as Horace grew up into a strapping young man who was useful as a labourer on their farm. Unfortunately, as he was an unpleasant child, no one took the trouble to educate him, and he grew up illiterate.

Despite being illiterate, Horace had an excellent memory, and he remembered his father's stories about the family estate.

When Henry Bennet died in 1783, shortly after Horace Collins married Sarah Smith, he had great hopes of inheriting the family estate, being the oldest male in the family. But his hopes were dashed when he learnt that Henry Bennet's sons were ahead of him in the line of succession. It was therefore no surprise to anyone that he held a grudge towards the Bennet family.

That grudge turned to glee when the older Bennet brother died without issue while the younger brother's wife presented him with one daughter after another, with no heir making his appearance.

Once Horace's mother died, her family were no longer prepared to put up with him and he had to find employment elsewhere. The conditions in which they lived were too difficult for Sarah Collins, who did not survive for long afterwards.

Shortly after his wife's death Horace was heard to gloat, 'It seems Cousin Thomas is not much of a man. His wife just gave birth to his third daughter. At this rate he is going to wear the woman out trying to produce an heir.'

He took another long pull from his bottle before casually backhanding his son for attempting to take the heel of bread on the table. 'That's my dinner. Find your own,' Collins growled and swung his fist again. Fortunately, his aim was impaired by the alcohol and young William made his escape.

~MoL~

On his way to his sanctuary, William had found a couple of small apples which had been overlooked by a farmer on the neighbouring estate. Or perhaps they had not thought the apples to be worth collecting. Whatever the reason, William was grateful as they satisfied his hunger pangs, at least for the moment.

He was still in his hiding place after devouring the apples, wondering if it would be safe to return to his home when he heard hoofbeats which were fast approaching. While he was no expert on horses, especially not ones used for riding by the inhabitants of the manor near his home, there was a frantic quality to the sound.

Fearful for his own safety he looked towards the clatter and saw a large brown horse racing towards the small pond which was nearby. As the horse's path was angled away from him, he had a moment of leisure to observe more carefully and saw a small female form clinging for dear life to the back of the obviously bolting horse. A moment later, a sudden swerve at the edge of the pond caused the rider to lose her grip and she was pitched into the water. Her scream was cut off when her head submerged.

Before William knew what he was doing, he was racing across the intervening space and jumping into the pond flailing to reach the centre of the ripples before diving below the surface in search of the girl.

~MoL~

William was getting desperately afraid for the girl. Twice he had dived below the surface and had been unable to find her. He took a deep gulping breath and dove under the water again. By chance he had changed the angle of his dive and was rewarded with the feel of fabric as his right hand touched the dress. He clutched it convulsively and strove to reach the surface.

As soon as his head came up into the fresh air, he pulled at the dress and sighed in relief when he saw the head of the girl break the surface of the pond. Changing his grip to the girl's collar, William started to make for the shore. He was so focused on his task that he did not hear the approach of more hoofbeats followed by splashing sounds. He only noticed the newcomer when the man snatched the girl from his grasp, crying, 'Anne!' as he rushed back to the shore.

By the time William struggled out of the water, Sir Lewis de Bourgh was working feverishly to empty his daughter's lungs of the water she had inhaled. It seemed like an eternity but at last he was rewarded with a sharply indrawn breath by the girl, followed by coughing.

While their attention was focused on Anne, another rider, astride a sturdy cob, came onto the scene. Fitzwilliam Darcy was a tall, lanky boy of eight, who was horrified at the sight of his cousin. 'Uncle, how is Anne?' he called out. 'What happened?'

'She got throwd into the pond,' William said wearily, from his position at the edge of the pond where he had collapsed onto his knees.

Now that his daughter was breathing again, Sir Lewis looked up and surveyed his surroundings. 'Will, bring me my horse, then ride into Hunsford and get the doctor.' He spared a brief glance at the shivering boy who had rescued his daughter. 'And bring that boy with you.'

Fitzwilliam caught the horse which had wandered to graze on some lush grass and brought it back to his uncle, who had taken off his coat and wrapped the girl in it. With a nod of thanks, Sir Lewis mounted, seemingly unhampered by the weight of his daughter. Taking the reins, he hurried off to the manor house of Rosings Park.

Fitzwilliam shrugged out of his own coat and handed it to William. When William tried to demur, Fitzwilliam said, 'We cannot have my cousin's rescuer catch his death of cold.'

'How do you know I didn't push the young miss into the pond?' William asked as he gratefully pulled on the coat which still retained some warmth from its owner.

'Since Anne was mounted on a bolting horse, you could not have thrown her into the pond. As you are wet all over including your hair, and my uncle only had wet legs it is obvious that you pulled her out. But we had better hurry and get the doctor.'

Fitzwilliam pulled one foot out of his stirrup and offered a hand to William. As soon as the wet boy was securely seated behind, they took off on their errand.

~MoL~

While Dr Harcroft had attended his two patients, Anne as well as William, who had been whisked off by the housekeeper to a guestroom to recover, Sir Lewis took his nephew to his study for a quiet word.

'Tell me what happened,' Sir Lewis asked Fitzwilliam. When the boy was loath to answer, he encouraged, 'I am not your father. I will believe you.'

Fitzwilliam sighed and with some reluctance he finally said, 'You know that George was put out that I was to ride on a horse today while he was to ride the cob.'

Sir Lewis nodded with a grimace. 'Yes. That was the reason I became suspicious, when, just after I put Anne on my horse, I noticed Wickham smirking as you were getting ready to mount. I believed you when you mentioned that that boy plays some very nasty pranks. That was why I checked the girth on your horse. And a good thing it was, since it was too loose. Your saddle would have slipped, and you could have had a nasty fall.'

'That little… bas… brute,' snarled Fitzwilliam. 'He would have enjoyed watching me come a cropper.' He took a deep breath and looked his uncle in the eye. 'While you were fixing the girth, I thought I saw George pick up a stone and fling it at my horse, just as it took that step forward. It was out of the corner of my eye, so I could not swear to it, but…'

As Fitzwilliam trailed off, Sir Lewis pictured the position of the various people and animals as they were getting ready to go for their ride. 'My horse with Anne atop was just behind yours from Wickham's position. That explains why it took off in a panic.'

Sir Lewis remembered his fright when he saw his beloved Anne being carried away by his bolting horse. He had taken a moment longer to tighten the girth before he could follow on what was supposed to be Fitzwilliam's mount. Unfortunately, since it was to be Fitzwilliam's first time on a full-sized horse, Sir Lewis had chosen a gentle gelding who had not the speed of his own favourite stallion. 'But why were you the one following me and not Wickham?'

Fitzwilliam gave him a look which was a curious mixture of chagrin and defiance. 'I punched him in the face when he laughed.'

'I see.' Before Sir Lewis could say anything else, they were interrupted by the stablemaster. 'Sorry to interrupt, sir, but you wanted to be told when your horse returned.'

'How is he?'

'He is tired, but on the whole, he is sound, except for a small cut on his left flank. Although how he got that, I could not say.'

Sir Lewis and Fitzwilliam exchanged glances. 'Could it have been from a flung stone?'

'Sure, if it had a sharp edge. But who would…' The stablemaster stopped speaking as his expression turned furious. 'That little bastard. I will teach him to throw stones at my horses.' The man was extremely protective of his charges.

'Whom do you suspect?'

'Sorry, Sir, I know he is the godson of your brother, but I have you know that George Wickham is as nasty as they come.'

'Mr Jamieson, I suggest that you hold off on whatever you plan to do. It would be best if the punishment came from me.' When the man looked as if he would argue, Sir Lewis added, 'I know how much you care for the horses, but it was my daughter he endangered.'

Jamieson gave a startled look followed by a grim grin and a nod. 'As long as that boy gets what's coming to him, I'll be satisfied.'

As the stablemaster turned to leave, Sir Lewis asked, 'Who saddled the horses this morning?'

'Young Bob saddled the cob, and I saddled the horses. Aristotle does not like the lads and as for the gelding, I wanted to be certain that all was right for young Master Fitzwilliam, seeing as it was to be his first ride on a horse.'

Sir Lewis nodded. He had suspected that the stablemaster would be thorough but wanted to be certain. 'Thank you, Jamieson. That will be all for the moment.'

~MoL~

The stablemaster had barely left when the doctor was shown into the study.

'How are your patients?' asked Sir Lewis immediately. Knowing that Fitzwilliam would hear about the outcome of Wickham's prank one way or the other, Sir Lewis did not bother to send his nephew away. They both listened anxiously.

'Miss de Bourgh is lucky to be alive. The water in the pond has irritated her lungs but since was a strong, healthy girl before this accident, I am hopeful that she will overcome the potential damage. Although there is of course a chance that she could suffer some long-term effects on her breathing. She currently has a fever, and I left some medicines to ease her lungs and the fever, as well as instructions about her treatment.'

Sir Lewis nodded as he said, 'Thank you for being honest.'

'I think it is always best to be prepared for the worst. I am hopeful things will work out, but I cannot perform miracles.'

'What about the boy? The one who rescued her.'

'The dunking did not do him any significant harm, but I am concerned for his wellbeing.'

'Why?'

'Because he is malnourished and covered in bruises, both old and new.'

'I never had a chance to ask, who is he?'

'His name is William Collins. He just turned eight years old. His father, Horace Collins, is a farm labourer on the farm of Walter Newman, a tenant farmer at the Hayes estate. It seems that William's mother passed away last month, and his father is not taking it well.'

The doctor could have said much more, but it was obvious that it was unnecessary. Sir Lewis understood the unspoken message.

After assuring Sir Lewis that he would stop by later in the day to check on Anne, the doctor took his leave.

Sir Lewis looked at his nephew and wondered how three boys, all virtually the same age, with Wickham at the age of nine being barely six months older than Fitzwilliam, who came from such different backgrounds could have turned out so unexpectedly.

George Darcy had always been strict with Fitzwilliam, yet that boy had a kind heart and an excellent character.

William Collins, a boy from what appeared a harsh background had not hesitated to save the life of a child wholly unconnected to him.

Whereas George Wickham, on whom George Darcy doted, had turned into a cruel and vicious boy.

Sir Lewis de Bourgh was determined to ensure that each of them received their just reward.

~MoL~