“No more dancing in the foundry young man…at least not without a partner. And keep that arm bandaged!” Atlas teased before shooing the child out of the building with a paper twist of pain medicine. Blushing, Denny Evans nodded and promised to return the following week to assess his healing.
Although exhausted, Mary was happy to have escaped the confines of Longbourn. The steady stream of curious visitors had finally tapered off, with only the few true family friends remaining regular callers. It had done much to bolster Mrs. Bennet’s state of mind. Lydia meanwhile, had still not made much improvement. She still muttered in her sleep, but had only woken for short spells of time before falling back asleep. Mary began to fear for her sister beyond that of possible mental impairment. Lydia had neither eaten or drank anything beyond the sips of broth and tea they pushed past her lips every few hours. The first time Lydia opened her eyes, she had not been aware of where she was. Fear and confusion had crossed her features despite Mary’s reassurance that she was indeed at Longbourn. Her voice had caught, raspy and dry, Lydia had tried to speak, but was halted by Mary’s raised hand.
“Don’t try to talk, you have been quite ill for some days,” she had explained while lifting a cup of hot honey water to Lydia’s mouth. Nodding, the younger girl swallowed the liquid slowly, allowing the soothing effects to settle before attempting once again.
“Where is Wickham?” Lydia whispered with a touch of alarm. Her head hurt terribly and it was hard to focus as her vision swam. She shifted herself upwards slightly but fell back against the pillows as a wave of dizziness overtook her.
“In Meryton, but he is aware that you are in good hands.”
Closing her eyes once again, Lydia only nodded. Right now, all she wanted to do was sleep. Mary adjusted the coverlet and took her sister’s pulse. The heart beat was faster than it had been, but steady. Smoothing Lydia’s brow, it was cool to the touch and she forced more liquid down her sister’s throat.
“Don’t you worry about anything now but getting better.”
Mary had no intentions of allowing Lydia to be told about Wickham’s arrest. The distress of the situation could lead to a relapse. Besides, there was nothing she could do. There was nothing anyone could do. George Wickham had chosen his path, and now he must face where it had led.
*****
While Lydia drifted in and out of consciousness on a slow route to apparent recovery, her husband was spending his hours alone, pacing the perimeter of his cell. Only one visitor, besides the silent soldier that delivered his twice daily rations, had been permitted inside. All his other contact with the outside had been through the narrow barred window set high in the wall. He had not heeded the jeers of passing soldiers as they mocked him, but the regular intrusion of refuse through the opening had made for most unsanitary conditions. One soldier had even dared to urinate down upon him as he slept. Now filthy and unshaven after three days in the same clothes, George Wickham appeared more the vagrant than officer, despite the regimental colors he still wore. It had been useless to make any demands as there had been no one to hear. However, on his second day of confinement, Sir Franklin Amesbury arrived to inform of the official charges against him. He had not made introductions or any conversation besides the required business. Standing on the opposite side of the bars that held Wickham captive, Amesbury read the document aloud.
“George Wickham, Captain, you are hereby charged with the following offenses against the King and Country: The illegal procurement and sale of opium, misuse of His Majesty’s property for the purpose of the aforementioned actions, and the deliberate poisoning with intent to kill of Lt. Albert Bullen and Mrs. Lydia Bennet Wickham. You will stand trial for these actions in three days.”
“What? All lies! I may have been in possession of opium, that is true, but I have a significant injury sustained in the line of duty. That supply officer… what is his name? Bullen? He has always been jealous of me. I have seen him staring at my Lydia, he is the one who should be investigated. As for poisoning… I never poisoned anyone… especially not my wife. I insist that I be allowed to see her. My father-in-law, William Bennet, will vouch for my character! I demand legal representation.”
Amesbury nearly laughed aloud at the denials. Wickham truly was a fool if he believed that his arrest was not founded upon scientific evidence.
“Your family has been made aware of your arrest and have declined to provide any support, legal or otherwise. I have the testimony of nearly a dozen men who state you regularly supplied them with opium. As for your wife… and Lt. Bullen… you should well hope they survive.”
“Survive? What has happened to my Lydia?” Wickham demanded with false concern.
Amesbury did not respond, he knew when a man was lying and Wickham did it badly. Turning on his heel, he left without another word. It would do Wickham some good to think about what was in his future.
Once alone, George Wickham slumped against the mossy stone walls, unheeding the damp that now soaked into his clothes. All of his plans had gone wrong, but he was not down yet. He would find a way out before the trial. Wickham knew this area better than most, he could hide indefinitely… or at least until they stopped looking. He still had his stash of money hidden away at Longbourn, so it would be necessary to risk a stop before leaving for good. He simply needed to find a way out. Digging his hands into his coat pockets as he paced, the hard shape of a laudanum bottle inside the lining bumped against his fingers. No one had thought to search him before he was thrust into the cell, but the hidden compartments would have been difficult to discover. Now, with a plan formulating, Wickham smiled as he rolled the bottle between his hands. His ticket to freedom was just hours away.
~Twenty-seven~
Atlas arrived at Longbourn nearly an hour before dinner. He had not been there for some days, as the demands of his patients and the regiment had kept him away. Exhausted, with his mind wandering, the drive had not done much to clear his thoughts as one thing after another cluttered his brain. He had wanted to speak with Mary privately before joining the rest of the family. So much had happened to occupy his time that he felt he had only seen her at meals and in passing. It was also true that he spent more and more time at Mary’s home than in his own surgery residence. Despite her acceptance of his proposal, they had yet to discuss anything in regards to where they would reside after the wedding. He felt awkward about moving into her chamber at Longbourn, but as the designated heiress, it would be expected that they live there. It was not a situation that he relished for the early months of their marriage. Any sense of privacy would be impossible with Mrs. Bennet, but it was her home. Unfortunately, sharing his quarters above the surgery was also out of the question. The small bedroom he used was hardly more than a garret, more accustomed to mice than a person. The two sparse rooms were adequate for his needs, but he could not expect Mary to live there. Even old Dr. Crowley had kept a house on the edge of Meryton as his expanding family demanded more space.
Family…that was another thing they had yet to discuss. Did Mary want children? He had observed her devotion to her sister Jane’s infants with a bit of longing. Children would definitely curtail Mary’s ability to work in the surgery. Would she be willing to give up a lifelong dream for a life so ordinary, one that she had declared to disdain? Hopefully, once this disagreeable business with Captain Wickham passed, they could once again focus on their future. Making the final turn down the drive to Longbourn, Atlas had an odd feeling of being watched by the upper windows as they reflected the evening sun, but brushed it off as a flight of fancy. Now the house itself was appraising his worthiness… he truly must be tired.
*****
Atlas was indeed being observed as he alighted from his curricle and handed the reins to Ben who led the horse away. Mary stood sentinel in the window of Lydia’s room, where she had been for some time. Contemplating recent events, Mary felt more confused about her place in the world than ever before. Twisting the gold circlet on her finger, she thought abo
ut her engagement. At first, the idea of being in love… and being loved, had consumed her, but now she was not so sure. For the past two years, she had seen both intense happiness as well as misery in the marriages of her sisters. Working alongside Atlas in the surgery as well as her involvement in the identification of murder victims had provided a sense of accomplishment that she had previously only dreamed could exist. Her experiences with the population of Meryton as a healer had only further opened her eyes to the range of possibilities that life could bring. So, why was she feeling as if something was missing? In reality, Mary Bennet had everything a person in her position could want… and more. Frustrated with herself, and the lack of answers to her satisfaction, she began to turn away from the window when she saw Atlas arrive. Smiling to herself, Mary felt a tingle in her abdomen as he casually jumped down. The late sun was nearly gone, but its last rays glinted off his auburn hair, giving the appearance of fire. Hurriedly stepping back as he looked upwards to where she stood, Mary continued to watch his movements with a sense of ownership. He really was hers… loved her… not her sisters, not her money… just her. The unease she had previously felt suddenly fled as she pushed aside her apprehensions and thought about an imaginary future…one not so imaginary anymore. A modest home, children running about….somehow the exact number escaped her...a large library…and music room. Mary did not require much. While she loved her home, Longbourn, even though it had been hard won, now seemed like a shell in which she wandered and maintained, but never truly belonged. Perhaps it was wrong for her to push her father into declaring her heir. Kitty was just as deserving, and had not ever voiced a single complaint in regard to the possibility of unfairness. Mr. Bennet had been generous with his fourth daughter, but a ten thousand pound dowry was nothing in comparison to ownership of Longbourn. However, at this moment, Mary Bennet was ready to give it all away for the opportunity to escape to some private place with Atlas, a place that was all their own. She had even gone so far as to draw some sketches of houses that could be built on a plot of land adjacent to Longbourn that was currently for sale. How would he feel about her relinquishing such an inheritance? See her as foolish? Mary had much to contemplate, but no time in which to do so. Other priorities were taking precedence, most specifically the turmoil caused by her sister Lydia and George Wickham.
At the moment, the youngest Bennet sister lay motionless amid the layers of bedding, a far cry from just an hour ago. Mary had believed that Lydia’s intermittent periods of wakefulness had indicated recovery, but she had been wrong. Mary had been indulging in a solitary breakfast when the shouts of Bridget calling for assistance could be heard throughout the house. Being an early hour, the elder Bennets had not yet risen, and were not accustomed to responding to any sort of servant calamity beyond that of fire. Mary had raced up the stairs to find Lydia flailing about as a fish out of water. It was the same sort of seizure that had possessed poor Corporal Waverly just before he died. Fear had nearly paralyzed Mary for what seemed like an eternal moment as she observed her sister, but fortunately, Mary’s strong practical nature had won out. With the assistance of Bridget, the two had managed to subdue Lydia and restrain her limbs until the fit subsided. Mary had remained by her side for the rest of the day as Lydia fluctuated from serene to savage without warning. This drastic change in her condition did not bode well for recovery, and Mary dreaded Atlas’ assessment once he returned. Now that his arrival in the chamber was eminent, Mary was relieved, yet suddenly tired beyond reason. The past few weeks had taken their toll. Hearing the chamber door open, she turned from the window as Atlas reached out and folded Mary into his arms. The comfort allowed Mary to relax and two tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.
“What has my favorite girl to be so sad about?”
“Oh Atlas! It has been a terrible day. I feared hourly that we might lose Lydia… I didn’t know what to do besides tie her down…and...and…” Mary sobbed.
Atlas took her chin in his hand, turning Mary’s face upwards. Her clear blue eyes were misty with apprehension, dark circles below gave evidence to her fatigue. He really needed to find a way to make her take better care of herself. The responsibility of Lydia, the surgery as well as running Longbourn was simply too much.
“And nothing…. You did exactly as you should. This is a normal process as Lydia’s body tries to free itself of the addiction…. Bridget told me everything down below.”
Atlas released Mary as he performed a cursory examination of Lydia as she slept, oblivious to the turmoil around her.
“She will be fine for a bit. It is you who worry me now. I insist you take a light dinner and go immediately to bed…Doctor’s orders.”
“But… my parents will be expecting me down for dinner…and there is something important that I wanted to discuss with you”
“Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow, and as for your parents…They will simply have to do without you. Now be a good girl and do as you are told… or I shall toss you over my shoulder and put you to bed myself!”
Mary reddened at the thought and flashed Atlas a smile at the idea. It was unfortunate that she was simply too tired to argue further.
“Is that a promise?” she teased.
“Don’t tempt me!” Atlas whispered as he suddenly put a respectable distance between.
“I will if I wish…” Mary countered as she took a step forward. Suddenly, she felt rejuvenated as a strange feeling burned in her, sending a rush of heat that once again reddened her cheeks. All thoughts of imminent impropriety vanished to some unreachable place as she reached out a hand and led Atlas from Lydia’s chamber to her own. But it was not a seduction that was on her mind. Mary was simply tired of worrying about what was best for others. She needed to do what was best for herself.
~Twenty-eight~
The absence of Mary and Atlas went unnoticed by all, save Mr. Bennet. He had observed the young doctor speaking with the serving maid before going above stairs. The desire to interfere was stilled by the shrill voice of his own wife as she called him to dinner. It had been strangely easy to keep Mrs. Bennet occupied with other pursuits as the investigation of Wickham’s crimes had proceeded. Detective Inspector Amesbury had kept him informed with daily visits… visits which Mr. Bennet also knew included courtship of Kitty. Making excuses for one skipped dinner had been easy, but when he spied Atlas coming down the stair some time after three in the morning it had been necessary to make his observations known. The doctor’s clothes had been in quite a disarray, giving clear indication as to his previous activities. Mr. Bennet had stood casually in the doorway to his library with arms folded, silently waiting.
“Going somewhere Atlas... or shall I say escaping?”
“I… err…well sir…I don’t know…” Atlas had stammered awkwardly for a full minute until his immense embarrassment was relieved by the elder man’s low chuckle.
“I believe we have a wedding date to set?” Mr. Bennet asked dryly as the two men entered Longbourn’s library and shut the door.
Once inside, Mr. Bennet poured each of them a double brandy, waiting until Atlas had drank a considerable amount before speaking.
“I trust that you and Mary have found each other quite agreeable?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Ah… yes….I mean, we have spent some hours in contemplation of our immediate future.”
“And?”
“Of course we want to be married soon, but the matter of living accommodations has Mary quite distressed.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“It is a matter of privacy for her… and pride on my part.”
Mr. Bennet only nodded and leaned back in his chair, he too had done quite a bit of thinking about the future, even going so far as to discuss the matter with Mrs. Bennet. While he loved the idea of owning an estate without the bother of an entail, Longbourn had become more of a burden than benison. It had not taken much to convince Mrs. Bennet of the wisdom in giving up the place to Mary and Atlas completely. Oh,
they would visit regularly, that was to be sure, but since the marriages of the other girls, it would be far more convenient to spend their twilight years as guests of each. If they never stayed more than a few weeks, none would bear the complete care of their parents. Mrs. Bennet had not immediately been agreeable, but the prospect of being pampered at Pemberley and Netherfield was too much to disregard. Now, she preferred to believe that it was her idea entirely. They were positive that Kitty would also enjoy the prospect as her complaints of boredom had not gone unnoticed. The only thing remaining was to inform Mary and Atlas. Now Atlas Sutton sat before him with the very topic on his mind. Mr. Bennet formulated a plan to convince the young man that it would be a great favor to relieve him of the responsibilities rather than an acceptance of charity should he balk at the idea.
Atlas tried to quell the nerves that threatened to display themselves upon his countenance by focusing his eyes on his glass. He had hoped to have this conversation with Mary present, after all, it had been her suggestion that they build their own home. When he had followed her into her chamber, Atlas had been surprised by her boldness. Mary’s sense of propriety had always been as solid as a rock. While she had permitted him to hold her and receive the occasional private kiss, that had been all. It was only when the door had closed behind them that he realized she had simply wanted private words, with no intention of celebrating their wedding night early. However, she did insist upon the comfort of his arms as she spilled the thoughts that had been consuming her.
Mary Bennet and the Return of the Soldier Page 12