Author's Notes: Ask and you shall receive!. I am back with another installment in this tale. Thank you for your encouraging words throughout the past several months. I have been inactive, but your feedback has not been ignored. I've always been a bit sporadic in my ability to churn out chapters...sometimes the words just aren't there. However this gap was more than just a bit of writer's block - I decided to return to college in Sep 19 and it has been as rewarding as it has been challenging. Creative writing took a huge back burner to real life, and I apologize.
Now that I am out of work due to Covid19, I've a lot more time on my hands to balance school responsibilities and creative pursuits. I have started on the next chapter and I hope to have it to you guys before the end of April. I hope that all my readers are safe and well, and that this chapter will be an enjoyable way to spend some time while you engage in social distancing.
The morning fog from the Thames had engulfed the streets of the capital in a dreary embrace. The autumn sun, steadily rising with each passing hour, made its feeble attempt to warm the backs of the weary city travelers, but with little success. Elizabeth watched the huddled masses make their way through the heavy mist from the confines of Lady Matlock's winter equipage, her head pressed lightly against the cool glass of the carriage window. The hot brick placed so carefully against her slippers did little to lift the chill that had settled in her spirits since returning from her very disappointing meeting with her solicitor.
Elizabeth loved the stage. The liberal education of her girlhood matched with extensive study during her adolescence gave Elizabeth an understanding and appreciation for art that reached far deeper to her soul than the average scholar's pursuits. An artist had quite literally saved her from the streets of London, but artwork had rescued a heart dangerously close to hardening entirely. Through art, Elizabeth had been reminded every day that beauty remained in a world that seemed inexplicably cruel to the young orphan. More than that, through the words of some of the greatest minds the civilized world had produced, Elizabeth had found an outlet to express the powerful emotion of the burdens she had carried into her adulthood. Elizabeth needed to walk the boards, to plunge the metaphorical dagger into her heart and let all the world share in the grief that consumed her whether through Juliet's pain, or another's.
Yet – society dictated that a proper mourning period demanded seclusion and quiet pursuits, especially for women. Elizabeth had spent the better part of the past decade abiding by the rules of a society that lauded her career as much as they excluded her for having one. Her respectability was so tenuous, and to risk her reputation for the happiness of her investors, her fellow actors, and even her own heart's longings…it was unfathomable. March approached swiftly, and with it, her majority. All of Elizabeth's plans for the future were tied to that date – but in order to reclaim her family, she would have to proceed with the utmost caution. As an actress, she had been branded for scandal by the public for years. Until Forelli's death, Elizabeth's irreproachable conduct had protected her from this looming threat. She would not allow the respectability she had worked so hard to cultivate to be tarnished when so much of her future happiness depended on the opinions of others!
It had been determined that Elizabeth would participate in a limited run of appearances at the beginning of the Season and would then retire to the country to complete her year of mourning. Lady Matlock had offered one of the Matlock summer houses for this purpose, which Elizabeth was incredibly grateful for. However, several of the investors were becoming increasingly unhappy with this resolution and pushed Elizabeth to agree to more performances, citing the increasing level of interest in the play, with Miss Bernard's being so regularly featured in the papers after Signore Forelli's passing. Legal threats, though not yet before her, had been hinted at.
Frustrated to be so thwarted when trying to do the right thing, Elizabeth had decided to seek counsel, and once learning of her most recent struggle, Lady Matlock had become determined to lend her support. Elizabeth had no solicitor of her own, and had sought out the services of Gerald Humphries, who had served as Signore Forelli's barrister in the past. Though contract law was not his specialty, he had agreed to review Miss Bernard's case for the sake of his recently deceased friend. Though he thought it shameful that a grieving young woman may be forced to exploit herself so, regrettably the wording was such that, should this contract be presented to the court, Miss Bernard would surely find herself to be in violation of a breach. The contract was enforceable.
In the opposite seat of the carriage was the great Lady Matlock herself, her lips curled in a thin line, clearly unhappy. She was prodigiously fond of Adelaide Bernard, and wanted nothing more than to see her success on the stage and her elevation of the art form – she had so much talent, so much capability! – but the more she came to know her little pet, the more she desired the girl's happiness as well. After Lady Matlock had come to the Forellli residence to pay her condolences and caught Miss Bernard being harangued by representatives of Covent Garden management and investors, she had decided to take the delicate thespian quite under her wing. She had attended her today to a meeting with her solicitor to discuss the future of Miss Bernard's next project, a production of Romeo & Juliet with a promising new interpretation of the direction. While Lady Matlock was desirous of an excellent return on her own investment in the production, she had far too much heart (and far too little money at stake) to agree with the notion that the "show must go on" regardless of the circumstance.
Lady Matlock was decidedly displeased with the advice of this solicitor, and told her friend as much remarking, "I must say, Adelaide, dear, that I was not at all impressed with the professionalism of Mr. Humphries, and I rather suspect that it was his personal preference to not become involved in this suit, rather than his professional opinion as to the outcome."
Elizabeth pulled her eyes from the streets of London to meet the gaze of her patroness. "Perhaps, my Lady," she answered with a sigh in her voice, "you may very well be right. The rule of law is not always just in it's deliverance."
"When I have returned to Matlock House, I will direct my secretary to begin inquiries with Lord Matlock's attorney. Perhaps there is a barrister amongst his employ who will feel a keener motivation to exert himself for the benefit of a friend of the Earl, than your Mr. Humphries."
"You are very kind my Lady, and I am truly blessed to have the friendship of one who is so eager to fight on my behalf." Elizabeth replied listlessly, "yet for my own part, I wonder if Mr. Humphries is not correct in his assertation. I did enter into this contract of my own accord – we could not know that such a tragic event would occur, but is there legal recourse for me to excuse myself from the responsibilities that have been vested in me? I may be his heir, but dear Padre was no blood relation to me. I fear rather than achieve the desired outcome, I would be made a spectacle of in the worst sort of fashion. I could not abide it."
"Surely you, my dear, do not live in fear of recriminations from small minded men?" The great lady countered with feeling.
A hollow laugh escaped Elizabeth's throat, and with relief she noted that they had arrived at Forelli's townhouse, where the pair would part ways. She bid her patroness an elegant good morning, with many thanks for escorting her and providing her so much comfort during her troubles. Lady Matlock meant very well, and indeed; her support was a needed boon to carry Elizabeth through the struggles ahead; but she could not understand the words she had bandied about so casually. A Countess, born to the peerage and elevated further through the ranks of society by the circumstances of her marriage, a leader in London society; she could have no real notion of just how powerful the recriminations of small-minded men could be to a simple country girl, let alone an actress eschewing the protection of a husband to make her own way in the world.
Crossing the foyer and entering the drawing room, Elizabeth felt some of her anxiety lift. At least this, this wonderful comfort of home, had been secured for her. The difficulties of her inheritance had been resolved more easily than anticipated. Darling Forelli had done everything in his power to see to it that everything he could leave to her was protected. No matter the contract troubles, her plans to fight for guardianship of her family, and her desire to bring truth and justice to the death of her father, she at least knew that she had a place to rest her weary head which was hers.
And yet…the comfort of home was cold without a family to fill it. Elizabeth longed for her sisters with the same ache she had felt when she had left them all those years ago, but in the days since Forelli's passing, another ache had made its way to her heart, and settled in quite comfortably with the rest of her pain. This longing had begun as a whisper so many months ago, and in the quiet of the empty drawing room the volume had risen to a roar. Elizabeth longed for love. Not just the warm embrace of sisterly affection, or the familial protection of her darling Padre, but the steadying, guiding comfort of a partner to lean on through life's trials and tribulations.
It was not any romance that would do…not just any husband could be the helpmeet and friend her heart called out for in so sad and lonely a time. Despite every circumstance which forbid the connection, and in contrast to the feelings she had so violently expressed to him, Elizabeth longed for Darcy. Feeling the beginnings of a headache at her temples from the frustrations of the morning, Elizabeth fumbled through her reticule to retrieve the only thing she knew could soothe her, and unfolding the creases, she read the familiar words once more:
Be not alarmed madam, upon receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which, when we last met, were so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you, during an already difficult time, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, must remain forgotten. The effort which the formation and perusal of this letter must occasion, should have been spared, had not my character require it written and read. I hope that upon reading, you will forgive the breach of propriety I have taken to deliver this missive to your hands. I have entrusted the delivery of this note to the care of Colonel Fitzwilliam, as I have been informed of your renewed acquaintance. He has been informed of the contents within and has been granted the authority to act as an agent on my behalf, should you have need of him.
I will confess that the passage of time has in no way dimmed for me the happy memories of Tuesday afternoons spent on _ street, where you so elegantly presided over as an eclectic array of guests as one salon could possibly boast. Your wit flowed as naturally as your warmth, and I rarely enjoyed an afternoon as much as the ones I spent in the company of yourself, and Signore Forelli. Though it has been many months since I have been in the company of that estimable gentleman, I valued his friendship as highly as his talent, and I was deeply saddened to learn of his passing. He was a true proficient in his craft, as well as a truly good man, and it is a great loss for our nation.
However, in his passing, I must own that I think less of the man's accomplishments than I do of his humanity, in the lives that must be irrevocably altered by his passing. Indeed, Miss Bernard, I have thought of little else but you, and how you must be faring with the tragic loss of your companion. You know the deficiencies of my character well. With your knowledge of my temperament, I hope that you will forgive the turn of my thoughts. For though, I flatter myself, my manners have altered greatly since our last meeting, in essentials I am the same man I ever was – intractably resolute. Having lost my own, excellent father, some years ago, I find myself thinking of your pain and wishing to bring you some degree of comfort. The stubborn turn of my character demands that I oblige that notion, no matter how ill-advised such a decision may be. You will, I hope, forgive the trespass of my writing to you, knowing that, once imagined, I could not possibly rest until the deed had been done. I have never been particularly erudite. I do not have sage advice to dispense, or well-chosen flowery words of comfort to offer. Loss is always difficult, and when we love, there can be little else more painful. My experience has taught me that, with time, the pain will diminish. However, it will always be ready in the recesses of your heart and your mind will recall it to you, in the most unexpected of moments. You are not alone in knowing this pain, and I hope in some small way that knowledge will help to bolster you through these trying times.
I understand from my cousin, that my Aunt, Lady Matlock, has decided to offer you the patronage which you so long desired. I am glad of it. Though perhaps the bitter feelings of old wounds would have me deny it, you are a bright talent on the London stage, and you deserve to shine, if that is your wish. You may well be surprised to read such a sentiment from my hand, given the ugly words I last used to describe your profession – you must know that I have always regretted the nature of our parting, such language was beneath me. It was your captivating performance on the stage which first brought you to my attention, and to deride the very thing that brought us together was nothing more than a foolish defense of injured pride. Forgive me… I will importune you on this subject no longer.
I must come to the material point in my contacting you in this manner. In learning of Signore Forelli's death, I also read that there may be legal difficulties in receiving the inheritance which has been bequeathed to you. I can not know if there is any merit to the claims therein, but I remember all too well the many vexations of settling the estate of my father. I do not wish to make presumptions of the means at your disposal. I simply wished you to know that If you have need of any assistance, the resources of Darcy House are available to you. My secretary is prepared to advance you a note of fifty pounds as well as additional credit, and has collected a list of barristers, financial managers, stewards, and staffing agencies that Darcy House trusts and prefers to work with expressly for your use. I also have written a character witness for you, should you have need of a reference. Please be assured, madam, I offer this to you with no request for restitution or repayment of any kind. It is my most fervent wish to know that you have no need of my help – that you may lay Signore Forelli to rest peacefully and with no care of the future, but I could not be easy until I had communicated to you that such help is available to you should you need it. As a gentleman, I can not give a gift to an unmarried lady, but as a patron of the arts, Darcy House may support you in times of trouble and remain above reproach. If you feel you cannot accept my patronage – I hope that you may instead consider it payment of the debt I owe you for the very great service, you performed for me in April 09. Such honest reproofs have been greatly to my benefit. I humbly thank you for them.
I fear I have said too much of my own feelings, rather than addressing what yours must be at such a time. I will conclude now, by noting that your fame has travelled to the countryside, and you have fans across the kingdom who wish to bereave with you during this tragic time. My current host, Mr. Charles Bingley, has expressed his desire to send his condolences, along with the rest of his family in. Another guest of the household, Miss Bennet of Longborn, has expressed to me that she has been a warm admirer of yours since she first had the opportunity to view The Many Moods of Venus while she studied in London, and that she has followed you closely since. Let it be remembered, Miss Bernard, that you are not alone. There are those of us in Hertfordshire who care for your well-being and wish you peace and good fortune. You are remembered, in our hearts and in our prayers. I will only add, God Bless You.
Respectfully,
F. Darcy
The letter had been artfully tucked into a bereavement bouquet presented to Elizabeth by Colonel Fitzwilliam on behalf of the Matlock family. She had tried to ignore the colonel's pageantry as he slipped the note to her amongst the lilies, but her shock that such an act was occurring at all had made it difficult for Elizabeth to hide her surprise. She had feared that the Colonel meant to proposition her in some manner but had no way of rejecting such a note without drawing the attention of all others who had been present. She had received unwanted attentions from indecent men before, but she had never suspected that the Colonel might be amongst their numbers! The relief when she recognized the hand as Darcy's was palpable. She was loathe to think less of a man she admired so well as the Colonel, and he was Darcy's closest confidant as well as the son of her patrons. How dreadful such a note from the Colonel would have been!
After the immediate relief, had come the anticipatory fear. Elizabeth had not spoken to Darcy since she had dismissed him from her sight in her private parlor in Covent Garden, after his insulting but honorable proposal. The things that she had said! Elizabeth could hardly think of her actions then without blushing. Mr. Darcy had behaved poorly – she knew that to be true. Though he had spoken of love, he had been unpardonably rude and unforgivably offensive. Yet Elizabeth knew even then, how well she had hurt him. She knew he was in love with her – because she had felt the same pull, though she tried in vain to dismiss it. Though she had valued him highly, thought better of him than most men she had known, she had not set out to court his good opinion more than any other's. Elizabeth had seen marriage. She would not give herself away to the power of another so long as she had the free will to maintain her independence. That had been the philosophy which guided her from Longborn's doors to Forelli's studio. Meeting Darcy had challenged that resolve, but she had always known she could not accept a proposal of any nature, even if she wished to.
So, with much trepidation, Elizabeth had read Darcy's words. Maddening words! She could not know how many times she had reviewed the lines since they had been received, each time overcome by a different feeling. Darling man! Arrogant Man! Presumptuous! Prideful, wonderful, dear, and kind! The way certain phrases sat with her in quiet moments, when she felt her heart laying heavy, cradling her! She had read and reread the lines so frequently that she hardly need glance at the page to recall the turn of phrase or warmth of his address.
Elizabeth, through the words of the good Colonel, had known Darcy spent the Little Season in the county of her youth. At first, the knowledge had overwhelmed her with fear of discovery – that somehow Darcy would uncover her connections to the Bennets of Longborn, and share his knowledge with the Master of Longborn, unknowingly returning her to the power of the very man she had tried to escape. The fear of exposure would never truly dissipate, but after she had recovered from her initial shock at the knowledge, her faith in Darcy had grown with time. If he was as an astute a man as she believed him to be, then he was a keen enough observer that he may recognize her face in the countenance of her sisters', to be sure. She knew not what the community believed to be the cause of her disappearance, and if the name Elizabeth Bennet would ever reach his ears…perhaps he would uncover the connection. However, if he was as clever and just as Elizabeth knew him to be, then he would also quickly learn what sort of man the Master of Longborn was, and he would proceed with delicacy. He could not make one discovery without also making the other.
Carefully returning the letter to the safety of her reticule, a deep sigh escaped Elizabeth's lips, and the warmth of Darcy's address allowed her to relax once more. Could he have known how much his words would mean to her, or had he addressed her out of sense of duty alone? That he had included the condolences of his host in his message was thoughtful – but the added condolence from Miss Bennet of Longborn…could there be a special meaning behind it? Could he know that he gave news of her sister? Was that his intended purpose in writing to her at all?
When she had first received the note and had read of Miss Bennet of Longborn, Elizabeth had not known what to think. If Mary had seen The Many Moods of Venus while in London – (Mary studying in London was another point of mystification for her) could she have recognized Elizabeth? This thought had consumed her for some time, but ultimately Elizabeth had to dismiss the notion. If she recognized Elizabeth in the stylized portraiture, surely, she would have spoken of it to Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, Jane, or perhaps even to Collins himself. No, that Mary followed her career must be purely coincidental. It was disheartening to recognize that reality, but also soothing to know that her sister was not in any kind of jeopardy, carrying the knowledge of Elizabeth's new identity in her breast. Still, what a balm to see news from Longborn, such as it was. Elizabeth was exceedingly grateful for it.
Though she had no desire to solicit a renewal of Darcy's proposal, Elizabeth found a great comfort in his words. To know that she was valued by him, despite everything, that he cared for her still, though the nature of that affection may have altered significantly, it helped. Here was the man whom in every respect of mind and temperament might best suit her. And yet, because of circumstances wholly positioned outside of their control, the potential for future happiness must be rejected for the possibility of achieving justice in the present. Her father, the father of five penniless daughters, had no son to avenge his murder. It was Elizabeth, who had been the daughter closest to a son in his affections, who would pick up the mantel of justice and see the deed done. There could be no time for love, with such a pressing duty to fulfill. Darcy must be forgotten, though he had not forgotten her. It was an impossible sacrifice, and yet Elizabeth had known it was the choice she must make. Had not every hero suffered in their efforts to see good triumph and evil fail?
O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Netherfield Hall was a fine house, richly furnished. That was the immediate impression gleaned by those who were so fortunate as to visit the Hertfordshire estate. Mr. Gantry, lately of London, had been suitably impressed by the visage when he had arrived from the city in the company of the estimable Dr. Barringer, but a few days prior. Yet, what looked perfectly unremarkable and respectable from a stranger's distant view began to unravel upon a closer inspection. Netherfield itself, while large and well appointed, carried a bitter draft through it's lofty halls. So noticeable was this flaw that those who stayed in the great house could not but be reminded that ready money did not purchase sense whenever they gazed upon the needless finery adorning the very cold walls. Mr. Gantry had likewise begun to notice that the inhabitants of Netherfield, and the surrounding villages, held much interest behind their facades, as well.
Of these subjects, there could be none so interesting to Mr. Gantry as that of Mr. William Collins Sr. of Longborn. Mr. Gantry had been summoned to London by Mr. Darcy in order to uncover two pieces of knowledge; the most pressing was to learn what had happened to Reverend Collins in the woods surrounding Netherfield's boundaries, and who was responsible for it, and the other to uncover whether or not the actress, Adelaide Bernard, was connected to the Bennets of Longborn – the family whom had held the estate for several generations prior to Collins Sr.'s inheritance of it. Like Netherfield, William Collins, Master of Longborn, presented an intimidating figure at first review. The proprietor of the principal seat of the area, his position in the community granted him a certain degree of respect and deference which his personality could have never won on its own merits. Position aside, Collins was a tall, well-built man with a commanding presence and a humorless mind. Men of less standing, stature, or surety in their own reasoning found Mr. Collins an intimidating sort.
Mr. Gantry, the son of a common surgeon, had mixed too often in the company of truly great men in his time on Bow Street to find Mr. Collins' pomp in the least bit frightening. In truth, the way the older man's dark eyes flashed with irritation after every one of Gantry's needling, seemingly inconsequential questions, was richly satisfying. Though no one in the neighborhood whom Gantry had met in his calls with Mr. Bingley had spoken against Mr. Collins' character, the lack of commendations of a man on whom so many lives in the community depended was very telling. It seemed that it was Longborn, not Collins himself, who held the respect of the people of Meryton. In Mr. Darcy's entreaty to Bow Street for assistance, the Derbyshire gentleman had written of Mr. Collins as a principle player in the events surrounding Reverend Collins' mysterious assault, describing the landowner as; cold, stern, and with all the self-importance of a king matched with the education of a peasant. His unguarded views, shared in writing to a discrete correspondent, were echoed in the more politely rendered sentiments of the neighboring families – who, when pressed, could be prevailed upon to call Mr. Collins' respectable, and very little else.
Now, by chance, the long-contemplated Mr. William Collins Sr. sat before him. He had sent no note of his intention to visit Netherfield on this day, and Mr. Bingley had been considerably agitated to discover that the gentleman had called unexpectedly. The occupants of Netherfield all had their own opinions regarding Mr. Collins and the attention paid to his dangerously ill son and heir, and not all those viewpoints were complimentary.
The facts were this. After Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had discovered a fallen Mr. Collins off Netherfield's grounds and returned him to Netherfield, the reaction of the gentleman of Longborn varied so greatly from the reaction of the ladies' that one could not help but to reflect upon the disparity of feeling between the sexes. Mrs. Collins and Miss Bennet had arrived at Netherfield by foot at the first break in the weather and subsequently remained as guests in Netherfield nursing the Reverend. Although one could question the ladies' regard to their personal safety traveling in such a manner, their care for their family member was commendable – that there were touchingly devoted to the young man, obvious to all. However, the poor Reverend's father had, until that afternoon, communicated by note only – one of which had been written by the hand of his housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, with his dictation. These communications were always terse, expressing thankfulness in as short and plain a manner as to be considered respectful, and nothing further. He wrote dismissively of the gravity of the situation, citing that as his son had grown used to the finery of Rosings Park, he would be much better situated at Netherfield than Longborn. He hoped he could entreat Miss Bingley to play her famed harpsichord so that his son might heal by her musical gifts.
Now that the sun had deigned to return to Hertfordshire, the great man of Longborn had ridden out, his shabby cart and donkey plodding along the path in his wake. Gantry had been a bit vexed that he had not anticipated that Collins might finally call upon his son on this day, and desperately wished he had more time to reflect upon the impressions of the day's interviews before meeting with the man himself. Yet, he could not deny the energy that pulsed through him, sitting across from Mr. Collins of Longborn. It was quite exciting to begin an investigation in earnest!
It was Barringer, however, who must drive all the questions first. Above all else, a man's life hung in the balance. Gantry had made a few distasteful and tedious inquires after introducing himself further to Mr. Collins, but he would not press his suspect while he could still be of use to the good doctor. They gathered in Bingley's study, a handsome room with all the usual objects such a space must possess – and very little indication of them having ever been used for those purposes prior to such a meeting.
So, the learned gentleman began, saying, "I thank you, Mr. Collins, for your time this afternoon. I have a few questions regarding Reverend Collins' past illnesses which he has not yet been cogent enough to answer for me."
Collins sat in an oversized wingback chair; his large silhouette further exaggerated by the hearty fire crackling earnestly in the hearth behind him. He was the oldest man in the room, surpassing even Dr. Barringer by some five years or more. Yet the broad plains of his cheeks and the thin slash of his lips only hinted at the years of life experience he had next to the younger men. Collins' lips quivered and though he spoke more slowly than his wont, his tone carried even more vehemence than the last time the gentleman had called on Netherfield. "I would be well pleased to get on with it. Mrs. Collins may have the freedom to abandon her responsibilities to play nursemaid, but the master of an estate does not!"
Dr. Barringer met this rudeness with an unwaveringly stoic mien. "Very good sir." He replied with solemnity, "Was Reverend Collins ill prior to the Longborn visit to Netherfield on November _?"
More quickly than Gantry had anticipated, Mr. Collins began to grow agitated. Though his expression remained largely neutral, Collins' dark eyes brightened with a frustrated, vengeful sort of energy when he became irritated. Gantry, sitting towards the back of the room with deferential respect for his betters, also had a perfect vantage point to watch the malice of those black eyes burn in the mirror across from the desk where Mr. Collins sat. Here was a man with little temper, indeed!
"A man should hardly call such a thing an illness!" The older man said with snide tone.
"I am afraid, Mr. Collins, that even the most trifling of colds must be considered. We must eliminate any possible cause for your son's illness we can in order to best treat his current malady."
"He arrived from Hunsford in his typical fashion – dripping and sniveling. You will forgive me if a gentleman is not eager to acknowledge his heir as having a weak, sickly constitution."
The most illustrious person presently gathered in the room, Mr. Darcy, addressed the group. The Derbyshire gentleman stood tall, reminding the elder gentleman that there was at least one among this group who could not be bullied by brawn or intimidated by stature with his posture alone. He had said very little so far, but there was a tacit understanding amongst the London gentlemen that they would follow where Darcy led in this interview – Afterall they had arrived in Hertfordshire at his pleasure. He spoke directly to his fellow landowner, saying, with clipped accents, "Sir, we would have you speak both plainly, and directly. Are you implying that Reverend Collins was ill prior to his exposure to the elements on November _?"
There was a heavy pause. A less observant man might have thought that Mr. Collins was taking a moment to gather his thoughts to answer the great Fitzwilliam Darcy – but that was precisely why Darcy had sought the help of those who made careful observation their life's work. That dark, imposing figure knew full well how he wished to respond to the illustrious, officious, Mr. Darcy, but his lips could not keep up with the pace of his ready wit. Having never met Mr. Collins until this interview, Gantry could not know his typical manner of speaking. But he could see the way his lips quivered with the exertion of speaking, and how his eyes shone with an impotent rage.
Finally, an answer stammered forth from Longborn's lips. "The Reverend catches cold quite frequently."
"By the testimony of your own family, the Reverend chose to seek his exercise on foot after leaving Netherfield on Nov _. Are you asserting that the Reverend made this choice while feeling unwell?"
From wing back throne he had claimed, the older gentleman scoffed. His language came a bit more naturally now, but it seemed as if only one side of his mouth would be deigned to speak on his behalf. "An illness such as that hardly signifies, Mr. Darcy. My son knows that the Collins family has little patience for sloth. The business of life will not pause for a sniffle."
Darcy bristled, his frustration mounting. "I hope this is helpful information for you, doctor." He said, choosing to ignore the insolent gentleman entirely.
Barringer dipped his head in thanks. "Indeed, it is, Mr. Darcy," he said with respect. "The more one understands about the nature of an illness, the better one is prepared to treat it, has been my experience. However, I find it very distressing to learn that Mr. Collins chose to seek his exercise on such a gray day, knowing himself to be unwell."
Collins Sr.'s black eyes positively cracked. He looked ready to reply to the doctor, but the moment was snatched when Darcy replied, adding, "And rather undressed for the excursion, at that."
Here was Gantry's opportunity to enter the dialogue. He stood from his strategic vantage point and with a deep bow, addressed the group. "If you please, sir," he said with well-practiced sincerity, "I think it would behoove us to discuss Reverend Collins' injuries, as well as his illness. The injuries on his back are many…I would like to know about the good gentleman's history with flagellation."
All eyes in the room now swiveled toward the small, unimportant Londoner. The father of the gentleman in question sputtered, his dark eyes darting between the assembled men. His mouth opened and closed several times until he finally was able to answer, asking only, "Flagellation?"
"Indeed, sir." Dr. Barringer replied gravely. "While it is my professional opinion that the injuries to Mr. Collins' ankle were obtained as he attempted to seek shelter from the heavy rainstorm, I cannot account for several other wounds obtained by the gentleman during his ordeal."
"Has the magistrate not declared that Reverend Collins was beset by highway men?" Came the scathing reply, more accusation than question.
"With no other reports of such villains terrorizing the county, Sir William's theory remains only that. Outside of Reverend Collins' injuries, there is no other evidence of bandits in Hertfordshire at this time." The Derbyshire gentleman said with firmness.
Opaque, angry eyes met Darcy's intelligent glance. Collins' head tilted slightly, seemingly of its own volition, and Gantry watched in fascination as his jaw clicked and lips trembled as he formed his reply. "Surely such a vagabond was merely passing through Meryton on their way to Town."
Darcy turned sharply on his heel, pacing toward the large windows which faced out toward Netherfield's drive. Though the perspective of the view was different than the drawing room, Darcy could still make out the spot where the Longborn carriage had stopped at the edge of the estate's boundaries. The vision of the parson stepping out of the carriage, his head hanging low, appeared before him as he stared out at the expanse of grounds. The red-cheeked, ridiculous young man, servile in manner and ostentatious in dress, had affronted Darcy with his bumbling address when they had been introduced. However, the manner in which the father had addressed the son amongst strangers had immediately turned Darcy's disgust to sympathy. That bitter old man sat before him, first dismissing the seriousness of his son's illness and now ready to wave away the assault as if such things were commonplace and unresolvable. Such disinterest in one's child, no matter how grown, was insupportable. In fact, it was positively suspicious.
Without looking to the gentleman he addressed, Darcy replied in an accent which barely contained his own anger. "That sir," He said, "is but one of many possibilities."
Watchful Gantry entered the fray once more. "It is unlikely that any traveler would have continued on their journey in such a storm. As of yet, the roads are largely impassable. The journey from London was slow and difficult for Dr. Barringer and myself, and the worst of the storm had not yet arrived in this country." He paused, and with a self-satisfied sort of smirk he addressed Collins directly. "No. It is my belief that Reverend Collins' assailant remains in Hertfordshire."
The coal black gaze of the elder gentleman turned its fiery anger toward Gantry, gleaming dangerously.
"Mr. Collins, sir, please." Dr. Barringer spoke, "Does Reverend Collins have a history of flagellation?"
"If his teachers felt the boy needed to be taught a lesson by the rod, who am I to defy them? I know that William has endured a beating in his day, just as any man does."
"And if you felt your son needed a lesson by the rod? Was his education continued under your direction, sir?" Darcy asked from the window, cold and disapproving.
"What if it was?" Collins spat, rising awkwardly from his seat. "I will not apologize for the way my son has been brought up. He is a Collins and has been raised as every Collins before him. I am growing impatient with the manner of your address, Mr. Darcy."
"I am not surprised to learn that your patience runs thin, Mr. Collins."
"Gentlemen!" Dr. Barringer snapped. "Whatever quarrel exists here will not supersede my need for information."
Gantry crossed the length of the study, standing so that all the gathered gentlemen must face him. "It is time, I think," he stated calmly. "to speak plainly."
Darcy opened his mouth to protest but caught his words in his throat as Gantry raised a hand to silence him.
The small Londoner pulled a pocket watch from his waist coat, twirling the shining object through his fingers as he spoke. "Mr. Collins, sir." He began, dipping his head toward the blackguard with a mockery of respect. "Allow us to be rightly introduced. I am Constable John Gantry, of the Bow Street Magistrate's office, and I have arrived in Hertfordshire for the express purpose of investigating the assault of Reverend Collins and seeing that the good gentleman's assailant is brought to justice."
Mr. Collins did not return Gantry's bow. "This must be your doing!" He spat toward Darcy with passion.
"It is." Darcy said calmly, but not without feeling. "I could not be easy knowing that such a violent criminal could remain amongst us, unchecked."
"It was quite generous of Mr. Darcy to do so." Gantry replied with a cheeky smile. "Bow Street remains as underfunded for our endeavors as ever. Mr. Darcy has spared no expense on the behalf of your son. You must be overcome with gratitude, I am sure."
Oh, but there was as angry a man! Gantry had never seen such hatred directed toward himself before, and he had made his living in tracking down the worst sorts of men. He had seen arrogant, insipid, criminals rattle and wail against him, but he had never felt such a profound fury from any of them. He could not deny that the animosity was somewhat exciting.
Longborn dropped a stiff bow to Pemberley. With gritted teeth and scorching eyes, he replied. "Yes, we are…quite grateful for Mr. Darcy's assistance."
"As any man must be, when his only son and heir hovers so closely to death."
Collins said nothing. Only glared and trembled.
Gantry continued to smile, his pocket watch dancing merrily between his quick fingers. "You will forgive my impertinence, I am sure. But I find I must ask, what exactly is the nature of the entail on your estate, Longborn?
With his words, the very air seemed to pull from the room. Barringer and Darcy looked between the two men; large, dark, authoritative matching wits with small, young, and jovial. Collins rolled his shoulders back, pulling himself up to his full height. He was shaking with a rage that he could barely suppress.
"Never in my life," his hissed through half-compliant lips, "have I been so insulted. Explain your meaning to me at once."
"With certainty sir," Gantry smilingly answered, "I only attempting to ascertain whether there could be any gain in harming your heir sir. If Reverend Collin's attack was not a crime of mere opportunity, then I must seek to understand any possible motive which could be in play. With the attacker still at large, you could be at risk sir."
The set of his shoulders relaxed very slightly. "Yes, I suppose you must consider these things." He said unconvincingly. "It is a common fee tail male." He added.
"I thank you, sir. And whom, may I ask, is set to inherit should – forgive me for speaking so – should Reverend Collins succumb to his illness?"
"I hardly know." Came the gruff reply. "My wife is barren. My line is the only Collins family left. The Bennets may have other cousins who might inherit, but only distant relations. It is a matter I had not considered until this day. The family attorney has this knowledge ready; I am sure."
"And if the entail should be broken sir?"
"The estate reverts to fee simple and the female issue of the last tenant-in-possession inherit the estate jointly."
"Am I correct in understanding that, if such were to be the case, your wife would then inherit Longborn at your death?"
"Indeed. Though Longborn would be but a pittance, split five ways."
"Too true, Mr. Collins." Gantry said with affability. "Far too many heiresses to make Longborn's worth a likely motivation for the crime perpetrated against your son."
A knock on the door startled the gathered gentleman from their contemplation. Mrs. Nichols, Netherfield's housekeeper, entered the study with a deep courtesy.
"I beg your pardon, sirs." She said respectfully. "Mr. Collins had asked to be notified as soon as Miss Bennet had completed her packing. She is ready and presently awaits you in the drawing room sir."
The Master of Longborn dismissed the servant with a wave of his hand. To the group he said, "I trust that you gentlemen have completed your interview." It was not a question, but a statement of fact.
Gantry smiled in his knowing way and bowed lowly. "I thank you for kind condescension in answering me sir. I have been sufficiently satisfied for the present and will continue my inquires elsewhere. I am sure that we have been separated from the ladies quite long enough. Shall we all return to the drawing room together?"
Dr. Barringer bowed as well. "Please make my excuses to Miss Bingley, but I would like to look in on the patient in question before I rejoin the others."
Darcy merely frowned and said nothing, following in the wake of Gantry and Collins, the words split five ways ringing in his ears.