Chapter 34 - Breach of Promise
Mary and Jane heard Lizzy's raised voice and Mr Collins' reply, so they had fallen silent. "Am I to understand that you, sir, have taken it upon yourself to arrange my father's funeral for tomorrow? Without even consulting my mother on the matter?"
Kitty, who had been sitting by the window staring unseeingly into the garden, jumped and nearly dropped her cup.
A tense silence filled the room. Kitty got to her feet, her face pale. When Mr Collins spoke, his voice was slightly panicked.
"You must see the sense in what I have arranged. Your father should be laid to rest before we are wed, and we must be married as soon as possible—"
"Mr Collins!" Lizzy's voice cut through his words. "You must allow me time to mourn my father."
"But Lady Catherine would advise—as she has often said in similar situations—that we must marry as soon as possible—"
"I am resolved," Elizabeth replied, her voice steady despite her anger, "to act in a manner which will constitute my family's happiness, without reference to Lady Catherine or any person so wholly unconnected with us."
"My dear Elizabeth," Mr Collins said, his tone growing more condescending, "you must see this is the wisest course. For us to continue living together at Longbourn, unmarried, without your father present—it will attract unnecessary attention—"
Lizzy's eyes flashed. "Then there is only one course of action. You must return to Hunsford. We will mourn my father without you, thus avoiding any... unnecessary attention."
"Miss Bennet," he drew himself up to his full height, "I am your father's heir and the new master of this estate!"
"And as such," Lizzy replied, her voice as cold as winter frost, "you should respect his memory enough to allow us proper time to mourn his passing."
"Of course I will allow you time to mourn your honoured father," Mr Collins said, his words rushing together in his eagerness to appear magnanimous. "He was a very proper gentleman. Once we are married, you may take as much time as you need to pay him the proper respect he deserves. The wedding and funeral will be over in but two days."
Jane, who had been watching the exchange with growing concern, felt her brief hope that Mr Collins might show some understanding fade entirely.
"Mr Collins!" Lizzy's voice trembled with barely contained fury. "I have told you several times that what you are asking is impossible. I will not marry you until I have had proper time to mourn my father."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Mary sat frozen, her eyes wide, while Kitty leaned closer to Jane, whispering anxiously.
"Does that mean we will need to leave Longbourn?" Kitty asked, her face pale with worry. Jane opened her mouth to respond, but Mr Collins spoke first.
"I will not," Mr Collins declared, drawing himself up with what he clearly thought was dignified authority, "be returning to Hunsford on my own. We will be married within the week, or I shall be forced to look for a bride elsewhere."
"Then look elsewhere, sir," Lizzy said, her voice quiet but firm. "For I will not be rushed to the altar while my father lies not yet cold."
Jane watched her sister turn and leave the room, her own heart pounding. She had never seen Lizzy look quite so pale, nor Mr Collins so thunderstruck. The weight of their father's absence pressed heavily upon them all, but in this moment, Jane felt it most keenly. If only Papa were here - he would know how to handle this situation with his characteristic wit and wisdom.
She longed to speak up, to defend her sister or offer some compromise, but years of being the peacemaker had taught her that sometimes silence was the wisest course. When Lizzy disappeared through the door, Jane understood. Some battles were better fought after tempers had cooled.
Mary and Jane exchanged worried glances as they heard their sister's raised voice from the hall. Lizzy rarely lost her composure, but Mr Collins' presumptuous plans for their future, delivered on the very day of their father's death, had finally pushed her beyond endurance. Jane's heart ached for her sister—Lizzy had sacrificed her happiness to secure their future, and now even that small comfort was being stripped away.
ooOoo
The garden had always been her refuge from her mother's nerves, but now Elizabeth found herself seeking escape from a different kind of oppression. Mr Collins' presumptuous plans echoed in her mind, each remembered word stoking her anger anew.
Elizabeth barely made it to the garden before her composure crumbled entirely. Her hands were shaking as she paced the gravel path, fighting to control both her tears and her temper. If she had stayed in that room a moment longer, she would have said something so pointed that even the clueless Mr Collins could not have misunderstood her meaning.
The nerve of that man! To arrange their entire future—her father's funeral, their wedding, her sisters' displacement—without even considering consulting any of the Bennets. And on the very day of Papa's death! It was too much.
Elizabeth's steps faltered as grief overwhelmed her anger. Papa was gone. The thought still felt impossible, unreal—as if at any moment she might hear his familiar tread in the hall, his quiet chuckle at some private jest.
She had agreed to marry Mr Collins to secure her family's future after her father's death—but now that moment had come far sooner than any of them had expected. And what security had she purchased with her sacrifice? Mr Collins would keep only Mary, and then merely as a nursemaid to his future children. Her mother and younger sisters would be cast off to burden the Phillipses or the Gardiners.
The hypocrisy of it all made her blood boil anew. Mr Collins, with all his talk of Christian duty, dared to speak of children before her father was even laid to rest! And now he expected her to proceed with the wedding immediately after the funeral, as if her grief were an inconvenience to be hurried past.
After what felt like hours but must have been only minutes, Elizabeth forced herself to return to the house. She paused outside the sitting room, her hand raised to open the door, but at the sound of Mr Collins' voice within, she turned away. She could not face him again—not yet. Instead, she made her way quietly upstairs to her room.
ooOoo
Mr Collins paced the sitting room, more than a little concerned. His lovely bride did not seem at all pleased about his plans, though he could not fathom why. They should already be man and wife—he licked his lips at the thought. As the new master of Longbourn, it was not merely his right but his duty to make such arrangements. His dear Elizabeth was, as any delicate female should be, deeply affected by her father's death and thus not thinking clearly.
Such emotional distress was no reflection on her character—indeed, her sensitivity spoke well of her filial devotion. She would thank him later, he was certain, for managing everything so capably during her time of weakness. And once they were married... He smiled to himself, anticipating how her passionate nature might be better directed.
No, he would pay no mind to her words—she could not mean them, overcome as she was with grief. Once she had calmed herself, she would surely see the wisdom in his choices. Glancing out the window, he spotted her in the rose garden, but decided against following. Better to let her collect herself while he joined her sisters for tea.
Besides, he thought with satisfaction as he turned toward the drawing room where Jane, Mary, and Katherine sat quietly, Lady Catherine would surely commend his handling of this delicate situation. He could already picture that glorious day when he would sit beside his noble patroness with his lovely wife at his side, both ladies expressing their approval of his sound judgment.
Upon entering the drawing room, he found Katherine sitting close to Jane, as if seeking comfort, while Mary attended to the tea service with methodical precision. The sisters looked up at his entrance, their faces carefully composed.
"Ah, my dear cousins," he declared, drawing himself up importantly as he approached them, "please allow me to inform you of the arrangements I have made for our future comfort."
The sisters exchanged glances, but remained silent. None of them, he noted with satisfaction, showed the same rebellious spirit as their wayward sister Elizabeth. Yes, he thought as he prepared to outline his plans, Lady Catherine would definitely approve of how he was handling this situation.
Lady Catherine's wisdom had never led him astray before. Surely she would approve of his swift action in this matter. A proper gentleman must take control of such situations, and as the new master of Longbourn...
ooOoo
Kitty had grown bored of the conversation—or rather, lack thereof—as Mr Collins droned endlessly on. While Mary and Jane continued their polite listening, she slipped away to the garden.
There were only so many times she could endure Mr Collins reciting Lady Catherine's suggestions for changes to Longbourn. Though Kitty found it odd that this great lady would make recommendations about an estate she had never visited, she supposed that someone who owned an estate as large as Rosings must know something about property management.
Neither her mother nor Lydia had come downstairs today, and Kitty found herself missing their company more keenly than she missed her father—a realization that brought a pang of guilt. But Papa had always been distant, sequestered in his book room where only Lizzy, and sometimes Jane or Mary, would join him. Though he appeared regularly for meals and tea, he would spend those times hidden behind his newspaper, speaking only to tease their mother or share some private jest with Lizzy.
It wasn't that she didn't respect him as her father—she did, of course she did. But she had never truly known him. His wit often went over her head, and she was painfully aware that he found her attempts to understand amusing. She had tried, truly tried, to improve her mind as he valued in Lizzy. She had struggled through Mary's serious tomes and attempted Lizzy's beloved novels, but found them equally impenetrable.
Drawing and painting had been her refuge—the one talent she could truly call her own. But even there, she had found no approval from her father. Though Mama had praised her efforts, calling her sketches "very sweet indeed," Papa's indifference had eventually driven her to abandon her art and seek easier companionship with Lydia.
Now the house felt unnaturally quiet. Where there should have been laughter and sisterly squabbles, there were only hushed whispers, broken occasionally by Mama's loud sobs. Without Lydia's energy or Mama's constant bustle, Kitty felt oddly adrift. Then she remembered her old sketching materials, abandoned so long ago in the music room. Perhaps now, when everyone was too preoccupied with grief to judge her efforts, she might find comfort in art again. Retrieving her supplies, she found a secluded spot in the garden and began to draw.
ooOoo
At length Elizabeth returned into the house, stopping outside the sitting room. When she heard Mr Collins' voice within, she changed her mind about entering. Through the hall window, she glimpsed Kitty in the garden, bent over what appeared to be her old sketchbook. The sight brought an unexpected lump to her throat—Papa had never understood Kitty's artistic pursuits, but perhaps he would have appreciated how she sought solace in them now.
Deciding to seek refuge upstairs, Elizabeth first checked on her family. She found her mother sleeping fitfully, but Lydia's door remained firmly locked. Though she called softly several times, no response came from within. Elizabeth hesitated outside the door, torn between concern and a desire not to disturb her sister if she too had found refuge in sleep.
As she turned toward her own room, she met Hill on the landing.
"Miss Elizabeth, Mr Bingley has sent word that he will call this afternoon, with Mr Darcy and his sister."
Elizabeth's hand tightened on the bannister. Of all days for them to visit! Yet she could hardly blame Mr Bingley for wanting to see Jane, and Mr Darcy… she pushed that thought aside.
"Thank you, Hill. Please inform my mother when she wakes."
In her room, Elizabeth tried to compose herself. She splashed cool water on her face and smoothed her hair. When she finally descended to join her sisters, she found Mr Collins had already taken it upon himself to receive their guests. Drawing a steadying breath, she entered the drawing room.
The gentlemen rose at her entrance. Elizabeth found herself studying the carpet pattern rather than meet Mr Darcy's intense gaze. Mr Bingley, ever cheerful despite the sombre occasion, attempted to ease the tension.
"I trust you are well, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked kindly.
"As well as can be expected," she managed, grateful for his gentle manner.
Mr Darcy remained silent, but she could feel his eyes following her as she moved about the room. His presence seemed to fill any space he occupied, making the drawing room feel smaller than usual. When their eyes did meet, briefly over the tea service, she saw something in his expression that made her heart beat faster—concern, certainly, but also a barely contained intensity that made her grateful for the steadying presence of the tea table between them. When Mr Collins began detailing his plans for Longbourn's future, Elizabeth noticed Mr Darcy's jaw tighten, though he maintained his composure. After the expected condolences and greetings were exchanged, Elizabeth found herself searching for safe conversation. Mr Bingley was her only comfortable option; she could neither trust her temper with Mr Collins nor her composure with Mr Darcy. Better to focus her attention on her sisters and their guests.
Miss Darcy sat quietly in her corner, her usual shyness heightened by the sombre atmosphere.
"I am very sorry about your father, Miss Elizabeth," Miss Darcy said softly as Elizabeth offered her a cup of tea. Her eyes met Elizabeth's with genuine understanding. "I know how hard it is to lose a father, particularly when you were so close to him."
Elizabeth murmured her thanks, touched by the young woman's sincerity. As she moved to join Jane at the tea table, she noticed her sister's strained expression. Under cover of pouring fresh cups for their guests, Jane whispered that Mr Collins had been holding forth on his plans for Longbourn since Elizabeth's departure from the room.
With an air of great condescension, Mr Collins then extended an invitation to dinner to Mr Bingley and the Darcys. Mr Bingley accepted immediately, his eyes seeking Jane's, and Mr Darcy, after a moment's hesitation and a glance at Elizabeth, agreed as well.
Not long before dinner was to be announced, Hill's discreet message about Mr Bingley's presence brought Mrs Bennet downstairs. Despite her grief, she was determined to secure her daughters' futures. With her husband gone and two engagements still unsettled, she could not risk either suitor losing interest. She entered the room with as much composure as she could muster, though her red-rimmed eyes betrayed her recent tears.
Just as they were preparing to go in to dinner, Kitty appeared from the garden, her sketchbook tucked under her arm.
"Go up and change quickly, Kitty," Mrs Bennet commanded, her voice sharp with anxiety, "and do see if Lydia will join us."
While they waited for Kitty's return, Mrs Bennet filled the awkward silence with increasingly nervous chatter—moving from memories of Mr Bennet to plans for Jane's wedding, then to complaints about her nerves. Mr Collins seized every pause to address Elizabeth, who found herself somehow trapped between him and Mr Darcy. She could feel the tension radiating from both gentlemen, though for entirely different reasons.
When Kitty finally returned, she slipped into the room with unusual quietness. Her attempt to catch Elizabeth or Jane's eye without drawing attention failed when Mrs Bennet noticed her furtive behaviour.
"Good heavens, child!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed, her anxiety finding a familiar target. "Why have you not changed? You are keeping us all waiting." Her voice rose shrilly. "I have half a mind to send everyone in to dinner without you."
"I needed to speak to Lizzy and Jane," Kitty said, her voice unusually small. Her hands twisted in her skirts as she glanced between her sisters.
"Whatever about?" Mrs Bennet demanded, her nerves making her sharp. "Surely you do not need their opinion on what to wear? Really, Kitty, you are being most tiresome."
"No, it's not that," Kitty whispered, her face growing pale. She glanced anxiously at their guests, clearly wishing she could speak privately with her sisters.
"My dear cousin," Mr Collins interjected, seizing the opportunity to assert his authority. He stepped forward, claiming Elizabeth's arm as if it were already his right. "There is nothing you cannot say to me that you would say to your sisters. After all, I will very soon be both your brother and the master of this house."
Elizabeth withdrew her arm from Mr Collins' grasp with quiet dignity and moved toward her sister. She focused on Kitty's distressed face, deliberately ignoring both Mr Collins' affronted expression and Mr Darcy's swift movement to follow her. On her other side, Jane approached as well, Mr Bingley hovering protectively behind her.
"This is beyond ridiculous!" Mrs Bennet's voice rose with mounting hysteria. "Kitty, you are trying my nerves exceedingly. Why are you still not changed?"
"The door is locked," Kitty blurted out, her resistance finally crumbling under her mother's pressure. "And Lydia isn't answering." She glanced helplessly at her elder sisters, knowing there was no chance now of a private conversation—the entire party had gone deadly still at her words.
"What do you mean, isn't answering?" Mrs Bennet's voice took on a shrill edge. Then, seeming to remember their guests, she forced a brittle laugh. "You cannot have called loudly enough. She must be asleep, poor dear." She turned to Mr Bingley and Mr Collins with an attempt at her usual manner. "Such a sensitive child—she has been quite overcome by Mr Bennet's death."
"I did call loudly, Mama," Kitty insisted, her voice trembling. "Several times. She hasn't made a sound all afternoon."
Elizabeth felt her heart stop. Her mind raced through the day's events—when had anyone last heard Lydia's voice? Her youngest sister, who could never stay quiet for more than a few minutes, who filled every room she entered with chatter and laughter, had been silent for hours. Jane and Kitty had tried to coax her to eat something this morning, but since then… nothing. The silence suddenly seemed ominous.
Elizabeth didn't pause to make excuses to their guests. She bolted from the room, taking the stairs two at a time in her rush to reach Lydia's door. She could hear swift footsteps behind her—Mr Darcy's longer stride keeping pace with her own, while Jane, Kitty, and Mr Bingley followed close behind.
Miss Darcy hesitated only a moment before following, her natural shyness overcome by concern. Behind them came the sound of more footsteps—Mrs Bennet's anxious tread, Mary's measured pace, and Mr Collins' ponderous step bringing up the rear. Her mother's voice floated up the stairs, alternating between scolding Lydia's behaviour and apologizing to their guests for the disruption.
They clustered around Lydia's door, the initial relief at finding a simple locked door quickly fading. The key was visible in the lock on the other side, mockingly out of reach. Mr Darcy called for a fire poker, and they spent several tense minutes trying to work the key free, Elizabeth's hands shaking as she held the candle to light their efforts.
Hill appeared with the master keys, her usual composure betraying a hint of anxiety. When she finally managed to unlock the door, a collective sigh of relief escaped the gathered party—only to catch in their throats as the door refused to budge. Hill pushed again, harder this time, but it remained firmly shut. Mr Bingley stepped forward, pressing his shoulder against the wooden panel, but even his strength could not force it open.
"Lydia!" Elizabeth's voice cracked with fear as she called through the door. "Lydia, please answer us!" Jane and Kitty added their voices to hers, but the silence from within remained absolute.
Mrs Bennet fluttered around the crowded landing, wringing her hands and bumping into everyone in her agitation. "Oh, my poor dear Lydia!" she wailed. "What if she has fallen and hit her head? She could have been lying there for hours!" Her voice rose to a shriek. "Why did none of you think to check on her? First Mr Bennet, and now my poor sweet Lydia!"
Miss Darcy shrank back against the wall, while Mary attempted to calm their mother without success.
"What can the girl mean by such behaviour?" Mr Collins demanded, his voice heavy with disapproval. "The dinner shall be quite ruined by the time we gain entry. Most inconsiderate, most irregular indeed."
The silence from Lydia's room seemed to mock them all. Elizabeth felt the weight of every second's delay, remembering too well how her father's illness had taught her the cost of waiting too long. Behind her, she could hear Mr Collins muttering about dinner, and for the first time, she felt nothing but cold contempt for the man she had agreed to marry.
Any attempt at maintaining privacy had long since been abandoned. A footman was summoned to join Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy in their efforts, and at last, with their combined strength, they managed to force the door open.
The door finally gave way to reveal an empty room. Elizabeth's heart plummeted at the sight—Lydia's wardrobe stood open, their contents strewn about as if packed in desperate haste. A heavy chest of drawers, now askew, had been dragged across the doorway to prevent entry. And there, across the room, the window gaped wide, its curtains billowing in the evening breeze like ghostly hands beckoning them forward.
Elizabeth's eyes fixed on a single sheet of paper propped against the mantle, its white surface catching the last rays of daylight streaming through the open window.
The empty room told its own story—one of hasty decisions and desperate measures. As Elizabeth stared at the note on the mantle, she couldn't help but wonder if Lydia had found her own way to escape an unbearable situation, just as Elizabeth had been longing to do.