Mary Bennet and the Return of the Soldier

by Carrie Mollenkopf

  “I ain’t never seen underthings in such a state as Mrs. Wickham’s. If she don’t take better care each month I shall refuse to wash any of it!” insisted Bridget Miller, the newly hired maid with a direct stare at Mary.

  Normally Mrs. Hill handled disputes with the servants, but considering the personal nature of the complaint, the housekeeper had requested Mary’s presence in her sitting room.

  “Nor shall you, Bridget. I thank you for bringing it to my attention and I shall speak with her. Do keep me informed if it continues or there is anything else of which I should be aware.” Mary had replied.

  Once the maid had returned to her duties, Mary had a long discussion with Mrs. Hill as to the extent in which any demand by Lydia or Wickham was to be met.

  “Although this was Lydia’s home, she and her husband are now guests and I expected them to be treated as such. However, I will not brook any abuse of my staff from either. She only hoped that their stay would be over soon. Now, as Mary looked into Lydia’s tear filled eyes, she could clearly see that her sister was unhappy, but she only had herself to blame.

  “Perhaps once Mr. Wickham is released from his commission you will have the opportunity to start over, with a place of your own. Surely Papa will not begrudge you some assistance with that?”

  “I don’t know…would you speak to him on my behalf?”

  Mary nodded, but wondered if she had just been manipulated into one of Lydia’s schemes. However, if the sum of five thousand pounds would speed their removal from Longbourn, it was well worth the price. Unfortunately, Mary doubted that it would be the last time that Lydia made a request for money. Any generosity may set a pattern for the future, one Mary wanted to avoid. Suggesting they retire early, Mary accompanied her youngest sister to her chamber door and said her good nights, but Lydia did not immediately enter. Instead, she lingered idly as if wanting something.

  “Mary…”

  “Yes Lydia?”

  “You don’t happen to have any of Mama’s sleeping draught? I find that I simply cannot sleep when Wickham is on duty.”

  “I am afraid not. She took almost everything she owned to Netherfield.”

  “Could you ask Dr. Sutton for some? Just a bit?”

  Mary sighed before replying. Lydia would never change. “Only if you allow him to give you a physical,” she said and entered her room without waiting to see Lydia’s reaction. Only the hall mirror witnessed Mrs. Wickham stick her tongue out at Mary’s retreating back.

  *****

  George Wickham had indeed been angry with Lydia when she relayed the conversation with her father, but it had long passed. Now, as he took up his favorite seat in the bachelor’s quarters allotted to the regiment, a new plan slowly formulated. While the sale of opium remained his fast ticket to wealth, Lydia still was a necessary person. Her incessant demands and childlike behaviors were widely known throughout the social circle of officer’s wives. It had made a convenient excuse each time he had to be suddenly absent. For that reason alone, he needed to keep her…at least for now.

  With the new knowledge that Mary was the heiress to Longbourn, things had taken a significant turn. It did not matter that Darcy was the executor of the old man’s will. Wickham was not prepared to wait years until Mr. Bennet finally died if everything simply went to Mary. Wickham swore softly under his breath. How he hated the middle Bennet daughter. Out of the five, Mary had always been immune to his charms. Somehow she had seen through all of his flattery. Even after he had married Lydia, Mary had continued to avoid him, casting him looks of disdain when they were forced to share company. He had desperately wanted to slap the superior smugness off her face. Only Darcy had ever provoked him so and now Mary was to have what should rightfully be shared with Lydia. Mary needed to be eliminated… and the sooner the better. No doubt grief would soften her father’s animosity. It was an idea that bore some deep contemplation, one in which he could not indulge at the moment. There was money to be made. Feeling the inner lining of his dress uniform, Wickham was assured that the bottles of prepared laudanum had not come open. A few months ago, he had taken the liberty of having small pockets sewn into the coat. It made for easy and discreet transport, as he awaited his regular customers. Thankfully, he had been able to convince all of them that he was not responsible for the death of Corporal Waverly. Waverly had been addicted long before Wickham had entered the scene. Everyone knew about the corporal’s extensive injuries. It was a wonder that the poor fellow had managed as long as he did without an overdose. Besides, he merely supplied a commodity, how a person chose to use it was none of his business. With nearly two thousand pounds hidden away, it would only be a matter of time before he was ready to disappear for good. The only thing that remained was the matter of his commission, but that too would soon be a thing of the past once his discharge was finalized. Although he had no intentions of remaining in England, he did not want to live the life of a deserter. Playing the part of a wounded hero had become all too comfortable and the penalty should one be caught, was severe. His uniform, combined with an obvious limp, opened many doors to higher society that had been previously closed. Even the likes of Fitzwilliam Darcy did not dare be rude to him…at least not publicly. The life of leisure befitting a gentlemen was just around the corner. Twirling the cane he carried out of habit, Wickham whistled a tune as he thought of the future and tried to be patient.

  ~Ten~

  One week later…

  Sunday had dawned unusually warm for the second week of December as Mary rose and dressed far more elaborately than usual. Today was the day designated for the christening of Jane’s sons. As a duly proud god-mother to the twins, Mary wanted to appear especially fine. The only mar to an otherwise perfect event was the absence of Lizzie. Always close, Lizzie and Jane had been more like twins than siblings nearly two years apart. However, with Lizzie’s own pregnancy now advancing to the point that travel was not advised, a detailed letter would have to suffice. Once the ceremony was over, an intimate luncheon would be provided.

  “I do find it rather strange that Jane and Bingley would choose a stranger to be godfather to their children.” Lydia announced as they arrived at Netherfield just before noon. Beside her, Wickham elbowed his wife in a futile attempt to maintain silence. Lydia only directed a glare in his direction and moved away, before continuing.

  “As there are two babies, she should have asked George and me to be godparents as well. It is extremely rude of her.”

  “Atlas Sutton is hardly a stranger, and a fine choice. I insist you be civil to Jane and not cause any trouble. If she wants to name one of the servants as godparent that is her decision and it will be respected! ” Mr. Bennet countered sharply before Mary could speak. He had seen the flash of anger in Mary’s eyes at the insult and wanted to avoid a squabble.

  “That may be… but family should have come first.” Lydia insisted and turned to peer out the window at the stone façade of her sister’s home. The spark of jealousy she harbored had only grown the nearer they came to Netherfield. It seemed that all of her sisters had so much and she had so little… all but Kitty. Immediately abandoning her family the moment they arrived, Lydia sought out her former partner in disaster. At least she still had something Kitty did not…a husband…one that she chose to ignore for the moment. Wickham, feeling the awkwardness of the situation, excused himself to find some refreshment.

  Relieved to be free of Lydia’s tantrums, Mary left her father with Charles in the parlor and sought an opportunity to hold her godsons before the arrival of Reverend Morton. A large bedchamber directly across from that of Jane and Bingley had been repurposed as a nursery. Although Netherfield boasted considerable apartments set aside for just such a purpose, they were located on the floor above. Jane could not bear the thought of being so far from her children and insisted upon the new arrangement. Now, as she entered the room that was freshly painted and papered in the palest of blue, Mary found another already fussing over the newborns.

 
Atlas Sutton held one child in the crook of each arm as he slowly paced in front of the window. Every few moments he muttered something unintelligible to the captive infants. A dim winter sun shone a pale patch on his russet hair, making it appear almost like polished copper. Mary watched without betraying her presence. Would any children they had bear the same coloring? Imagining a child of her own, with Atlas’s hair and her own blue eyes made her smile. Perhaps someday… she thought as Atlas turned and saw her watching him.

  “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to hear you recite instructions on how to set a broken leg to my godsons.” Mary jested as she relieved Atlas of one of his blanket wrapped bundles. Of which twin she now held, Ethan or Edward, remained a mystery, but the clean fragrance of newborn held her enchanted.

  “Actually it was a tooth extraction, but they did seem to enjoy it. It took longer to convince Jane that I was a suitable nanny. Apparently your mother has demanded the assistance of both nurses for the event, leaving the guests of honor unattended.”

  “I am not surprised. Mama actually detests the daily care of children. She only paraded us about when there were others to make a fuss and compliment her efforts. Otherwise, we were left to our own devices.”

  “I think you turned out rather well.”

  Mary laughed and moved closer to the window so she could peer out. As it was a brisk day, the festivities would be held indoors and the rear lawn of the house was empty save for a few rabbits that nibbled on the knot maze garden Charles had installed for Jane.

  “Look Ethan, soon you will be able to run and play with your brother. I hope you cause endless trouble for your nanny.” Mary whispered to the oblivious sleeping child as she rocked him gently in her arms.

  Joining her with his equally content twin, Atlas studied the edge of the lawn where a stand of trees designated the border between Netherfield and a nearby farm. Always a keen watcher of wildlife, he had enjoyed identifying the variety to be had in this part of the country. Now, as he scanned the tree line, a flash of crimson red could be seen. Being too large for a bird, and far too brilliant for any other animal it must be a person… wearing a regimental uniform. Pointing with his empty hand, Atlas directed Mary’s gaze to the area in question.

  “Who do you suppose that is?”

  “Running away from a Bennet family event? Must be Wickham… Lydia was her usual rude self today during the ride here. He probably wants to escape for the duration…no one will miss that one, to be sure,” Mary said without taking her attention away from her charge.

  “Hmm, while I understand his desire… the fact that he is running is a bit odd.”

  The realization of what Atlas had observed finally sunk in and Mary squinted out the window. Having never truly felt cured of the need for spectacles, she sometimes narrowed her eyes out of habit. Indeed, it was Wickham. He had paused to look back at the house for just a moment before continuing his flight into the thicket and was soon obscured.

  “Apparently he no longer needs his cane… how convenient.” Mary commented with unmasked sarcasm.

  “Agreed and noted…I will be entering this observation into his medical evaluation for discharge… it is to be held as soon as Dr. Silverton returns.”

  Before Mary could speak, Jane and Charles Bingley, accompanied by two harried looking nannies, entered the nursery. “I see you are becoming well acquainted?” Charles asked as Atlas and Mary handed over the babies to their nurses. Edward had begun to squirm, waving a fist angrily in the air as his face wrinkled in displeasure. As if on cue, Ethan followed his brother’s lead and began to cry lustily.

  “Yes, and you have rescued us just in time,” Atlas replied with relief. While he loved children, and could not wait for his own, he secretly prayed that Mary only had one at a time. Despite the contingent of servants and fine clothing, both Charles and Jane Bingley appeared tired. Dark circles marred her beautiful face under the careful application of powder, while his red rimmed eyes bore evidence of a lack of sleep. However, their beaming faces proved it was all worth it. Taking a sidelong glance at Mary, Atlas caught her eye and winked, sending a flush of red up her neckline. It appeared that they were of one shared opinion on the subject. Offering her his arm, they went below to join the myriad of guests assembled for the celebration.

  *****

  Still smarting from Lydia’s rude dismissal and Mr. Bennet’s display of favor, George Wickham had strode quickly through the formal rooms of Netherfield to the rear exit. Filled with strangers, he did not care that the absence of his characteristic limp may be noticed. The christening was an opportunity not to be wasted. With the entire Bennet clan appropriately occupied for some hours, and none too fond of his presence, an absence would not be noticed. There was plenty of time to go to Longbourn and still make his way back before the party was over. He may not have such a chance again. Once outside, in the empty gardens, he broke into a run and headed for the grove of trees that bordered the rear of the property. It was the fastest way between the two estates, and he should be able to move unnoticed. Unnoticed, save for the two sets of eyes watching him from the nursery window.

  Within less than a quarter hour, Wickham arrived within sight of Longbourn. Slowing his pace to a more leisurely stroll he wandered casually to reduce attention as he made his way to the stables. A favorite place since childhood, the smell of leather and horses did much to calm his thoughts. It would not do to make mistakes. Circling the building, he did not see any sign of Ben, the young man serving as both groom and stable hand. With the discovery of the inheritance money, more servants had been hired. The possibility of one suddenly turning up was greater and he quickly formulated a reason for his presence. Immensely fond of riding, Wickham had made regular use of the two horses that Longbourn possessed. While neither was what one would consider a gentleman’s mount, they had sufficed. Once he was free and settled, the creation of a respectable stable would be a priority. However, that was putting the cart before the horse. First, the matter of Miss Mary Bennet must be finished.

  Making his way to the open area used for storage and keeping the weather off the conveyances, he ran a hand along the door handle of the room’s sole occupant. Mary’s small curricle was parked to one side as to provide space for the larger family carriage. Not a new purchase, it bore evidence of use with scratched paint and worn leather seats. It made his idea all the more possible. Carriage accidents happened all the time, often with tragic results. Especially if the driver did not take care to inspect the vehicle regularly. Wickham doubted that Mary knew anything about carriages. Rummaging about, he soon found a small handsaw and set to work. By the time he finished, only a careful eye would spot the place where the wooden spindle of the driver’s wheel had been cut. Wickham had even rubbed a handful of dung into the break to hide it further. He estimated that it would take a few miles of wear before giving way, leaving Mary miles from assistance. So occupied with his plan, Wickham did not notice the eyes that watched him from the hayloft above. Not daring to make a sound, should he be discovered, Artie Timmons even held his breath until the man left. While he had been sent on an important errand to fetch liniment for one of the Andrew’s horses, he had gotten distracted by grandness of the Longbourn stables in comparison to those in which he worked. Now long past when he should have returned, Artie scrambled down and ran the entire way home, soon forgetting the odd actions of the soldier.

  ~Eleven~

  A few days after the christening party at Netherfield, Dr. Atlas Sutton met with Colonel Dr. Silverton. It had been well over a fortnight since the regimental doctor had gone to visit his family in ___shire. Not only did Atlas have to inform him of the demise of one Corporal James Waverly, he also needed to make an official statement as to the fitness of Captain George Wickham. Anger threatened every time Atlas thought of Wickham feigning injury to be released from the army. While it was not unusual for soldiers who had seen the horrors of war, Wickham had never left the shores of England. His en
tire service had consisted of supervising supplies, hardly worthy of a hero’s pension.

  Atlas knew that Wickham was not the only reason for his foul mood. He had not seen Mary since the party either. She had been forced to forgo her usual clinic day due to obligations at Longbourn. As Christmas was only a week away, she had wanted to visit each of the tenant farms to ensure they would be comfortable for the holiday. Selfishly, he had hoped to accompany her, but the demands of his appointment as a medical officer to the regiment must be heeded. If the tenants of Longbourn saw them together, it would surely send a round of gossip through the shire. Mary needed a bit of nudging to make their engagement announcement public. While he had promised to give her as much time as needed, it was difficult to wait. This was especially so after he saw how she was with the Bingley babies. Sighing, he tried to put her out of his thoughts as he attempted to focus on the matter of Wickham’s medical assessment. Dr. Silverton was due to arrive shortly so that they may begin the proceedings together with General Brambleton, the regimental commander. Gathering his reports, Atlas was ready when the wagon transport arrived to not only take him to headquarters, but also remove the remains of Corporal Waverly for burial. Despite the frigid December temperatures and a lack of heat in the morgue room, the body had begun to decay, sending offensive odors permeating the entire surgery.

  Atlas had only visited the small building designated for medical treatment once since receiving his orders to serve as an additional regimental doctor. Having preferred the more spacious accommodations provided by his own surgery, he wondered how anyone ever made it out of the place alive. Entering the tiny reception area that served dual function for triage and record storage, Atlas found a rather harried looking Colonel Dr. Silverton attempting to set a badly dislocated shoulder. The patient, a burly young man wearing sergeant’s stripes was doing his best not to cry out through a strip of leather clenched between his teeth. Fortunately for the soldier, it appeared that Dr. Silverton was quite experienced with such injuries and with a quick pulling snap forced the errant limb back into place.