Implacable Resentment

by Jann Rowland

  “Thank you, Mr. Forbes,” said the Archbishop, his voice a deep rumble. “Please begin.”

  With a bow, Mr. Forbes launched into his explanation. He detailed how he had learned of Elizabeth’s wish to have the case heard and had subsequently journeyed to Hunsford to speak with her, taking the time while there to talk to the curate at Hunsford parish to inquire about the reading of the banns. He then detailed how he had sent an agent to Longbourn church, where the wedding had taken place, and had confirmed that the banns had not been read in that parish either. Finally, he spoke of his efforts to locate any record of a special license and his subsequent discovery from Mr. Collins that one had not been purchased.

  The archbishop stared at Mr. Collins, and though it was not precisely an unfriendly glare, it was also not one which allowed the parson any indication that his actions were under anything less than the severest scrutiny. “And the particulars, Mr. Forbes?” asked he, not removing his gaze from Mr. Collins.

  “The parson of Longbourn church stated that Mrs. Collins was hesitant from the moment she entered the church to the time it came for her to sign the register.”

  “And did she eventually sign the register?”

  “After a manner of speaking,” replied Mr. Forbes. He held up the heavy black book that Elizabeth remembered from the church the morning of her marriage. “I took the liberty of requesting that the register be brought here for examination during this hearing. I will refer back to it when we arrive at that point.”

  The archbishop nodded.

  “It is evident that the bride did not consent to the marriage.”

  “Pardon me, sirs,” said Mr. Collins, evidently finding his courage, “but her father consented to the marriage. As she is underage, that should be all that is required.”

  Mr. Forbes turned and eyed the parson with some displeasure. “I shall remind you of our previous conversation where I informed you that the church does not consider women to be chattel.”

  “And the fact that she did not speak to me of her unwillingness to consent?” persisted Mr. Collins.

  “I believe we should allow the lady in question to speak for herself.” Mr. Forbes turned to Elizabeth and with a smile said, “If you please, Mrs. Collins. I think that we should hear your comments on what happened that day.”

  “Of course, Mr. Forbes,” replied Elizabeth. “What precisely would you like to know?”

  “Did you consent to the marriage?”

  “I did not.”

  “And why did you not protest more?”

  “Partially from shock.” Elizabeth paused. “I was told the night before that my father wished me to marry Mr. Collins, and as I had only met the man and did not feel an inclination toward him, my father and I argued. He ended my argument by slapping me.”

  Elizabeth tried not to notice Mr. Darcy’s anger at her last admission, but her words seemed to generate more understanding.

  “And then what happened?”

  “I tried to escape that night,” continued Elizabeth. “I dressed myself and attempted to slip out of the house after dark.”

  Mr. Collins gave a glance of disapproval due to what he must have considered to be a display of her lack of propriety, but Elizabeth ignored him. “My father stopped me before I could leave, locking me in my room for the rest of the night.

  “The next morning, he entered my room, telling me to dress for my wedding, which was to be held that morning.”

  “And why did you not protest?” demanded Mr. Collins.

  “Would it have made the slightest bit of difference?” scoffed Elizabeth. “You had ignored my attempts to convey to you that I felt no inclination toward you, and my father had made it very clear that my refusal was not an option.”

  “Did you fear that he would strike you again?” asked Mr. Forbes.

  “He never stated it outright,” replied Elizabeth slowly, “but it was clear he would do so from the way he acted and the way he held my arm. His grip left bruises on my skin.”

  “And did you not consider your father the authority in your family for making such decisions?” This question was from the archbishop, and though Elizabeth could not quite read his expression, she did not think that his question was intended to provoke her.

  “I barely know my father,” said Elizabeth. “From the time I was nine, I have been brought up by my uncle, and not once in those years did my father visit, write, or attempt to contact me. At least, he never did so until he wrote to my uncle to insist on my return. I did not know his reason initially, but I now know it was the purpose of forcing me to marry Mr. Collins.”

  “But he is still your father. Do you not owe him your respect?”

  “Pardon me, Your Grace, but he has never acted like my father.” Elizabeth dashed a few angry tears from her eyes as she tried to put on a brave face despite her tribulations. “As a child, I had been neglected and made to feel inferior, dressed in cast-offs and held to blame for all my family’s misfortunes. I do not know what might have happened to me had my uncle not intervened. And then I was called back to my father, told I was to marry a man I had only just met, forced to the church, made to listen as my father agreed to my wedding vows in my stead, and forced under the threat of violence to sign the marriage register, all for my father’s petty revenge for the grudge he holds against me. Is this the kind of man I should respect?”

  The archbishop regarded her, the compassion in his eyes clear in his softened gaze and sad smile. “No, Miss Bennet. I must agree with you.” Turning to Mr. Forbes, the archbishop said, “Have you any other evidence, Mr. Forbes?”

  “The register, Your Grace,” said Mr. Forbes. He approached and placed the book on the table situated in front of the three bishops, opening it for them to see. “If you will look at the second entry from the bottom, you will see Mr. Collins’s signature. However, the signature beside his is somewhat . . . surprising.”

  The bishops examined the book for several moments until the archbishop looked up and pierced Mr. Collins with a look, though he was sporting a bit of a wry smile.

  “Mr. Collins, are you aware of your wife’s name?”

  “Y-yes, of course!” blurted a flustered Mr. Collins.

  “What is it?”

  “Elizabeth Collins.”

  “Her maiden name, Mr. Collins.”

  “Elizabeth Bennet,” snapped Mr. Collins, shooting a glare at Elizabeth.

  “Then would you care to explain why the name next to yours in the register, though somewhat hastily scrawled, clearly reads ‘Marie Antoinette?’”

  The shock was evident in Mr. Collins’s ruddy face, and he stared at the archbishop for several moments, his mouth working, though no sound was emerging. But all at once, this happy state of affairs changed, and his face mottled with rage. He turned to Elizabeth with a poisonous glare of uncharacteristic intensity and said, in a low and dangerous voice, “You did not sign your name to the register?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Do your name and reputation mean so little to you, madam?”

  “It was the only form of protest my father allowed, and had he thought to check, I doubt he would have allowed it either.”

  Mr. Collins fell silent, and it seemed as if he had finally been defeated by her testimony. But while he might now accept that she did not wish to be joined with him, Elizabeth was certain that the man had far too high an opinion of himself to allow his spirits to be depressed for long. On the contrary, once the immediacy of the situation was passed—and perhaps more importantly, once he was out of his superiors’ presence—Elizabeth had no doubt that his anger would make an impressive return.

  “Do you need to see the register to be convinced of the fact that your wife’s name is not written here, Mr. Collins?”

  The parson looked back at the archbishop, and though he did not speak, he shook his head with a grimace.

  “Then the last question pertains to the consummation of the marriage. Can we assume that it has not been consummated?
”

  “Would it change your decision if it was?” asked Mr. Collins.

  A harsh glare from all three bishops met his question. “Were you thinking of telling an untruth, sir?”

  “No, Your Grace,” replied Mr. Collins hurriedly. “I merely wish to ascertain if there was anything I could have done to keep my wife.”

  “It seems to me that you did not even bother to go through the correct means to obtain a wife,” said the Bishop of Chichester. “As far as I can see, there is nothing in this farce which is legitimate, and the only choice is to dissolve the marriage, though there is not much to dissolve.”

  “I am in agreement,” said the archbishop. “The only reason that the question of consummation is pertinent at all is the matter of Mrs. Collins keeping herself intact so that she may marry again.”

  “The marriage has not been consummated,” said Elizabeth hurriedly. She did not state that there was nothing in the world which could possibly have tempted her into allowing Mr. Collins to touch her. The bishops would likely have understood—and possibly even agreed!—but she doubted they would have been amused by such a statement.

  “Good,” replied the archbishop. “My fellow bishops and I will confer, and then we will render our decision.”

  The three men stood, and they repaired to a corner away from the rest of those in the room, and Elizabeth sat back in her chair, content that the decision seemed as if it were about to be made in her favor. She dared not look at Mr. Darcy, for fear that her feelings would be plain for anyone to see.

  It was not long, however, before the three men returned and took their seats, and their attention was quickly focused upon Elizabeth.

  “Mrs. Collins—” began Manners-Sutton. Then he checked himself and said, “I suppose we should call you ‘Miss Bennet’ again. On behalf of the Church of England, I wish to apologize for the grievous wrong which was done to you, not only by your father, but also by one of our own.”

  Almost weeping with relief, Elizabeth nevertheless squared her shoulders, and in a voice slightly quivering with emotion, she said, “I thank you for your words, Your Grace. Please know that my faith has not been shaken and that I do not blame the church. I merely want justice done. I have no desire beyond that.”

  The archbishop smiled. “You seem like a very good young woman, Miss Bennet. Please use this opportunity to select your future partner in life wisely. You have been given an opportunity to choose for yourself, and it would be a shame if you were to marry someone who did not appreciate you.”

  Every instinct screamed at her to look at Mr. Darcy, but Elizabeth managed to resist, and she instead answered, “Thank you, Your Grace. I certainly shall.”

  Elizabeth had the distinct impression that the archbishop was smiling at her indulgently and that he knew something of her and Mr. Darcy. He said nothing further on the subject, however, instead content to incline his head and move on to his next remarks.

  “For various irregularities, including the bride’s lack of consent, the neglect of the required reading of the banns, the fact that there was no special license procured, and the improper signing of the marriage register, we declare this marriage annulled and void, struck from the records of the church as if it had never taken place. As much as it is in our power to influence, we hereby state our support for Miss Bennet. She is the wronged party in this matter and therefore cannot be held accountable. We hope that all will accept her innocence and accept her into full society. No dishonor will stain her reputation.

  “Mr. Collins.”

  The archbishop calling his name seemed to snap Mr. Collins from his dark thoughts and glares at Elizabeth, for he looked up. For a moment, Elizabeth thought that he might snap at the archbishop.

  “It has come to our attention that there are certain irregularities concerning your stewardship over the parish of Hunsford.”

  His eyes bulging from his head, Mr. Collins immediately leapt to his own defense. “I know not what Mrs. Collins has told you—”

  “Mrs. Collins has said nothing,” interrupted the archbishop. “The matter of the annulment has been brought to a close; this is a different matter entirely. It is presumed that you must return her to her father’s home—is that not correct?”

  At Mr. Collins’s sullen nod, the archbishop continued. “Then that is all that will be said concerning the matter. When you return, however, we will take up the matter of these issues within the parish. At that time, we can determine what improvements need to be made.”

  With that, the bishops rose and filed from the room, leaving Elizabeth with tears in her eyes. She was finally free!

  “Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Collins, striding up to her in a clipped manner. “You will return to the gig immediately. I wish to prepare to return you to your father without delay.”

  Elizabeth gave him a measured look and decided it was best to simply appease him. “Of course, Mr. Collins.”

  So saying, she preceded him down the aisle of the church and toward the door. There, in front of her, stood Mr. Darcy, and though his expression was unreadable, Elizabeth could tell that he was pleased with the result of the hearing. “I will go to the parsonage and see you as soon as may be,” said Mr. Darcy in a quiet tone as she walked toward him.

  Mr. Collins clearly did not hear him, but he did notice the man speak, for he hurried up to him and, in a tone as deferential as any he had ever used with Lady Catherine, said, “I implore you, Mr. Darcy, do not speak with my cousin. She is now a fallen woman, and any association of her with your exalted self can only damage your pristine reputation and that of your fair betrothed. I shall return this . . . woman to her father as soon as may be so she does not stain the fair estate of Rosings with her presence.”

  The unamused visage of Mr. Darcy turned, and he glared at Mr. Collins, causing the man to step back with alarm. “If I just heard correctly, the archbishop declared that Miss Bennet could in no way be held accountable for what happened and that there was no stain on her honor. I suggest you remember exactly who was to blame for her tribulations.”

  Once again, Elizabeth was treated to the sight of Mr. Collins’s jaw working with no sound issuing forth.

  “Until next time, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy as he smiled and bowed over her hand.

  Then he turned and left swiftly, leaving Elizabeth to follow behind more sedately. Elizabeth did not know what the future would hold, but she was certain she would enjoy finding out. Mr. Darcy, it appeared, would be an ardent suitor.

  The journey back to the parsonage was completed in silence, though the very air about them was charged with tension. Mr. Collins, by the set of his jaw and the redness of his countenance, was quite clearly furious with what had happened. That he blamed her, both for the dissolution of their marriage and for the implied investigation into his activities as parson, was undeniable. Just what he planned to do about it was still a matter of conjecture. Elizabeth expected that his promise to return her immediately to Longbourn was genuine. He would not wish to keep the reason for his disgrace in his company any longer than was absolutely necessary.

  Her conjecture was proven when they arrived at the parsonage. The moment Elizabeth alighted from the gig, Mr. Collins jumped down and crossed quickly to her side before she had time to alight. He did not deign to assist her, but when she had stepped down onto the gravel, he grasped her arm in a harsh manner and began to march her toward the house, growling, “You shall return to your room and pack your personal effects as soon as may be.”

  Elizabeth was not about to accept this treatment from the man, and she stopped and wrenched his hand from her arm, causing him to stumble. The parson straightened and glared at her, but Elizabeth forestalled him, saying, “I will return to my room and pack, Mr. Collins. But you will not drag me like a recalcitrant child.”

  “You are a recalcitrant child!” thundered Mr. Collins, the spittle flying from his mouth.

  Elizabeth was not impressed. “No, just a woman determined not to be used by the
likes of you.”

  “You will return to your room. You will pack your belongings. You will be ready to go at first light. If you do not do these things with alacrity, I shall strike you where you stand.”

  “I am not surprised you would do such a thing, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth as she walked past him and entered the house. “You are certainly no gentleman.”

  Perhaps Elizabeth was not wise in her anger, and she half-expected him to follow her and take her arm yet again, but he did not. But as she hurried up the stairs to her room, she heard his heavy footsteps behind her. “I will arrange for our departure in the morning. In the meantime, you must pack. You are not to leave your room. I will have cook bring some dinner to your chambers.”

  Elizabeth heard nothing more, as she entered her room and pulled out her trunk. Since her family had not seen fit to send more than a few of her dresses, she did not have many to pack, which meant that bringing her belongings in order did not take much time. She had just finished the major part of the task and was about to exit the room when her door opened and the maid entered.

  “Do you require assistance, madam?” asked the woman, though she did not look up at Elizabeth.

  “I believe I have it well in hand, Jessica,” said Elizabeth with a smile. “Besides, I cannot imagine that Mr. Collins would be happy to find you in here.”

  Jessica sniffed with disdain. “I care not what the master likes, madam. You have been kind to all the staff, and we shall miss you. The master . . . well, he is not thought of with any esteem.”

  “Thank you, Jessica. While I cannot say that I will miss the parsonage or Mr. Collins, I am grateful that you have taken such care of me and that you all have refrained from gossip concerning the state of affairs between Mr. Collins and me.”