Page 35 of Infamous Relations

“It’s Lady Catherine’s small carriage,” Fitzwilliam said, staring at the overturned box. Looking back at the legs that he could see sticking out from underneath the horse he’d just shot. “I suspect they hit Mr. Collins, on his way to Rosings…”

“Good God, is he dead?” Bingley left the horse, hurried over to look.

“I bloody hope so,” Darcy said vehemently, seeming to come out of his shock just then. Striding quickly forward, he said “Give me a hand here, Fitz.”

Fitzwilliam offered his cupped hands as a step and Darcy hopped up onto the side of the coach, now the top, wrenched open the door. A few moments later he scrambled back down again, face grim. Answered Fitzwilliam’s questioning glance with a shake of his head.

“Lady Catherine?” Fitzwilliam said in shock.

“And Mrs. Jenkinson. Thank God, Anne wasn’t with them.”

“Mr. Collins is dead,” Bingley turned to them from where he’d been struggling to move the dead horse.

“He’s not the only one,” Darcy said grimly. “What a God-awful mess.”

“A mess; Darcy, a man is dead!” Bingley cried, shocked.

“So is my aunt, and a poor woman whose only fault it was to be employed by her!” Darcy shouted back at him.

“Enough!” Fitzwilliam stepped in between them. “That will be quite enough. We must act, now; Bingley, will you release that horse, walk him, stay with him and the coachman for a while? Darcy, you go back to the Parsonage and get help, see if you can get Trent to leave Mrs. Collins for a little while.”

“And you?” Bingley asked as Darcy turned without a word and began to run back along the lane.

“I’ll go on to Rosings, break the news there and send men to help. I have to break the news to my cousin Anne, too. Either way, help will be here in just a few minutes, Bingley!”

Darcy stood for a moment just outside the parlour door, wondering how on earth he was to break the news to those gathered inside. He could hear Mr. Bennet’s voice now, added to Mr. Gardiner’s, the two older men talking in urgent tones close to the door. Taking a deep breath, Darcy turned the handle and pushed the door open.

“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said in quite astonished tones, “are you quite well?”

He realised that he must look a fright, his coat all askew from running, his hair ruffled, sweat on his face. Everyone in the room turned to look at him, Dr. Trent rising to his feet. Darcy met Trent’s eyes, glanced at Charlotte and shook his head slightly.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, can I ask you to stay with Mrs. Collins for a few minutes, please?” Trent said steadily, keeping his voice calm and even. Jane and Elizabeth agreed at once, though Elizabeth found that her eyes lingered on Darcy. She had never imagined seeing him anything less than immaculately attired, had only very briefly seen him discomposed, the night he proposed to her and they fought.

He was looking at her now with that same expression on his face, an almost desperate yearning combined with not a little self-loathing.

He despises his own weakness, not me, Elizabeth realised with a sudden flash of clarity. He despises that he cannot control his feelings for me.

It was quite a heady rush of power, to realise that she had the power to so discompose a man such as Mr. Darcy. She offered him a tiny, tentative smile, and watched the shock spread across his face before he smiled back at her. It was only a brief expression, but it quite transformed his austere, concerned features.

Trent reached him then, encouraged him towards the door along with her father and uncle, but Darcy kept his head turned towards Elizabeth, watching her as long as he possibly could.

As the door closed behind the men, Elizabeth found her heart beating fast, her cheeks flushed. Behind her, she heard a strange noise and turned to see Charlotte laughing, a husky, rasping sound.

“Now you notice him!” The effort of speaking was too much for Charlotte, though, and she began to cough.

Jane and Elizabeth at once hushed her, telling her that she must not exert herself, must not strain her throat. Elizabeth felt the cloths at Charlotte’s throat and found them warmed; Jane offered to take them to the kitchen to get fresh cool ones, and also to get some soothing tea.

“An excellent idea,” Elizabeth approved, “I shall sit here quietly with Charlotte and we shall both rest until your return.”

That satisfied Jane, and she went away quickly, leaving Charlotte and Elizabeth alone staring at each other.

“You remember,” Charlotte said hoarsely.

“Yes.” Elizabeth remembered all too well, the awful things that Mr. Collins had said, his hot breath on her cheek, his hands tearing at her bodice.

“I am so sorry, Lizzy…” a tear trickled down Charlotte’s pale cheek.

“Hush, hush,” at once Elizabeth seated herself, reached for Charlotte’s hand. “Dearest Charlotte, do not distress yourself. How could you possibly have known? No, no, none of this is your fault.”