Mary Bennet and the Substitute Vicar Page 3

  “Perhaps I should pay a call…. On the pretense of pre-marital jitters,” Atlas offered with a barely disguised smile.

  Mary was not amused and punched him in the arm, causing the desired painful reaction.

  “It’s not funny. Seriously, he worries me, and not just for my own selfish purposes, but we cannot have a wedding without a priest.”

  “We can always elope to Gretna Green…. Or have your charming cousin Mr. Collins perform the rites?”

  This time Mary directed a kick to his shins. “We will not elope! I must have a church wedding for it to truly be official. As for Mr. Collins…. Ugh!’

  “I was only teasing. You know that I would deny you nothing on our day. I am actually scheduled to see him as part of the church council. Your father has asked me to take part in the decision making for a new curate, we convene Monday of next week.”

  “I suppose it can wait until then. Whomever is chosen, I do hope they can start immediately, Reverend Morton has been without help for far too long.”

  “I shall be discreet…, but now that we are alone, I shall take advantage of the moment,” he promised and gently kissed her just as Kitty walked through the door.

  “None of that until after the wedding!” the younger Bennet admonished as the couple hastily broke apart.

  “I stand guilty as charged of assaulting your sister, my apologies,” replied Atlas sincerely to his future sister-in-law, as he winked at Mary.

  “Your punishment shall be to drive us home, where I can serve as chaperone!” Kitty announced with a toss of her curls as she turned and left to await outside.

  “Some chaperone… I’d wager that she and Sir Franklin Amesbury have been engaging in the same activity,” Mary whispered before Atlas stole another kiss.

  “I will be doing far more than that soon, and without interruption,” Atlas replied huskily and went to hitch up his curricle before Mary could come up with a reply.

  ~Five~

  Lucas Lodge, the following Monday...

  “William, you really should go with papa. What would it hurt? Perhaps your presence will make the decision for them. After all, everyone knows that you are of good character, and a familiar face makes a much easier transition than a stranger… “

  Charlotte Collins did her best to prod her husband into action, but it was of no use. He had simply given up. Ever since Lady Catherine had summoned him to Rosings to announce his formal dismissal, her husband had been in a state of near insanity.

  “What have I done wrong? Have I not attended her ladyship upon demand? No hour was too inconvenient, no task to menial? Why have I been forsaken?” he ranted continually as if some divine voice would answer.

  Now, after nearly a month of relative seclusion at Lucas Lodge, Charlotte was exasperated and feeling the imposition that their presence was creating. The manor house was full before they arrived. In addition to her parents, Charlotte’s eldest brother Gavin’s brood of five children quite literally overflowed the place. Charlotte and Mr. Collins had displaced the two eldest girls back to the attic nursery, much to their resentment. Promising the arrangement to be temporary, it had almost seemed providence that old Reverend Morton was seeking to retire.

  At first, her husband had been highly receptive to approaching the sickly vicar of Meryton. His face had lit up with the prospect of being eagerly accepted as an equitable solution to a problem. Mr. Collins had practically boasted that It was only natural that the Meryton living should fall to him. After all, was he not supposed to have lived out his days as a member of society when he inherited Longbourn? Unfortunately, that future had been destroyed by Mary Bennet’s discovery. Now, it seemed that an acceptable substitute was available. Perhaps it had only been God’s test of his faith and now he was to be rewarded. With this renewed sense of purpose, William Collins had indeed presented himself on the doorstep of the vicarage within a week of their arrival. At first, he had been warmly welcomed, but as he pursued his goal, it was obvious that Reverend Morton had thought otherwise.

  “If it were up to me alone, I should happily consider you as my replacement, but alas… it is not. As a fellow clergyman, you know how these things work. I have applied to my bishop with my request, and he has sent a number of references for potential candidates. But, in the end, it is up to the church council. I will abide by their decision.”

  “Of course, that is as it should be. I will be happy to offer any assistance needed in that regard,” agreed Mr. Collins. Despite the initial refusal, he had come away believing that with a constant presence, he would become the ideal candidate. However, subsequent visits to the vicarage had only solidified the opinion that Reverend Morton had someway found him lacking. The realization had only furthered a deep melancholy that was beginning to manifest itself in frantic behavior. Mr. Collins was now filled with a previously unknown sense of panic about his future. What would he do? How would he care for Charlotte? Lady Catherine had forwarded a very disgraceful letter to his bishop and now he doubted that any position save working in the London slums would be offered to him. A man of his connections simply could not slip so far. Perhaps it was necessary to make one last visit to Reverend Morton. The church council was scheduled to meet that very afternoon to discuss prospective replacements. It was not too late. Turning to where his wife sat watching him, William Collins straightened his neck cloth and smiled.

  “You my dear are right as always. I shall give it one last try, beg if I must. I must go immediately as to speak with him before the council convenes.”

  *****

  The walk from Lucas Lodge to Meryton was of no great distance, but Mr. Collins felt as if he had been walking for hours as he rehearsed what could possibly be said to sway the old vicar’s mind in his favor. Unfortunately, scenes of refusal continued to dance through his mind, inflaming an already present feeling of melancholy into what could only be correctly deemed anger. What would he say to Charlotte? If only he still had the due inheritance of Longbourn their future would be secure. If one were to pass blame, and surely he was a most forgiving man… it had to lie with Mary Bennet. Those Bennet girls never knew their proper place. Oh perhaps Jane had always held promise, but she was alone in that regard. Now, he was reduced to soliciting favor based on family connections. Perhaps he should be more forceful? A strong spiritual leader was truly lacking in this part of the country. The more he thought, the stronger the idea grew. He would demand the Meryton living as not only God’s calling, but his proper due as relative to the important families in the area. With this course of action resolved, Mr. Collins passed through the garden gate and sharply rapped his knuckles on the vicarage door. Wincing from the immediate pain, he wrung his hand furiously and fought back the urge to cry out. His hands had always been his most delicate feature, but now was not the time for such concerns when his future hung in the balance.

  Receiving no response to his knock, Mr. Collins pushed the unlocked door inward and entered the cool, dark hall. Heavy clouds had threatened rain, resulting in a gloomy appearance to the entry.

  “Reverend Morton? It is William Collins… I wished to have a private word before the council members arrive,” he called out in what he considered to be a cheery voice. However, his words echoed dully in the dimly lit room. Frowning, as the others were to arrive shortly, Mr. Collins moved cautiously into the parlor only to find it empty and void of any refreshments. Neat and tidy, it appeared to have had a recent cleaning, but there were no signs of preparations for a meeting. Considering the possibility that he had mistook the location, Collins circled through the two remaining downstairs rooms to discover them equally empty.

  “Now where could he be? I cannot imagine that such an important event could have been forgotten? Perhaps he went to the church for some divine assistance?” mumbled Mr. Collins as he exited the house through the covered portico that adjoined the church.

  Having only been inside the centuries old stone church but once, for his own wedding to Charlotte. Collins had forgott
en its ancient architectural details and paused to admire a particularly beautiful stained glass window. The leaded panes featured a medieval infant Christ child on his mother’s lap. Even the overcast sky did little to mask its’ magnificence despite the church being in near darkness. Only the single flame, signifying the presence of God, was burning over the altar. Running his hand over a carved oaken pew, Reverend Collins imagined his first sermon once accepting the post. He would utilize the old favorite Sermon on the Mount to welcome his new flock. Daydreaming, and forgetting his purpose, Collins nearly tripped as his foot brushed against a solid object lying on the stone floor. Peering down, and groping to identify the cause of his stumble, his sausage like fingers touched a scrap of silk. Lifting it into the twilight, it was a man’s neck cloth, twisted and encrusted with dried blood. Squinting, the dowdy minister trembled as he cast his eyes once again to the floor. Unable to stifle a very unmanly scream, Mr. Collins identified the very person to whom he had sought. The sightless eyes of Reverend Arthur Morton, milky white in death, stared heavenwards, oblivious to the now hysterical Mr. Collins whose flight out of the church ended with the timely arrival of the entire church council.

  “He’s… He’s… Oh my God! What have I done? It is my punishment for coveting that which I do not deserve! Such a wicked man I have become!” ranted Mr. Collins before slumping unconscious against a mossy headstone.

  “Well what in bloody hell do you suppose is going on?” demanded an instantly irate Sir Philip Evans just as the heavens opened their gates to send a flooding rain down upon them all.

  ~Six~

  Less than an hour earlier, the family coach of Sir Philip Evans departed Longbourn with two of its current residents inside. Much of the morning had been spent in discussion over the topic of Reverend Morton’s imminent retirement and his proposed successor. As godfather to Mary Bennet, and long standing friend to the Bennet’s, Sir Philip held Mr. Bennet’s opinion in high regard, especially church matters. Sir Philip, also the county magistrate, was not a particularly religious man, but saw the importance of such a position to be one that required significant consideration before any permanent decision was to be made.

  “I see no reason to take multiple carriages if you can bear my presence for a bit longer,” he offered as Mr. Bennet and Atlas Sutton finished their breakfast.

  “Who all is expected?” queried Atlas.

  As a relative newcomer, and not yet married to Mary Bennet, Atlas Sutton’s presence on the council was a polite courtesy. The rest, as long standing members of landowning families, would make the actual decision. However, Atlas was pleased to be invited as it demonstrated a formal acceptance into the inner circles of Meryton society.

  “Sir William Lucas and Charles Bingley, both of whom you are acquainted: as well as Mr. Anderville from the dry goods store. Oh, and I suppose Mr. Collins will tag along.”

  “I had rather hoped that Mr. Collins would stay home. It has come to my attention that he is rather determined to have the post for himself,” added Mr. Bennet.

  “And you object? Is he not your own cousin?” Sir Philip inquired.

  “Indeed I do. He may be a qualified minister, but despite the relation, he is also a complete bore. If you recall, Longbourn was originally entailed to him.”

  “I see… hmm… well that can make things awkward.”

  “Mr. Collins makes everything he encounters awkward.”

  “Then it is fortunate that Mr. Morton has selected a number of candidates for the council to review. I am sure an excellent choice will be made.”

  Mr. Bennet only laughed. He knew full well that Sir Philip never went to church. If the sermons were long and boring, he would never know the difference. However, he did enjoy having a sympathetic ear. Adjourning their breakfast, the trio rode in amiable silence to Meryton, arriving just as the other carriages pulled in to the small vacant lot next to the vicarage.

  With all members accounted, and pleasantries exchanged, the gentleman left their coaches and descended upon the home of Reverend Morton. Having been expected, they too were surprised to find the house vacant and were about to search the grounds when the sounds of a ladylike scream could be heard coming from the adjacent churchyard.

  “Let’s get him inside,” Atlas ordered as he gently swatted Mr. Collin’s face in an attempt to force the man to regain his senses.

  “The church is closer,” Charles Bingley suggested as he helped carry the now mumbling Reverend Collins out of the rain as the others preceded into the church.

  In near blackness, the men went about lighting every available candle as Atlas attended to Mr. Collins. Upon regaining his senses, hysterics once again took hold as he pointed to the dark alcove containing the glass window.

  “William! What is it? Did a rat frighten you?” snapped an exasperated Sir William Lucas. The few weeks in which his son-in-law had shared the same roof had left the elder man with a deficit of patience.

  “Not a rat…its Reverend Morton… he’s dead,” announced Mr. Anderville solemnly.

  “Are you sure?” Atlas asked as he abandoned Mr. Collins to inspect a potentially more critical patient.

  “Quite sure.”

  “It’s all my fault! I was so greedy. It is surly God’s hand!” shouted Reverend Collins from where Mr. Bingley was attempting to restrain his flailing arms.

  “Stop your foolishness man!” Charles Bingley ordered in a most uncharacteristically hard voice, causing more than one man present to raise an eyebrow at the severity of tone.

  Mr. Collins had continued to wave his hands madly with Reverend Morton’s bloody neck cloth still clutched in his grasp until Mr. Bigley threatened to tie him down.

  Atlas, unmoved by the hysterics, calmly requested that a candle be brought close enough for him to give a cursory examination. Sir Philip held the flame as Atlas gently turned the dead man’s head slightly. A large gash ran the length of his brow, the blood dark and clotted. Remembering Mary’s observations, Atlas considered the wound carefully. A man of Morton’s years would have been prone to falls, especially if he had been taken by spells of shortness of breath. However, the injury was not severe enough to have caused his death, perhaps only rendering him unconscious. What was troubling Atlas discovered near the priest’s collar. Discolored flesh ringed the deceased’s neck in a most regular pattern. Reverend Arthur Morton had been strangled.

  Looking up at Sir Philip Evans, Atlas only nodded as the magistrate was familiar with this form of death.

  “Foul play, to be sure,” he agreed and slowly turned to glare at where William Collins still wailed.

  “I shall have need for further examination, but not here… Although, I suspect he has been here some time… at least since yesterday.” Atlas replied with a wrinkle of his nose. Body fluids of the most pungent design had been displaced with his movement of the body.

  “Agreed,” he replied as he passed his candle to an impassive Mr. Bennet and strode the only man to have borne prior witness to Reverend Morton.

  Mr. Collins slowed his cries to heavy sobs as the magistrate approached and stood before him, but continued to mutter.

  “It’s my fault… all my fault”

  Taking the blood crusted length of silk from his hands, Sir Philip sighed heavily before speaking. This was indeed a strange turn of events. Why would Mr. Collins admit to a murder that had taken place yesterday? Something was not quite right, but as the man was admitting guilt, it gave no alternative to his next course of action as magistrate. It was his appointed duty, and he would do it, no matter the connections.

  “Mr. William Collins, I hereby charge you with the murder of one Reverend Arthur Morton, lately of Meryton Parrish.”

  Mr. Collin’s eyes grew wide for an instant then fell shut, as he once again lost consciousness.

  “Take him to the Jail… and Reverend Morton to the surgery. I suggest we all go home afterwards and remain there, but I don’t want any word of this getting about town. So keep it to yourselves.” Si
r Philip insisted with particular attention towards Mr. Bennet and Sir William Lucas. While he felt a twinge of pity for the master of Lucas Lodge, Sir Philip was fully aware of the gossiping habits between the women. The investigation would be scandal enough. Despite the early hour, Meryton’s magistrate was in dire need of a strong drink. Would murder ever cease to be commonplace in his constituency?

  ~Seven~

  By early afternoon, Atlas had returned to Longbourn to find an agitated Mary pacing the parlor alone. In fact, the house was unusually quiet for a place generally filled with activity.

  “Oh there you are! When Papa arrived home alone I knew something terrible had happened. Is it really true? Is Reverend Morton dead?”

  “I am afraid so. I only returned to change my clothes and ask if you would assist me in the post-mortem examination.”

  Mary placed her hands on her hips and made a face. “As if you would be able to refuse me? Papa said Mr. Collins has been taken into police custody, but I refuse to believe that a man such as he is capable of any form of violence. He is too much of a weakling.”

  “I don’t know him well enough to pass an opinion on that, but I do want to stop in and examine him as well. He was near hysterics when Sir Philip took him away. I may have to prescribe a sedative…. Speaking of sedate things… where is everyone?”

  “Oh! That is another problem entirely. Apparently, Lydia has run off again. When Kitty showed Mama the letter she took to her bed. Fortunately, Jane arrived with her boys. The distraction of two infants was enough to pull Mama out of her temper. They are at Netherfield now. I don’t envy Jane, but am grateful for her timely assistance.”

  “Does she know about Reverend Morton?”

  “No, they left before Papa came home. We decided it is best to keep her ignorant of it all.”