Page 2 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

On the Road to Meryton

A ribbon of hard-packed dirt road wound lazily through gently rolling fields and meadows and copses.

Neat fences in good repair marked off boundaries, occasionally interrupted by a tidy little cottage.

Curious horses approached the fences to watch the group pass by before galloping off again, kicking up rich loamy soil.

No snow had fallen yet, but there was a chill to the air that nipped at nose-tips and ears. The harvest had been brought in, stored safely away in barns and sheds. It would not be long before first frost, but for now, the land lay mellow.

“This is Longbourn land across the fence, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Collins asked, gesturing toward a barrier adjacent to the main road which led to the small town of Meryton.

Elizabeth glanced at her cousin’s pointing finger and nodded. “Yes, Longbourn extends some two miles north of this road, where it joins up with the adjacent estate of Netherfield Park.”

“Longbourn is truly a very good estate,” the parson declared, beaming with delight. “It is, of course, nothing compared to Rosings, the estate of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but it is very fine, very fine indeed. Your father is to be congratulated.”

Elizabeth compressed her lips at these words and was thankful when her older sister said, “Thank you. We love our home very much.”

Mr. Collins, heir to the estate of Longbourn, straightened proudly as he increased his pace.

Since he was a tall man, his stride made it difficult for most of the ladies to keep up with him.

The exception was Elizabeth who was, while petite, a great walker and thus easily kept pace with him as her sisters Jane, Kitty, and Lydia lagged behind.

Elizabeth wondered if Mr. Collins would realize that he was being discourteous in walking so quickly, but she thought it unlikely.

While the parson seemed capable of producing an endless, tedious outpouring of apologies and compliments, he seemed entirely incapable of discerning the true feelings of those individuals who came into his sphere.

Thus, Mr. Collins was unaware that Mr. Bennet did not want him in his library, that Mrs. Bennet was annoyed when Collins complimented the house, since he would one day own it, and that Elizabeth had no intention, under any circumstances under heaven, of marrying him.

“Have I told you, Cousin Elizabeth, that my house is separated only by a lane from the grand estate of Rosings?”

“Yes, you have mentioned that,” Elizabeth said wearily.

“It is truly impossible to adequately describe the glories of Rosings,” the rector continued ecstatically.

“But then, I daresay you will have the opportunity of observing the great mansion yourself, and soon, if all goes as I intend. I am certain you will be as delighted, as exalted, as I am, to look upon such a prospect and of course if you are so privileged to look upon that great edifice, you will also have the honor of meeting Lady Catherine de Bourgh!”

An irritable retort instantly sprang to Elizabeth’s mind, but she forced herself to keep her lips firmly closed.

It seemed grimly obvious that Mr. Collins had chosen her as a bride.

Nonetheless, until he actually declared himself, it would be impossibly discourteous to openly reject his overtures.

She would merely try to make it obvious that she would be a wretched choice to fill the role of mistress of the Hunsford Parsonage.

“Do you often go to Town, Mr. Collins?” she asked brightly. “I do think that parties and the theater are so delightful, not to mention the milliners and the dressmakers. I so enjoy a lovely new gown made of the finest silk!”

Mr. Collins looked horrified at these words, which was Elizabeth’s intention, but within thirty seconds he had recovered himself.

“You are joking, Cousin Elizabeth! I am very fond of a good joke! Naturally, neither you nor I would ever dream of clothing ourselves in silk. Lady Catherine wishes for the distinction of rank to be observed. She and Miss de Bourgh, of course, wear the very finest of garments…”

Elizabeth sighed inwardly and cast an expert eye down the road.

At the pace they were going, they would arrive in Meryton within fifteen minutes.

She hoped that Mr. Collins would be sufficiently distracted by his new surroundings to fall silent for at least a blessed minute or two. But she would not count on it.

/

Longbourn

Mary Bennet’s favorite room in all of Longbourn was the music room which, she thought, matched her well.

For all that Mrs. Bennet desired that her daughters be accomplished, the lady cared little for music.

Thus, the music room had escaped any of the expensive remodeling which had used up so much of Longbourn’s funds in the past years.

The red Brussels rug in the center of the floor was rather worn, the once-crimson curtains decidedly shabby.

But it was comfortable and familiar, Mary’s haven from comparisons of her plain face and her sisters’ beauty.

Mary was practicing a simple Scottish aria, suitable for dancing, when the bellowing voice of her father caught her attention. “Fire! Fire!”

She turned her head, stunned, then staggered to her feet and ran to the door of the music room and along the corridor leading toward the east wing of Longbourn.

The door to the older section of the mansion, which led to her father’s library, flung open and she watched in horror as her father rushed through the door along with a thick haze of smoke.

“Father, Father!” she screamed. “What is happening?”

“Get out of the house, Mary!” Mr. Bennet yelled as he pulled the door closed behind him, and then turned to the butler and several servants.

“The upper story is on fire in the east wing. Make haste! Get buckets and run to the spigots near the stables and summer kitchen and fill them with water to quench the fire!”

“Where is Mamma?!” Mary screamed. “Where is she?”

Bennet looked around in bewilderment and then turned his attention on Mrs. Hill, who was standing at the back of the crowd of frightened servants. “Where is Mrs. Bennet? Was she not in the kitchen with Mrs. Hanson discussing the menu?”

“No, sir!” the housekeeper cried out, looking around in vain. “No, sir, I do not know where she is!”

“Look for her and get her out of the house,” Bennet ordered, even as he hurried toward the front door of Longbourn. “Mary, leave immediately. Come along, men! Our priority must be to save the main body of the house. Peter, take a horse to Meryton and enlist help...”

Mary, left in the wake of the mass of semi-hysterical humanity rushing about, took a step toward the front door, only to halt as her mind played over the events of the previous hours.

She had risen early and observed her four other sisters, along with Mr. Collins, come down before ten o’clock.

But her mother ... no, Mary had not seen Mrs. Bennet this morning, and she remembered now that the lady had complained of a headache the previous evening.

When her mother was ill, she was inclined to stay in her chamber and if so, if so...

“Mother!” Mary cried out, rushing over to the door which led to the east wing and opening it, which let out a vast billowing cloud of smoke. “Mother!”

She staggered within and pulled the door closed behind her, then was forced to pause as she reached the bottom of the stairwell.

Choking gray clouds were already wafting down the stairs and along the ceiling of the corridor, suffusing the air about her.

It would, she knew, be much worse as she ascended the stairs.

Mary took as deep a breath as she could of the heavy air and began to creep up the stairs, bending double to avoid the thickest of the polluted air.

She could see nothing in the hallway above, the smoke obscuring all sight.

But she could hear the greedy roaring of the flames as they devoured her home and licked closer to her mother’s room, from which she could now hear feeble cries for aid.

Mary drew in another breath to call back, only to feel her lungs sear, sending her to her knees as she coughed desperately for clearer air.

“Mother! I am coming!” she called as loudly as she could, before scrambling forward on hands and knees to shove her mother’s bedroom door open and scuttle inside.

Mrs. Bennet was still in her nightclothes with her nightcap askew, her pale blue eyes flared out with panic, her face suddenly old in her terror. “Mary, Mary, what is happening?”

“The house is on fire, Mamma!” Mary cried out. “Come, we must escape now!”

“I am not yet dressed!” her mother shrieked. “Help me out of my nightdress, Mary...”

“Mamma, there is no time!” Mary exclaimed, grabbing her mother by the arm and pulling her over to the door.

She grabbed the knob and screamed as the metal burned her hand.

She jumped back and turned toward her mother, her eyes filled with fear.

“I think the fire is in the corridor! We cannot go out that way!”

“We are trapped! We are going to die!” Mrs. Bennet howled. “We are going to die, Mary!”

Mary looked around frantically, her mind screaming at her that they were doomed, that they were going to burn up. The smoke was seeping under the door now, and she could hear the flames outside in the corridor, crackling hungrily.

“Mamma, the window!” she exclaimed, looking toward the large window which faced out toward the east. “We need to climb out the window!”

“It is too far!” her mother moaned, tears tracking down her pale cheeks. “We will die from the fall!”

Mary knew that she was by far the plainest Bennet sister, and her father had made it clear that she was not the cleverest. However, in this moment of crisis, her thoughts crystallized, and she felt a strange calm settle over her.

Yes, they might die from the fall from a two story window, but if they stayed here, they were certainly doomed. Therefore...

Mary pushed past her mother, who was standing in frozen terror, and tried to pull the window pane open.

It was stuck closed, and given how little time was available, Mary was not inclined to keep trying to wrench it open.

Instead, she grabbed the lightest chair in the room, and rushed over to smash the casement, causing the glass and glazing bars to shatter outward.

She pulled back and smashed the window again and again, seeking to create as large an opening as possible.

“Someone is trapped upstairs!” a voice cried out from below.

Mary set the chair aside to lean forward, poking her head between the jagged spikes of glass still clinging to the wood of the window frame. In the yard below, a stable boy looked up at her, eyes wide in terror. “Miss Mary!” he wailed, horrified.

“Ben!” she called urgently. “Can you fetch a ladder? The fire has filled the corridor, and Mamma and I cannot open the door. We must have a ladder!”

“Yes, miss, at once, miss!” Ben ran off, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Help! Help! Miss Mary and Mrs. Bennet are trapped inside! Help! Clem! We need a ladder!”

Mary’s father appeared around the corner of the house, his usually sardonic expression wiped away to be replaced with sheet-white horror. “Mary,” he cried, voice cramped in fear.

“We will climb down,” Mary informed him and pulled her head back in to retrieve the chair.

She spared one glance at the door – there were flames now slithering and licking in like foul tongues around the edges – then took her makeshift bludgeon to knock more of the glass free.

Fear was tight in her chest, making breathing difficult.

Or perhaps that was the smoke, seeping in at the top of the door to fill the room with a smothering haze.

Behind her, Mrs. Bennet was coughing helplessly.

Mary threw her chair aside once more, turning to survey the situation. There was no more time to wait for Clem with the ladder. “Mamma,” she said, calm and firm. “We will have to jump. We cannot risk staying any longer.”

“We cannot ... we cannot...,” her mother moaned. “Mary, I am too afraid. No, go on ahead, save yourself!”

“I am not leaving you!” Mary snapped, her usual diffidence swept away by her determination and resolution. “Come along, now!”

“No!” Mrs. Bennet backed away, right towards the door. “Mary, I cannot! I won’t!”

Behind her, the door burst into flames and Mary’s patience came to an abrupt end. “Mamma, you will !” she ordered, seizing her mother’s wrist and hauling the older woman over to the window.

“No, no, Mary, no, please I cannot!” Mrs. Bennet gibbered, seizing the wooden window frame as Mary shoved her.

Mary took as deep a breath as she could manage in the choking air, braced herself, and slapped roughly at her mother’s fingers. Mrs. Bennet recoiled in shock and in that moment of wavering balance, Mary shoved her mother firmly out of the window.

Mrs. Bennet toppled with a mighty shriek, flailing through the air to crash into the bushes below.

Mr. Bennet and a manservant rushed to her side and dragged her hastily away from the shrub.

Seeing her mother safe, Mary looked behind her – flames were racing along the floorboards now – and hoisted herself onto the windowsill, teetering a moment.

She grabbed the edge, scarcely registering the pain as her burned right palm sliced across a fragment of glass, then let herself fall forward.

A moment of weightlessness as the ground rushed up to meet her. Mary realized in a split second she had aimed poorly and there would be no neat landing in the bush for her. She slammed into the hard-packed ground and everything went black.