Page 34 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Jane and Elizabeth’s Chamber

Longbourn

An hour earlier

Elizabeth turned her book toward the dancing flames of the fireplace, the better to read the dark words printed on the page.

She felt a surge of guilt at staying up so late reading, when she knew well that she needed to start working early in the morning.

There was so much still to be done, and she could not afford to sacrifice her rest for pleasure.

But the adventures of the eccentric Spanish knight were both intriguing and amusing, and it had been so long since she had spent recreational time in this way.

She glanced at Jane, fast asleep in the bed. Her elder sister’s face was relaxed in repose, beautiful and happy. Elizabeth smiled fondly at her sister, wondering what Jane was dreaming of to make her so joyful even in sleep. Perhaps Mr. Bingley walked her sister’s dreams this night.

Out in the hall, the clock struck eleven.

Elizabeth promised herself that she would read only ten more pages, and then she would go to bed.

There was a faint creak in the hall but she ignored it; the house creaked and groaned all the time.

A few moments later, there was a loud screech of wood across wood from downstairs, and her head snapped up in startled consternation. What was that?

Most likely a maid, she reflected after a few seconds, remembering some task.

But she did not return to her book immediately, unease shivering up and down her spine as she listened to the house’s silence.

A moment later, she heard a familiar and most alarming sound – that of the front door being opened and then stealthily closed.

Elizabeth quickly marked her place and set her book aside, crossing to the window. Outside, a feminine figure was crossing the moon-drenched yard to the gravel lane, well-wrapped against the chill. Elizabeth stared, confounded, wondering who it was and why she was sneaking out.

A dreadful thought occurred to her, and she turned from the window, hurried out of the room, and knocked on the door of her youngest sister’s temporary bedchamber. Receiving no answer, she opened the door and peeked in.

It was empty, the fire banked and the bed untouched. Elizabeth caught her breath in dismay and flew down the hall to the stairs. She descended rapidly to hurry to the boot cabinet, bending to peer inside at the awful proof of her suspicions; Lydia’s boots were gone.

She stood a moment, appalling thoughts chasing each other around inside her head, before turning to dash back up the stairs to Jane’s room.

“Jane, Jane!” she cried out, shaking her sister’s shoulder. “Jane, wake up!”

Jane, who had indeed been dreaming of her love, Charles Bingley, woke with a start.

“Lizzy? Whatever is the matter?” she exclaimed, sitting up and looking around in bewilderment.

“Lydia is gone!” her sister said, now hurrying over to grab her pelisse off a hook. “I saw her leave the house and head toward Meryton on foot, only minutes ago!”

Jane stared at her, stupid with drowsiness. “Lydia? I ... I do not understand.”

“Nor do I,” Elizabeth snapped, pulling her warmest hat onto her head. “She is doubtless doing something completely idiotic, and I need to stop her.”

“Stop her? Lizzy, you cannot go out alone! Let me fetch...”

She trailed off, as memory returned. Her father was in London.

“Jane, listen to me,” her sister said. “You must go and wake up Coachman Jack and arrange to bring a carriage to Meryton. Not that I am certain that Lydia is going to Meryton, but where else might she be going at this hour?”

“But surely ... should I get a horse and ride to Meryton?” Jane demanded, flinging her coverlets aside.

Elizabeth shook her head and said, “We do not want any kind of scandal, and I cannot trust all of the servants to avoid gossiping, nor does Lydia ride. We need a carriage to bring her back, and I trust Jack to keep things quiet. Jane, I must go now.”

Abandoning her confused elder sister, Elizabeth dashed from the room, winding a scarf about her neck as she went, in unknowing imitation of Lydia some minutes earlier.

Her fury propelled her rapidly down the drive to the road, her sister’s footprints standing out starkly in the snow.

Elizabeth marched after the trail, bubbling with a fury that kept her warm despite the cold night air.

As she strode along the road, she found herself reluctantly impressed by Lydia’s fortitude.

Her sister did not walk alone, much less at night.

If Elizabeth found the road unnerving in the dark – and she did – how much more so had young Lydia?

But what had driven her to brave the unfamiliarity, the dark, the creepy noises?

Guilt niggled in Elizabeth’s chest. She had, she realized to her shame, been neglecting Lydia again of late. Between the work around the house and Jane’s upcoming wedding, and her own internal struggle regarding Mr. Darcy, she had not been reserving enough time for her youngest sister.

She followed Lydia’s footsteps into town and paused, looking around.

The snow was trampled and slushy here, and she could not tell her sister’s footprints from everyone else’s.

She trailed along a little way, keeping her steps light and her ears pricked.

As she neared the library, she heard voices and stopped, holding her breath and listening.

A man was speaking, and after a moment she recognized Lydia’s voice, high and strident, though she could not make out the words.

A carriage rumbled around the corner and stopped, and a moment later, she heard her sister begin screaming for help.

Elizabeth was quick on her feet, but the alley which ran behind the library had never seemed so long.

She finally dashed into the courtyard and looked around frantically, her eyes finally settling on a shifting, wiggling mass on the ground.

She rushed forward, her eyes wide with horror as she realized that there were two people locked in combat on the ground, and the one underneath and clearly losing the battle must be Lydia.

“Stop!” she cried out, reaching down to grasp the man’s arm. “Stop!”

The man sat up briefly, lifted one hand, and smashed Elizabeth in the face, causing her to reel back in pain.

“Help!” a weak cry came from Lydia, who was indeed lying on the ground.

Elizabeth looked around frantically and, to her great relief, saw a dark shape lying on the pavement nearby.

When she touched the object, it proved to be firm, with a significant heft; a brick, she thought.

Her fingers closed over it, she lifted it up, and with one mighty swing of her arm, smashed it onto the head of her sister’s assailant with all the strength she could muster.

The unknown man went limp, and Elizabeth heard Lydia gasp in relief and begin crying. Elizabeth hurriedly pushed the man off of her sister, shuddering as she did so, and dropped to her knees, though she kept the brick within reach in case the man attacked again.

“Lydia!” she cried out, warm tears tracking down her cold face. “Lydia, are you all right?”

“Lizzy!” Lydia croaked. “Oh, thank God!”

“What happened?” Elizabeth demanded, slipping an arm around her sister and helping her sit up. “Who is that horrible man?”

“Mr. Wickham,” Lydia replied, and began sobbing openly, as she carefully touched her badly bruised neck. “Oh Lizzy, he tried to kill me!”

Elizabeth had a thousand questions, but for now, she needed to get Lydia into a safe place. “Come along, my dear,” she said tenderly, helping her stand up.

“What about ... what about Mr. Wickham?” Lydia rasped, and Elizabeth shot a nervous glance toward the man, who was still lying insensate on the ground.

“We must go to our Uncle Phillips,” she decided, “and he will deal with Wickham.”

Her sister mumbled in agreement and together they walked a few steps until Lydia said suddenly, “Miss King!”

“What about Miss King?” Elizabeth replied, thoroughly bewildered.

“She ... she was going to run away with Mr. Wickham and marry him, and I came to stop her because Wickham only wanted her money.”

This confused Elizabeth still more, but she said, “We will deal with Miss King later. We must get you to safety now, my dear!”

Together, the two sisters staggered out of the alley to the main road, where, to Elizabeth’s enormous relief, the Longbourn carriage was waiting, the silvery moonlight casting the familiar form of Jack Coachman in blessed relief.

“Jack!” Elizabeth cried out.

“Miss Elizabeth, Miss Lydia!” the man replied anxiously, even as the door to the carriage swung open and Jane launched herself out onto the road.

“Lydia is hurt!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “We must get her to the Phillips’ house as quickly as possible!”

/

A few minutes earlier

Mary King shifted nervously in her seat, shivering a little.

The hot brick at her feet that warmed the entire inside of the carriage was lovely, but the chill of anxiety nipped at her heart and weighed down her core.

She was worried for her beloved Mr. Wickham, of course.

Lydia Bennet, with her wild ways, could only be trying to make trouble.

Surely she must be?

Mary was not, after all, an heiress! It was true that she was her dear grandfather’s closest relation, but what did that matter?

He was not so old as all that and would live many more years.

He had been ill before and recovered. Perhaps, if dear Mr. Wickham had begun to pursue her after Grandfather. ..

She could not bear to sit still in the suddenly-stifling carriage any longer.

Flinging the door open, she tumbled out to the cobblestones below.

She would just go see if Mr. Wickham was nearly ready to join her.

Gasping a little at the sudden sharp chill, she drew her pelisse closer about her shoulders and crept over to peer around the corner towards her dear Wickham and Miss Lydia.

As she peeked around, Lydia Bennet’s strident voice rang out. “Help! Help! Mr. Wickham is running away with Miss King! Help, help!”

Mary recoiled and darted a look of nervous terror around.

But it was mostly shops in this part of town; perhaps she and Mr. Wickham would still have time to leave before the hoydenish Miss Lydia roused anyone.

She turned to return to the carriage, certain that her beloved was even now dashing to join her.

But she had not taken more than two steps when there was a terrible thud behind her, and she spun to look.

Two people were grappling in the moonlight, rolling around on the ground. Mary gaped in horror. Had Miss Lydia gone so far as to attack Mr. Wickham?! She must help!

She lifted her skirts and stepped forward but paused as a hat went flying. It was … Mr. Wickham on top, his hands wrapped tight around Miss Lydia’s throat as she struggled. Mary swallowed a scream of horror and stared, transfixed.

A feminine figure dashed out of the alley, crying out.

“Stop! Stop!” The lady seized Mr. Wickham’s arm and yanked, and he turned to strike savagely at the newcomer.

Mary began backing away, suddenly terrified that she might be pulled into the violence.

She reached the corner of building when there was a heavy, wet clunk.

Terrified almost out of her wits, she glanced back – Mr. Wickham was lying still, slumped on the ground, and the new woman was kneeling beside Miss Lydia.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Mary realized as she listened to the girls conversing.

She hiccuped in fear, and she realized she was weeping, her face soaking wet with tears. Dismay clawed at her soul. What was she to do? Oh heavens, she had been alone in a courtyard with a man! Planning to run away with him! Oh, the scandal of it!

No one at home was aware that she had snuck out. Perhaps – perhaps – she could return home and slip into bed and no one would know? Miss Lydia would tell, of course, but maybe, maybe no one would believe her. Oh, she wanted to go home!

Mary ran, dashing past the carriage without a second look, and running for home just as fast as she could. The driver watched her go with disinterest. It was a frigid night, and he was growing tired of waiting around for passengers who did not, in fact, seem that interested in his services.

The church clock struck the half-hour, and he decided he was done lingering in the cold.

He clucked at the horses and drove them around back of the library, only to see the man who had hired him lying unconscious on the snow covered stones.

Grunting and huffing in annoyance, he clambered down and marched over, grabbed the militia-man under the arms and heaved him onto the floor of the carriage.

He slammed the door shut and climbed back onto the seat, and headed back to the stables.

Let Mr. Milton, his employer, deal with the fool.