AN: I have a slightly better version of this story on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. If you enjoy it, please think about buying a copy. I plan to make a living writing, and would appreciate your support. If you are interested links are in my profile.

Longbourn, 1807

The nightmare always went the same. She could never throw herself in front of her husband. Mr. Collins would strike Lydia. Elizabeth struggled to move as the sound of his blows echoed: knock, knock. Lydia's tear stained face and accusing eyes were vaguely deformed. Action and speech were impossible, and her screams would not come. Mr. Collins's fist rose. Fell. She hurt when the blow struck. That awful sound echoed.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Fifteen-year-old Elizabeth Collins awoke, soaked in sweat with a racing heart. The person outside knocked on the bedroom door again. "I'll be up presently," Elizabeth cried. The knocks ceased.

Elizabeth took deep breaths, but could not calm herself; she was very scared. Her father's death's six months earlier had made her life an endless nightmare. Jane had decided to listen to her mother's demands and marry Mr. Collins. Elizabeth did the only thing she could to stop her. Despite everything she could not repent that choice.

Elizabeth placed her hand on her stomach — she'd miscarried this afternoon. She mourned the child, but did not feel really unhappy that Providence had chosen to take him away. Motherhood terrified her: her husband would treat her child the way his brutish father treated him.

Mr. Collins became angry when he heard — very angry. Only once had Elizabeth seen him this enraged. While the doctor remained he maintained appearances, but Elizabeth saw his carefully controlled tone and clenched fist. Once alone he pushed his face inches from Elizabeth's, and exclaimed as she forced herself to not gag at the alcoholic odor of his breath, "I told you to give me a healthy son!"

His manner frightened Elizabeth, and tears began as she responded, "It is not my fault. I tried —"

"You disobeyed me. You may pretend otherwise, but it was disobedience. Disobedience. If you were a good wife this would not have happened. You owe me. Elizabeth, you owe me. You promised to never disobey. Remember?"

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Elizabeth frantically nodded. The memory of the day he extorted that promise made her sick with anxiety, "I did all I could."

"You should have done better. You should not have destroyed my child. You - you have not behaved as a wife ought. You must be punished. I do not know how — I must think on it. What you have done demands great severity." He looked down with a curled lip, "I cannot bear the sight of you. You are not sorry at all. But you shall be." He walked to the door. "When I return, I will have decided how to correct the insult you have given me."

Mr. Collins left the house. Elizabeth nervously waited for his return so she could beg forgiveness again, but when he had not come home by midnight Elizabeth fell asleep in his bedroom while she waited.

Elizabeth knew not how to act. Last time, the only time, she'd disobeyed him he hurt Lydia. In her dreams he would beat her again and again; really he had only struck Lydia thrice before Elizabeth threw herself on her knees between them and swore to Mr. Collins she would never, ever, do anything he did not wish. Elizabeth kept that promise. Mostly.

Elizabeth and Lydia had told their mother what happened. Elizabeth wanted Mrs. Bennet to leave and live with her brother, so Elizabeth's sisters would be safe from the monster she'd married to protect Jane. Mrs. Bennet screamed at them, "Liars! You lie! You both lie. Lydia, you gained those bruises when you fell. You know that is what really happened. Do not lie! Not to me. Do not make up such stories about Mr. Collins. He is an excellent son-in-law: he treats me with respect; he lets me stay in the house I was married in. You make up such stories because your father let you run wild, and now you hate that your husband expects you to act as a lady."

Mrs. Bennet stood, and dramatically pressed her hand against her forehead. "Oh! Lord! Lord, what is to become of me. You shall offend him, and break poor Mr. Collins's heart. He then shall throw us all into the hedgerows. Oh! If only you had not stolen Jane's place — she would have been a good wife; she would not have created such lies."

Mr. Collins had beaten Lydia when she visited Charlotte without permission. How would he punish her for losing his child? Who would he hurt? What would he do? Could he be convinced to only harm her, and spare her sisters?

Elizabeth stared at the door, dimly visible in the light given off by the flickering candle on her bedstand, and the red glow of the fireplace. She had no need to dress. When she fell asleep she had still been in her day clothes; the fine yellow silk of her dress was terribly wrinkled. Elizabeth hated how its quality had been purchased with his money. She would far rather be poor and unmarried.

He must have returned. It would be a servant sent to call her to the study so he could announce her fate. Elizabeth rehearsed a final time how she would grovel: he enjoyed it when she begged on her knees. While drunk Mr. Collins once told her his father always demanded he and his mother beg on their knees whenever they really wanted something.

Elizabeth had created a list of things she would intensely hate. She could suggest them to him. Mr. Collins was fair. If she was sufficiently punished he would not do anything to hurt her further. No matter what she would protect her family.

Elizabeth's pulse pounded as she walked to the door, her footsteps sounded eerily loud in her ears. Mrs. Hill stood there, her countenance grave. This was no mere summons to her husband. "What — what is it!" Elizabeth cried. Had he already hurt one of her sisters?

Mrs. Hill searched Elizabeth's face for an eternity, then stated it baldly, "Mr. Collins is dead."

The body lay on the parlor couch, the head tilted at a grotesque angle which showed his broken neck. The skin was chalky white in the flickering candlelight. Elizabeth's stomach heaved and she clapped her hand over her mouth. But the nausea receded — and she'd been too nervous and sick to eat supper, so little could have come up.

His fat toad like face looked unusually ugly, and he lie there like a, like a — Elizabeth swallowed. There was no sufficiently vicious metaphor. He was the way he should have been born: dead. Elizabeth touched the frozen forehead. It was real. He was dead. He really was dead.

Relief flooded Elizabeth. She felt weak in her knees and couldn't stop her smile as she collapsed onto the chair Mrs. Hill pushed behind her. Lydia was safe. Jane, Mary, and Kitty were safe. They all were. He'd not hurt anyone ever again. She could visit Charlotte freely. She could read novels and take solitary walks once more. He was dead, and could not hurt Lydia to punish her.

Elizabeth could do anything she wished. The entail had been for three generations; it died with Mr. Collins. As his wife she inherited Longbourn. They were safe from poverty. Elizabeth felt an elated bubble of joy envelop her, and she wanted to scream in happiness. She was free!

It would be terribly improper if she appeared happy, and the forms should be observed. Elizabeth attempted to be serious. "How did it happen?" Elizabeth asked with far too much smile in her tone.

The stable master had gone out to look for the master after Mr. Collins's horse wandered home alone. The broken remains of his earthly dwelling place were found two hundred yards down the road from the manor house. Mr. Brown could not be certain why Mr. Collins fell, but the odor of alcohol that emanated from his clothes made a strong suggestion.

The apothecary and several local gentlemen, among them her Uncle Phillips, noisily arrived, and woke the rest of the household. When she entered the room Mrs. Bennet threw herself on the body of her son-in-law with sincere tears.

Elizabeth managed a stiff immobile expression which she hoped appeared proper. Her mother was contemptible. She sacrificed her daughters to that creature in exchange for money. It was unsurprising she'd mourn him.

Never. Elizabeth would never forgive her mother. She convinced Jane to marry him to save the family from poverty. Elizabeth would never forgive her for that. She cared more for her consequence in the neighborhood than what happened to Lydia and Elizabeth. Elizabeth would never forgive her for that. Elizabeth remembered the look in Lydia's eyes when Mrs. Bennet called her a liar. Elizabeth would never forgive her for that.

Elizabeth's sisters entered wearing their nightgowns and robes, Lydia ran and hugged Elizabeth. Since that day Elizabeth had grown close to Lydia, and Elizabeth caught a flash of Lydia's sneer at the body before her sister buried her face in Elizabeth's chest. Jane sat to Elizabeth's other side and squeezed her free hand.

Soon the rest of the neighborhood arrived , and the house became quite crowded. Mrs. Hill stayed busy offering refreshments, and Elizabeth could hear Mr. Phillips speaking to the parson about funeral arrangements. Everyone was all that was kind and sympathetic to the family, but no one really grieved. Mr. Collins had not been well-liked: most had noticed there was something amiss in his treatment of Elizabeth, and his manners did not create fondness. Only Mrs. Bennet wept.

When Charlotte Lucas arrived wearing a hastily thrown on morning gown, and a heavy woolen shawl Elizabeth flashed her friend a half smile. Sitting next to his body, and attempting to appear sad was the oddest experience Elizabeth had ever had. Charlotte pulled Elizabeth up and embraced her tightly whispering, "You should not have to play for everyone at a time like this." She ordered Jane to keep company with Mrs. Bennet, then dragged Elizabeth to an empty room. Lydia came with them, and when the three were alone Charlotte embraced Elizabeth and said fervently, "The Lord has been kind."

Elizabeth smiled widely as she whispered back through happy tears, "He has indeed."