“Oh Atlas… I have been in such a state of confusion that I hardly know what to do!”
“I am sure that nothing can be so difficult that a solution cannot be found…perhaps if you share your troubles they may be halved.”
“It’s just that… well… its Longbourn…Papa has officially made me heiress. I know that you want to provide for us and are more than capable but….” Mary fell silent and buried her head in his shoulder.
“Longbourn is your home…it is only natural to have such feelings. I will live wherever you are.” He replied with what he hoped was sincerity, but had a feeling that there was more to her dilemma that she did not want to reveal.
“I know… and I love you for that… but it’s not the estate… its Mama… you simply don’t realize what sort of misery it can be to live with her. If it were not for Lydia’s present situation, we would be the target of her attentions. I assure you it would be unbearable. Mama has no sense of privacy when it comes to her daughters. Right after Jane and Bingley married, she dared to enter the marital chamber unannounced late one evening with the excuse that she left her sewing there. Can you imagine such a thing? I can only imagine Jane’s mortification! We simply cannot share a home with my parents….but I hate to tell papa. He has been looking so relaxed ever since I took over the running of the estate. I don’t think his health will sustain having to take up such a workload anymore.”
“Shh… don’t you worry about a thing… bear in mind that I am not entirely destitute myself. We can afford to take a local house, or… if you can stand to wait just a bit, we can build our own place… just the way you want it.”
“Oh Atlas! Do you mean it? If it is close by then I can still run Longbourn but not have to actually live here.”
“Of course… now dry your eyes and allow me to tuck you into bed before you catch your death. I won’t have my bride suffering from pneumonia before our wedding.”
“Will you stay until I fall asleep?”
Atlas nodded and wrapped the down comforter around Mary’s shoulders. It had taken all of his reserve to not take advantage of her vulnerable state, so he removed himself to a nearby chair and read slowly from a novel until the even sounds of her breathing indicated slumber and Atlas too dozed. Awakening with a start some time later, Atlas jumped to his feet. By then, it was past three in the morning. With early surgery hours, and the trial of George Wickham scheduled for the next day, he needed to find his own rest, far from the temptation of Mary Bennet. Now, as he faced her father, Atlas knew that it was going to be a long day, but he still did not want to hurt the man who had become like a father to him. Fortunately, the elder man realized the distress he had put upon the young doctor and raised a hand to halt Atlas’ attempt to speak.
“Allow me an indulgence for a bit,” he stated and took another swallow of his drink before continuing.
“I think that I may already know what the problem is.”
Atlas’ eyes widened as he doubted the casual nature in which Mr. Bennet spoke.
“I have lived here amongst six women long enough to know what a trial my wife can be. Mrs. Bennet will not allow you a moment’s peace if you and Mary lived here. But, I believe that an amiable solution is obtainable, one that will suit all parties.”
“I am listening.” Atlas replied with hopeful relief and settled into his chair.
~Twenty-nine~
Almost an hour later, and exhausted but pleased Atlas Sutton finally unlocked the door to his surgery and wearily climbed the stairs to his accommodations above. Mr. Bennet’s solution had indeed been perfect, save for one issue. Atlas was not about to live off the largess of his wife. His pride would not allow it. Having a comfortable sum of his own left by the death of his own parents, he had insisted upon offering it as payment to the Bennets.
“I realize it does not nearly cover the value of the estate, but I should feel better about the situation if it were on an even financial ground. Think of it as a ‘bride price’ if you will.” he said much to the chagrin of Mr. Bennet.
The older man snorted with laughter at the thought of a man with a dowry of his own, but realized the practicality of the arrangement. He too, did not want to live off the charity of his daughters. Atlas’ money would make things more than comfortable. He and Mrs. Bennet would be able to indulge in some much deserved vacation time in addition to their stays between the estates. Shaking hands with Atlas, Mr. Bennet promised to arrange the transfer with the assistance of his brother-in-law attorney Mr. Gardiner.
“I shall wait until a more acceptable hour of course,” he added with a chuckle as he bid Atlas farewell that morning.
Now, all Atlas wanted was some much needed sleep. His eyes felt as if someone had thrown a fistful of dust into his face. The rising sun had done little to assuage the feeling as he had driven the short distance to Merton. Forgoing undressing, he fell forward onto the lumpy cot that served as his bed and lost consciousness. His patients would simply have to wait a few hours more.
*****
Mary too, indulged in much needed sleep and woke far later than she had planned. Hurriedly dressing, she had tried to leave the house unnoticed, but the need to borrow Longbourn’s only carriage had necessitated the assistance of not only Ben the groom, but also her father’s permission. As her own small curricle had yet to be repaired, Mary was forced to drive the cumbersome six person conveyance on the days she assisted in the Meryton surgery. Permission to use the vehicle was not truly needed, but Mary wanted to allow her father to keep a sense of paternalism. It had also given Mary an opportunity for private conversation and observation of her father’s health. IN recent weeks, the aging man had seemed strangely rejuvenated. Mary had not wanted to spoil his happiness with any announcement of her desire to leave Longbourn once she married. Now, as she sought out her father while Ben readied the carriage, a trill of apprehension filled her.
Finding Mr. Bennet reclining upon the small sofa in his library with his eyes closed, Mary was hesitant to wake him, but he raised a welcoming hand in response to her knock.
“Come in my dear, I was just resting my eyes,” he beckoned and raised himself to a seated positon.
“I did not wish to disturb you at such an early hour,” Mary replied knowing full well that her father had undoubtedly been awake for hours.
“No bother, I have just been thinking about how to tell you mother that I wish to move.”
“Move? Move where? Whatever for?” Mary asked with unmasked surprise. This was not an announcement that she had expected.
Mr. Bennet sighed deeply and offered his middle child a wry smile before continuing. “I am an old man Mary…and a tired one. However, time and a bit of luck has given me great opportunity, one that for much of my life I have been unable to indulge.”
Mary began to interject, but was halted by a raised hand to silence her query.
“Hear me out… I have never been much of a manager, always spending more than I earn, of that fact I am acutely aware. I do not regret anything, but now I find myself wanting to take advantage of what can only be called a newfound freedom. With the marriages of your sisters, as well as your impending nuptials, I had hoped to retire…but only if you and Atlas would do me the great favor of taking Longbourn in its entirety.”
“Papa! Are you sure of what you say? What of Mama? This has been her home for nearly thirty years.”
“Oh we shall be regular visitors, of that you can be certain. But, I believe that my time here is at an end. However, I must be assured that it is in good hands.”
Mary was speechless. It was as if her father had known all along about her apprehensions. Unable to find words, she simply nodded her promise.
“Now go off and do whatever it is you do in that surgery. I must think how to convince your mother in a way that will appear to be entirely her idea.”
On lighter feet than those which had carried her for weeks, Mary practically floated as she climbed into the driver’s seat and maneuvered the clumsy
family carriage down the road to Meryton. Her mind was filled with the happiest thoughts of what the future could hold as well as a myriad of improvements she would make to Longbourn. Chucking the horses to a reckless speed, the short distance was soon covered as she rounded the final turn past the militia’s camp. So distracted, she did not see the man run in front of her vehicle until it was too late to stop. The shrill neighing of the horses rang in her ears as she pulled upon the reigns in an attempt to halt the carriage, but it was of no use. The heavy wheels rolled to a stop only after she felt the bump of the body beneath.
~Thirty~
In the days preceding his trial George Wickham contemplated hundreds of potential plans for escape, discarding each as quickly as they formed for its impossibility. At first, the idea of ingesting the small bottle of laudanum he had kept hidden in the secret compartments of his uniform had seemed so easy. All he needed to do was ensure his release to the medical building where he could slip away during the night when only one orderly was on duty. However, he was hesitant as he did not know how long it would take for the sedative to wear off. Wickham had hoped to bribe a guard, but other than mealtimes, he had been entirely without human contact. Now, with just hours before someone was due to arrive to take him to the trial, more drastic thoughts became plausible. He knew he was becoming desperate. While hanging was the most severe punishment that could be meted, he was arrogantly doubtful that it would come to that. The embarrassment to not only the Bennets, but also the extended connection by his marriage to Pemberley and Netherfield would see that no such disgrace of that nature would happen. At worst, he reasoned, he’d be stripped of his commission, possibly flogged, and perhaps transported to Australia or India. Flogging was what frightened him the most. He’d seen men cut near to the bone, resulting in great infection and permanent scarring…should they even recover. No, that was not something he was going to endure. He must escape. There were plenty of places to hide in the area, places that no one would search. He could hide until the opiate wore off.
Steeling his nerves, Wickham tipped a generous amount of laudanum down his throat just as the scraping sound of metal was heard, announcing the arrival of the guards. It was now or never. Fortunately, the euphoric effects of the opium had immediate results. Wickham felt a surge of energy as the two burly guards slowly opened the barred exit and one dragged a long chain through his manacled hands. Following like a dog on a tether, Wickham blinked against the early morning sun. The entire compound appeared deserted, no one to jeer at the prisoner as he was led to his fate…a ripe opportunity for escape. By now, he was feeling the full effects of the opium, a drug induced herculean surge of strength filled him. Wickham yanked down upon the chain with all his weight, sending one guard to his knees as he swung the loose end in a wide arc. The sound of metal crushing bone as the chain made contact with human flesh was drowned out by the shouts of those who had dared to observe the prisoner transfer through the barrack windows. Wickham had only moments to react, but by now the drug’s effects had increased, blurring his vision as he ran blindly, dragging the chain behind him.
Adrenaline, mixed with opium created a rushing sound in his ears, shutting out the calls to arms as Wickham tried to concentrate. Squinting as he ran, the sight of an approaching carriage sent another surge of energy as he saw his ticket to freedom. The prospect of taking a hostage for leverage was not to his liking, it would only complicate matters. However, the need for swift transport to expedite his escape was imperative, unfortunately the carriage was not slowing as expected in the center of town. Instead, it accelerated as it approached just as Wickham’s body succumbed completely to the effects of opium and collapsed directly in the path of the horses.
*****
Hours later, after the body had been taken away and the driver, one Miss Mary Bennet had been sedated and put to bed, Atlas Sutton sat across from Colonel Silverton and quietly signed the certificate of death.
“A nasty business to be sure. I do feel terrible for Miss Bennet,” commented the Militia doctor in an attempt to break the silence.
Atlas only sighed. While he had wanted the problem of George Wickham to be settled, this went far beyond anything that he could imagine. Poor Mary had been completely distraught, blaming herself for being a careless driver.
“I have killed him! Whatever will I say to Lydia?” Mary had mumbled repeatedly until Atlas had forced a laced cup of tea past her lips and insisted she rest on the single cot in the private examination room. He would tell those necessary before she woke, sparing her what he could.
“It was an accident, but she will feel responsible.”
Colonel Silverton did not respond. He had grown to respect Mary Bennet during his stay in Meryton. As a medical provider as well as a young lady of good reputation, she had the love and devotion of half the town. When they had examined Wickham’s body, it was clear as to the cause of death. Multiple bones had been broken under the heavy carriage wheels, but he had also smelled heavily of Laudanum. The small vial had been found nearly empty of its contents inside Wickham’s uniform jacket. From the careful stitching, it was apparent that it had been designed to hold at least eight such bottles.
“He would have been found guilty on all charges,” he informed Atlas.
Atlas raised his head from where he had tried to focus on the legal document. Wickham’s guilt was a small solace considering the mess he left behind. At least the two guards would recover. The corporal who had been struck by the chain had suffered broken ribs, while the other had only wounded pride from being bested by a prisoner.
“I know, but it will still not be easy for the family. That man has caused them untold misery. His widow is still recovering from opium addiction at his hands. It is a strange blessing indeed that he will trouble them no further.”
“Do you think they will want to have the body for burial?”
“I suppose… if only to find closure and prevent further scandal. As it is, I feel as though I am a liar for writing “accidental” as cause of death. I feel that suicide is far more accurate.”
“As you said… it will be best for the family.”
*****
Mary woke some hours later in darkness. A single candle flame illuminated the tiny chamber in which she had slept. Atlas’ own form was outlined in the shadows as he watched over her. She did not immediately make him aware of her cognizance, preferring to relive the incident that had placed her where she lay. Although perfectly unharmed, the shock of seeing that it was George Wickham who had been caught under her carriage had been simply too much. At first, she had felt at fault, but now, only anger fueled her thoughts. How dare that man! Would he go to no ends to meet his selfishness? What would she tell Lydia? Or her father? Sitting up abruptly, Mary’s head swam for a moment as she adjusted to the new position. What had Atlas given her? Hopefully not laudanum! That substance had caused enough grief for her family.
Seeing her rise, Atlas came to her side.
“Slowly…You are such a slip of a girl. It did not take much to give you a good rest.”
“I am quite well, I assure you…aside from wanting to inflict great harm upon a certain brother-in-law of mine. He is dead, isn’t he?”
“Yes, George Wickham died from his injuries. He was trying to escape from his guards… your part was purely coincidental.”
“Providence would be a more appropriate word.”
Atlas eyed Mary curiously, this was not the reaction he had expected when just hours earlier she had been mumbling about Wickham’s death being her fault. Perhaps it had been momentary shock, he was not entirely sure, but it was far more welcome than those of guilt, especially when it was not warranted.
“Does my father know?”
“Not yet, I sent word that there was an accident, but that you were fine and your presence was needed for medical assistance. A lie, but one I thought necessary for the moment.”
“I want to be the one to tell Lydia, but not until it is assured that the news wi
ll not do more harm in her present condition.”
Atlas only nodded and held her hand, at least it was over. Mary was long overdue for some simple happiness.
~Thirty-one~
It was nearly a fortnight before Lydia was deemed well enough to be informed of her new status as a widow. She bore the news with a strange sense of calm that while reassuring, slightly puzzled Mary. Having expected a full tantrum filled with hysterics, Lydia’s demeanor and reserve was quite contrary to her known disposition.
“He is buried in the family cemetery. Papa gave a short eulogy that was most compassionate. Even Mr. Darcy sent a note of condolence… in his own hand, not Lizzie’s. I can show you the place when you are ready.”
Lydia appeared to ponder the news carefully before responding. She stared off at some unknown fixed point with a half-smile on her face. For a moment, Mary thought that her sister had gone slightly mad.
“Oh I don’t think that will be necessary. I prefer to keep my memories of George as they are. Cemeteries are such dreary places, it may spoil things. Besides, what is done is done, I must get on with my life. I think I should like to dress and come down for dinner.”
Mary only nodded and rang for a maid. She never did understand Lydia’s ways of thinking, but perhaps the ordeal had changed her for the better. Soon, the regiment was scheduled to move on to Brighton, there would be no red-coated officers to provide a constant reminder of the past. In time, perhaps Lydia would find another husband, but until then she would remain at Longbourn. The prospect of her youngest sister living there was not a welcome one, but Mary had resolved to make the best of it. Lydia’s presence was less intrusive than Mama’s.
Mrs. Bennet had readily taken to the notion of traveling between the houses of her married daughters. She had numerous plans for their time formulating in her head.
Mary Bennet and the Return of the Soldier Page 13