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“Lady Catherine is very kind.” Mr. Bennet continued to cover his mouth with his handkerchief.

“And now, let us pray,” replied Mr. Collins, brandishing his prayer book.

Sir Henry held up his hand. “Before we get to that, I am curious as to where Lady Catherine de Bourgh receives her information. She is always so well-informed.”

Collins, ever ready to accommodate those of higher rank, was ready with his reply. “Much of it comes from the Lucases here in Hertfordshire. They are the family of my dear wife, the former Miss Charlotte Lucas.”

“Yes, I do know the Lucases very well. But, unless they have military couriers and an unlimited number of fast horses, it is difficult to understand how the Lucases can always be ‘au fait’ with what is happening here or in London before their neighbors here know anything about it—and then send word into Kent. This seems to have been the case with Miss Lydia Bennet, and it is now the case with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He held up an autocratic hand when he perceived that Collins was about to interrupt.

“Forgive me, sir, but you seem either unwilling or unable to relate plainly the source of your information.”

“I am told, sir, that it is common knowledge in London. That alone would be injurious to the credit of any young lady.”

“I cannot argue with you there,” returned Sir Henry.

“Indeed, it would be injurious were it common knowledge. However, I cannot imagine that you were willing to drive fifty miles to act upon common knowledge. You must have a better source than that. Come now, Mr. Collins, you have not answered my question. How exactly did you obtain this information? Who told you? Common knowledge is not an argument which would be acceptable in, for example, hearings or inquiries I might be conducting.”

Mr. Collins drew himself up. “My information, Sir Henry, comes from the most unimpeachable source possible, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She told me the news of Miss Elizabeth’s downfall herself just last evening and encouraged me to attend my cousins at once to support them in their time of great need.

Lady Catherine is of such exalted rank, of such great distinction, of such Christian virtue and condescension, that her information must be of the highest quality.

It is not for me to question her. And I would suggest that you should refrain from doing so as well. ”

Sir Henry sat back in his chair, looked over at Mr. Bennet, raised an eyebrow, lit a match, and proceeded to ignite a cigar of such prodigious dimensions, and such commanding odor, that it could compel grown men to weep.

Indeed, Mr. Collins employed his handkerchief and coughed several times before managing, “Shall we pray, Mr. Bennet?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Collins. I do not wish to trouble you since you are already so deeply affected,” replied Mr. Bennet.

He stood and extended his hand, as did Sir Henry.

“Dr. Price is always at our service. I must caution you, Mr. Collins, not to spread idle gossip concerning my family or any of my daughters, especially Elizabeth. You will regret it if you do.”

“I had hoped to pass the night here at Longbourn before undertaking the journey back into Kent tomorrow.”

“It is unfortunate that Mrs. Bennet’s illness prevents our entertaining you, Mr. Collins.

She becomes anxious when there are strangers in the house.

Besides, I feel certain you will not wish to break bread with my daughters, tainted as they are by—what was it—ah, yes, tainted as they are by moral turpitude and destined for jobs as housemaids.

I feel certain you can bespeak a bed in Meryton or ask your relatives to put you up for a night.

Now, let me see you safely into your carriage lest you encounter any corrupting influences between here and the door.

I will be certain to convey your regards to Mrs. Bennet. ”

With that, he opened the door to his library and led the way outside. He and Sir Henry stood near the door and waved as the carriage bowled majestically back down the drive, presumably on its way back to Hunsford.

Sir Henry ordered his own more modest carriage brought around, and he and Mr. Bennet sat on a bench to wait for it.

“The man is an ass, Bennet,” he said flatly.

“He is saying and doing whatever she orders him to say and do. The most damning statement was his repetition of her offer to turn the girls into housemaids. It would then be easy enough for her to send housemaids off to an abbess in London. In fact, according to your Mr. Parker, she has already done so with more than one of her own housemaids. The second most damning was his assertion that Elizabeth now enjoys the protection of the Viscount. Since we know that she is safe under her uncle’s protection and guarded by Mr. Darcy’s men, this must have been her plan for Elizabeth that somehow went awry.

I will be pleased to swear to any or all of this in any court in the land, and when I return home this afternoon, I will write out careful notes of all that I saw and heard.

I will also get an express off to the magistrates in Bath detailing the information given by the Croft boy and by Elizabeth to Sergeant Parker about her abductors. And especially the missing finger. ”

The two men stood and shook hands as the carriage came around. “I do not know how to thank you, Martin,” said Mr. Bennet.

“Believe me, it has been a pleasure. By the way, how is Fanny?”

“She is greatly improved. She ate a good breakfast for the first time and sat up for a while.”

“Give her my compliments, and Betsy sends her love as well. She will be overjoyed to hear the good news.”

The two men parted, and Mr. Bennet returned to the house to finish his letter and send it off to London. Once that was done, he straightened his neckcloth and went upstairs to see his wife and daughters.

With that attended to, Mr. Bennet turned his attention to his final task of the day, one that would give him great pleasure. He felt the need to write to Lady Catherine de Bourgh. After careful consideration, he wrote his letter as follows:

I wish to thank your ladyship for your kind and Christian concern for my daughter, Elizabeth, lately abducted from my home.

Our latest information is that she is safe in London, having been snatched from the brink of ruin and disgrace by a gentleman of our acquaintance who happened to encounter her and who knew that she was being held against her will.

While it is most kind of your ladyship to send Mr. Collins to condole with us whenever one of my daughters is abducted, he seems to have a regrettable tendency towards acting on information of doubtful veracity.

The Reverend Doctor Hugh Price, Vicar of the parish at Longbourn, is a godly, righteous, and sober man of sound learning and unquestionable probity.

He officiated at the wedding of Mrs. Bennet and myself and baptized each of our five daughters.

A truly saintly man, he is ready at all times to provide spiritual consolation and wise counsel.

I therefore venture to suggest to your ladyship that you keep Mr. Collins by your side in Kent, where he is less likely to get into trouble. I have no need of him here at Longbourn.

London, Gracechurch Street - Thursday, August 6, 18__

By some unspoken agreement, everyone, including Sergeant Parker, decided to allow the lovers some quiet time together on the day after Elizabeth’s rescue.

Darcy was awakened by the voices of the children, and he decided to take advantage of the early hour to send instructions to Mr. Winters regarding the license and the church.

He had other instructions as well, and he sent those to his own house.

The air was cool, and even in London, the skies were an unbroken blue.

The house boasted a large garden, hemmed in on three sides by the walls of neighboring houses and shielded from the street by a wall of brick and wrought iron.

A cherry tree there was beginning to bend down with ripe fruit, and Mrs. Gardiner chased the pair out after breakfast with a basket and instructions to fill it.

Elizabeth, gowned in soft, deep blue, and wearing an ordinary apron from the kitchen, was at first overjoyed to be outdoors.

She laughed up at Darcy and, taking him by the hand, led him to a comfortable bench hidden from the house.

“This has been my favorite spot in this garden since I was a little girl.” They sat together on the bench, and he took her hand.

“I once climbed that tree over there and had to be rescued by my uncle. I remember being very angry that he would not let me go higher.”

“So, you were as bold a little girl as you are now, my Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth sat very still for a long moment before continuing.

“That little girl seems lost in the past. I do not believe I shall ever be bold again. I—” She broke off, unable to speak, and her eyes filled with tears.

Darcy silently gathered her into his arms as he would a small child, patting her back as though she were an infant in need of soothing.

He thought her heart might break with weeping and break his own along with it.

Finally, when it seemed she had exhausted herself, she hid her face in his shoulder and the tears subsided with a gasp.

“You are my brave Elizabeth,” said Darcy softly, “And you always will be. You said it yourself last night. You have avoided death itself.” Elizabeth wept again, more bitterly, and he began to rock her back and forth, whispering, “You are safe. I am here. I will always be here, and I will always keep you safe.”

When next she raised her head, she stood up quickly, and Darcy thought she seemed angry. She dried her tears on a corner of her apron, drew a breath, and began. “We can never marry, Mr. Darcy.”

Wisely, he said nothing.

“I must face the facts. I am ruined. I was found in a—in a—”