Mary Bennet and the Return of the Soldier

by Carrie Mollenkopf

  “But it’s only five in the morning. The party is not for hours. I cannot be idle that entire time.”

  “Well, you cannot stay here.”

  Mary reluctantly did as she was bid and attempted to amuse herself, but after only an hour of reading one of Atlas’ surgical books, she grew restless and wandered about the house. Choosing to forgo the areas being polished and dusted for the festivities, Mary prowled the attics. She had not been in the cluttered rooms beneath the eaves in months. Not since she and Atlas had hunted for the dead Bennet heiress’ dowry. Opening a trunk filled with rotting lace and unfashionable clothes, Mary pondered her current situation. It all seemed ages ago. Who would have thought that the man she had fought with so much could capture her heart? So much had changed… Mary had to admit that she too had changed. Before, she had always stood in the background of her sisters, forgotten and ignored in the glow of their beauty and charm. Her attempts to gain attention had only resulted in embarrassment. Thinking back to her pianoforte demonstrations, Mary reddened with the memory. She had been… and still was, a truly terrible musician. Only now, it seemed that she no longer had time for such frivolities, so many more important things now filled her life. And, if she were truthful, they were due to Atlas. Her life had become nearly perfect…well almost, she thought as the shrill voice of her mother called from below. Apparently her absence had been noticed.

  “Mary! Mary where are you! I must have your opinion on my new gown…it doesn’t lay quite right. The mother of the bride cannot be seen looking like a housemaid. Mary!”

  Rolling her eyes at the dust covered relics that surrounded her, Mary shut the trunk and went below. At least some things were constant, she thought with a wry smile, and went below to answer the summons.

  “Oh there you are… where have you been? Oh never mind, come and help me with this. Kitty is sewing ribbons on my lace cap and I cannot find Lydia anywhere.”

  *****

  Lydia Wickham stretched lazily and opened one eye as the effects of her latest dosage slowly wore off. Blinking in the daylight she shook her head to rid her mind of the strange dreams that lingered despite now being awake. Although bizarre night visions were quite the norm for her, especially after drinking too much. But, the most recent had been a bit disturbing as it had involved George and her sister Mary. They had been arguing over something she could not quite remember when suddenly George’s head suddenly swelled to three times its size and his mouth had been filled with great sharp teeth that he used to bit Mary’s head off. Blood had spattered everywhere as the monster Wickham devoured the rest of her sister’s body. Shuddering now from the memory, Lydia also recalled that she had simply stood by, watching the entire encounter without a sound. Perhaps she needed another nap? The party was not due to begin for another few hours. Lydia had secretly invited most of the regiment. If she was going to be forced to celebrate something as dull as Mary’s engagement, she may as well have a bit of fun.

  *****

  After nearly two hours of fussing with her mother’s attire, Mrs. Bennet finally noticed the hour, causing a new onset of screeching, this time it was directed at the very person for whom the party was being given.

  “Mary! It is nearly two o’clock. Why have you not gotten ready yet? Your hair is a disaster and there is dirt under your nails.”

  “Mama… I have been here the entire time…”

  “Kitty can finish!” she ordered and threw the satin shoe that Mary had been mending in the direction of her other daughter who dodged it just in time to prevent injury.

  “Go on now and get dressed! People may be early… and then what? When is that doctor of yours planning on arriving?”

  Mary left the parlor without answering. Despite doing next to nothing all day, she felt drained. Entertaining was never to her liking, preferring small intimate gatherings where she need not constantly worry about appearances. Tonight would be an ordeal, but one she must bear gracefully. Entering her chamber, she found Bridget steaming imaginary creases out of her new gown. It was a deep cornflower blue silk, with wide layers of cream colored Battenberg lace. It was an unnecessary extravagance in her opinion, but her father had insisted, going so far as to choose the fabric himself.

  “I want my girl looking like a princess,” he had insisted when he accompanied her to the dressmaker.

  Now, as she ran her fingers over the delicate material, Mary was secretly glad she had indulged. The color was a perfect complement to her eyes and did much to contrast the ivory tones of her skin without looking washed out.

  “There you are miss, I have been waiting for some time.”

  “Hiding you mean… Mama is in a state.”

  Bridget giggled as she lay out fresh small clothes while Mary bathed. It was true, Mrs. Bennet could be a terror, but everyone knew who really ran the house. Miss Bennet had been good to all of the servants, often serving as a buffer between the tantrums of her mother and the Wickhams. Bridget would do all she could to make her mistress shine tonight, but it would be an effort. Mary Bennet was not accustomed to being fussed over.

  Once dry and dressed, Mary sat squirming as the housemaid twisted and twirled her hair upwards as she entwined pearls into Mary’s wayward locks. Her fine brown hair usually refused to behave, but under Bridget’s deft fingers it was subdued into perfection. It was as if her hair knew the importance of the occasion and decided to cooperate just this once. When finished, the maid handed Mary a small mirror to assess her reflection, causing a gasp to escape her lips.

  “Why Bridget! You do work miracles!” Mary sighed as she hardly recognized her own face. The plain, mousy girl had been transformed completely into an ethereal being. Mary Bennet was ready for display.

  ~Twenty~

  Taking her place at the head of the receiving line, Mary found Atlas already waiting beside her parents. Speechless, he kissed the top of her gloved hand, happy to be saved from what would surely be foolish babbling commentary by the arrival of the first guests. However, every few minutes, he caught her eye and winked in return, knowing that he was the object of immense male jealousy that evening. Mary was not the only object of desire as many a lady stared at Atlas from behind their fans. Never one to bow to conventions, his unfashionably short auburn hair glinted coppery against the candlelight and provided a perfect complement to Mary’s dress. It was acknowledged by all that they were a most handsome couple.

  Indeed, all eyes were on the pair, but not all were sharing in congratulations for their future happiness. George Wickham stood next to his own simpering wife off to one side of the crowded room. As much as he tried, he could not ignore the constant complaints uttered by Lydia every few moments. If only he had thought to give her a dose of laudanum before they came down, but the risk was too great. He could not have her falling asleep and ruining his opportunity. Catching a passing waiter, he procured a glass of wine for his wife. It was her third in less than an hour, but Lydia was far more tolerable drunk than in any other state. The crush of the room, now bursting with nearly fifty guests, made even casual movement awkward as people bumped into one another. Even with the double doors that separated the formal parlor from the dining room wide open, it would be a squeeze to accommodate them all. Mary constantly scanned the room between greeting new arrivals and was relieved when the flow of people finally stopped. She struggled to even identify more than a quarter of those in attendance and hoped that enough refreshments had been prepared. Fortunately, a formal dinner had not been planned. A buffet bearing a vast array of finger foods stood to one side as servants rushed to keep it supplied. How were they going to manage any dancing? Keeping a tight hold on Atlas’ arm, they made multiple tours of the room in an attempt to acknowledge everyone personally.

  As if on cue, the sound of someone frantically tapping a desert spoon against their wineglass could be heard echoing about the room. Turning to the location of the sound, Mary spied her father standing on a small dais that had been erected for the string quartet that serenad
ed the masses.

  “If I may have everyone’s attention please!” Mr. Bennet requested after clearing his throat and waving a hand to beckon Mary and Atlas forward. As the crowd parted to allow them to pass, a low rumble could be heard as the observers commented on everything from Mary’s dress and hair to Atlas’ probable income. Not all opinions were charitable, with more than one spiteful opinion being loudly shushed as they passed. Holding her head high, Mary focused her steps to where her father stood. This was far more attention than she cared for, and nearly regretted her original desire for a fuss, but it was far too late for that. Once they joined him, Mr. Bennet continued solemnly as Mary noticed tears that he blinked away.

  “I thank you all for attending this most auspicious occasion in which I have the pleasure of announcing the formal engagement of my daughter Mary to Dr. Atlas Sutton.”

  Mary dipped a curtsey as Atlas bowed to the crowd, receiving much applause and more than one inappropriate whistle from Lydia’s contingency of junior officers. Smiling, Atlas waited for the noise to subside before taking Mary’s hand and speaking.

  “I am indeed fortunate to have found someone who not only shares my interests, but also tolerates my flaws and is the most beautiful creature that I have ever laid eyes upon. Mary has made me the happiest of men, we both thank you for sharing our joy today.”

  Mary blushed furiously and wanted to poke Atlas in the ribs for embarrassing her so. Fortunately, the moment was short lived as her father signaled the musicians to play and Atlas led Mary in the first dance. Soon, they were joined by the masses and Mary relaxed, truly enjoying being the center of attention as she was whirled about the room. From his corner, after Lydia abandoned him to dance with a man he did not know, Wickham saw his opportunity arising. After a few dances, Mary would no doubt want to rest and be in need of some liquid refreshment. He would offer his congratulations with the assistance of a tray of champagne. Relieving a passing servant of his burden, Wickham slipped into a curtained alcove and carefully mixed his prepared dosage of opium into two of the glasses. The altered drink fizzed slightly as he gently swirled the contents to ensure no traced of the added solution was noticeable. It had been necessary to include Atlas as a secondary victim in his scheme. Providing the perfect alibi, a dual poisoning bespoke the romanticism of a Shakespearean tragedy. Everyone would think that the respected Meryton doctor had poisoned his potential bride for changing her mind. Wickham had even planned to carefully forge a letter from Mary, breaking off the engagement. It was a perfect idea, as no one had expected Mary to ever marry anyone. All that he needed now was to get the couple to drink.

  Mary and Atlas had just turned through the final steps of their third dance when Mary pleaded for some respite. “These new slippers are pinching my toes something fierce. I am tempted to hide them somewhere and go without the rest of the evening.”

  “Do you need me to carry you off?” Atlas teased in a low tone to avoid being overheard.

  “While that is tempting, I should not want my mother to have an apoplexy at the sight. Give me your arm, and I shall manage on my own.”

  Atlas led Mary to one of the small tables set along the walls for those not dancing and looked about for a servant, but they were mysteriously absent, or otherwise occupied. “Rest, and I shall return shortly with some punch,” he promised and rose to go in search of refreshment when George Wickham spied his opportunity. Appearing as if by fate, he placed his laden tray containing the contaminated drink before Mary.

  “May I offer you a respite, dear sister? I fear that I have accosted one of the servants on behalf of my wife, but alas, I cannot seem to find her,” he explained smoothly.

  Surprised at the unusual show of gentlemanly behavior, Mary accepted the glass nearest her and gestured to Atlas to accept its mate. In an effort to show that nothing was amiss, Wickham also raised a glass, suggesting a congratulatory toast. However, before he could speak, Lydia dropped breathlessly into the remaining chair beside Mary and hastily gulped down the entire contents of the remaining glass. Waving a hand frantically in front of her perspiring face, she looked quizzically at the others.

  “What? Am I to do without refreshment? It is quite hot in here, but I do love to dance. It is terrible that George’s leg interferes… such a nuisance.”

  Wickham, irritated to near violence at the interruption, forced a smile and patted Lydia’s shoulder. “I should not want you to forgo simple pleasures on my account, but I was about to toast your sister and Dr. Sutton’s happiness.”

  “Well don’t let me stop you… we can share yours,” Lydia retorted sharply and took the still filled glass from Wickhams fingers.

  Wickham pressed his lips together to refrain from chastising Lydia and turned to Mary and Atlas. “To your lasting happiness,” he said with a bow as they all sipped from their respective glasses.

  Wickham watched with a smile as Mary and Atlas both drank, but was displeased to see that each only sipped a small amount while Lydia again drained hers. Stopping a waiter who passed by with a selection of savory pastries, he offered the plate to them. Perhaps some food would encourage drinking. As Mary selected a bite, the foursome were interrupted by an unknown man wearing an enlisted uniform. Bowing to all present, he begged a private word with Atlas. Shifting from one foot to another as his nerves threatened to take over, he thrust a letter in his direction.

  “I beg your pardon sir, but there is an emergency in town that requires your immediate attention.”

  “What is this about? As a superior officer, I insist you tell me.” Demanded Wickham, rising from his chair to facet the young soldier who was shaking in fear. When Colonel Silverton had ordered him to ride to Longbourn and interrupt Dr. Sutton’s engagement party, Private Sanders had blanched visibly. He’d rather face the entire French Army than do that, but he was given no choice. Now, as he stood between Dr. Sutton and the hated Captain Wickham, a bead of sweat ran down his face. Atlas saw the private’s obvious discomfort and raised a hand to halt Wickham.

  “It is all right. It may not be as bad as all that,” he replied as he tore open the seal and quickly scanned the contents.

  Frowning, he turned towards Mary and shook his head. “I am afraid that I really must go, another soldier has taken ill with the same symptoms as the poor boy we examined last week.”

  Mary sucked in a deep breath as she thought of Corporal Waverly, lying in death’s sleep in the morgue. It was hardly coincidental for the same thing to strike twice.

  “Well don’t think you are leaving me here by myself. Besides, I doubt anyone will even notice.” Mary insisted and received his nod of agreement. Wickham, irate that his scheme was interrupted, tried once again to interfere.

  “What is it? Who is ill?” he demanded as Lydia tugged at his sleeve. Shrugging her off, he tried to follow Mary and Atlas, offering to accompany them to town, but was refused.

  “I suggest you see to my sister…” Mary said over her shoulder as they hurried away. Once again, Lydia appeared to have indulged in too much drink. Wickham would be forced to be responsible for her actions and take Lydia upstairs before anyone noticed.

  Returning to the table, Wickham found Lydia slumped over. Her hair was trailing in the remains of the pastries and one hand still loosely gripped a wine glass and the remains dribbled onto the floor. Hoisting her to her feet, Lydia mumbled incoherently as he whispered threats into her ear. He made apologies to nearby guests, Wickham noticed that every glass on the table was empty, but who had drank the tainted wine? Had Mary ingested her portion while he was occupied with the messenger? Or had Lydia drank all of it herself? He needed to be sure. An unsettled fear had begun to manifest in the pit of his stomach, things had suddenly taken a terrible turn. Once out of view of the public, Wickham hoisted his unconscious wife over his shoulder and mounted the steps two at a time. He needed to get Lydia out of sight and plan for the worst.

  ~Twenty-one~

  Mary and Atlas drove as fast as was prudent in the darknes
s all the way to Meryton, leaving the poor nervous messenger to follow behind. Secretly, Mary was relieved to escape the crowd and be free from scrutiny. She had felt like a butterfly under a glass the entire evening. Having not eaten much, her stomach growled loudly, but an odd numbing feeling accompanied it.

  “Atlas?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did your wine taste a bit odd?”

  “I actually did not drink any. I don’t care for champagne, so I just make a grand show of it and never even taste it. Why? Are you feeling a bit tipsy?”

  “No…It’s probably nothing,” Mary replied, but was not entirely sure. She had only one sip, and was not a regular consumer of spirits of any kind, but somehow the taste that lingered was strangely familiar. By the time they reached Meryton and saw the illuminated regimental headquarters, Mary had forgotten all about the wine. As they pulled to a stop, a young officer was waiting and escorted them to where Dr. Silverton was currently attending the afflicted soldier. Restrained, but thrashing wildly, Atlas and Mary stood in silent observation as Dr. Silverton tightened one of the leather straps holding wayward limbs. Noticing their arrival, he quickly finished before speaking.

  “Lieutenant Albert Bullen… supply corps. He must have been asleep when the symptoms took hold. They brought him in wearing only his breeches and a loose shirt, but no shoes or stockings. But I have not as of yet determined the cause. His heart rate is elevated, pupils dilated and jerky flailing movements. From your report, it is just like the previous man... Oh dear… I do apologize for having interrupted your evening…something special?” he added, noting the extravagance of dress.

  Mary and Atlas exchanged awkward smiles, but did not divulge any information. “At least this time, the victim is still alive,” Mary added and pressed a hand to the man’s brow, it was sweaty and clammy. He had quieted somewhat, mumbling incoherently as he pulled against his bonds, but relaxing with her touch. Leaning over she tried to make out his words, but pulled back as a familiar spicy odor tickled her nose.