Page 1 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Hertfordshire

Elizabeth Bennet strode, arms pumping, along the path which led toward her beloved home of Longbourn.

The sun had risen only an hour before, spreading its warming rays on the bare branches of the trees, which were slumbering now as autumn shifted to winter.

It was a chilly day, and the air pricked at her nose, reddened her cheeks, and infiltrated her warm cap, but she relished the opportunity for vigorous exercise after a week of comparative sloth at nearby Netherfield Park.

Elizabeth had spent many days nursing her sister, Jane, who had been trapped at Netherfield after coming down with a bad cold.

Elizabeth huffed at the remembrance of that uncomfortable period of time.

Mr. Bingley, master of Netherfield, was a generous, kindly gentleman who was more than half in love with Jane, and he had made Elizabeth feel welcome.

However, the other residents of the house – Miss Caroline Bingley, Mrs. Louisa Hurst, Mr. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy – had all made it obvious in their own particular ways that she was an intruder, and an irritating one.

Miss Bingley had made snide comments about the Bennets’ relations in trade, and Mr. Darcy had argued with her on several occasions, and stared at her disapprovingly the rest of the time.

It was Mr. Darcy who annoyed her the most, she decided.

The man was Mr. Bingley’s closest friend, as well as being master of a great estate in Derbyshire with an income of ten thousand pounds a year.

He was also tall, dark and handsome. Indeed, when the Netherfield party had come to an assembly at Meryton a few weeks previously, every matron in the room had been buzzing over Mr. Darcy within minutes.

Unfortunately, everyone had quickly realized that the gentleman was proud and very much above his company.

Elizabeth had been particularly annoyed when Mr. Darcy said, loudly enough to be heard by others, that she was not handsome enough to dance with – it was intolerably rude!

Elizabeth regretted every minute she had been forced to spend in Darcy’s presence at Netherfield.

It was all worth it, of course, for Jane. The eldest Miss Bennet was the most kind, and most beautiful, of the five Bennet sisters. Mr. Bingley would be a wonderful husband to her dearest sibling because he was kind, gracious, and rich.

Her nose wrinkled as she considered the latter attribute.

It was unfortunate that Jane needed to marry a wealthy man, but the reality was that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had failed to produce a son, and Longbourn was entailed away to a distant cousin, Mr. Collins.

Furthermore, Mr. Bennet had never bothered to save money to add to his daughters’ dowries, which meant that they would all be impecunious brides, and most gentlemen sought a wife with at least a little money.

If Mr. Collins were a pleasant man, they might be able to stay at Longbourn after their father died but…

Elizabeth groaned aloud at the thought of her cousin, who had arrived only the day before.

The Bennets had never met the man before because Mr. Bennet had been on poor terms with Mr. Collins’s father, now deceased.

The young Mr. Collins was a clergyman, which ought to have been a positive attribute, and indeed, Elizabeth thought there was no viciousness in the man.

Regrettably, Mr. Collins was remarkably foolish, and often unwittingly offensive.

Mr. Collins had spent much of the previous day congratulating Mrs. Bennet on her beautiful daughters and admiring Longbourn’s rooms and furniture, which would eventually come to him when he inherited.

Worst of all, though, were the rector’s open hints that he meant to marry one of the Bennet girls in order to mitigate the pain of losing Longbourn when Mr. Bennet died.

That was, in itself, a kindly thought, but Elizabeth would rather die than marry such a man, live with such a man, and have children with such a man.

If she ever married, which seemed increasingly unlikely as the months and years went by, she would marry a man she could respect, and she would never respect the ridiculous Mr. Collins!

Her pace had increased still more as she cogitated on the situation, and she found herself stepping off the path and into the wilderness that lay adjacent to Longbourn.

She stopped in place and drew in deep draughts of chilled air as she regarded her home, with its warm brick walls and smoking chimneys.

From here, she could even smell the gentle scent of baking bread, which would be served at breakfast in a short while.

It would doubtless be a wearying day with Mr. Collins installed in the house.

The man was prone to chattering incessantly about everything under the sun, and Elizabeth was thankful that she had been able to take an energetic walk before facing the man again.

Her firm intention was to avoid the man as much as possible.

/

Library

Longbourn

“My predecessor, Mr. Yount, was a good man in his own way, but he was more interested in flowers than food. Lady Catherine, my esteemed patroness, has spoken many times about the importance of practicality in a parson. If I am to marry, and I intend to, and soon, it is vital that I do my best to make my income go a long way, until, of course, I am honored to become the master of this fine estate, whereupon...”

Mr. Bennet, master of Longbourn, lowered his book and bent a grim stare at Mr. Collins, his heir, who continued to drone on endlessly.

Bennet had met the man only yesterday, as he had been at daggers drawn with the elder Mr. Collins, now deceased, for many years.

The late Mr. Collins had been a miserly and illiterate man, and Bennet had disliked him profoundly.

The current Mr. Collins, a parson, was at least able to read, and he was far less bombastic than his father.

Bennet found him an interesting character study with an odd mixture of servility and self-importance, pomposity and humility.

Bennet took great pleasure at poking silent fun at his fellow man and thus had enthusiastically welcomed Mr. Collins to Longbourn for a two week visit.

What he had not counted on was Mr. Collins marching into his library early in the morning, ostensibly to enjoy the written word, but actually to talk incessantly.

There was a knock at the door, and Collins mercifully stopped speaking. Thankful for the interruption, Bennet called out, “Come in!” and was rewarded when the door opened and his favorite daughter stepped inside the library.

“Lizzy!” Bennet said warmly. “What can I do for you, my dear?”

Elizabeth smiled and her dancing eyes met her father’s. She was quick, his Lizzy, and no doubt knew instantly of the troubles which were currently assailing her bookish sire.

“Father, Jane, Kitty, Lydia and I intend to walk to Meryton shortly. Do you need anything from the bookshop?”

Bennet cogitated for a moment, and then his eyes brightened at a sudden, pleasurable thought. “No, my dear, I need nothing, thank you. But I believe Mr. Collins would like to join you for your walk into the village, would you not, sir?”

Mr. Collins was rather heavy-set, but at age five and twenty, he was quite used to walking, far more than reading, at any rate.

“Oh, Miss Elizabeth, yes, I would be honored to join you. That is,” and here the rector turned toward his host, “are you quite certain that you do not wish me to stay here with you, sir? I would be delighted to discuss Fordyce’s sermons with you, or perhaps play a game of backgammon, though I am not a great player. ”

“No, no,” Bennet said hastily. “Indeed, sir, I would not dream of keeping you here when you have the opportunity to visit Meryton. You will one day be master of this estate, and I am confident the people of this little town long to set eyes on you.”

“Oh!” the parson exclaimed, puffing out his chest, “yes, of course, in that case, well, sir, I must change into warmer attire. Miss Elizabeth, I will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said graciously, and waited for the door to close, whereupon she turned toward her father and grimaced expressively.

“I know, my dear, I know,” Bennet said, raising a placating hand, “but I truly could not bear it any longer. I am used to folly and conceit in every room of the house save this one, and I am not willing to distress myself any further with Mr. Collins’s presence, at least not today.”

“I quite understand, Father. In any case, our aunt Philips will enjoy meeting him, I am certain.”

/

“Kitty!” Lydia Bennet exclaimed, “why are you wearing that hat?”

Kitty Bennet, the fourth of the five Bennet daughters, touched her straw hat and frowned. “What do you mean?”

Lydia Bennet was, at age fifteen, the youngest, tallest, and loudest of her sisters.

She exclaimed, “You are wearing your hat with the pink ribbon, which is very much like mine! I do not wish for the officers to confuse the two of us, not that such a thing is likely. I am far prettier, not to mention more lively. All the same, you must go change your hat!”

“But this hat goes with my dress,” Kitty protested, gesturing at her dress, a pale yellow garment decorated with pink flowers. “You go change your hat, if you must!”

“But I put mine on first!” Lydia declared illogically.

“Lydia,” Jane said gently, “do you not think your green trimmed bonnet would look better with your dress? While there is a little pink in the fabric of your gown, there are more blues and greens.”

Lydia scowled down at her dress and then nodded reluctantly. “I suppose. Very well, do not go on without me!”

“Hurry up!” Kitty urged as Mr. Collins descended ponderously to the main level from his room in the west wing of the mansion.

Lydia dashed up the stairs and into her room, which was, in spite of the combined efforts of the servants, quite a mess.

She looked on her bed, under her bed, then rushed over to her wardrobe in search of her missing headwear, growing more and more frantic, until finally she dashed out into the hall and yelled down the stairs, “I need a few more minutes! Do not dare leave without me.”

“We will not!” Jane called back, far more melodiously, as Lydia hastily grabbed an unlit candle on a holder, which was sitting next to the lantern burning low on a small table.

She lit the candle from the lantern, and then plunged back into her room, holding her hand in front of the flame to prevent it from going out.

She opened the wardrobe again, pushed her dresses hurriedly out of the way, and finally spied the missing bonnet underneath another hat trimmed with yellow and orange ribbons.

She hastily put the candle down on her dressing table, separated the hats from one another, rushed over to the mirror, shoved the bonnet on her head, tied the ribbon, and bolted out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

The forgotten candle was knocked over in the resulting breeze from the closing door.

/

Longbourn

Mr. Bennet was never so happy as when he was in his library.

It was his safe haven from the rest of the house, and from the more foolish members of his family.

He had not married well; he had been besotted with a beautiful face without a thought to the mind of Miss Frances Gardiner, and he had discovered too late, and with bitter regret, his folly.

His wife had then gone on to bless him with five daughters and no sons, and after he died, his home would be lost to his absurd cousin Collins.

But he could forget, or at least ignore, all of this when ensconced in his library.

Filled to the brim with an eclectic variety of books – many of which were valuable – stocked with his favorite brandy and with a graceful, generous fireplace, it was an eminently comfortable room.

Wonderfully lit, too, with south-facing windows that invited in broad warm beams of sun to lay across the desk and chairs.

Bennet rose to his feet and made his leisurely way over to pluck his Greek lexicon from the shelves and carry it over to his desk, where his newest treasure, a Greek version of The Odyssey by Homer, lay.

He had an English translation of the same book, of course, but there was intellectual pleasure in studying the poem in its original language.

Bennet sat back down and put on his spectacles, the better to see the words.

The house was gloriously quiet with four of his daughters and Mr. Collins on their way to Meryton.

Mary was probably in her chamber studying moral extracts, and Mrs. Bennet was most likely in the kitchen at this hour, discussing dinner with the cook, Mrs. Hanson.

The servants were, of course, bustling about here and there, but they, unlike the Bennet daughters, knew to be quiet when carrying out their duties.

It was some minutes later that Mr. Bennet’s mind shifted from the words on the page to his sense of smell. He lifted his face and stared at the fireplace in confusion. The logs were burning happily and there was no sign of smoke, but he smelled smoke. Smoke!

He leaped to his feet and rushed over to the door, flung it open, and lurched into the corridor, his eyes flared wide with fear. The air was thick with a smoky haze and he could feel heat emanating from the floor above him.

“Fire!” he shouted. “Fire!”