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The ladies remained at Longbourn, listening to the muffled toll of the church bells, while the funeral procession made its way to the churchyard where Mr Bennet would be laid to rest beside his ancestors.

Mary had retreated to the pianoforte, though she played nothing; her fingers merely rested on the silent keys.

Kitty sat with her sketchbook, making absent marks that formed no picture.

Even Mrs Bennet maintained an unusual dignity, her usual lamentations replaced by a quiet that seemed more final than any of her previous hysterics.

Lydia, perhaps for the first time in her life, sat completely still, her earlier complaints about her boots forgotten as she stared out the window, finally seeming to understand what her thoughtless flight had cost them all.

Hill appeared in the doorway to announce that the gentlemen were returning. Elizabeth rose to prepare for their arrival, her mind still too full of grief to notice who was missing from their number.

Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to touch the food Hill had laid out.

The thought of eating made her stomach turn, and she was having trouble keeping her tears at bay.

Lady Lucas and Maria had arrived early that morning to help with the preparations, and Mrs Long and her nieces had followed shortly after.

Mrs Phillips had taken charge of receiving the neighbourhood ladies who continued to arrive throughout the morning, allowing Mrs Gardiner to focus on her sister and nieces.

Only Lydia and the Gardiner children seemed to have any appetite; the rest of the Bennets merely picked at their plates while accepting condolences from their neighbours.

When the gentlemen finally returned from the church, Elizabeth, who had been accepting Mrs Goulding’s sympathies, noticed Mr Collins was not among them.

She had been so consumed with thoughts of her father, she hadn’t even registered his absence from the funeral party.

Her aunt approached where she stood with Jane, looking unusually grave after a whispered conversation with Mr Gardiner.

“Lizzy, Jane - when did you last see Mr Collins?” Mrs Gardiner asked quietly, her husband hovering close by.

Elizabeth felt a jolt of realisation - between Lydia’s return, her father’s funeral, and everything else, she hadn’t spared Mr Collins a single thought since Lady Catherine’s dramatic exit .

“No,” Elizabeth said quietly, her brow furrowing as she tried to remember when she had last heard his voice in the house. “Not since Lady Catherine departed.”

“Nor have I,” Jane added, her face growing troubled. “And surely he would not miss our father’s funeral - as master of Longbourn, it would be most improper.”

“That is precisely what concerns us,” Mr Gardiner said in an undertone. “Mr Darcy had to take his place as a pallbearer. He and Mr Bingley mean to slip away quietly to search for him - we don’t want to alarm your mother just yet.”

“I want to go with them,” Elizabeth declared suddenly, surprising even herself. After everything that had happened with Mr Collins, she felt oddly responsible for his disappearance.

“All cannot go or someone will notice,” Mrs Gardiner said gently, placing a steadying hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “We must be discreet - your mother is already distressed enough.”

“That’s precisely why Mr Darcy had to take his place as pallbearer,” Mr Gardiner added in an undertone. “Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley will slip away quietly to search. The fewer people who know about this, the better.”

After some discussion, it was settled that Elizabeth would accompany the gentlemen - her knowledge of the local paths might prove useful - while her aunt, uncle, and Jane would maintain the illusion of normalcy at the funeral breakfast.

* * *

Tuesday, 24th of March 181 2

Unknown Location - Mr Collins

William Collins burned with fever, his consciousness slipping between reality and fantasy.

In his mind, he was back at Hunsford, in his beloved garden.

The morning sun warmed his face as he tended his roses - Lady Catherine had particularly praised his roses last spring.

From here, he could see the lane to Rosings Park, where her ladyship’s carriage might appear at any moment.

His position as her chosen clergyman was secure, his future bright.

And inside the parsonage, his Elizabeth waited for him, her needle moving swiftly through her sewing as she smiled at some private thought.

Soon they would have a child - she had whispered the news to him just last night as they lay together in their marriage bed.

Her head laying next to his on the pillow, he breathed in the smell of her hair, his arms around her waist holding her close, and her belly swelling from their child growing inside.

He gently kissed the top of her head and she sighed against him, then she turned to kiss him.

He returned the kiss and she giggled slightly, then they made love, slowly this time, before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

* * *

Fields near Longbourn - Bingley

“He’s here!” Mr Bingley’s voice rang out across the muddy field. The sound of running feet splashed through puddles.

“He’s completely drenched through,” Mr Darcy said, slightly breathless as he knelt beside the prone figure.

“Must have been wandering all night, since he left Longbourn,” Bingley replied, his usually cheerful face grave .

“Look there,” Elizabeth said, pointing to an exposed tree root. “He must have tripped.”

“And hit his head on the way down,” Darcy confirmed grimly, examining a nasty gash on Collins’ forehead. “We need to get him back to Longbourn immediately.”

* * *

Wednesday, 25th of March 1812

Unknown Location - Mr Collins

William woke to an empty bed, and he got up to look for his wife.

She was sitting on the floor of the nursery, where a little boy was playing with some tin soldiers near his mother.

He had his mother’s eyes, and William was his name, in his and his father’s honours.

A little girl with his eyes and Elizabeth’s curls, Catherine-named after Lady Catherine of course-was playing with a doll under the window.

Elizabeth was playing with the baby, who they had called Thomas after her father.

Elizabeth smiled brightly when she saw him, holding out the baby for him to take. Little William got to his feet to hug his father, with a cry of “Papa! Papa!” Catherine followed not far behind her older brother. William smiled down at his children.

Through the peaceful garden scene, distant voices penetrated like unwelcome intruders:

“He has a very high fever,” a woman’s voice echoed, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere.

“Doctor Russell will be here directly,” a man answered, the words distorting as if carried on the wind .

Collins tried to focus on his roses, on the comforting sight of Elizabeth through the parsonage window, but the voices pulled at him, threatening to tear his perfect world apart.

The peaceful garden scene dissolved, replaced by the small sitting room at Hunsford. His wife sat with her back to him, her needle moving steadily through her work. But something felt wrong - the air seemed too thick, the colours slightly askew.

“Elizabeth?” he called softly, reaching for her shoulder.

She turned, but her face wasn’t quite right - it shifted and changed as he watched, like ripples in a pond. “Why would you do that?” Her voice was cold, nothing like his dear wife’s warm tones.

“Do what?” He looked around frantically for the children, but the room seemed to stretch and distort. “Where are the children?”

“Not looking for Lydia?” Elizabeth’s face hardened with accusation. “She is your sister!”

“I did look for Lydia…” The words felt thick in his mouth. Had he looked? He remembered rain, mud, and endless country lanes…

“Why would you not want to marry me?” Elizabeth’s features began to blur, melting into someone else’s face - was it Mary Smith? Or Lady Catherine? He couldn’t tell any more.

Panic seised him. He had to find the children - they would make everything right again. He stumbled backward, away from this strange woman who both was and wasn’t his Elizabeth.

Through the haze of fever, distant voices intruded again:” He has broken his leg badly,” a man’s voice echoed. “The fall - that bump on his head - and he’s lost a lot of blood”

The words faded as Collins stumbled from the sitting room, desperate to escape. The children - yes, they would be in the kitchen at this time of day. They always were. But footsteps followed him, Elizabeth’s voice morphing into something else entirely.

“Who is Miss Smith?” The voice demanded, no longer Elizabeth’s gentle tones but something harder, colder. “Why would you marry her instead of me?”

He turned, and there stood Mary Smith, but she spoke with Elizabeth’s voice. The walls seemed to pulse around her, the corridor stretching impossibly long.

“Why would you do that to me?” Mary-Elizabeth’s face twisted with anger.

A maid materialised from the wavering shadows. “Lady Catherine has arrived,” she announced with a curtsy that seemed to pull her body at impossible angles before she melted into the wall.

Then Lady Catherine was there, looming impossibly tall, her figure stretching up into darkness, her face contorted with a fury that made the very air crackle around them.

Reality intruded again, voices floating through his delirium: “If he wakes, it would be a good sign,” a woman whispered, fear threading through her words.

“The screaming worries me,” another voice replied. “Such terrible dreams…”

“The fever has him in its grip,” came the grim response.

But Collins was already sliding back into his nightmare, where Lady Catherine’s towering figure blocked out all light. Her face seemed to fill his entire field of vision, her eyes burning with disappointment and rage.

“You must leave Hunsford!” Her voice boomed like thunder.

“Lady Catherine, I am your most humble servant-” he pleaded, but his words seemed tiny and insignificant.

“Tonight! You must be gone tonight!” Each word felt like a physical blow.

“The children-” he gasped, trying to shield himself. “Lady Catherine, surely you would not have them turned out of their home? ”

Then Mrs Bennet was there, appearing impossibly through Lady Catherine’s shadow, her voice unnaturally cheerful: “My Lizzy is such a good girl, letting us all live at Hunsford. I was telling Lady Lucas just the other day what a dear girl she is…”

The two women’s voices began to overlap, creating a cacophony that made Collins’ head spin. Lady Catherine seemed to grow even taller, while Mrs Bennet multiplied into several identical copies, each speaking slightly out of sync with the others.

Through the chaos of voices, a child’s laughter rang out - high and clear and terribly wrong. Little William appeared, running through Lady Catherine’s seemingly solid form as if she were smoke. The boy’s features kept shifting between those of a child and a miniature version of his brother Billy.

“Such an ill-mannered child!” Lady Catherine’s voice thundered. “No respect - just like his father!”

Collins fell to his knees, the room spinning around him. “Lady Catherine, I beg you to reconsider-”

“OUT!” The word seemed to shake the very foundations of Hunsford.

“Please, your ladyship, I implore you-” His voice grew weaker as Lady Catherine loomed larger.

“DISGRACE!” Her face filled the entire ceiling now, her eyes burning like twin suns.

Then Elizabeth was there, but her face kept changing - sometimes his wife, sometimes Miss Smith, sometimes a stranger.

Her hand rested on little William’s shoulder, but the boy seemed to age and shrink with each passing moment.

“My sister is ruined,” Elizabeth’s voice echoed, “and it is entirely your fault.”

“Papa,” little William’s voice came from what was now clearly a miniature version of his brother, “you should have gone after our Aunt.” The child’s face aged rapidly as he spoke. “Or Lady Catherine will never stop being angry.”

The nightmare scene shattered around him, Lady Catherine’s face fracturing into a thousand pieces, each reflecting a different moment of his life - his brother’s smirking face, Elizabeth walking down the aisle, Lady Catherine’s disapproval, Lydia’s empty room, the endless muddy fields he’d wandered searching…

Through the kaleidoscope of broken memories, distant voices filtered:

“Any change?” The words seemed to come from very far away.

“He was crying out earlier…” Another voice faded in and out like a guttering candle. “But he’s been quiet this past hour.”

“The fever’s worse.” The final words carried a weight of finality. “Much worse.”

Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision as the fragments of his dream life finally slipped away entirely.