With something between a resigned sigh at his own stupidity and an angry growl at the harm done to the love of his life, Darcy straightened to the haughty expression Elizabeth would have recognized so well and became the Master of Pemberley. There was work to be done.
His first order of business was to climb with Simpson to the top, examining the access route critically, to evaluate the men assembled. The rainstorm had been brief, just enough to obscure most of the phaeton tracks. He had co-opted the ropes they brought to bring Anne up, and some grooms had gone to fetch more. Naturally, Rosings had about a quarter of what it should, so they were just arriving, and the state of the ropes they brought were not sufficient for night work, or possibly, for any work at all.
"Men, raise your hand if you wish to work for me. I will give you the same wage you are getting for three months, and my man of business will try to find you positions after that."
To nobody's surprise, everyone raised their hands. They all knew their positions at Rosings were forfeit.
Darcy knew full well the story would be out no matter what he did so there was little point in prevaricating.
"Miss de Bourgh attempted to murder Miss Bennet and may yet succeed."
The men all grumbled, but it would not have taken a genius to work that out, so they said nothing.
"As such, I believe the coroner will need to examine the scene, and I have no intention of seeing anyone injured to recover the dead body of a murderer. Simpson here is in charge. Set up a rotation right here, down at the cabin, and a man or two with the phaeton. Send a man to the stables and kitchen for food and blankets. Work out a rotation so everyone gets half a night's rest back in the stables. One of you come with me to the parsonage to get clothing and bedding for Miss Bennet. Ask my valet for the argand lamp I carry with me and deliver it to the colonel before dark, and make sure he has plenty of wood and water. And naturally, at least feed the Rosings horses. If Lady Catherine comes out complaining, escort her politely, but forcefully, back to the manor house—bound and gagged if necessary."
The men laughed at that but made no further comment.
"I will send for the magistrate and coroner. They will likely be here in the morning. Fetch the colonel when they arrive, as I probably will not return until afternoon as I must deal with other matters. Take your orders from the colonel while I am away. Notify your wives to start packing, but I will see you are not evicted for at least the week. Send a man to look for lodgings I can lease for the next three months. Be certain to take some food to the colonel and the doctor straightaway."
"Yes, sir," most said with varying levels of enthusiasm.
He hated to say the next, but it was necessary. "While I would prefer the knowledge of my cousin's crime remain secret, we all know it to be impossible. You are not sworn to secrecy."
He turned away, realizing he had just set the cat among the pigeons and did not have a strong feeling one way or the other.
With that, he looked to the west. The sun had already set, and it would be dark soon. He looked up to see a mostly cloudless night, the earlier storm having blown through in record time. It was about a three-quarter moon if he remembered correctly, so it looked to be a slightly chilly but clear evening.
He told Simpson, "Hire a carpenter in the village to make sure that shack does not leak, and the chimney is not blocked. Get someone to replace the bedding and buy some fresh linens from the mercantile."
Simpson just nodded.
With a sigh, he mounted his horse and headed back.
Darcy was met at the parsonage gate by a quietly nervous Mrs Collins, a scared stiff Miss Lucas, and a surprisingly silent Mr Collins. One of the men had mentioned that the colonel sent the parson to condole with Lady Catherine about the missing Anne, and word about her death had certainly made it back. With the lady in high dudgeon, and neither of her worthless nephews bringing the news personally on a silver platter, Darcy imagined his aunt had vented her spleen on the only hapless victim with the poor sense to be handy. He wondered if it would break the man, or become a valuable lesson in life, and supposed time would tell.
He wondered what he thought about Mr Collins. He was certainly an idiot and a sycophant, but he was about the middle of the pack regarding both his apparent intelligence and the quality of his sermons. The man had what Elizabeth said was an excellent wife, which was in his favour. He wondered how long it would take him to stop thinking of her as Elizabeth if his suit was unsuccessful, as seemed almost certain.
He thought that if he wanted to start earning forgiveness, this was the time and place to begin.
Mrs Collins apparently observed that her husband was nearly overwhelmed. "Can I offer refreshment, Mr Darcy. You have been going hard for some time."
"That would be lovely, Mrs Collins," he said gently, leaving out the obvious suffix that just about anything that delayed his return to Rosings was a good idea.
They entered the parlour where he had stuttered and stumbled his way through a discussion about fifty miles of good road and Elizabeth's attachment to Longbourn. He wondered what she thought of that, or his comment during one of the walks implying she might stay at Rosings in future. Did she read anything into it, or was it all just a confusing mess? Probably the latter!
They sat and called for tea and some pastries, but he started right away to keep Mr Collins from chewing up the armchairs.
"I assume you heard part of it, but pray, allow me to relate the whole. My cousin Anne tried to murder Miss Bennet, and subsequently ran her phaeton off into a ravine. She is dead, and Miss Bennet is gravely injured. We have a doctor with her now and a more skilled surgeon on his way."
"Can I go care for her?" Mrs Collins asked, with a tone of voice indicating she had been prepared for both the news and her duty to her guest.
Darcy answered forcefully before Mr Collins could start blustering and denying his permission.
"She is at the bottom of a steep bank, madam. We have ropes, but I would not suggest a lady go down in the dark, if at all. There is another path that follows the stream, but it is three miles long. Even in the daylight, I would not like a lady going down the bank unless she has some experience in that sort of thing."
The younger Miss Lucas, Maria he believed, though he had yet to hear her say a word, gasped and looked like the very idea frightened her. She would be of no use.
"I am with child, sir," Charlotte said.
"I am not your husband, Mrs Collins, but I would certainly not recommend it."
"Absolutely not!" Mr Collins blustered, while Darcy tried to accustom himself to the radical idea of agreeing with the parson, even if briefly.
"She is attended by Colonel Fitzwilliam. Neither of us would countenance any woman going down that bank. We are aware her reputation has suffered, but the damage is done, and we will see to a remedy."
Mrs Collins stared at him hard, and he wondered what she knew. He was not about to discuss it with her in front of her sister or husband, if at all, but either way, that was a task for the next day.
Collins blustered, "She is under my protection!"
In a surprisingly gentle voice, Darcy replied, "I hate to dispute with you, Mr Collins, but she is injured, perhaps mortally, at my family's hands. She is presently under the protection of the colonel and me. I would beg you allow me that privilege without argument."
It seemed obvious that he could bludgeon the man into submission based on his social position alone, and he might well have done so without thought the previous day, but he judged that would earn him no credit.
"I realize it rubs against the grain, as you accepted a responsibility and are loathe to be unable to fulfil the duty, but this requires more resources than you have available to you."
"I believe you should accept Mr Darcy's kind offer, husband," Mrs Collins said very sensibly.
"I suppose so," Collins grumbled, though what the man thought he could possibly accomplish to help his cousin was a mystery to Darcy.
That acknowledgement was sufficient in Darcy's mind to make his protection of Elizabeth explicit. It would not actually change much, but it seemed kinder than simply running roughshod over the parson like his aunt would.
The tea arrived, and Darcy drank it quickly, ate a couple of pastries with about as much gentility as a field hand, and stood to go.
As he approached the parlour door, he turned back.
"Mr Collins, am I correct in my assumption that Lady Catherine read you the riot act?"
The man looked petrified to admit it, but Mrs Collins helpfully nodded her head.
"If I may, would you accept some advice?"
"Of course," he said, though without his usual servility.
"You have a living. That means for life. You are the master of this parsonage, your glebe, and your chapel, all of which belong to the church and not Rosings. Lady Catherine has no more say in how you run your domain than you allow her. She has no ability to remove the living once given, and I doubt she will even be the mistress of this estate a month or two from now. Pay attention to your parish, your wife, your family, and your future inheritance. Lady Catherine's days of browbeating you are over, so long as you decide to stop allowing it."
With that, he walked out, but when he looked back, he saw a look on Mrs Collins's face that suggested she was more than satisfied with his suggestions.