Page 38 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

The Kings’ House

Meryton

Miss King did not even see the pages of the book open on her lap.

The comforting surroundings of her favorite sitting room were empty and hollowtoday, her mind trapped in a whirl of horror and shock.

Even the familiar sound of Abby’s knitting needles, industriously forming a scarf, did nothing to sooth her frazzled nerves.

She was stunned. She had not dreamed that Mr. Wickham, whom she had thought so dear, could be so vicious as to harm a lady! Even if he was motivated by his love of his intended bride, there was no excuse for such violence!

She no longer wished to marry him; indeed, she felt as though she did not know him at all. What if his aggression turned on her next?

But what was she to do if someone showed up asking questions?

Should she lie and say that she was not present in the courtyard the previous night?

Would anyone believe her denials? Wickham, Miss Lydia, and even the coachman had seen her.

But what if their plans were revealed to the entire village?

Given the scandalous circumstances, she could be forced to marry Wickham!

“You are looking pale and peaky today, my dear,” Abby spoke up unexpectedly, and Mary startled slightly.

She scrambled for words that proved unnecessary as her garrulous cousin rattled on.

“I know you are worried for dear Mr. King, and aren’t we all?

Such a dreadful thing.” She clucked and held her burgeoning scarf up to squint at it in the firelight before renewing her knitting.

“But he’s been ill before, you know, my dear, and he pulled through then too, didn’t he?

I am that certain that he will pull through again, I am. ”

Mary summoned a wan smile, weakly grateful for both Abby’s kindness and her ignorance of the true source of Mary’s distress. “You are right, of course,” she murmured demurely.

Abruptly, the door to the sitting room opened, and a manservant entered and announced, “Sir William and Charlotte Lucas and Colonel Forster.”

The three visitors, all of whom wore solemn faces, walked into the room and Mary stifled a shriek of dismay, which was thankfully drowned out by the voluble enthusiasm of Miss Dodd, who always delighted in visitors.

“Please do come in!” she said excitedly. “Bryant, tell Violet to make tea and…”

“I fear this is not a social call, Miss Dodd,” Charlotte interposed gently, taking a seat next to Miss King. Mary turned a terrified look on her, and Charlotte reached out to take the girl’s hands in her own.

“Miss King,” she said, getting immediately to the point, “I fear that Mr. Wickham is seriously injured, and we know that you were with him last night. We need you to tell us what happened.”

Miss Dodd jumped, turned bulging eyes on her charge, and cried out, “What are you speaking of? Mr. Wickham? What of Mr. Wickham?!”

Poor Mary was shaking like a blancmange, and stuttered, “I ... I...”

“Miss King,” Colonel Forster said, as sympathetically as he could manage, “I assure you that we only wish to know the truth.”

Tears were now spilling down the girl’s cheeks, her freckles standing out starkly against her pale skin. “I did not mean ... I did not...”

“Mary!” her cousin screeched. “What have you done?!”

“Now, now, Miss Dodd,” Charlotte remonstrated, “pray do be calm. It would not do for Mr. King to overhear your cries and be distressed.”

This immediately quieted the lady, and Mary, after sobbing into her handkerchief for another minute, was able to tell the group of Wickham’s attentions, and his blandishments, and his compliments, and finally of his proposal in the circulating library.

“He was so handsome and, I thought, such a good man!” she sobbed.

“He said that with my grandfather so ill, it would be best for us to go to London and marry by license instead of burdening Grandpapa and Cousin Abby with the arrangements for a wedding. I am of age, and it seemed so very romantic. My grandfather and cousin like Mr. Wickham, and I thought they would be pleased at our marriage. But he was not ... oh, how could I have been such a fool?”

Charlotte studied her father and Colonel Forster, and saw condemnation in both faces.

It angered her; the men did not know what it was like to be plain and ignored by gentlemen.

Poor Mary King had been a pigeon ripe for plucking, and regrettably her grandfather was too ill, and her cousin too silly, to protect her.

She quickly said, “My dear Miss King, Wickham is a very handsome man, with charming manners. You did not know that he was only after your fortune.”

“What fortune?” Mary cried out in confusion. “Miss Lydia said that Mr. Wickham merely wanted my fortune, but I am not rich!”

There was a pause while the three visitors turned their attention on Miss Dodd, who lowered her head and looked down at her faintly trembling hands uncomfortably.

“Miss King,” Sir William said, and Charlotte was thankful that his tone was compassionate, “you must know that you are your grandfather’s heiress.”

“Yes, but Grandpapa is still alive, and he will be for many years!”

Charlotte waited for Miss Dodd to speak, but it appeared that the lady had, for a change, decided that silence was the best option at the moment.

“Miss King,” Charlotte finally said. “I think perhaps you are unaware of how ill Mr. King is. It has been common knowledge for some weeks that he is fading and will likely not live into the new year.”

Mary stared at her, horror stricken, and then turned her attention on her cousin. “Abby? That is not true, is it? Surely Grandpapa is not dying?!”

“He ... he did not wish you to know the truth, my dear,” Miss Dodd said weakly. “He did not want you to be sad during these last days of his earthly life.”

Mary gazed at her cousin, then at Charlotte, and burst into renewed tears. This was quite the worst day of her entire life.

Charlotte set aside usual propriety and pulled Mary into her arms. The girl clung to her, weeping, for another five minutes before Colonel Forster said uncomfortably, “Miss King, I do apologize for intruding during a difficult time, but I must know additional details of what came to pass last night. Mr. Wickham was badly injured in some way, and we must determine who is responsible.”

Mary gulped and then sat still while Charlotte gently wiped her face with a handkerchief.

She leaned back against the back of the couch, miserable beyond what she could have imagined.

A day previously, she had been looking forward to a life with a handsome, delightful husband and a most beloved grandfather.

Now she had discovered that Prince Charming was in truth a dragon, and her grandfather would soon ascend to Heaven, leaving her alone.

All the same, she owed it to the authorities and to the Bennets to explain what had truly come to pass.

“It was Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” she finally said, so softly that her audience strained to hear.

“Miss Lydia confronted Mr. Wickham, and he ... he sent me away in the carriage, but I could not bear to stay inside. I hurried out to see what was going on, and observed a struggle in the courtyard. I ... I thought Miss Lydia had attacked Wickham but it turned out ... oh ... it was terrible! The lieutenant had pushed Lydia down and was strangling her. He tried to kill her! I was so transfixed with horror that I could not move, but then Miss Elizabeth raced into the courtyard. There was a short scuffle, and she hit him on the head with something. I should have ... I should have done something, but I was so scared, I realized what a fool I had been to meet a man at night ... and I ran home.”

She took a deep breath at the end of this recital and finally lifted her head to gaze directly into Colonel Forster’s eyes.

“Mr. Wickham is a horrible man,” she said, “and he would have murdered Miss Lydia if her elder sister had not intervened. But now ... am I ruined? Will I... will I have to marry him?”

Charlotte realized, with exasperation, that such a thought had not even crossed the men’s minds, but Miss Dodd, her usually jolly face set in folds of distress, said, “If word escapes as to what happened, it is possible you will need to wed the man, my dear, as much as it pains me...”

“He is likely to die,” Charlotte interrupted coldly. “If he survives, I doubt he will be in any condition to marry. No, we must hush this up as best we can, do you not agree, Father?”

“Of course,” her father said immediately, and Colonel Forster chimed in, “Yes, we must put our heads together. Miss King, I am truly grieved and distressed that one of my own officers would do such a vile thing as to entice you to run away with him, and it is even more horrifying that he attacked and attempted to murder Miss Lydia! I promise that I will do everything in my power to keep your reputation safe.”

“If Wickham does survive, he deserves to hang,” Sir William said, his jaw clenched in anger.

“He does,” Charlotte returned, and not for the first time, she wondered how Lizzy was doing. She would need to find out as soon as possible.

/

The Miltons’ House

Meryton

Darcy stood with arms folded, watching the physician examine Wickham’s prone form. His erstwhile friend lay too still and too silent, his breathing shallow and unsteady and hitching. Mr. Jones and the blacksmith stood nearby, watching in silence as Dr. Elcott performed his examination.

Darcy’s mind wandered back to happier days, halcyon boyhood days running free and wild on Pemberley grounds with George.

They had been such good friends as children, with George’s sunny nature and charming personality winning them many a treat from the kitchen.

If only boyhood antics had not devolved into a life of selfish debauchery!

In the last decade, the steward’s son had taken to leaving debts everywhere he went, seducing women at every opportunity, and had even tried to elope with his own godfather’s daughter!

And now, he had sunken to the point that he had physically attacked two women. It was nothing short of heartbreaking.

And it was even more enraging when Darcy remembered how cold and sick with fear he had felt upon hearing that Miss Elizabeth was injured. That was one of the worst moments of his life, before he discovered, to his great relief, that her injuries were relatively minor.

He was in love with her, he admitted to himself.

He could no longer conceive of courting and marrying another woman for wealth or connections or accomplishments.

Miss Elizabeth would ever be the only one for him.

But was he the one for her? He knew now that she would have no compunction about turning him down.

Indeed, he loved that about her; that she was not beholden to money and status even before her sister’s engagement to Bingley.

He rather thought she liked him, but did she like and respect him enough to wed him?

“You are correct, Mr. Jones,” Doctor Elcott said heavily, breaking into Darcy’s thoughts. “There is nothing to be done.”

“What do you mean?” Darcy asked, and then winced. It was obvious what the doctor meant, but he had not truly believed that his old enemy’s situation was so dire.

“Mr. Wickham is dying, and I do not expect that he will last more than a few hours,” Elcott explained, straightening to his full height and smoothing out his black coat. “His skull is fractured, and he is not reacting to light. His breathing is deteriorating as well. I am sorry.”

Darcy did not quite know what to say. Of course it was sad that a young, healthy man lay dying, but given that the man had attacked the woman Darcy loved, well, he could not truly grieve.

“Mr. Jones, I hope you do not mind that I also examined Mr. Wickham,” Elcott said, turning toward the apothecary, which provoked Darcy to wince again. It had not occurred to him that it was highhanded of him to bring Doctor Elcott here to examine Wickham when Mr. Jones was overseeing the situation.

“Not at all,” Jones returned with welcome haste.

“I am greatly relieved that you were available to examine my patient, and agree with me that his situation is terminal. I do not have much experience with head injuries of this kind, and I had hoped that something could be done for Mr. Wickham, though it seemed unlikely.”

“Indeed,” Elcott said, looking grimly down at the lieutenant, and then turned toward Darcy, “I must return to Town if I am to reach it by dusk, though naturally I am willing to stay here if you need me.”

“No, no, Doctor,” Darcy replied, and he took the unusual step of shaking the man by the hand. “I am most grateful for your willingness to travel here on such short notice, but I am confident Mr. Jones can manage any further medical needs.”

Mr. Jones made agreeable noises, and Elcott, obviously relieved, bowed to his medical colleague and made his way out of the room and into the corridor, where Sir William and Charlotte Lucas and Colonel Forster had just arrived.

Darcy explained Wickham’s situation, and Charlotte Lucas gave a brief, composed description of Miss King’s admissions, and then all looked through the sitting room door toward Wickham, whose breathing had, even in the past few minutes, worsened.

“Should I have Wickham moved into the barracks?” Forster asked uneasily, and Elcott shook his head and said bluntly, “There is no need. I can tell he is worsening quickly.”

Silence fell for a minute, and then Sir William shook himself and said, “The day is wearing on, and we need to speak to Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lydia if it is at all possible. I would like this matter settled as soon as can be managed.”

“And then we must work to prevent scandal for the Bennets and the Kings,” Charlotte said.

Darcy nodded but did not speak, even as he resolved to be at Elizabeth’s side for the upcoming interview. No one would bully his darling, not if he had anything to do with the matter!