“I had not dared administer a sedative for fear that it may do more harm… that is when I sent for you. Battlefield injuries are more my area of expertise, not this sort of thing.”
“Laudanum…or something like it,” Mary said flatly.
“What? How is that? I have not treated him for any injury.”
“That is what I smell…unless he was drinking spiced wine or eating some sort of spiced cake…see for yourself.”
Dr. Silverton sighed, “I believe you… unfortunately my sense of smell has been damaged by years of inhaling the fumes of gunpowder…taste buds too. I cannot tell cinnamon from pepper,” he admitted.
“An unfortunate thing indeed for anyone, especially a doctor.” Atlas added. Many times he had relied upon his senses to determine the strength of a medication or when a patient was suffering from a disease without obvious symptoms. Mary’s own mother had a slight fruit odor to her person, he had suspected it was due to too much sugar consumption and had advised accordingly. All too often it resulted in poor circulation and even blindness.
“Stranger still is the fact that I have known Lieutenant Albert Bullen for some years. He is quite a religious man, never indulges in spirits… not even ale. I cannot fathom any reason for him to have taken laudanum…or where he acquired it.”
As they spoke, Bertie Bullen again mumbled in his delirium, but this time one clear word was uttered repeatedly that sent alarm coursing through all three.
“Wickham… Wickham…”
*****
Captain George Wickham, as if he knew his name had been spoken, rode recklessly towards Meryton after having deposited his unconscious wife in her bed chamber. He had carefully staged the room to appear as if Lydia, in her stupor, had deliberately ingested a large dose of laudanum. A wine glass, still half full of the opium based medication, lay on the bedside table. An empty bottle, of the size large enough to contain nearly twenty-five doses, stood next to a decanter of wine. To any observer, the combination would have been lethal. Lydia, having taken regular doses for nearly two years, required greater amounts to feel any effects. As it was, she lay very still, in a near deathlike state, her breathing shallow and intermittent. Wickham had even taken the trouble to dress her in a nightgown, as if Lydia had simply taken a large draught before bed. Now, having lost much time, he applied the whip to his mount to make speed. Easily traversing the distance to Meryton, Wickham slowed to avoid any notice of his arrival. He did not go to where the sounds of shouting and lights suggested the presence of Atlas and Mary. Instead, he walked his horse to the darkened storehouse at the edge of the compound. Having been required to attend the Longbourn party, he had hastily stashed his newly acquired supply of opium. With plans to return later, he had poured an undiluted supply into the teapot left for the night watch, ensuring an uninterrupted sleep. Imagining the punishment for sleeping on duty, he had laughed at the prospect of a courts martial for the self-righteous Lt. Bullen. That stickler for protocol had almost caught him the last time Wickham had arranged a delivery. Feeling confident, but realizing the urgency, Wickham tethered his horse behind the building and let himself in.
“It is customary to stand and salute a superior officer,” Wickham snapped at the soldier who sat casually behind the counter that separated the receiving area from the main storehouse.
“Indeed,” came the dry reply, but the man made no move to rise. The soldier, a person whom Wickham had never seen before, wore a poor fitting uniform bearing a private’s stripes.
“I will have you severely punished for insubordination, you whelp!” snapped Wickham as he reached across the counter to grab the stranger’s uniform jacket, but was halted by the sight of a drawn pistol aimed directly at his midsection.
“I think not…I believe the crimes of theft and poisoning are far greater offenses. Captain George Wickham, you are under arrest.”
With shock and disbelief slowing his reflexes, Wickham paused for a moment before attempting to make for the door. However, two equally armed military police officers stood waiting outside. With escape barred, Wickham turned on his accuser as his hands were shackled.
“Who the devil are you?”
“Sir Franklin Amesbury, military police investigator.”
~Twenty-two~
Gossip travels like wild fire in small towns, especially when accelerated by the involvement of respectable families. The Bennets, having previously skirted scandal with the marriage of their youngest child to one George Wickham, would be hard pressed to deny their connection when the same Mr. Wickham found himself an occupant of the militia’s only prison cell. As the sun peeked over the horizon the morning after their interrupted engagement party, Mary Bennet and Dr. Atlas Sutton bore witness to the afore mentioned Captain Wickham being led away in chains as they simultaneously arranged for the care of Lieutenant Albert Bullen. Having diagnosed an acute overdose of opium, they hoped to monitor his recovery and discover as much as possible the extent of Wickham’s involvement. With more than half the regiment observing the removal of Captain Wickham, loose tongues came forward by the dozen to implicate him as the distributor of contraband opium. Apparently, the soldiers feared corporeal punishment for conspiracy to conceal illegal actions than any reprimand for use of opium without doctor approval. With the regiment in chaos due to the discovery, it was decided that formal hearings would begin once Lt. Bullen was coherent.
“At best, it may be some days before the effects wear off.” Atlas informed General Brambleton.
“And at worst?” he demanded.
“At worst, he may never recover fully. I have seen cases where persons so afflicted are reduced to mumbling idiots for the rest of their lives… others die. Since it is impossible to tell just how much he ingested, only time will tell.”
The regimental commander sighed as his ran his fingers through the thin strands of hair that clung to his scalp. Having been privy to an ongoing investigation of theft concerning military supplies, he had balked against the instillation of an undercover military agent. Believing it would end up being a simple matter of selling general items for profit, the discovery of deliberate addiction of military personnel was quite another thing entirely. Now, as it appeared to be solved, it was just a matter of compiling the evidence for a courts martial proceeding. Fortunately, Sir Franklin Amesbury, as the police representative, would be responsible for all the legwork. He need only preside over the punishment. It was not a prospect he relished, as such things generally resulted in hangings, but he would do his duty despite Wickham’s respectable connections.
“Keep us informed of Lt. Bullen’s progress, Amesbury will be your contact,” he ordered with a gesture towards a slim man wearing an enlisted uniform before spinning on his heel and striding quickly back to his quarters in an attempt to regain a few hours of lost sleep. In all truth, Brambleton was more enraged than tired, and feared losing his temper in front of the civilians. This event was a black mark on his career, one he would see erased.
Mary too, was yawning discreetly behind her gloved hand. Still dressed in their evening clothes, she and Atlas had not a minute of sleep since being called away from the party. No doubt there would be much explaining to do, and she did not want her parents to find out about Wickham through someone else. Once Lady Lucas heard the news, the entire town would be abuzz. The Bennets would need to prepare for the worst. Nodding to the soldier, the young man came forward and offered his hand.
“Sir Franklin Amesbury, military police detective investigator…and you must be Miss Mary Bennet?”
“Yes, have we met?”
“Not formally, but your sister Katherine has spoken of you often. I have been a guest of the Bingley family to avoid any recognition by militia members. I must say, Katherine is quite proud of your achievements in the area of medicine.”
Mary raised an eyebrow of surprise at the complement as well as the use of Kitty’s full name, but only smiled as Atlas joined her. This must be the reason for Kitty’s prolonged stay
at Netherfield. After making introductions, they promised to keep him informed of any changes to Lt. Bullen before making their excuses and returning to Longbourn.
Upon their arrival, the house was quiet. Even the servants had been allocated extra sleep due to the late hours of the previous evening. As a result, no one was awake to receive them and Atlas drove his curricle around to the stable and unhitched his horse before handing Mary down. Entering through the kitchens, they crept by a snoring Maybelle Kincaid, as the cook, fully dressed for the day, napped in a chair. Smothering a giggle, Mary nearly ran into her father, clad in his dressing gown, as he pushed open the green baize door in search of his breakfast.
“Papa! I expected you to still be asleep…” Mary gasped as her father eyed her state of dress as well as Atlas who stood awkwardly behind her.
“Obviously. What may I ask was the cause of your sudden departure last night? It was quite a task to make excuses for your absence.”
“Sir, if I may, it was my fault. There was an emergency at the regiment that required my presence.”
“I see…And you could not be bothered to tell someone? There was all sort of lewd gossip as to the reason for your disappearance.”
“I’m sorry Papa, we just did not think… but there is something of a severe nature that we must tell you… before anyone else does.”
Mr. Bennet eyed his middle child with mild disapproval. Mary was the last person he expected to cause any sort of embarrassment to the family, especially of this caliber. Sighing, and resigning himself to whatever it was, he only hoped it did not result in another hurried marriage. Raising a hand to halt her speech, he would put his comfort first before spending the rest of the day in what may prove to be unsettled.
“Allow me a pot of tea and a bite to eat first before whatever you have to tell me ruins my appetite.”
“Of course Papa… Why don’t you and Atlas go to your library while I fix you something?”
*****
Mary and Atlas made idle conversation while her father indulged in honey slathered biscuits and warm slices of ham. Mary secretly vowed to raise Mrs. Kincaid’s wages for having an array of breakfast dishes already warming in the oven. Atlas was left to the suspicious glowers of his prospective father-in-law for less than five minutes before she arrived with a laden tray. Soon, after eating his fill and accepting a second cup of tea, Mr. Bennet felt fortified enough to take on whatever calamity Mary had to tell. Unfortunately, this time it was well beyond the pale as his blood boiled.
“HE’S BEEN DOING WHAT?” roared the elder man in disbelief.
“Stealing opium from the regimental medical supplies and selling it to the men…and… if my suspicions are correct, keeping Lydia addicted as well.”
“I will kill him!”
“Now Papa! You know very well you won’t. Besides, Wickham has been arrested and will stand trial. Let the militia handle it.”
Mary’s father closed his eyes and covered them with his hands before rubbing slowly as if trying to erase what they had said from his mind. However, it was of no use. He had always suspected that George Wickham would be the downfall of his family, but never imagined anything like this. Even the reputations of the Darcy’s and Bingley’s could not save them from ruin. What would become of his Lydia? He could hardly afford to pay for her to live somewhere away from society… and god knew she had a way of finding trouble no matter where she was. Would there be a divorce? The scandal would be of epic proportions. Suddenly, and not without cause, Mr. Bennet felt well beyond his years. After some moments of shocked silence he looked at Mary with a new fire blazing in his eyes. For the first time in her life, Mary Bennet was terrified of what her father might do.
“Go and wake your sister. She must be told immediately.”
Mary rose to do his bidding, but cast an apprehensive glance at Atlas before leaving. His countenance was sympathetic, but she knew there was nothing to be done. Lydia must face the trouble her husband had caused. Climbing the stairs slowly, as if to delay the inevitable, Mary reached Lydia’s chamber door faster than she had hoped. Knocking softly, she called her sister’s name but to no reply. Easing the door open, the room was dim from the drawn curtains that shut out the light. Drawing one aside so she might see, Mary gasped when she saw the empty bottle of laudanum next to a half drunk wine glass. Now was not the time for one of Lydia’s stupors. Shaking her sister’s sleeping form, Mary attempted to wake the youngest Bennet, but it was of no use. Lydia was completely unresponsive. Only the faint feel of her breath and a weak heartbeat at the pulse of Lydia’s throat gave any sign of life. Mr. Wickham had one more victim to add to his list.
~Twenty-three~
Atlas Sutton had stood over the motionless form of his sister-in-law trying to think of any possible treatment, but came up lacking. There was nothing he could do. It was a miracle that Lydia was even still alive. The glass next to the empty bottle had contained a very potent dose of opium, nearly pure in its dilution, with only enough liquid to allow for a person to drink. All they could do was make her comfortable and hope she came out of it on her own. In reality, that had been easy, telling Mrs. Bennet had not. The elder woman had immediately gone into complete hysterics. Atlas found it ironic that he had been forced to resort to the very thing that impaired Lydia to calm her mother. After being given an appropriate dosage, Mrs. Bennet had resumed a strange sense of serenity, it was almost frightening in the way she now spoke rationally about the situation. It was as if something in her snapped. Now, she was dressed in her finest day gown, as if awaiting important visitors. Mrs. Bennet sat in her parlor, drinking tea as if nothing was amiss.
“We must simply attach all blame to Wickham… horrible man. I never wanted my Lydia to marry him in the first place. First a seducer of young girls and now a poisoner. I hope they hang him!”
Mary and Kitty had been forced to attend their mother as Altas returned to Meryton to check on Lt. Bullen and gather any news. With a promise to return before tea, he kissed Mary’s forehead before leaving.
“Don’t worry… or at least try not to. We have done everything we can. At least Lydia is stable.”
“I would much rather accompany you than deal with Mama. I expect visitors to arrive at any moment…hopefully they will be compassionate, but some will only come to gloat and pry before moving on with whatever information they manage to acquire.”
“And I would much rather have you with me. But Lydia should not be left unattended…not that you could do much, but should she wake it may be quite violent. I expect shaking, vomiting and possibly seizures and that would be a good thing. Whatever you do… no matter how much anyone tries to interfere, do not give her anything besides water and perhaps some broth. The poison has to work its way out on its own…. But first she must wake up.”
“Poor Bridget is sitting with her for now. I feel terrible asking a servant to do this, especially after how Lydia treated the staff, but I cannot be there all the time… I won’t leave Mama and Kitty to the vultures alone.”
Atlas did not comment. The workings of society were consistent, everyone loved a scandal, especially if it did not involve themselves. He hated to leave Mary, but it had to be done. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return.
*****
Captain George Wickham paced the dirt packed floor of his ten by twelve cell until a pattern of wear could be seen in the dim light. As the only gaol, it was rarely used and quite barren of comforts, consisting of a single wooden pallet set into a wall and two buckets, one held water and a rusted dipper, the other was for necessary bodily functions. Wickham was hard pressed to tell them apart from the filth that coated each. A small rectangular window, set with iron bars, allowed a filtered light, but no view of the outside.
“Well at least it is not underground,” Wickham muttered aloud as he absently kicked a clump of loose dirt. In the hours since his arrest, no one had been to see him. It had allowed for much contemplation of his current state. At first, arrogance and a
nger had propelled him to shout obscenities and threats down the hallway leading to the outer room from his cell, but no one had responded. Eventually, he had drifted off into a restless sleep on the hard shelf of a bed, awaking to find that a tin plate containing dry bread and cheese had been pushed into his cell, but no other sign of human life. He wondered how long he would be there before anyone came. Guessing the hour to be late morning by the sounds of booted feet and wagon wheels going about the business of the regiment, he hadn’t tried to call out again. Instead, he carefully formulated a defense for the accusations made against him. Unfortunately, Wickham had no idea that anyone had been observing him during the twice monthly arrivals of opium. Having taken watch over the supply building on a regular basis, his presence would have been regular. What had made someone suspicious enough to call in a detective inspector? Who was this Sir Franklin Amesbury? Where had he been careless? None of the men whom he regularly supplied would have dared to speak out against him. Their addictions were of such a nature that going without would have been unthinkable. The iron grip of dragon opium had done its work well. The only surety was the feeling that somehow Mary Bennet and Atlas Sutton were involved. They were far too nosy for their own good, always interfering and asking questions that were none of their business. The only blame he placed upon himself was allowing Darcy to force his marriage to Lydia. He should have escaped when he had the chance, but without money, that had been impossible. Hearing a scraping sound of wood against metal, Wickham quickly lay down on the pallet, folding his arms behind his head and feigned sleep. He was not going to cooperate in the slightest.
*****
Before visiting Lt. Bullen, where he now lay awake in the small medical ward, Atlas Sutton spoke privately with Colonel Dr. Silverton. He had not wanted to interview the young man quite yet, not until he relayed the situation of Lydia Bennet to the authorities.
Mary Bennet and the Return of the Soldier Page 10