“Keep this arm bound to your side for the next week, and absolutely no heavy lifting. I expect to see you back if the pain does not subside.” he advised as he wrapped a thick cotton sling about the man’s arm, binding it tightly to restrict movement.
With one eye on Dr. Silverton, and the other on Atlas, the young man nodded and slid slowly down from the examination table, happy to be escaping any further torment.
“Ah… Dr. Sutton. I hear you have had quite a time in my absence. As you can see, there is a never ending demand for medical services in the army.”
“Call me Atlas please… yes, it has been out of the ordinary to say the least. I take it that you have read my report on Corporal Waverly?”
“Yes, poor fellow. I suppose he should have been invalided out some time ago, but the army was his life. Although, I am a bit puzzled as to how he managed to overdose on opium. I had not prescribed any for him in some time. At his last physical, some six months ago he even showed a greater use of his limbs than before. He must have been getting it somewhere else.”
“How can this go unnoticed?” Atlas asked with some surprise.
“Not to complain, but as you have seen, it is impossible for one doctor to appropriately manage the care of over five hundred men. I do what I can, but it is mostly dealing with acute illnesses and emergencies. But opium is another matter entirely. I fear that some became addicted during tours of duty in Asia… and managed to smuggle it home.”
“I should not think that Meryton was the place typical for an opium den. We don’t have an apothecary, only what supplies I keep on hand at my surgery. I can assure you, opium is quite limited.”
“Of course, and that is one of the reasons the military chooses towns such as this for regimental headquarters. It makes it difficult for the men to find trouble… but not impossible. My superiors and I have been cautiously investigating this problem for some time, but have not managed to discover the source…most frustrating.”
“Indeed…Please allow me to provide any assistance necessary should you require it. I have a considerable forensic laboratory.”
“Forensics? You are the risk taker. I am amazed that the local magistrate and religious folk have not run you out of town yet. Not many people are open to that sort of science, even in academic circles.”
“Oh I know…the magistrate Sir Philip Evans and I have been at odds occasionally in the past. Fortunately, he is also Miss Bennet’s godfather and indulges her.”
“Miss Mary Bennet? Your female assistant? Sister in law to Captain Wickham?”
“The same.”
Dr. Silverton only smiled and shook his head. Small town connections never ceased to amaze him, but he had more pressing things to resolve and returned to the primary reason for Dr. Sutton’s visit.
“I suppose we should discuss Captain Wickham’s medical assessment. The commandant wants to be rid of him as soon as possible. Apparently the man is quite the pest, but always manages to come away smelling like a rose.”
“Well, there may be a bit of a problem with all that.”
Dr. Silverton sighed heavily, everything was generally a problem when it came to dealing with Captain George Wickham. The man was a chronic complainer, always requesting pain medication. If it were not for the well documented accident, he would have brought him up on charges of malingering. Unfortunately, it was difficult to prosecute someone considered a hero. Perhaps the second opinion would be beneficial.
“I hope what you have is specific,” Dr. Silverton warned.
“That is just the problem. I found absolutely nothing wrong with Captain Wickham. Reflexes are normal, as is muscle tone. There is not even any evidence of atrophy, a rather common occurrence with one who is dependent upon a cane… and then there was the running.”
“Running?”
“Yes, Miss Bennet and I saw him running along the edge of the forest that borders Netherfield just last week. I do not believe he was aware of being observed.”
“Hmm, I must say that it does not surprise me, but it does change the circumstances before us in terms of a discharge. I am going to recommend that he be retained. Perhaps the commandant can phrase it in a way that it appears to be beneficial, but I don’t think Captain Wickham will be pleased. While I generally don’t place much credence in gossip… the regiment virtually thrives on such, but… Mr. Wickham has been known to voice his expectation of a financial settlement.”
“Well… it should prove to be entertaining to say the least when he is informed that his services are far too valuable to warrant an invalid’s pension. However, I do have one favor to ask…seeing how Miss Bennet is his relation.”
“Name it… if it is in my power to grant.”
“Keep my name out of the proceedings…at least publicly. I would prefer not to be cast in the center of what may be family strife.”
Dr. Silverton smiled and nodded his agreement, but then raised an eyebrow at the young doctor of Meryton. “Dare I ask the nature of your relationship with the Bennet family?”
“Let me just say that I intend to become a permanent part of the family.”
“Miss Bennet?”
“Yes… she has consented to be my wife, but we have not made an announcement as of yet.”
“Congratulations on your future happiness. From what I have learned, she is the best of the bunch.”
Dr. Silverton rose and invited Atlas to join him for some refreshment in the officer’s dining hall. “It is not exactly high tea with the queen, but we try our best to make it comfortable. As you technically carry the same rank as I, it is only fitting that you take advantage of it.”
“I should be delighted,” Atlas replied but secretly hoped that his temporary appointment would soon end. While he was proud to do his duty, he never was much for the formality and restrictions of the military. He could not imagine a daily life consisting of protocols and drills. However, spending the next hour in conversation with a medical peer was enlightening as they shared the newest techniques in restorative care and surgical intervention. Mary would demand a complete review of all that was discussed. As Atlas rose to return to the surgery some time later his goodbyes were interrupted by the sound of his name being shouted in the parade grounds outside.
“I wonder what the calamity is now? If it is another of Lady Lucas’ fainting spells from having her corset laced too tight I may lose my temper.” Atlas said with a laugh as the doctors left the building to determine the cause of the commotion. However, his sarcastic smile only grew when ten year old Ned Timmons spied him in the door way. As the youngest child of a widowed mother, he was often left to his own devices while his mother worked. Ned was prone to exaggerate greatly, especially if it meant the attention of adults.
“Dr. Sutton! I have been looking everywhere for you. Come quick as you can, there has been a terrible accident,” cried the frantic little boy as he grabbed Atlas’ hand and attempted to drag him away.
“Ho there! Slow down. Tell me what is wrong. Has Artie fallen from a tree again? Is that the trouble?”
“Artie? No! He’s fine!” snapped the boy incredulously as if Atlas should care about the antics of his daredevil older brother.
“It’s Miss Mary… her carriage has gone off the road and she is stuck underneath!”
Atlas Sutton’s face went pale as fear drained the blood instantly. His Mary… not his Mary!
~Twelve~
Mary had risen early so she might visit at least four of the seven tenant farms that served Longbourn. As formal visitors from the big house were a matter of pride, she would be expected to accept cups of tea and whatever the family had to share in way of sustenance. It would be a long day at best, but she was adamant in keeping tradition. Mrs. Bennet had nearly swooned with gratitude when Mary volunteered to take on the distribution of the Christmas baskets. Her mother hated the often untidy and cluttered crofts that supported her own elaborate tastes. Each year, Mrs. Bennet had returned from ‘doing her duty’ lamenting to all who
would listen, fussing over the dirt that now clung to her hems and the sticky fingers of the tenant children.
“Yes Mary, you are so good to me. Besides, the farmers all prefer you. I hope your father was generous this year… but not too much. We cannot have the tenants getting used to such largess regularly, it makes them ungrateful.”
“Don’t worry Mama, it is all taken care of,” Mary promised, but had secretly added a selection of sweets to each parcel and had hidden a gold sovereign at the bottom. Since the discovery of the dead heiress and the buried fortune, Mary had spent considerable sums in the way of maintenance on the estate and its surrounding tenant cottages. It had appalled her greatly to discover the conditions in which the people had lived. She had vowed to never allow Longbourn to slip into such a state again. Now, with much needed repairs long since completed, it was with a happy heart that she drove her laden curricle down the country lanes.
The weather was fine and sunny, a welcome change after days of cold sleet bordering on snow. While snow for Christmas would be beautiful, it did not create for comfortable riding. The roads, having gone through numerous cycles of freeze and thaw, were a mass of deep ruts. Bouncing roughly over the uneven terrain, Mary did her best to guide old Ellie through the maze. Fortunately, it was only a five mile circuit around the fields, now barren and sleeping for the winter.
The first place on her list belonged to Rupert and Anna Parsons. One of the larger cottages, it boasted a complete second level, much in need to house their brood of eight children. They had worked Longbourn land ever since their marriage some fifteen years prior. Mary faintly recalled the wedding, a simply country affair, the bride had worn a crown of braided daisies to complement her simple homemade gown. Wistfully, Mary half dreamed that she could do something similar for her own wedding, but knew that was impossible. While she selfishly wanted to be the center of attention on her day, an elaborate ceremony was not to her tastes. Pulling into the dirt packed drive, the realities of married life became all too apparent as she spied laundry flapping on the line and children of various sizes tumbling out the door to greet her. It was a reminder of her station as mistress of Longbourn, and how fortunate she had been to have servants and a life of idle leisure. Feeling slightly guilty as she removed the basket designated for the family, Mary suddenly wished that she had done more. Her life before Atlas had been so simple… and so empty, filled with endless days reading and playing the pianoforte. At least now, with the responsibilities of Longbourn as well as assisting in the surgery, she had a sense of purpose.
Smiling as she entered the smoky warm interior of the cottage, a wave of longing hit her as she observed the family interactions. Welcomed as another member of the clan, Mary spent the better part of an hour bouncing an infant on her knee and listening to the tales of domestic farm life. It was a welcome escape from the formal shows of wealth and position expected in the regular circles of society foisted upon her by her mother. After nearly three cups of tea, Mary was able to make her excuses and begin the next segment of her journey.
The Timmons’ place lay a bit off the main road. More of a cabin than house, Margaret Timmons had kept the tenancy after her husband’s death a few months ago. Not a working farm, the house and outbuildings had served as both beekeeping station and press for the surrounding orchards. It required considerable work, but Maggie had insisted she was capable. When Mary had seen the desperate determination in the woman’s eyes, she nodded her ascent. “I am sure you will do a fine job,” Mary had replied and shook the woman’s hand like she had seen men doing business. However, even with the income, it had been difficult to keep her two young sons fed and clothed without intermittent help of charity. In this particular basket, Mary had included two pairs of boots and a length of fine muslin in addition to the regular gifts of foodstuffs and sundries.
“Where are the boys? Out playing?” Mary inquired as she took the proffered seat in the tiny front parlor where a tray of refreshments awaited. The sparse room silently spoke the poverty in which the family lived, but Maggie Timmons still offered her best hospitality.
“Artie has been helping the Andrews down the road with their stables quite regular now. He is so proud to be earning his own money. As for Ned… he spends more time daydreaming lately than anything else, I swear he has read that copy of Swiss Family Robinson you gave him more times that I can count.”
“I am pleased he liked it. He should come up to the house and select another sometime. I can leave permission with Mrs. Hill, should I be absent.”
“He would love that, Miss Mary.”
Mary watched the young widow closely. She had made an effort to visit regularly since the drowning of Matthew Timmons and now considered Maggie her friend, but the other woman still insisted upon formalities and maintained a cautious distance. Having fallen in love herself, Mary could not imagine the grief should she ever lose Atlas so suddenly. It seemed that a piece of Margaret Timmons had died with her husband. Suddenly feeling awkward for her intrusive thoughts, Mary rose to leave.
“I nearly forgot… Mrs. Kincaid is nearly out of honey. She will give me the eye if I return without a good supply.” Mary added as she reached inside her reticule for the coins. The added money would surely be well spent and would allow Maggie to keep her pride.
Now, with every spare inch of her carriage filled, Mary drove carefully to the next house to avoid breaking any of the jars. While she had not exactly lied, Mrs. Kincaid did use a great amount of honey for her holiday baking, Mary had no idea if the stores were low, but honey was her one weakness. Often ridiculed for drinking her tea like a “Yankee”, Mary preferred honey to milk and sugar and kept a jar tucked away in her chamber. Chuckling to her horse, old Ellie picked up her pace. Mary had spent more time than she had planned and now the sun was well past the horizon. Skipping luncheon had not mattered considering the amounts of tea and sandwiches she had consumed at both residences. Her full stomach now threatened to make her sleepy with the warm sun on her face. It was in this state that she did not notice the small family of deer until it was too late. Swerving to avoid the doe and her two fawns, Mary careened onto the edge of the road where it sloped sharply to allow water runoff. The carriage leaned precariously in an attempt to balance the unusually heavy weight inside, but Mary compensated and put her scant body weight in the opposite direction as the wheels slipped on the rutted surface. Feeling the carriage rebalance, Mary breathed a sigh of relief only to be broken by a loud cracking sound followed by the entire curricle lurching onto its side as she was thrown from the vehicle, landing against a fencepost sending shooting pain through her body. With her breath knocked from her, Mary was unable to cry out and in the hazy seconds that followed, she saw her horse fall heavily to her knees before blacking out.
~Thirteen~
In the days that followed, Mary Bennet drifted in a haze of pain as she came in and out of consciousness. Christmas came and went without her notice. Only Lydia and her circle of officers found much to celebrate during the season. The rest of the Bennets moved about the house cautiously, as they awaited any sign of improvement. When he had arrived at the scene of the accident, Atlas’ heart had nearly stopped at the sight of Mary pinned against the fencepost as the carriage had toppled over on her legs. Luckily, the ground was soft there and she had not been crushed with its weight. Blood had oozed from a gash on the back of her head where it had struck the post and her left arm had been bent at a dangerously peculiar angle. It was a blessing in disguise that she had remained in oblivion as Atlas and the officers that had accompanied him worked carefully to extract her.
When the militia wagon had arrived at Longbourn bearing Mary on a stretcher, Mrs. Bennet had immediately gone in to hysterics. Atlas had wanted to slap the woman silly, but had been prevented by the uncharacteristic show of temper from Mr. Bennet as he immediately took charge of his household.
“Stop your wailing woman. It is Mary who lies near death, not you!” he had shouted loud enough to cause Mary
to mutter and try to move within the restraints that had been placed for her safety.
Once settled, and resting with the aid of a considerable dose of opium, Atlas had worked to set the broken bones of her arm and clean the swollen gash on Mary’s head. While he was proudly optimistic about the state of her arm, the head wound worried him considerably. In his experience, patients with such injuries had initially appeared to be healing, but later began to bleed internally. He could only wait and observe for any changes. It was not a situation he took comfortably in the best of circumstances, being in love with the patient made it agony. Seeing his distress, Mr. Bennet ordered Lydia and Wickham to vacate the room adjoining Mary’s in favor of the chamber formerly shared by Kitty and Lydia as children. As Kitty was still residing at Netherfield, more to be surrounded by company than to assist Jane with the babies, it was an easy solution. However, it was met with characteristic indignation by Lydia.
“I don’t see why we have to be inconvenienced just so that doctor has a place to sleep. He can just as easily use Kitty’s room as this one. It’s too far from the necessary, and the servant’s stair is just outside. I will not be able to sleep with the sound of their feet stamping up and down all the time.” She had pouted to Wickham as they packed their belongings.
“Shut up Lydia! We have greater things to concern us.” Wickham snapped. He too was in a foul mood, but not over something as trivial as the location of a bedchamber. That same morning he had met with Colonel Dr. Silverton and General Brambleton the regimental commander, to finalize his discharge and pension. Anger and frustration rose every time he replayed the meeting in his mind. When the summons to appear in the General’s private office came, Wickham had begun to whistle a happy tune. The last officer he knew to be pensioned had received a sum of five hundred pounds per year. With the additional money from Lydia, he would be quite comfortable. He had entered when bid after a perfunctory knock and had stood at attention awaiting the decision.
Mary Bennet and the Return of the Soldier Page 6