TW: Suicide.
The closer Richard and Darcy got to Lady Catherine's quarters, the more they were aware of a disquieting stillness in the corridor.
"She was screaming earlier. She must have tired herself out," said Richard.
"Or given up on having someone come to release her," said Darcy.
From outside the door of Lady Catherine's chambers, one of the servants, who had been assigned to keep watch, retrieved a key and opened the door. All was still silent.
"Aunt Catherine," said Richard in a soothing voice.
There was no answer. They entered the room. It was empty, but the door to the alcove that held the chamber pot was closed. They stood silently, waiting. There were no sounds of movement.
"Aunt Catherine? Are you well?" asked Darcy in a loud voice.
There was no answer. The men looked at each other. Darcy went forward and rapped loudly on the closed door. Nothing happened.
"I am coming in, Aunt. I need to know you are well." Slowly, he turned the knob. Richard was right behind him, his hand on the knife at his belt. He was about to stop Darcy and ask to go before him, but Darcy had already opened the door and was looking in shock at what was in front of him.
"Cut her down!" Darcy cried.
Richard leapt forward and took the knife from his belt. He began to saw at the noose Lady Catherine had fashioned from the bedclothes, working as quickly as he could. Although her body was still, there was a chance that she had still retained life. Darcy held onto her legs and lowered her to the floor when the final fibres were cut.
He loosened the make-shift rope from her neck and pulled it over her head. Richard checked for her pulse, first at her wrist and then at her neck. He found none.
"She is dead," he said. "But we must get the doctor."
"I am here!" said Mr. Ross. "One of the servants ran for me."
Mr. Ross repeated the actions that Richard had just carried out. When he found no pulse, he went to the nearest fireplace and came back with the bellows. He placed the end into Lady Catherine's mouth and pumped the bellows as hard as he could. He checked her pulse again, but to no avail. He repeated the action several times, hoping such might restore Lady Catherine's breath to her, but she was too far gone.
"She is gone," said Mr. Ross. "She died of an aneurysm."
"Sir?" asked Darcy. "Surely…"
"She died of an aneurysm." Mr. Ross's face was grave, and his tone was firm. "She was under great stress and such things often cause aneurisms. We found her on the chamber pot, where such things sometimes happen. That titbit will keep the gossips busy enough."
"Of course. But the bruising…," said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
"A very rare sort of aneurysm. We will dress her in a high-necked gown," said Mr. Ross. "I trust you can keep the servants quiet?"
"With enough of an incentive, yes," said Mr. Darcy.
"Good. There may still be gossip, but I am well-respected enough that no one will doubt my word."
Mr. Ross got up and requested the assistance of the servant who had served as one of the guards in carrying the body to the bed. They checked the door was closed before the men helped Lady Catherine into her high-necked gown. Fittingly, the gown was a mourning dress that buttoned all the way up her neck, the lace ruffles around the top providing a protective covering up to her chin. Darcy could not imagine such an outfit would be comfortable to wear, but his aunt was now past caring. When this was done, they covered her with a blanket and tossed the torn sheet and her soiled clothing into the fire.
Colonel Fitzwilliam took a deep breath and set about the difficult task of informing Anne the news of her mother's death, while Mr Darcy set off up the path to the parsonage.
Upon the news of Lady Catherine's passing, Mr. Collins spoke not a word, his face wearing an impassive look of stoicism. The shock that he felt at first began to dissipate after a few minutes, and he could feel the warmth of his tears as he tried to hold in his cries. Grasping his hand firmly, his wife spoke to him tenderly, calming him and reassuring him that Lady Catherine was in the loving care of the Lord. Mr. Darcy was not so sure about that, but he did not dare say so.
"Do you think you might wish to pray for her, Mr. Collins?" asked Elizabeth gently, once his tears had subsided.
"Of course," he said, squaring his shoulders.
His prayer was one of the shortest that Elizabeth had ever heard him give. He beseechingly asked the Lord to send comfort and assurance to the grief-stricken, to protect Lady Catherine, and gave thanks for His mercy in forgiving their transgressions. Darcy listened to the earnest petitions and questioned whether God could grant absolution for the deep transgressions his aunt had committed. He thought it was possible. She was no doubt a very ill woman towards the end.
"I would like to mourn for a week," said Mr. Collins to his wife. "I know we are not required to, as we are not family, but it seems fitting."
"Of course," said Mrs. Collins. "But we cannot wear full-mourning for that long. I have only one black gown. I have several grey and dark brown."
"I think that should be well-enough. Lady Catherine would appreciate your loyalty to her," said Mr. Darcy.
"Loyalty," said Mr. Collins with a slight break in his voice. "She was most displeased with me. I did not listen to her advice."
Elizabeth leaned forward and gently squeezed her cousin's hand. "You did what was right. I am certain that she would have forgiven you, eventually."
Mr. Collins nodded. "She was too good to hold a grudge for long. She could not have been unforgiving. She often spoke of how she forgave this tenant or that family member for various reasons."
"Indeed," said Darcy. He held back the urge to laugh at such as evidence of a forgiving nature.
"I think we ought to leave Mr. and Mrs. Collins alone," said Elizabeth, looking between Mr. Darcy and Maria Lucas. "Would you two wish to accompany me on a walk?"
"Would you mind if I change my clothing first?" said Maria, looking down at her white and yellow striped gown. "I should not wear such bright a gown."
Elizabeth looked down at her own colourful frock and decided to do likewise, asking that Mr. Darcy might wait a few moments for their return. Neither lady dawdled, returning quickly wearing the dark gowns they always packed in case such a tragedy occurred.
"Would you mind much if we walked towards town?" asked Mr. Darcy. "I need to order black cravats and armbands for my cousin and myself. Some fabric for my sister and cousins as well. I hoped that you two might assist me in selecting such things. I could send a servant, but I think that it might be good to occupy myself with something."
"Of course," said Elizabeth and Maria together.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in the sombre task. Mr. Darcy felt very false in the activities, as he knew that if the doctor did not lie that they would not be mourning Lady Catherine's death. Yet, if they did not wish for Anne to be shamed, everyone needed to keep up appearances, and as few people as possible must know of the true cause of death.
"Are you well enough to be out of bed?" asked Darcy with alarm when he saw his cousin at dinner that evening.
"I am. I will not lie abed at such a time. I am not to tire myself too much, but Mr. Ross will attend dinner with us, so I will be well-cared for," said Anne. "Ah, and here he is."
Mr. Ross entered the room and bowed to those assembled. "Forgive my impertinence, Mr. Darcy, but I must ask you to move further down the table. I should sit next to my patient, in case she has need of me."
Mr. Darcy complied, for he and Mrs. Jenkinson were on Anne's right and left, leaving no room next to her for the doctor. Mr. Ross thanked Mr. Darcy. Everyone sat down and the servants began to being out dishes of food. The meal was quiet, for all knew what had happened and no one dared speak of it. Anne was the only one who was truly grieved by the loss, although even her grief was marred by relief.
As there could be no after-dinner entertainment, everyone went to their rooms after dinner. It felt wrong for Darcy to read the letters meant for the joyful occasions of his birthdays, so he read the ones meant for when he was sad and before his mother's funeral again. Her words brought him some comfort, for his feelings were confused. He wished he could know what his mother would say to him now, if she knew the whole of the matter. She would know much more properly how he ought to feel or what he ought to do.
