Page 37 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

The Miltons’ House

“Well, Mr. Jones, what do you truly think about the status of your patient?” Milton asked softly, gazing at the unconscious man lying on his wife’s least favorite sofa.

That was just as well, since Wickham’s blood had seeped through the rough bandages and onto the green cushion, creating an ugly stain.

Jones shook his head and said, “It is very bad, I fear. I see no signs of Wickham regaining consciousness, and I believe his skull has been fractured. Do you have any idea how this happened?”

The blacksmith grimaced and said, “I fear I do not. My man Joe was hired by Wickham to convey the lieutenant to London. Tom saw Wickham meet with Miss Mary King, and then Miss Lydia Bennet appeared, whereupon Wickham ordered Tom to drive a short distance away with Miss King in the carriage. A short time later, Miss King left, and a few minutes after that, Tom went to investigate and found Wickham alone and unconscious in the snow with that terrible wound on his head.”

Jones ran a thoughtful hand across his mouth and said, “Miss King and Miss Lydia Bennet? It sounds like a bad business. I believe we must summon Sir William Lucas, as he is magistrate, and Colonel Forster, since he commands the regiment.”

Milton blew out a breath and said, “Of course, you are correct, sir. Should we roust them up now, though? It is three o’clock in the morning!”

“It is a bitter hour,” Jones agreed, “but indeed we must. If Mr. Wickham dies, and I believe it is likely that he will, then the earlier the authorities are informed, the better.”

/

Phillips’ House

Dawn

Darcy stared into the fire as it twisted and leapt.

The room was dim, the only light from the fireplace and four candles lined up on the mantle that flickered feebly.

The pool of light only extended to his seat and the one where Bingley was ensconced, but it need go no further; the Bennet ladies had retired to bed some time ago, Lydia firmly under Jane’s supervision.

The warmth of the fire was pleasant and somnolent, and Darcy found himself drifting, his thoughts wandering down the path of recent events.

Despite the events of Ramsgate, he was both shocked and horrified to find out that his childhood playmate had sunk so low as to physically attack two women.

Darcy could only assume that Miss Lydia’s foolish but well-meant interruption of Wickham’s planned elopement had sent the already desperate man over the edge.

Miss Elizabeth had revealed this evening that Miss King was expected soon to come into her grandfather’s wealth; it would have been a neat little windfall for Wickham if he had succeeded in running off with the girl.

And a sorely needed one, doubtless, now that he could no longer run up debts in Meryton.

His eyes began to slide shut, his mind veering off down strange paths. He found himself reflecting quizzically on the dream about Elizabeth and the peacock. He had never dreamed of her paired together with an animal before. But she herself often populated his dreams.

Yes, he was in love with Elizabeth Bennet.

As Percy was already aware, he realized drowsily. Hence his valet’s advice that he involve himself in this affair tonight.

“Darcy, you need not stay,” Bingley said suddenly, causing Darcy to jolt upright. “The expresses were sent many hours ago, the ladies and Mr. Phillips are resting, and you must be longing for your bed.”

Darcy shook his head determinedly. “I will stay, Bingley. It is no great hardship to miss a night’s sleep, and I need to be here.”

Bingley frowned at his friend and asked, “May I ask why?”

Darcy rose ponderously to his feet, wandered over to a tray which held a decanter of brandy, and with a nod of response from his friend, poured two glasses. He handed one to Bingley, then took a drink from his own.

“There are legal issues to consider,” he pointed out. “Wickham attacked Miss Lydia, and Miss Elizabeth attacked him in return.”

“Surely no one would protest Elizabeth’s actions!” Bingley replied in astonishment. “She very likely saved her sister’s life!”

“She did, of course,” Darcy agreed warmly. “Miss Elizabeth is such a courageous woman. If not for her bravery in a terrible situation, the matter would have been far worse.”

Bingley, he suddenly realized, was now looking at him oddly.

“Is something wrong?” he inquired

“Darcy, is it possible that you admire Miss Elizabeth?” the man asked.

Darcy frowned in discomfort and irritation. It was hardly his friend’s place to ask such a question. And yet, Bingley was engaged to Miss Bennet, and naturally was concerned about a possible suitor for Miss Bennet’s favorite sister.

“I do,” he said simply and then, at the open astonishment in his companion’s face, demanded, “Is that such a surprise?”

“It is, rather, though naturally I am pleased. But you declared her not handsome enough to dance with the very day we met…”

“Dear Lord, will I ever live down my folly?” Darcy groaned. “I have apologized to Miss Elizabeth and her father for my incredible stupidity and incivility at the ball, and…”

“I did not realize that,” Bingley interrupted, and then a grin formed on his lips.

“I am glad that you approve of her now. She is a remarkable woman – very intelligent, very loyal. It will be a fortunate man who wins her hand. Jane tells me that her sister will marry only for true love and respect, and she will refuse a man who does not fulfill those requirements.”

Darcy stared at his friend in disbelief. He was wealthy, well connected, intelligent, and handsome, and Elizabeth’s perfect match. Surely there was no question of her refusing him.

Or was there? If there was one thing that was obvious about his love, it was that she was a determined, independent lady who was entirely capable of turning down an advantageous offer if she disliked the man who made it.

The door to the drawing room opened, distracting them both, and to Darcy’s relief, Mr. Bennet rushed in the door, his face etched and lined with worry, and demanded, “Bingley, Mr. Darcy! What has happened?”

/

The Miltons’ House

Meryton

Mr. Jones stepped into the drawing room where Sir William Lucas, Colonel Forster, Coachman Joe, and Mr. and Mrs. Milton were waiting anxiously.

“Mr. Wickham continues to deteriorate,” Jones said gravely. “I do not hold much hope for his survival.”

Sir William and the colonel murmured in shock while Milton shook his head.

He had seen enough injuries in his life to know that the lieutenant’s situation was dire, though every other wound of this kind had been due to a rampaging horse.

This time, it appeared Wickham had met his fate at the hands of an individual, and Milton foresaw an ugly mess which would affect him at least peripherally.

He sighed; Joe was a good, reliable coachman, and Milton had no doubt that the events of the previous night had happened exactly as the man claimed.

Nonetheless, Wickham was badly injured, and Joe had been there…

“Miss King was there?” Sir William demanded in shock, drawing Milton’s attention.

“Yes, sir,” Joe said, looking vaguely alarmed. “Miss Lydia Bennet was there as well. Miss King was to accompany Mr. Wickham to London, where they were to be married, and Miss Lydia protested.”

“And then what happened?”

“Mr. Wickham told Miss King to climb into the carriage, and I was ordered to drive out of sight while Wickham spoke to Miss Lydia. Miss King only stayed within the carriage a short time and then left; I thought she went to fetch Mr. Wickham. But then she ran away entirely, and I waited for a few minutes before deciding I had best consult Wickham on whether we were going to London or not. I found the man unconscious on the pavement and no one else about.”

“But surely you heard something?” Colonel Forster demanded. “Screaming? Shouting? Something?”

Joe looked at Mr. Milton, who said, “Joe is partially deaf, Colonel; he hears almost nothing out of his left ear, and the hearing in his right ear is degraded also.”

“I also had my face and head wrapped in a scarf,” Joe explained, and then added in an aggrieved tone, “it was mightily cold, and I was not paid to stand around, nor the horses either!”

“But you are quite certain that it was Miss King and Miss Lydia who were there with Mr. Wickham?” Sir William inquired patiently.

“Oh yes, sir – I could hear them all well enough when I was in the courtyard with them. I do not know Miss King, but I do know Miss Lydia Bennet by sight. Miss Lydia called Wickham’s ... erm, companion, Miss King. I know that.”

Sir William choked at these words and turned an indignant glare on Colonel Forster. “Did you know anything of this matter, sir? Were you aware that Lieutenant Wickham was intending to run off with Mary King?”

Forster was looking harassed, and he exclaimed, “Of course I did not! Indeed, it seems quite impossible that Wickham would do such a thing! Why would he?”

“I suspect because Miss King is her grandfather’s sole heir,” Mrs. Milton declared, her mouth set in an angry line. “Mr. King is failing badly, they say, and will likely not last the month. And Wickham is a spendthrift with significant debts in every shop in Meryton!”

Forster frowned hideously and demanded, “What makes you think that?”

“It is well known in town,” Milton explained, reaching out to take his wife’s hand in his own.

“When Sir William sent word that Mr. Wickham was prone to running up debts, I began asking around, and it developed that the man owed at least three pounds at every store and eating establishment in town. We all cut him off from further indebtedness, and thus he was likely desperate for money.”

Forster turned a choleric eye on Sir William, who explained, “It was Mr. Bennet of Longbourn who warned me, and Mr. Darcy warned him. Apparently Wickham and Darcy grew up together, and the former was a profligate from a young age.”

The colonel suppressed a groan at these words. He had been grateful to the people of Meryton for welcoming his regiment with open arms, but now, it appeared he had invited a snake into their midst.

“We had best speak to Miss King to discuss the matter,” he said heavily.

“I quite agree,” Sir William said soberly, “but may I suggest that my daughter Charlotte accompany us? She has a soothing demeanor which should make it easier for Miss King to tell us the truth of the matter.”

/

The Phillips’ House

Doctor Elcott stepped into the drawing room and found himself gazing into a circle of worried faces, including that of his official employer, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. His wife often told him that his usual expression was a grim one, so he forced a slight smile and said, “Miss Lydia will be well.”

A universal sigh of relief swept the room, and Elizabeth hurried forward and demanded, “Are you entirely certain, Doctor?”

“I am,” Elcott replied firmly, his eyes now pinned on her face. “But do, I beg you, allow me to evaluate your own injuries, Miss.”

“Oh, I am well enough,” she replied impatiently, only to have her father say, more sternly than usual, “Lizzy, sit down and let the doctor look at you.”

She did so reluctantly, and the doctor took his place across from her.

He began inspecting her bruised cheek and black eye with gentle, expert hands even as he said to the others, “Miss Lydia was, as you know, choked ruthlessly by her attacker, but there are no bones broken, and while her throat hurts, she is able to breathe and drink with ease. I expect she will be in pain for some days, but she is a strong young lady, and she will recover well.”

“Thank God,” Bingley exclaimed, while Mrs. Phillips cried out, “Praise the Lord!”

“What of Lizzy?” Mr. Bennet demanded. He was thankful that his youngest was safe, but given the catastrophes of the last month, he was fearful that his favorite child was more seriously injured than she admitted.

The doctor dropped his hands, peered carefully into her eyes, and then leaned back, remembering to smile again.

“Miss Elizabeth is also well,” he assured her father.

“I fear the black eye and bruised cheek will both take some time to heal, but again, no bones have been broken, and I see no signs of concussion.”

“Praise God,” Bennet said, and he was surprised to feel moisture gather in his eyes. He blinked a few times and said, “I am most grateful for your assistance, Mr. Elcott, and thank you for summoning the doctor, Mr. Darcy.”

The door to the drawing room opened, and the Phillips’ servant boy, Tom, sidled in, his eyes bright with excitement.

“I just heard more news, sir,” he told Mr. Phillips. “Mr. Wickham is fading, and Sir William Lucas and Colonel Forster are visiting the Kings’ house now!”

Darcy hesitated, duty warring with desire.

He wished to stay with Elizabeth, of course, to comfort her as much as he was able.

But Elcott was brilliant, and as much as Darcy despised Wickham, it was only appropriate to have the doctor evaluate his injuries.

If nothing else, it would prove that everything that could be done, had been done, for the godson of George Darcy.

“Doctor Elcott,” he said, “might I ask for another favor?”