A Death at Rosings: A Pride & Prejudice Variation Read online

  Even if she hadn’t such irrefutable evidence that Mr. Darcy wasn’t inclined to marry for fortune, his letter had revealed a man of integrity. If Mr. Darcy gave Miss de Bourgh advice, it would be sound advice not marked by his own interests. Hopefully, for Miss de Bourgh’s sake, he was one of the relatives summoned soonest.

  “Can I help you, miss?” a voice asked.

  Elizabeth realized she was standing outside the kitchen, lost in thought.

  “Mrs. Collins would like some tea,” she said.

  “Yes, miss,” the woman replied, dropping a curtsy.

  “I’m pleased to help,” Elizabeth said.

  “That won’t be necessary, miss,” the maid answered as she turned away. She entered the kitchen, swinging the door closed behind her.

  Elizabeth smiled slightly. She knew Charlotte helped in the kitchen, but she’d little notion of what would be helpful. She wondered if the maid was keeping her out because she was a guest, or if Charlotte had warned her staff that Elizabeth was useless for such tasks.

  How to be valuable in the kitchen was likely something she’d have to learn now that she had passed up two suitors, Elizabeth reflected. She headed back toward the parlor, an image of Mr. Darcy’s face as she’d last seen him, when he’d handed her the letter, filling her mind. Though she’d badly misjudged the man, she was still sure she’d done the right thing in refusing him. She was, however, sorry she’d done so with quite so much acrimony.

  She returned to the parlor to find Mr. Collins coming out, looking even more exhausted than Charlotte. “Cousin Elizabeth,” he called, hurrying toward her. “You must make haste to Rosings. Miss de Bourgh wishes your presence there.”

  “I haven’t yet had breakfast,” Elizabeth protested. She was growing rather hungry, having made do with a light meal hastily put together by Charlotte’s cook the previous evening.

  “That doesn’t matter,” he said. He wrung his hands. “She’s asking for you. She was quite insistent.”

  “What does she want me for?” Elizabeth asked, dubious that it was actually anything important.

  “I didn’t presume to inquire,” he said. “Come. We must hurry.”

  He took her arm, ushering her outside. There was no carriage, of course. Elizabeth wondered if Miss de Bourgh agreed with her mother’s policy of conveying people away from Rosings but not to it, or if no one in her household had the presence of mind to send one. Mr. Collins set a quick pace, but Elizabeth kept up with ease.

  “We really must hurry,” he repeated. “Oh, that my patroness, Lady Catherine, should die, and with Miss de Bourgh still unwed. What a terrible thing. Hardly a worse thing could have happened. We have to hurry.”

  Elizabeth broke into a run. Mr. Collins’ exhausted ramblings were not to be endured. He wished her to hurry, so she would, right away from him. She smiled, pleased with both the exertion and the solution. It felt wonderful to be making all haste across the yard, the wind blowing through her hair and catching her clothing as she ran.

  She slowed to a walk before reaching the door, so as not to be breathless when she entered, especially as there was likely no real reason for haste. What, after all, could possibly be so urgent? Elizabeth had no special skills that Miss de Bourgh could be in need of.

  Somewhat to her surprise, she was immediately shown into Miss de Bourgh’s presence, though she wasn’t taken to the parlor where Lady Catherine had habitually received guests. The room Miss de Bourgh awaited her in was no less richly appointed, but more understated. Elizabeth preferred it immensely to the other, more ornate, parlor. Looking around, Elizabeth realized the heiress was alone and wondered where Mrs. Jenkinson was. “Miss de Bourgh,” she greeted, curtsying. “May I express my condolences on your loss?”

  “Thank you,” Miss de Bourgh said. She was seated on a settee, a shawl clenched about her shoulders and a blanket in her lap like a woman three times her age. She looked pale, and her eyes were slightly red from crying, but she didn’t look as if she’d cried recently. “I assume Mr. Collins sent you?”

  “He accompanied me, but I was a bit faster,” Elizabeth said.

  “Could you please advise the footman outside that I don’t wish our conversation to be disturbed, then, and close the door? I want to speak to you in private.”

  “Of course,” Elizabeth said, realizing that must be why Mrs. Jenkinson was absent. She returned to the doorway. “Miss de Bourgh asks that we remain undisturbed.” The footman nodded and Elizabeth slid the door shut.

  “You must be wondering why I asked to see you,” Miss de Bourgh said as Elizabeth returned. “Please, sit down.” She gestured to the sofa opposite her.

  “I am curious, but assume you will tell me,” Elizabeth said. She seated herself in the indicated spot. A low table stood between them and she wondered if Miss de Bourgh would offer refreshments.

  “It’s a little hard to explain,” Miss de Bourgh said. Her eyes took on a distant look.

  Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. She supposed it was too much to ask that someone would think of her stomach when Lady Catherine had so recently died.

  “As I suppose you can imagine, I had a sickly childhood,” Miss de Bourgh continued. “I caught everything that went around. The doctor said that if someone had a cold in the next village, I would catch it. I was kept home and barely educated. I now realize it wouldn’t have hurt me to learn while I had a cold, but that apparently never occurred to anyone at the time. I had four brothers who all died of various illnesses and my father was frantic in protecting me. I thought when he died four years ago that I would have more freedom, but I’ve had less.”

  “That must have been very difficult,” Elizabeth said with automatic sympathy. Whatever complaints she had about her parents’ skills at being parents, they were not overly protective. Not even of Kitty, who was a bit frail, or of Lydia, who was more than a bit silly.

  “It was,” Miss de Bourgh said. “Losing my brothers was difficult, although I scarcely recall them. Losing my father was harder. That was even worse than having no freedom, because he was the one person who truly cared how I felt. My mother always seemed to look on me as some sort of dissatisfying personal accessory.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Elizabeth protested. “She protected you because she cared for you.”

  Miss de Bourgh shrugged. “Perhaps. I suppose there’s no way to discover the truth of that now.” She shut her eyes for a moment. Whether in grief or from fatigue, Elizabeth didn’t know.

  “Eventually, I realized I could learn about the world from books,” Miss de Bourgh said. “I began to sneak them from our library. I employed the same aspect of myself that my mother used to control me, my health. I convinced Mrs. Jenkinson that I need a long nap each afternoon, and extra sleep at night. I cultivated the notion that I require candles burning by my bedside for comfort. During all the extra time I’m allowed to myself, unsupervised, I read.”

  “What do you read?” Elizabeth asked, intrigued. There was more to Miss de Bourgh than she’d expected. In fact, Miss de Bourgh had hid that she had any mind at all so well, Elizabeth had been completely fooled. She smiled to herself. If this sort of thing kept up, she would be forced to conclude that she was an abysmal judge of character.

  “Everything in our library.”

  “Your library looks like it has a lot of books.” An impressive number to collect, Elizabeth thought, and an even more impressive number to read. She made no pretense of having read all of the books in her father’s library, and it was nowhere near the size of the one at Rosings.

  “There are five hundred and seventy-three. Yes, I counted them once. I’ve read them all. Some, I’ve read two or three times. I’ve read about philosophy, law and agriculture. I’ve read sermons and poetry. I’ve read Gulliver’s Travels and Moll Flanders. I’ve read A Vindication of the Rights of Woman by Mary Wollstonecraft. Even when I’ve read a book before, I sometimes stay up late rereading it. When I wake up looking tired, everyone assumes I’m ill.”<
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  “Have you read much that was published recently?” Elizabeth asked. She’d seen the library only once, but recalled many of the books looked quite old, as if the masters of Rosings had ceased adding to their collection at some point in the past. While all information was good, some topics changed enough over time to benefit from a more modern approach.

  “I’ve bribed a couple of servants to bring me newspapers. I’ve arranged with one of the tenants to order books. I read them, and either hide them in a trunk I keep locked or give them to her to sell. Fortunately, no one pays much attention to my pocket money, since it comes from the interest on my dowry and is very generous.”

  “If you inherit Rosings, you won’t have to read in secret. You’ll be able to add your books to Rosings’ collection.”

  “My assumption is that I will only inherit Rosings in a way, but it will be enough of a way. My mother had life interest in Rosings, as will I. Though I won’t be able to sell it, and don’t wish to, I will have everything of the running of the estate and the benefits of it. That income is more than ample for my foreseeable needs. My mother also had a personal fortune. I believe it to be about forty thousand pounds. I’ll probably inherit most of it, though I tried to talk her into willing my cousin Richard something significant. He and Darcy help with the estate. Richard deserves something for so many years of care.”

  “Richard?” Elizabeth asked, unsure who she meant, though she guessed that must be Colonel Fitzwilliam’s given name.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Miss de Bourgh confirmed. “I didn’t ask Mother to do anything for Darcy. He has plenty of money of his own.”

  If Miss de Bourgh knew of Darcy’s offer to her, would she have had the tact not to mention the fortune Elizabeth had turned down? More likely, if Miss de Bourgh knew of Darcy’s offer they wouldn’t be having the conversation at all. “That seems logical. Colonel Fitzwilliam seems a worthy man on whom to bestow a windfall. I still don’t understand why you’re telling me all of this, though.”

  “I know books. I don’t know people. I don’t know life. In recent years, we rarely even had guests. Not even the neighbors. It will likely come as no shock to you that many of them didn’t like my mother. Most claimed to be too busy to visit. Some may have been willing to come back, but she didn’t like them, especially anyone who was provoked to impoliteness by her impertinent questions.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Collins always seem happy to visit, and Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were only recently here,” Elizabeth protested, not wanting Miss de Bourgh to feel too much alone in the world.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Collins were always good enough to put up with Mother,” Miss de Bourgh said. “I think he may even have genuinely enjoyed her attention, though I find the idea hard to believe. As for Darcy and Richard, they visited out of familial obligation. They made their time here go smoothly by always giving in to Mother.”

  “I can think of one point on which Mr. Darcy didn’t seem ready to give in to your mother,” Elizabeth couldn’t resist making the reference. She found she wanted to know where Miss de Bourgh’s thoughts were on the issue of her near engagement to Mr. Darcy.

  “Yes, on the issue of his marrying me.” Miss de Bourgh’s eyes narrowed. “You should know, I think, that I never wanted to marry Darcy. Mother wouldn’t believe me, of course, but she never listened to anything I said. She didn’t think I had a mind. I wouldn’t want you to ever feel that I had any intentions toward Darcy.”

  Elizabeth felt her face heat slightly and wished she hadn’t allowed her curiosity to direct the conversation to so delicate a subject. “I still don’t know why you wished to talk with me,” she said, changing the subject. Perhaps Miss de Bourgh simply wanted to talk to someone? She didn’t have any friends. Not that Elizabeth knew of, at any rate. “Wouldn’t Mrs. Jenkinson be a better person to talk to about all of this?”

  “Absolutely not,” Miss de Bourgh said in a firm tone. “She never wishes to speak to me about anything other than my health. Anything I do say to her, she used to report back to my mother. I haven’t told her yet, but I’m letting her go.”

  “Does she have a place to go?” Elizabeth asked, shocked. Mrs. Jenkinson likely thought her position quite secure. Normally it would be, but Elizabeth agreed that Miss de Bourgh shouldn’t gloss over years of spying. She wondered why Miss de Bourgh hadn’t replaced her companion with someone more trustworthy long ago.

  “I don’t care if she has a place to go,” Miss de Bourgh said.

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes, I do care,” Miss de Bourgh amended with a sigh. “I’ll be arranging a pension for her. It will be through the bank, since I don’t want to be bothered. She has five siblings and numerous nephews and nieces. I’m sure one of them will be glad to have her and her pension, although it will be enough for her to live alone if she chooses.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” Elizabeth said, still confused. If Miss de Bourgh cared enough to be so generous, why was she letting the woman go? It wasn’t as if she could still spy for Lady Catherine. Elizabeth supposed the bond of trust was irreparably broken. An unhappy suspicion built in her. If Miss de Bourgh was letting Mrs. Jenkinson go . . . “Why do you want me?”

  “I want you to be my companion.”

  “Your companion? I can’t do that!” Elizabeth was not quite insulted. It was actually a good offer for someone who had as little chance of finding marital happiness as she seemed to. She wasn’t willing to give up on her own household yet, though, and forever label herself a spinster and ladies’ companion. Why, she may as well become a governess and work for a living.

  “No, of course not. You are neither married nor a widow,” Miss de Bourgh said. “I chose my words poorly. I asked a distant cousin to come. She will fill that role. Mrs. Allen. She’s biddable and won’t interfere with my life. All she wants is a good table.”

  Elizabeth relaxed slightly. “What do you mean, then, by companion?”

  “I need a friend. Someone I can ask guidance from. As I said, I don’t know anything yet about interacting in the real world, only in books. My uncle, my mother’s brother, is sure to try to impose someone on me. He’ll ignore that I have Mrs. Allen here for the same reason I want her; she won’t control me.”

  “Surly Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam will offer you guidance? Your uncle can’t fail to be pleased with that.”

  Miss de Bourgh nodded. “I agree, they are certain to advise me, and I shall consider any advice they give. Their advice will assuredly be in keeping with what they see as my best interests. I wonder, though, if it will always be in keeping with my wishes? I want someone I can trust to be on my side.” She looked at Elizabeth with pleading eyes. “I need someone who places me first, Miss Bennet. Above Rosings.”

  What Miss de Bourgh needed was a loving husband, but Elizabeth didn’t know how to produce one of those. She and her four unmarried sisters were proof enough of her inability to do so. She pressed her lips together, trying to think of a polite way to refuse what was a rather daunting offer.

  “I don’t want another man telling me what to do,” Miss de Bourgh said, almost as if she could read Elizabeth’s thoughts. “I’ll have enough of that with Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam and my uncle. I want a woman’s point of view, and I need someone who can stand up to them, or they’ll run Rosings and I’ll sit alone and useless in this giant house, day in and day out, until my entire life has passed me by.”

  Elizabeth could sympathize, but Miss de Bourgh was asking too much of her, especially if she was supposed to stand up to Mr. Darcy, whom she hardly wished to see again, let alone argue with. She didn’t care to add any more insult there, earned or erroneous. “I have a home,” she said. “My father misses me already.”

  “I’m not asking you to stay forever,” Miss de Bourgh said. “Only until I learn to manage Rosings. I’m not a foolish person. I’m sure I can learn with some rapidity, and I’ll have the imminence of your departure to spur me on. Please, Mis
s Bennet. I really have nowhere else to turn.”

  “I might stay for a week or two,” Elizabeth said, moved. “But no longer. I have a life of my own to live.” Even as she said it, she wondered how she was meant to stand up for Miss de Bourgh when she couldn’t even stand up to her. If Miss de Bourgh was aware of the irony of Elizabeth’s capitulation, it didn’t show on her face.

  “Two weeks won’t be enough,” Miss de Bourgh said. “I know I’m asking a lot and that you should receive some sort of compensation for giving up your time. I’m willing to pay you one hundred pounds a month. If you stay for a year, and invest it, you’ll have fifty or sixty pounds a year off it in interest.”

  Elizabeth shook her head, opening her mouth to decline, although she knew the offer was extraordinarily generous.

  “You can leave anytime you like and I’ll give you transportation home,” Miss de Bourgh continued before Elizabeth could speak. “I’ll give you a small amount of spending money as well, while you’re here. I know your father’s estate is entailed to Mr. Collins. You could buy yourself security with what I’m offering.”

  “You think you can bribe me to stay?” Elizabeth asked, truly offended this time. Why was it that people who had money assumed that people who didn’t have as much would do anything for it? Did they think they were the only ones who could afford integrity?

  “I wish I could,” Miss de Bourgh, sinking back against the settee. She looked wan, and frail. “I don’t believe you to be bribable. I suppose if you were, I wouldn’t want your help so desperately. Don’t be insulted.”

  “I most certainly won’t be, if you aren’t insulting me,” Elizabeth said. She took a deep breath, trying to apply logic to the situation. Her father sometimes told her not to be headstrong. In her relationship with Mr. Darcy she’d been headstrong in believing the worst of him and also in insulting him when he proposed. She cringed inwardly, knowing what her father would think of that. Worse, what her mother would. Elizabeth knew she needed to learn to think more of her familial obligations. It wasn’t as if Miss de Bourgh was asking her for a lifelong commitment, like Mr. Collins or Mr. Darcy had.