Selkirk shook his head.
“Darcy, I shall not abandon you now. Besides, you will need my written statement and signature as a witness to his death. With statements from both of us, there should be no difficulty settling the man's affairs. I am deeply sorry for his loss, considering his wife is even now delivering his children. He was a personable man, Darcy. I enjoyed his company at dinner last night.”
“Yes, it is a tragedy. The uncertainty of life is a bleak thing, Selkirk. Here this morning, gone by noon.”
Darcy added, “Send your men home. You may spend the night with us, and tomorrow I shall have my carriage convey you back to your estate.”
Darcy handed the note to his footman.
“Get along, Peter. The rain will be upon us shortly.”
Selkirk said, “I will do as you suggest. I shall send my men home and accept your hospitality.” He rode over to where his men were gathering wood.
“Once you have burned the other carcasses, return home. I shall remain with Darcy and spend the night at Pemberley.”
“Very good, sir.”
After Darcy's men had packed the rifles into the gig, he sent it back to the house.
An hour and a half later, Peter returned with a cart. Mr. Collins's body was carefully loaded into it and covered with a heavy canvas. Once all was ready, they began the journey home.
By then, the rain was falling in sheets.
Darcy glanced toward Peter and Robert Miller. Both men wore greatcoats, oilcloth capes, and broad-brimmed hats that Peter had brought back with him.
“I fear you and Robert are destined to bear the worst of the storm, Peter. I intend to ride on with Selkirk and the others and make for home as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, sir. We shall manage well enough.”
Darcy nodded and turned his horse toward Pemberley. The storm had arrived in earnest, and the road ahead was already disappearing beneath the driving rain.
Elizabeth stood in the rose garden with the note open in her hand. Mr. Collins was dead.
She could scarcely comprehend the words Mr. Darcy had written. She stood motionless, staring at the paper. Mr. Collins, the heir to Longbourn and her sister's husband, was dead.
The footman shifted his weight.
“Mrs. Darcy, you do not look well, mistress.”
Elizabeth lifted her eyes to the servant.
“There has been an accident. Mr. Collins is dead.” She swallowed. “Send Mrs. Reynolds to me.”
“Yes, mistress.”
Elizabeth sank onto a wooden bench to wait. Her thoughts raced from one concern to the next, leaving her unsettled. What was she to tell Mary? Dead? Had he been shot? A coffin would need to be procured. Where ought he to be buried? Would this be a matter of the law?
At length, Mrs. Reynolds joined her.
Elizabeth motioned for the housekeeper to sit beside her and handed her Mr. Darcy's note. When she had finished reading it, Mrs. Reynolds looked up.
“Where is the body, ma'am?”
“In the woods. Peter is fetching it.”
Mrs. Reynolds folded the note. “Do you wish me to send for a carpenter to construct a coffin, or shall we send to Bakewell? Do you have any instructions as to where the body is to be laid?”
“I do not know.” Elizabeth looked to the housekeeper. “I have never had to manage such a thing.”
