He simply shook his head. “It’s no use, he’s dead.”
~Five~
It was long past dark by the time Mary arrived home to Longbourn. After arranging for the body to be transported to the surgery, they spent some hours interviewing the soldiers that had witnessed the onset of the dead man’s attack, now identified as Corporal James Waverly. Unfortunately, they had learned almost nothing about the reason for his sudden demise. It would have to wait until morning before they could do a detailed examination of the body. Now, as they finally left the barracks, Atlas insisted upon escorting her home, feeling the need to provide an explanation to her parents for keeping her so late. However, when they arrived it was not to find the frantic Bennets wondering what had become of their middle child. Instead, the house was alight and numerous carriages filled the drive.
“Oh there you are Mary…Dr. Sutton… why don’t you go and change your gown before dinner, as you can see, it will be quite the party,” Mrs. Bennet suggested absently as she passed Mary and Atlas in the foyer on her way to a parlor teeming with the sounds of laughter.
Peering into the room, Mary saw at least six red coated officers and just as many ladies in addition to Lydia, who sat as if holding court in the middle of the room. Sighing, Mary wished that she had been able to quietly escape unnoticed to her chamber and disappear for the evening, but it was not to be. Even Kitty, who had come up behind her as Mrs. Bennet had issued her order, was dressed as if Longbourn was holding a ball. Apparently, her absence had gone unnoticed and no news as to the nature of her delay had reached their ears. Raising an eyebrow at Atlas in question, Mary only received a shrug of acquiescence in return as her mother took the young doctor by the arm and ushered him into the parlor. No one knew or cared that an untimely death had just occurred, but perhaps that was best, Mary thought as she hurried to change her gown. The less interference the better.
*****
Within less than a quarter of an hour, Mary joined the party that filled the formal rooms of Longbourn. She entered the parlor to find Atlas standing slightly apart from the rest of the military crowd, watching Lydia curiously.
“Has my sister once again embarrassed us all?” Mary whispered casually as she too now observed Lydia as she flirted openly with the bevy of officers that circled where she sat.
“Not exactly… but her behavior is a bit odd to me. Has she always spoken with a lisp?”
“Lisp? Oh no, it is probably the effects of too much wine.”
“I see… do you think she consumes too much on a regular basis?”
“I don’t really know. I haven’t seen her in nearly two years, but it would not surprise me…why?”
“Just watch her… not just the speech, but her movements. Something is not quite right. I should offer to examine her.”
Mary tipped her head to one side as she studied her sister. Atlas was indeed right, something was wrong with Lydia. Her hands shook considerably as she tried to set her glass on the table before her, sending its contents sloshing over the side. Laughing at her clumsiness, Mary noticed that Lydia’s eyes blinked far more than what she considered normal and were unusually bright. The idiot girl was impaired, but she doubted it was due to illness.
“I see what you mean, but Lydia hardly takes advice of any sort from me. Perhaps if you can convince Wickham that she requires medical care, Lydia will agree…By the way, I don’t see Captain Wickham. Is he not here?”
“I have not seen him, but will inquire as to his whereabouts. I shall need to question him about the unfortunate Corporal Waverly. One of the soldiers that I interviewed stated that they were great friends. Rather odd if you ask me… an enlisted man and an officer?”
“Mr. Wickham has been known to keep a strange assortment of acquaintances,” Mary replied quietly as her mother now stood to lead the way to dinner. It was going to be a long night, but at least she had Atlas to provide conversation beyond that of the idle drivel preferred by the present company. Taking his proffered arm, Mary resolved herself to politely tolerate the next hours, but kept a shrewd eye on Lydia.
*****
Later, as the hall clock struck half past one, the Bennet’s bid goodnight to the last of their guests. Mary offered to remain with Lydia as the final carriage drove away while the rest of the family found their beds. She had wanted a private interview with her sister, without anyone else’s prying ears. Fortunately, Atlas Sutton had also made his excuses two hours prior, much to the amusement of Lydia Wickham.
“Perhaps he feels a bit overshadowed by the presence of the officers. Really Mary, you should allow me to include you in our regular gatherings. I will have you married by summertime,” Lydia promised giggling as she wiped a strand of spittle that drooled from her lip.
“I assure you that is not necessary. I am quite content with my life at present,” Mary replied tiredly and placed an arm around Lydia’s shoulders. The younger girl slumped against Mary’s support and nearly stumbled as they climbed the few steps to the entryway. Mary did not want to argue. By sunrise, she would once again be back in Meryton to assist Atlas with the examination of the soldier. Peering closely at Lydia, Mary frowned. Her sister’s pupils had narrowed to pinpricks. As the house was now empty, only a few candles remained lit to provide safety as they retired for what was left of the night. The darkness should have had the opposite effect. Puzzled, Mary took advantage of her sister’s impaired state to make what she hoped sounded like innocent concerned inquiry.
“Lyddie…how have your headaches been since you returned home?”
Lydia did not immediately reply as she leaned heavily on Mary and appeared to be concentrating, but could not remember.
“I don’t seem to recall having many… I did for a time when I was first married, but dear Wickham found a wonderful medicine that simply makes the pain go away.”
“Oh... well that is a great comfort. Perhaps Mama should try it. Do you think he would provide me a supply? You know how difficult she can be. By the way… we missed Mr. Wickham tonight. Did he have militia business?”
“Oh! I cannot wait until he receives his pension and no longer is at the beck and call of that dratted militia. It seems that they simply cannot do without him, always forcing my dear George to be on duty so often. It is a wonder that I see him at all. I should think that with his injury some compassion could be had... after all it is their fault. Somedays he limps terribly. I should be most displeased if he cannot dance anymore. As it is I am forced to partner with other officers when I choose to dance…”
Lydia’s voice had begun to slur again, and Mary had difficulty making out her words. By the time they reached their adjoining chambers, Lydia was nearly unconscious and needed to be helped into bed. Playing the maid, Mary assisted her sister into her nightrail and tucked her into the great feather bed that had once belonged to Lizzie and Jane. Dwarfed as she sunk deeply, Lydia looked far older than her eighteen years and was soon snoring softly. Mary too was exhausted, but carefully hung Lydia’s discarded gown and tidied up the chamber. It was in complete disarray as various items of clothing were strewn haphazardly across the room. The only thing carefully draped over a chair was Wickham’s uniform coat. Practically standing at attention itself, the gold captain’s braid shone in the candlelight, winking as the flame flickered. Mary found its very presence odd. If Wickham was on duty, why was his uniform here? Brushing a stray speck of lint from a crimson sleeve, her hand felt something heavy in one of the pockets as she hung it in the wardrobe. Ignoring an inner voice that chastised her for taking liberties with another’s belongings, Mary removed the bulky paper wrapped object. Placing her candle on one of the few vacant tables, she carefully unwrapped the item, exposing its contents. A gasp escaped her lips as she read the label.
“Powders of opium…well that explains everything,” Mary whispered in the darkness. Her practical mind immediately acknowledged that the use of pain medication for a person suffering from an injury such as Mr. Wickham’s was quite normal, a
s was the occasional drop of laudanum for headaches. Mrs. Bennet regularly ingested a quantity to settle her nerves and assist in sleeping. As a child, Lydia had taken small amounts as well, when prescribed by Dr. Crowley. However, the bottle was unusually large, filling both of Mary’s hands. It was the sort of container that Atlas kept for mixing with water or spirits to make a much weaker … and safer dose. This was a great enough supply for an entire army. Unease filling her, Mary quickly rewrapped the bottle and returned it to Wickham’s pocket, before escaping to the safety of her own chamber. With only hours before sunrise, Mary quickly undressed and attempted to find some sleep, but tossed about all night as questions and fears filled her mind.
Where had Wickham acquired such a large supply of opium? And what were his plans? Lydia was clearly addicted to the substance. What was she going to do?
~Six~
Earlier that same evening…
Captain George Wickham calmly awaited the arrival of the supply wagon from Newcastle. The building that served as the regiment’s storehouse was quite secure, set apart from the rest of the compound. Its single large room was divided into a small receiving area and a locked compartment filled with shelves to hold everything from foodstuffs to ammunition. It was in the smaller space that he reclined casually on the single chair positioned behind a long counter, idly shuffling a deck of cards. It had been so easy to volunteer for extra shifts since his accident. No one wanted to stand guard or serve as chaperone over the enlisted men. At first, it was an attempt to preserve his pride. Most soldiers, once an injury was sustained, were immediately discharged, deemed no longer fit for service. However, with no money, and less than agreeable relations, he had not wanted to be forced to take the charity of Longbourn. Fortunately, so much had changed to his great satisfaction over the past months. Looking back, he smiled to himself at how things had worked out in his favor. The accident, or so it was officially believed, had indeed inflicted great pain in his back and lower legs for some weeks. For a while, his greatest fear had reared its ugly head daily as he contemplated a lifetime as a cripple, dependent upon the charity of Lydia’s family. Not a day had passed since his forced marriage that Wickham did not contemplate abandoning the twit. Unfortunately, aside from emigrating penniless to America or Australia, he had no way out. Thanks to the constant interference of Fitzwilliam Darcy, he was saddled permanently with Lydia Bennet….until now. If there was one good thing about his accident, it had taught him patience. Now, all he need do was bide his time and all would be as it should, especially when he considered the potential inheritance due his young wife. Mr. Bennet would be obligated to provide at least the same amount for Lydia that he had bestowed upon Kitty and Mary. And then there was the matter of Longbourn…which of the girls was to inherit the estate? Lydia had insisted that no final decision had been made. Well, that was all the better, should some unfortunate situation befall the elder Bennet. The law would force the estate to be split five ways, a considerable amount to be sure. Perhaps his dear papa-in-law needed a bit of a nudge in that direction. No one would question a sudden illness or accident at his age. He would have to contemplate it some more before acting. After all, it would not be the first time he had orchestrated such a thing and had no qualms about doing so again if it furthered his gain. Even the slight remorse he had felt over the deaths of those two unfortunate soldiers had faded. Some days, he could not even be troubled to remember their names, but upon reflection, he owed them gratitude for the necessary part they played in his present situation.
No one knew that the explosion of cannon powder had been anything other than accidental. There simply had not been enough pieces left to bear examination beyond an identification of the bodies. It had been risky, but Private Jennings and Sergeant Andrews had become quite tiresome in their demands to be included in his grand plans. Their elimination had become all together necessary to prevent discovery. Besides, he worked best alone. Now, as he waited for the hidden shipment of opium, carefully concealed in sacks of meal bound for the mess hall, Wickham laughed aloud at the ease in which he had dispatched the two middlemen. It had not taken long to gain their confidences. His charm and gentleman’s manners were envied by many and they soon included him in their card games and visits to local pubs. Despite the difference in rank, Wickham had created a level of familiarity with the enlisted ranks that allowed him to move freely. Lacing the ale had been almost too easy, but once under the influence of the dragon opium, the men were biddable to the point of children. Convincing them to place the extra gunpowder in their pockets only added to the disastrous accident.
“Let’s play a grand joke on everyone,” he had suggested that memorable evening. The idea of waking the entire regiment with the sounds of cannon fire was all to appealing in the foggy minds impacted by the drug. And it had all gone so smoothly, until one of the powder bags had exploded suddenly. The force of the blast had thrown Wickham heavily against the stone battlements surrounding the fort at Newcastle, jarring his back and legs as he landed on the granite blocks. He had been lucky to survive, let alone recover, but that was a secret he kept, even from Lydia. Now, as he absently wriggled his toes inside his boots, relief filled him, but it had been believable. The two dead soldiers were buried in pauper’s graves in disgrace and Wickham had been labeled a hero for saving the fort. No one was the wiser that he now controlled the supply of opium to the numerous addicted men in the regiment. Even the regimental doctor, Colonel Silverton remained unaware that the medicine he prescribed was nothing but plain wheat flour mixed with sherry. Oh he’d been careful, mixing in enough of the real stuff to convince anyone who did not examine it closely and resealing the bottles. Soon, he would have more than enough money to contemplate disappearing to the continent forever. As he considered his plans, the warm sun of the South of France suddenly felt nearer.
*****
Atlas Sutton had not immediately retired when he returned from the Longbourn party. As much as he tried, he could not get the image of Lydia Wickham out of his thoughts. Since his medical training years ago in the slums of London, it was obvious when a person was addicted to morphine. The symptoms were all too familiar. Unfortunately, in many circles, the regular usage of Laudanum was all too popular. He had known many a person to brag about the wondrous effects it provided to the mind and body, physicians included. While it was an effective medication when used properly, the dangers often outweighed the benefits, but there were little alternatives. It was also easy to acquire. Any apothecary would have a substantial supply for ready sale, knowing that it was terribly addictive. He wondered who was supplying Lydia. Colonel Dr. Silverton was due to return to the regiment in a few days, he resolved to inquire in short order. There were many questions that he had for the regimental doctor, but they would have to wait for the moment. At present, the cold corpse of one Corporal James Waverley lay in the next room, awaiting his examination. Yawning, deeply, he forced himself to find his bed, despite wanting to begin immediately. It would not do for him to make mistakes due to fatigue, plus, Mary would never forgive him if he started without her. It was only the image of Mary Bennet’s sweet face that finally prompted sleep.
~Seven~
Mid-morning the next day….
Mary Bennet slipped out of her bed far later than she wished, but had to admit that she had needed the rest. Now refreshed and dressed in one of her usual practical gray gowns, she tapped cautiously on Lydia’s door. Slightly ajar, the barrier eased open a few inches, allowing Mary a narrow glimpse into the room. Sunlight streamed in through the open curtains, casting their rays on a sleeping Lydia. Breathing a sigh of relief, Mary did not see any sign of Wickham. While recent events had greatly increased her exposure to the unclad male form, she did not wish to see her brother-in-law in such a state. The very thought made her stomach queasy. However, finding Lydia alone, she entered the room and casually felt her sister’s brow. It was cool and slightly clammy, as if the young woman had broken a fever in the night.
“Y
ou will have a grand headache this morning to be sure,” Mary commented aloud as she felt Lydia’s wrist for the telltale heartbeat. Finding it steady, she tucked the duvet around her sister and left the room. There was not much she could do here, but the same could not be said for Meryton. Atlas would be wondering what had become of her. Mary went below and hastily grabbed a few biscuits and jam from the dining room sideboard and exited the house through the kitchens, unseen save for Mrs. Kincaid. The Longbourn cook was in the midst of bread making and shook a spoon in Mary’s direction.
“And where might you be sneaking off to?” inquired the elderly woman, causing Mary to pause and give her a quick hug. A small cloud of flour wafted into the air from the contact, sending them both sneezing.
“Oh the usual. Dr. Sutton’s surgery. A young man from the regiment died yesterday.”
“It appears that your ‘usual’ tends to be most unusual quite regularly. I cannot say that I like it much.”
“I know… but it fascinates me.”
“I think it is that doctor who fascinates you.”
Mary blushed deeply. Aside from her father, Mrs. Kincaid was the only other soul that was aware of her acceptance of Atlas’ proposal. Sworn to secrecy, it had saved Mary from another series of lectures on propriety, but little to excuse the unladylike nature of her work. More of a mother than her own, Mary took the advice and admonishments of the cook to heart.
“I promise to be careful.”
“You just see that you do,” replied the cook as she paused in her work and filled a basket with an assortment of foods that did not require cooking. Mary often neglected her meals and was far too thin for the older woman’s liking, but Maybelle Kincaid knew it was useless to argue. Mary would have her way. When the basket was filled to her satisfaction, she finally allowed Mary to go. It would not be soon enough until that girl was properly married.
Mary Bennet and the Return of the Soldier Page 3