Page 23 of Longbourn’s Son (Pride and Prejudice Variation #22)

“Come in, my dears, come in!” Aunt Philips exclaimed hospitably to her five nieces and one nephew. “The wind is very cold today!”

Luke stepped forward, gave his aunt a quick embrace, and said, “I have an errand that will keep me busy for a few hours at the Milton stables but will return in time to escort my sisters home for dinner. Is that an imposition, dear aunt?”

“Of course not!” Emma Philips answered. “Your sisters and I will have tea and enjoy a cozy chat. My dears, have you heard the news about Mr. Wickham? It seems that he has racked up debts all over England, and well, I fear this is not appropriate for maidenly ears, but it seems that he has pursued some servant girls...”

Four of the Bennet daughters settled eagerly near the fire while Kitty escorted her twin brother to the door, buttoned the top button of his coat, and then pointed an accusing finger at a hole in his right sleeve. “Luke, you need to get your coat patched.”

He laughed as he put his hat on. “I will not freeze if I have a hole in my sleeve, Kitty.”

“You look like a vagabond, not like Mr. Luke Bennet of Longbourn,” she pointed out with mock severity.

He looked down critically and grinned. “This coat has definitely seen better days, and my shirt and trousers are even more worn, but I am confident the horses will not mind. Enjoy your gossiping, my dear. Father was right; the news about Wickham has spread throughout Meryton in less than a day.”

Kitty rose to her tiptoes and kissed her brother on the cheek.

“Of course, dear brother,” she said merrily. “You can always trust womenfolk to share news, regardless of their station in life!”

/

George Wickham accepted food and drink from the slatternly serving girl and waited uneasily for her to demand payment. To his relief, she merely asked, “What is your name for your tab, sir?”

“Lieutenant Wickham,” he responded, bestowing on her a generous display of even white teeth.

Her weary face relaxed into what was a genuine smile and she said, with a hint of coquetry, “Welcome to the Golden Daffodil, Lieutenant.”

Wickham suppressed a grimace of disgust and merely raised his glass in salute, then took a long pull of gin as she hurried back toward the bar.

He glared at the half empty glass and looked around disdainfully.

Williamson was right; the Pig in the Poke was a far better establishment in terms of ambiance, food, and drink.

Unfortunately, this morning Wickham had tried to add to his tab at the Pig in the Poke and had been informed by the proprietor that until he paid up his bill, he would no longer be served.

He quickly began spooning stew into his mouth.

It contained mostly potatoes and onions, with bits of some mysterious meat, and was not as tasty as he was accustomed to; fortunately, his hunger made it entirely palatable.

He had not eaten since the night before, and it was already three hours past noon.

As his hunger abated, his anxiety rose. What was he to do?

It was not just the Pig in the Poke; he was being denied credit at every other store in Meryton.

Worse than that, he had heard whispers following him all day, and the servant girl at the haberdashery, who had flirted with him openly only two days ago, had cringed away from him and lowered her eyes when he had entered the shop in search of ribbons for the butcher’s daughter, whom he thought was close to inviting him into her bed.

It was not as if he was entirely devoid of funds; he had some money from last night’s gambling session, where he had won several pounds off of Lieutenant Pratt.

That, combined with the few coins remaining from previous play meant that he could pay off his tab at the Pig in the Poke.

But then what would he do? He could not be certain that he would win every night, even when he and Williamson were working together.

Furthermore, even if he paid off his debt at the pub it was unlikely that he would be advanced further credit there.

Williamson had plenty of money. Perhaps he could borrow money from his colleague?

But no, he knew instinctively that his mentor would deny him such assistance.

Williamson preached economy with surprising fervor and would have no patience with Wickham’s own habits of expense, which were entirely in line with those of a gentleman.

It was odd, in a way; Williamson was the third son of a gentleman and had attended Eton and Cambridge, but instead of racking up debts, he sought to use his knowledge and skills to take advantage of others.

Wickham had learned a great deal from the man, but he knew his cohort would have no sympathy with his ready spending and resulting poverty.

He growled again and then took a large bite of bread, which he washed down with the last of gin. A moment later, he succeeded in catching the eye of the girl and raised his empty cup. She smiled at him and within a minute, she had placed another glass of gin on his table.

“Thank you, kind lady,” he said charmingly, and poured another few ounces of gin down his throat.

He grimaced slightly at the taste; gin was known as the opium of the poor, as it was inexpensive to manufacture and thus cheap to sell.

He had stooped to drink gin only a few times in his life, but he had heard that the beer served at the Golden Daffodil was vile to the point of causing illness.

The door to the pub swung open, and Wickham shivered in the cold wind.

He opened his mouth to shout indignantly and then shut it at the sight of the two men entering.

He was vaguely familiar with the pair as both were privates in the militia.

The taller one, dark haired and swarthy, had a reputation as a trouble maker, and had been flogged a few weeks before Wickham joined the militia.

The man had apparently recovered from that beating and looked cheerful enough as he and his blond friend wandered over to a booth and threw themselves carelessly onto their seats.

Wickham leaned back and threw down the rest of his gin, his mind working sluggishly as comforting heat spread through his veins.

It was, he realized with growing fury, all the fault of that stable boy.

If the youth had not eavesdropped on a private conversation and then blabbed to Mr. Bennet and Sir William Lucas, all would still be well.

Wickham clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. He was limited in his options in Meryton, but he could, at least, punish the stable lad. That stupid youth would pay for persecuting the godson of George Darcy of Pemberley.

/

The door to the stables flung open and Will, who was busily sweeping the dirty straw from the corridor between the stalls, looked up as Lieutenant Wickham, flanked by two privates, stormed inside.

“There you are!” Wickham snarled at Will, who froze in bewilderment at the militia officer’s open anger.

“Is there a problem, sir?” Will asked, stepping back cautiously. There was anger in Wickham’s eyes, and strong alcohol fumes emanated from all three men. Will knew, from bitter experience, that drunk men were unreliable and dangerous.

“Yes, there is a problem, you little whelp!” Wickham snapped, surging forward and punching Will in the jaw. Luke, who had been currying one of Mr. Milton’s mares, hurried out of the stall and yelled, “Stop! What are you doing?”

“Stay out of it if you know what is good for you,” one of the privates growled, taking a menacing step toward the heir to Longbourn.

“You just had to eavesdrop on my private conversation with Captain Williamson,” Wickham growled, stepping forward to shove Will harshly against the wooden wall, “and if that was not enough, you twisted our conversation to suit your own desires for importance. You could not keep your mouth shut, so I will shut it for you!”

“Stop!” Luke cried out again. “I was the one who overheard you, not Will!”

All three men turned as one, and Wickham, his eyes bloodshot, came closer, his face twisted in fury.“You? Do not be absurd. You were nowhere near this place.”

“I was currying Colonel Forster’s horse,” Luke said stoutly. “Right over there. I stayed quietly in the stall and listened to every word between you and Captain Williamson. Will was in the blacksmith’s shop helping Mr. Milton with a shoeing, were you not, Will?”

“Yes,” Will said, eyeing Wickham nervously.

“You little wretch,” Wickham growled, and launched himself at Luke. The younger man had already braced himself and managed to knee the lieutenant hard in the groin before knocking him against the wall of a nearby stall.

Wickham yelped in pain in response to Luke’s surprisingly strong defense, and called out to his minions, “Get him!”

A moment later, both privates were upon him, kicking, punching, and cursing.

Luke, while a strong young man, would have found himself seriously injured except that within thirty seconds, both men were suddenly grasped by the back of their respective collars and hurled onto the wooden floor.

The privates were on their feet within seconds and flew at their attacker, Mr. Milton, yelling imprecations and swinging their fists.

Luke, whose ribs were paining him significantly, watched in awe as Mr. Milton, who had no doubt been attracted by the noise, proceeded to punch both men, one after the other, with sufficient force that they were knocked off their feet and hit the floor with a thump.

Both men, though obviously in pain, staggered to their feet to attack again.

The blacksmith, the sinews in his mighty arms bulging, punched one private so hard that he was thrown into a pile of particularly soiled hay, and the other with such power that the man crashed into a wall whereupon he slid onto the floor.

This time, neither man rose quickly to his feet.

Wickham, who had been gasping in anguish in the aftermath of Luke’s defense, managed to regain his breath sufficiently to cry out, “Stop, Milton! Stop immediately! How dare you attack my men?”

Milton, whose usually good humored face was red with anger, strode forward to loom menacingly over the militiamen.“How dare you and your men attack my stable boy and…”

“They started it,” Wickham interrupted angrily as he straightened to his full height.“My men and I were merely checking on the horses, and both of your boys began insulting and mocking us. When we ignored their insolence, we were attacked.”

Mr. Milton looked, if possible, even more enraged. “Do not be absurd. Neither of these men would do such a thing.”

Wickham made rather a show of dusting off his jacket, which was soiled after his abrupt journey to the floor of the stable, and smiled unpleasantly.

“I do believe, Mr. Milton, that any reasonable man would trust my account of the matter. I am a lieutenant in His Majesty’s militia, and the godson of the late Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.

Furthermore, my men will back up my description of the events today. ”

“We will,” one of the privates muttered, who was now on his feet but still carefully rubbing his jaw.

Milton stared at the arrogant lieutenant for a moment and then laughed before reaching out with one large hand and physically turning Wickham towards Luke.

“That might have worked, Wickham, if this young man was my stable boy, but he is not. This is Mr. Luke Bennet, heir to the Longbourn estate, and an honorable, well respected member of the community.”

Luke glowered furiously at Wickham as the man’s eyes widened in alarm. “I am astonished you did not recognize me, Mr. Wickham; we played several games of Casino at the officers’ barracks, after all.”

Wickham was flabbergasted. “Why ... what are you doing here, and dressed like that?” he stammered.

“I love horses, as Captain Williamson pointed out to you,” Luke snapped back, still caressing his aching ribs.

“I have been assisting Will in caring for these magnificent beasts and naturally wear suitable garb for mucking out stalls. I was caring for Colonel Forster’s gray when you and Williamson came in, bragging of fleecing the locals of their money by cheating at cards and racing, and making crude remarks about my sisters! ”

“You insulted Mr. Bennet’s sisters?” Milton demanded, leaning even closer to the hapless lieutenant.

“I did not,” Wickham squealed, now sober enough to realize he was in trouble. “Mr. Bennet misunderstood me.”

“Will, fetch ropes and we will tie up these men. Colonel Forster will need to be informed, I suppose, but we also need to tell Mr. Bennet and Sir William what has come to pass.”

“My father and Sir William spoke to Colonel Forster about what I overheard, but the colonel dismissed their concerns,” Luke said, walking painfully across the stable floor to assist Will.

“The colonel was a fool then,” Milton grunted, “but he cannot ignore this infamy.”

“I meant no harm,” Wickham insisted.

“You certainly did,” Milton growled. “You thought you could pummel my stable boy without repercussions. I hope that the colonel will punish you suitably, but just in case he continues to be overly permissive of his officers’ faults...”

The blacksmith drew back one mighty fist and his aim was true; he struck Wickham in the face, breaking his nose and knocking out a tooth. Wickham screamed in pain as he fell to the floor, blood running down his face.

“Will,” Milton said dispassionately, “as soon as you are done tying up those men, tell Jacob to attend to me. He can take my horse and ride to Lucas Lodge.”

“I can do that, sir,” Will said.

“No, no, my boy, you had best stay here to explain the situation to all and sundry. Are you hurt?”

“Not badly, sir. They turned their ire on Mr. Bennet as soon as he told them he was the one who had overheard their conversation. Are you injured, sir?”

Luke grimaced as he carefully felt his ribs. “I have no doubt I will be badly bruised, but I believe that I am well enough.”

“We will have Mr. Jones fetched,” Milton declared and then added with a grin, “I am a brave man, but I would not care to face the ire of the Bennet ladies if I did not take care of their beloved brother.”