Page 27 of Mission to Meryton (Pride and Prejudice Variation #25)
“You need not tell me anything in particular, Lizzy,” Charlotte Lucas declared, “but I am quite aware you know far more than you have said.”
Elizabeth sighed and glanced around the guest bedroom of her family home, allowing her gaze to briefly rest on Mr. Collins, who was curled up on his bed in a huddle of covers.
She was thankful that Mr. Jones, the local apothecary, had attended to her cousin in the morning and found nothing seriously wrong.
It was obvious, however, that Mr. Collins was still greatly distressed at the occurrences of the previous night.
Every time he spoke, it was of the threats to his life, and thus Elizabeth and Charlotte were keeping watch over him instead of assigning the servants to do so.
It was best if Mr. Wickham’s name, anyway, was not bandied about as being involved in the theft.
“I do know more, Charlotte, but I truly cannot say anything. All is well now, I promise you that.”
“Very well, I will lay aside my curiosity. I am only thankful ...”
“Miss Lucas?”
Both young women turned to the bed in time to observe Mr. Collins sit up painfully, his portly body wrapped in blankets.
Charlotte smiled encouragingly at her fiancé. “Yes, Mr. Collins?”
“Miss Lucas,” the rector returned piteously, “I find I cannot bear the thought of returning to Kent, to Hunsford, without you, and I must return soon else Lady Catherine will be angry. Do you think that your esteemed parents would be willing to allow you to marry me tomorrow or the next day? I truly ... I truly need you, Miss Lucas.”
Charlotte looked startled. “But the banns take three Sundays, Mr. Collins!”
“You could purchase a common license from Mr. Allen,” Elizabeth pointed out softly to her friend, and then lowered her voice even further. “But Charlotte, I do urge you to consider carefully whether you wish to be tied to Mr. Collins for the rest of your life ...”
Charlotte cast an indignant look at her friend as she spoke firmly to the rector, “I will speak to my father about purchasing a license, Mr. Collins, and then yes, we will marry.”
The gratitude and thanksgiving on Mr. Collins’s face was enough to make him almost appear handsome. “Thank you, Miss Lucas. Thank you.”
/
“Do you prefer milk or sugar in your tea, Colonel Forster?”
Forster looked up at Mrs. Younge, and such was his distress and confusion that it took him a few seconds to focus on her face.
“Milk, please,” he finally muttered.
Mrs. Younge carefully prepared a cup for the prisoner and placed it next to him, then took a seat across the small table.
They were ensconced in a small parlor in Forster’s house, and the bright sunlight from outside was a stark contrast to the grim reality of the upcoming discussion.
Behind Forster, Mr. Wickham stood with crossed arms, ready to intervene if the colonel became violent.
Mrs. Younge was quite certain it would not be necessary; she had rarely seen such a beaten man.
“Please do continue,” she encouraged, pouring her own cup of tea. She was experienced in interrogation, and with the colonel, she was quite certain she would catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
“It was after the Battle of Vimeiro in Portugal three years ago,” Forster explained softly, his mournful face focused on the tea cup shifting in his agitated hands. “I was a major in the Regulars at the time and had been assigned to carry dispatches to the coast, to be carried back to England.”
“Yes?” Mrs. Younge prompted.
The colonel cast a shaking hand across his forehead.
“I stopped for a meal at one of the inns, and my horse was stolen as I ate. It was already growing late and I could not find another horse, so I asked for a room. I had no intention of doing anything but retire to my bed ... but ... but ... then ...”
“A young woman approached you?” Mrs. Younge suggested.
“Yes, she was very young and such a beauty, and she was so ... so ardent. I was quite taken in by the illusion that she found me handsome and charming; indeed I was entirely overwhelmed by her. Those hours together, well, in any case by morning she was gone, and the dispatches with her. I ... I did not know in the least what to do, how to save myself, but a few hours later a man approached me and said he was the girl’s brother, and that they would return the dispatches if I would write a letter ordering that a certain French prisoner be freed from British captivity.
I knew that if I ... if it were known what had happened with the dispatches, I would be ruined.
So I wrote the letter and as promised, the dispatches were returned along with my horse.
I thought it was all over until I was approached a few months later by a French agent.
They had the letter I had written still in hand, and a copy of the dispatches themselves, proving that I had allowed the documents to fall into French custody. ”
“And so you were trapped,” Mrs. Younge said with genuine sympathy. Yes, the man was an idiot to be taken in by a winsome female, but he was far from the first officer to be fooled in such a way.
“I was trapped,” Forster agreed with a moan. “I have been under the French heel ever since then, forced to work against my own King and country. Pratt promised – he promised – that this was my last mission, that I would be free, and now ... now I will hang for my deeds.”
Mrs. Younge did not bother with false platitudes. Colonel Forster would indeed hang for treason.
/
Jane Bennet had been, she thought, quite patient all day. She had woken up to the astonishing news that Longbourn had been robbed of its tulips, but not its most valuable tulips, because Lizzy had moved the valuable ones indoors, because Mr. Wickham had uncovered a plot ...
It was all ridiculously complicated and shocking and distressing.
Jane was dimly aware that her view of her fellow man was changing by the week.
First, she had discovered that Miss Bingley, who had been singling her out for attention from the beginning of their acquaintance, was entirely disdainful of her family and connections.
That was unpleasant and hurtful, but it was nothing compared to what had transpired on the grounds of her beloved Longbourn in the last day.
Thieves had actually infiltrated the estate and stolen from the Bennets, and one of the men had struck poor Mr. Collins!
Jane would have happily gone all her life without knowing that such violence existed in the hearts of men.
It was obvious that her father and Elizabeth knew more than they had admitted, and the eldest Miss Bennet had decided, with a most unaccustomed surge of determination, that she needed an explanation.
Thus, she retired early to her bed, citing fatigue, but cast such a look of entreaty towards Elizabeth that the second Miss Bennet followed her upstairs a few minutes later.
Jane nearly pounced on Elizabeth. “Lizzy, I am quite certain you know far more about this dismal business than you are letting on. Please, you must tell me of what is happening!”
Elizabeth looked startled and anxious. She moved toward the window and lowered her voice before answering, “Dearest Jane, I wish I could, but I promised that I would not share certain details of recent events.”
Jane ground her teeth in most unaccustomed frustration, and then decided to ask what was truly weighing on her mind. “Elizabeth, is Mr. Bingley involved?”
Elizabeth hesitated and then gestured toward the window seat. Jane sat down, and her sister sat down next to her.
“Mr. Bingley is ... involved,” Elizabeth said very softly.
“I believe I can honorably tell you this, my dear, and I know you will not share anything further. Mr. Wickham learned that there was a plot afoot to do something nefarious in Meryton. Mr. Darcy came here to assist him, and Mr. Bingley to support Mr. Darcy. Eventually, it was discovered that someone was targeting our tulips. Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy, and Mrs. Younge intervened. Mr. Bingley is only peripherally involved, it seems, in all that has come to pass.”
Jane turned to stare out the window, her eyes unfocused. Clouds had gathered and covered the sky a few hours previously so the night was black as pitch, unlike the previous night when the moon had been sufficiently bright to cast shadows.
“Do you believe that Mr. Bingley truly cares for me, or ...” she began, and halted as a single tear slid down her face.
“You should ask him, Jane,” Elizabeth urged with quick sympathy.
“I do understand your concern, and I share it. How much of what Mr. Bingley has told us, and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham, is based on reality? I believe all three men to be honorable, but when criminals are involved, the heroes may not be all they claim to be. Given that Mr. Bingley actually asked for your hand in marriage, it seems quite impossible that he was merely acting a part to gain access to Longbourn, but I understand your fears, especially given your history with Mr. Brisbane.”
Jane Bennet groaned and leaned back in the window seat, lifting an agitated hand to press against her forehead.
“Lizzy?”
“Yes, Jane?”
“Do you know why I was so insistent that I was mostly at fault where Mr. Brisbane was concerned?”
“I do not, Jane. I could never understand it.”
The eldest Miss Bennet furrowed her beautiful brow and struggled to put her chaotic thoughts into words. “If I was at fault, then I was responsible. If I was responsible, I could change my behavior to prevent such terrible pain in the future.”
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes glowing sympathetically in the flickering candlelight. “I understand, dear sister. You wish to feel that you are in control of your fate.”
Jane nodded sadly. “Yes, Lizzy, that is exactly it. I can hardly bear to think that I could be wronged again by Mr. Bingley, that he might not truly love me as he professes he does.”
Her sister straightened her petite form and reached out to take her sister’s hands in her own. “Then you must ask him directly, Jane. The time for prevarication is over. You deserve answers.”
/
“Mr. Darcy, how are you this evening?” Miss Bingley exclaimed, leaping to her feet dramatically. “I am so glad to see you looking well! I understand that you were indisposed earlier!”
Darcy bowed uncomfortably to the ladies and took his place next to Georgiana on the couch in Netherfield’s parlor.
“Thank you, Miss Bingley. I was not unwell, merely fatigued, and required some additional rest. Mr. Wickham, my old friend from Derbyshire, was in need of some assistance, which took much of the night.”
“Mr. Wickham?” Caroline Bingley asked in disbelief. “The steward’s son? I am quite shocked that such a man would expect you to assist him in any way, but that is, I suppose, to be expected from the lower classes! It was gracious and condescending of you to assist a mere servant.”
Georgiana shifted restlessly and Darcy cast her a warning glance before addressing his hostess. “Mr. Wickham is one of my closest friends, and I was honored to assist him. The situation was resolved in a satisfactory manner, and I can only be thankful for that.”
“Yes, that is quite a relief,” Bingley agreed genuinely and then firmly changed the subject.
“Darcy, I took the opportunity while you were sleeping to ride out to one of the farms along the south edge of the estate today, and the tenant, Mr. Harrison, told me much about his work horses which he uses for tilling fields. What think you? Ought I to purchase some horses for the Home Farm here?”
Darcy shifted to face his friend, relieved once again at Bingley’s adroit ability to guide conversations. “That is an excellent question. At Pemberley ...”