by Kay Bea
Letters from the Heart
Kay Bea
Copyright © 2019 by Kay Bea
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Kristi Rawley and Ellen Pickels
Cover Design by Ellen Pickels
Portrait of the Irish novelist Lady Sydney Morgan (née Owenson; 25 December 1781? – 14 April 1859) . circa 1818. Licensed by the Picture Art Collection
ISBN: 978-1-951033-04-0 (ebook)
978-1-951033-05-7 (paperback)
For my mom, who is the strongest woman I’ve ever known. I love you.
Table of Contents
After the Ball
Revelations
Family Connections
Seeing Elizabeth
Disappointed Hopes
Changes
Reunions
Unhappy Returns
Consequences
Free
Coming Home
Incandescently Happy
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
If Elizabeth Bennet had given such matters any consideration, she would have thought the death of one’s spirit should come with a good deal of noise. At the very least, she thought there should be wailing and weeping—if not thunder or the roar of a fire. She could not have imagined a spirit being relentlessly forced into darkness by something so mundane as the scratch of pen on paper. Elizabeth Bennet may not have known these things, but as Elizabeth Collins watched the countryside grow less and less familiar the further the carriage pressed on towards Kent, she had no doubt of their veracity. She looked resolutely away from the man facing her, mouth open in sleep, and reflected on how it was she found herself bound to a man she would have thought the last in the world she could ever marry.
Three days after the Netherfield ball, while Jane was mourning the loss of Mr Bingley and Mrs Bennet was still ranting about undutiful children and her promised future amongst the hedgerows, Elizabeth slipped from the house in the early morning hours for a short walk through the gardens. The late-November days had grown too cold for long rambles. She entertained herself with thoughts of encountering Mr Wickham when next she was in Meryton and of the possible ways she might assist Jane. It would be considerably easier, she thought, if her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had not chosen this year to visit his business partners in the Indies. She also gave free rein to her imagination in considering all the things she might say to Mr Darcy should they happen to meet again. She was in every way convinced he was instrumental in his friend’s hasty departure from the neighbourhood.
She returned half an hour later to a house in chaos. Mr Collins, who looked as though his own exit from the home had been interrupted, sat in one corner, managing to look both sombre and smug. Kitty and Lydia were flitting about the parlour. Their eyes were red and swollen, and their faces carried the obvious signs of recent tears. Mary was sitting alone, clutching her Bible, and murmuring to herself while Mrs Bennet’s wailing from upstairs could be heard above it all. Elizabeth assumed her elder sister was above stairs with their mother.
Seeing their faithful housekeeper was also unaccounted for, Elizabeth made her way quickly to Mary even as anxiety threatened to overwhelm her. “Mary, what has happened?”
Mary startled and looked up, “Oh, Lizzy! ’Tis Papa!”
Elizabeth struggled to remain calm and pressed, “What, Mary? What is wrong with Papa?”
Kitty noticed her then and exclaimed, “It was the most dreadful thing, Lizzy! The whole house was still abed, and there was a terrible noise!”
Lydia took up the tale, “I am certain I have never been so frightened! There was a horrible thumping sort of noise, and then Mama was screaming for Mrs Hill, and Mrs Hill was shouting, and then even Jane raised her voice a very little! Mama went to her rooms, but Jane sent little Margaret for the apothecary, and when we tried to see the reason for all the commotion, Mrs Hill told us to dress and come downstairs. But we saw him, Lizzy—we saw Papa! He was lying on the floor, and he was very still and pale. Mama said he is dying!”
Before Elizabeth could make a reply, she heard Jane calling out, “Lizzy? Are you returned? Come quickly!”
Elizabeth obeyed with alacrity. On reaching her father’s rooms, Elizabeth felt the worry and dread that had been lurking in the darkest corner of her heart begin to take form. It was as Lydia had said except he was no longer on the floor. Her beloved papa lay unmoving in his bed, only his chest rising and falling irregularly giving any indication he still lived. Scarcely sparing a glance for anyone else in the room, Elizabeth rushed to her father’s side where she remained until the apothecary arrived.
The news was grave. Mr Bennet had suffered a fit of apoplexy. The possible extent of his recovery was not certain, and the family should begin preparing for the worst. Mrs Bennet collapsed on hearing this report, and she was removed to her rooms where she would remain for above two weeks. The Bennet sisters simply drew closer together and clasped their hands in silent vigil.
But it appeared Mr Collins could be depended upon to offer his advice on the occasion. When the apothecary departed and they were once again a family party, he said, “My dear cousins, how fortunate it is I did not go forth this morning as I had planned. I have already sent a letter to her ladyship explaining that I shall remain in Hertfordshire as is my duty, not only as member of the clergy but also as your cousin and heir to your father’s estate. I daresay that, if he were still able to think of such things, he would now regret his actions of two days' past. But I am a forgiving man and shall overlook his slight to my person.”
Elizabeth startled at the mention of Mr Collins’s ill-fated proposals to her as well as the refusal she had quickly offered, but before she could reply, Mary spoke. “Perhaps, Mr Collins, we might all engage in silent reflection during this troubling time.”
Mr Collins nodded his head gravely and said, “Your devotion does you credit, Miss Mary.” He then turned his gaze to Elizabeth. “Let us all use this opportunity to reflect on the wisdom of our choices.” Elizabeth could tolerate no more and excused herself to sit with her father.
In the first days of Mr Bennet’s illness, Longbourn was unnaturally still as the occupants kept vigil and wondered whether each breath their patriarch drew would be his last. He had brief periods of wakefulness: a peculiar languorous consciousness where he neither responded nor moved but was able to partake of small bits of sustenance spooned into his mouth and stare at them all unblinking.
These periods neither improved nor increased in frequency as the days turned to weeks. There was no change for the better in his condition, though each day he grew paler and thinner despite their best efforts to nurse him. The household soon settled into a new rhythm. Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary took it in turns to sit with their father, attend to their mother, and to entertain their younger sisters.
Mr Collins took to reading to them each evening, most often from Fordyce’s Sermons. He often observed the sisters during the day then selected passages designed to condemn their activities. He took special delight one evening in a passage that, after extolling the particular works of Mr Richardson and the virtues of his character young Clarissa, proclaimed, “Beside the beautiful productions of that incomparable pen, there seem to m
e to be very few, in the style of Novel, that you can read with safety, and yet fewer that you can read with advantage. What shall we say of certain books, which we are assured (for we have not read them) are in their nature so shameful, in their tendency so pestiferous, and contain such rank treason against the royalty of Virtue, such horrible violation of all decorum, that she who can bear to peruse them must in her soul be a prostitute, let her reputation in life be what it will.” He looked directly at Elizabeth when he spoke the last words, but she told herself she was above reproof and would not even incline her head in acknowledgement of his ill-conceived chastisement.
Kitty and Lydia were far too young to see beyond a few days in the future, and when it became evident their father was going to remain in his state for some time, they grew restless and bored from lack of company and entertainment.
“Oh please, Jane! Please let us go to town! We must purchase some gifts for Christmas, you know!” Lydia appealed to her eldest sister once again. “Besides, the officers are likely to be about. Surely Lizzy is wishing for the company of Mr Wickham!”
“I wish no such thing, Lyddie!” Elizabeth denied.
“Pah! We all know how disappointed you were not to dance with him at the ball, and you’ve not been able to see him at all since Papa fell ill. Please? Please let us go!” Lydia begged.
“Truly, Jane! We cannot be indoors for even another minute! You must allow us to go!” Kitty added her own plea to the noise.
Jane looked uncertain, and Elizabeth was about to deny their request once again when their mother’s voice was heard for the first time since she had taken to her rooms two weeks earlier. “Of course you will go, my darlings. I am of a mind to visit my sister Philips, and you will come with me.” She turned her attention then to Mr Collins who looked as though he could not decide whether it would be better to reprimand his outspoken young cousins or condole with their mother. “Mr Collins, would you join us? I believe we have much to speak of.”
As if in afterthought she added, “And you as well, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth was alarmed and quickly answered, “But we are needed here, Mama, and in any case, I have no wish to journey to town.”
“Nonsense, child. Jane and Mary will remain behind. Jane cannot come. Her health is too delicate since the dreadful loss of Mr Bingley, and Mary can have nothing of importance to do in town,” Mrs Bennet insisted.
Well used to her mother’s slights, Mary scarcely flinched at her dismissal and only said, “I shall be happy to remain with Papa.”
“As would I,” rejoined Elizabeth.
“Nevertheless, I insist. You will join us, Elizabeth Bennet!” Mrs Bennet demanded shrilly.
Elizabeth graciously conceded defeat, retrieved her winter pelisse, and left with her mother, cousin, and younger sisters. They arrived en masse at the Philips’s residence. After greeting their aunt and uncle, Kitty and Lydia were dismissed to visit the shops. Elizabeth and Mrs Bennet joined Mrs Philips for tea while Mr Collins disappeared with Mr Philips for above half an hour. Elizabeth’s unease at this turn of events could not be understated. Her worst fears were realised when the gentlemen returned and her uncle spoke, saying, “Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your engagement, Lizzy! Mr Collins will make you a fine husband.”
Elizabeth started, coloured, and began to speak several times before finally turning to her mother and saying, “You cannot be serious, Mama! My father has already rejected Mr Collins’s suit!”
“You honour your father with your devotion, my dear,” Mr Collins soothed as he reached for her hand.
Elizabeth stepped deftly to the side and cried out, “Then you must see that I cannot marry you! After spending so many weeks in the same house, I am more convinced now than I was at the time of your proposal that we cannot make one another happy! We are not suited in the least, Mr Collins!”
“That is enough, Elizabeth Bennet! Your father is not here, and I shall not allow you to run wild as he does. Your uncle has approved the match, the banns are to be read on Sunday next, and you will be married as soon as may be after the New Year.”
Elizabeth turned her eyes to her aunt and uncle for support, but found no sympathy there. Instead, her aunt was already helping to set a wedding date whilst her uncle stepped forward, saying, “Think of your family, Lizzy, and what will happen to your mother and sisters should you continue in your selfish refusal. Your aunt and I cannot take them in, and Mr and Mrs Gardiner are away for the next year at least. This is best for all of you.” At these words, Elizabeth knew she was defeated.
Once January 7 had been decided upon, her aunt and mother moved to discussing wedding clothes and the details of a wedding breakfast. Elizabeth’s smile turned brittle, and she spoke not another word until she was safely in her room at Longbourn.
Elizabeth allowed herself to weep for two days. She wished bitterly that Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were still in London. With them, she might have found some protection. But wishing would not make it so, and Elizabeth knew she could not escape. She accepted the company of her sisters as each of them attempted to console her, though each for a different reason. Jane thought only that Elizabeth would miss her family. “It won’t be so terrible, Lizzy. You will be free from Mama and have your own home to manage. Perhaps you will even be a mother soon. You will see, Lizzy.”
Kitty was perhaps even less helpful with her offer of, “It is a terrible shame, Lizzy, for you will be removed from all the officers. But do not worry, I shall write every day and tell you all that you have missed!”
Lydia made the same offer as her sister, only adding, “And I am certain Charlotte Lucas will write you as well. Only think, you are to be married before Charlotte, and she is seven years older!”
It was Mary who seemed to sense the truth of the thing: marriage to Mr Collins was no cause for celebration or joy. When Mary came, she simply sat in the window next to Elizabeth and took her hand. They sat in silence for some time before she tried to speak and finally said, “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” Then she squeezed Elizabeth’s hand and said, “It has to be, Lizzy. You are the best of us, and I cannot bear to think it will be otherwise.” Elizabeth only tipped her head to Mary’s shoulder and wept.
She went to her father at night when the rest of the house was asleep and told him of her situation. She begged him to wake, to really wake and be once again himself, not this hollow shell of himself that he had become. He merely opened his eyes and looked at her, seeming to see nothing and comprehend even less and Elizabeth cried again with the knowledge that he could not save her. On the third morning of her self-imposed confinement, Elizabeth rose, dressed for the day, and joined her family walking to church. She sat in silence as the banns were read and accepted the congratulations of her neighbours with grace. To her mother, she spoke not another word, not even on the day she was married.
On the morning of January 7, 1812, Elizabeth stood in front of Longbourn and looked over her family. Jane stood with silent tears threatening to spill down her face, and Mary looked even more grave than usual while Kitty and Lydia were whispering furiously to one another. Mrs Bennet was fluttering a handkerchief and boasting of her good fortune. Elizabeth turned her gaze to the upper floor of her childhood home and found the window to her father’s chambers. Mr Bennet, she knew, lay in his bed, still and unmoving as he had been since that terrible day in November. She swallowed and thought how very much she would miss them all before pulling her beloved Jane into a final, silent embrace.
She then moved to join her husband of a few interminable hours. She resolutely declined to face him and turned deaf ears to her mother’s rapturous cries of, “Oh, my dear Mrs Collins! How well that sounds,” and “We are saved, and now we have nothing to fear when Mr Bennet leaves us!”
Elizabeth was certain that, if she were to part her lips to speak, she would forever shame her family with the words that would spill forth. She therefore maintained her silence. It
was not until she noted that even wild, untameable Lydia now appeared solemn and still, that Elizabeth gave her youngest sister a smile and finally spoke.
“It isn’t so terrible, Lyddie. I am only to Kent, and it is certain you will be able to join one of your elder sisters in a visit soon enough.”
It was Kitty who encouraged, “And perhaps Papa will recover soon, and then Elizabeth must return so he can know of her marriage!”
Mr Collins was quick to express his own views on the subject, “My dear cousin, the hopefulness of youth does you credit. However, I fear we must acknowledge that it is more likely that, when you next see your sister, it will be when she comes to claim her place as mistress of Longbourn.”
This callous reference to Mr Bennet’s illness and the implied hope of his demise left the sisters looking stricken. Their mother however was quick to agree, “Indeed, Mr Collins, you have been too kind. We are fortunate to know the future of Longbourn has been secured.”
Mary finally spoke, the first time she had done so since before the ceremony. “And it has been done with no inconvenience to yourself and no regard for either our father’s wishes or our sister’s well-being!” The middle Bennet sister gave a regretful look to Elizabeth and continued, “I shall miss you, sister.” She then spun on her heel and fled indoors.
“You must pay Mary no attention, Mrs Collins, for she is jealous of your good fortune!” Mrs Bennet simpered.
To this, Elizabeth could make no reply and so merely nodded. A few minutes more and the carriage began its long journey south. She listened to the inanities of her husband until her most fervent wish was granted and the portly man proved that he could not be silent even in sleep.
