Page 4 of The Fire at Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

The lad looked up at him wide-eyed, freckles standing out sharply on a face pale with fear and excitement and smudged with smoke and grime. “He’s over yonder, sir!” the boy cried, waving his arm in the direction of the east wing. “With Miss Mary and Mrs. Bennet, sir! They fell out the window, sir!”

“See to my horse, and be certain you keep him safely away from the fire,” Darcy ordered the boy, and quickly strode off in search of the master of the Longbourn.

He found Bennet crouched over the still form of Miss Mary Bennet, who was laid out carefully on a horse blanket, with her right arm distinctly crooked halfway down her forearm.

Nearby, Bennet’s wife was shrieking and wailing and clutching her right ankle.

“Oh, my daughter! My home! My leg! Oh it hurts! My beautiful home! My poor Mary!”

“Calm yourself, madam,” Darcy said firmly to her, and she gulped, looking up at him with eyes full of tears. He turned away towards Bennet. “What is going on, man?”

Bennet looked up. Gone was the sardonic calm always visible in company – his face was frenzied, panic clouding his mind and eyes. “Darcy,” he said blankly. “What are you doing here? Oh, someone help Mary, please!”

Darcy turned away again, surveying the frenetic activity around the yard. He saw another boy and gestured to catch the lad’s attention. “You, there, what’s your name?” he asked briskly.

The boy ran up. “Ben, sir!” he piped.

“Good. Ben, find a horse and rush to town. Fetch the apothecary and tell him Miss Mary and Mrs. Bennet are injured,” Darcy ordered. “Go as rapidly as you can.”

“Yes sir!” the lad said, tugged his blond forelock, and dashed off. Darcy turned to see where he could next bring order, reaching out to catch the arm of a manservant.

“What is your name?” he asked sharply.

The man turned to jerk a hasty little bow. “Clem, sir!”

“Clem,” Darcy repeated, and beckoned a maid over. “And you?”

She dipped a quick curtsey, looking in fright up at the house, where the windows in the stricken wing were glowing from the fire. “Mercy, sir!”

“Clem, Mercy, take some of the others and go into the west wing where there is no fire,” Darcy commanded. “Fetch blankets and wrap Miss Mary up well. Is there a summer kitchen?”

“Yes sir,” Mercy answered, plainly relieved by the simple orders.

“Excellent. Mrs. Bennet and Miss Mary need to be taken in there to keep warm. I have sent Ben to fetch the apothecary,” Darcy informed them.

They rushed to do his bidding and he bent down beside Bennet again.

“The servants will bring blankets for Miss Mary,” he informed the distraught father.

“I have ordered that she be taken to the summer kitchen.”

Bennet looked up. “I – yes – thank you,” he mumbled, plainly bewildered.

“See to your wife,” Darcy suggested, glancing at the sobbing Mrs. Bennet before striding back to the yard. He looked around and arrested another rushing servant. “The water in your bucket – where are you getting it?”

The man turned and said, “The summer house, sir, there’s a spigot there!”

“Are there any other spigots?” the master of Pemberley demanded.

“Yes, sir! There is another one near the west wing.”

“We need to use both spigots,” Darcy ordered, “and throw your water into the...” Darcy turned around, assessing which room was most gripped by the fire, “the library.”

“Yessir!” the man answered, and ran off.

Darcy continued purposefully for the summer house, the dirt of the yard puffing up to cover the gloss of his boots.

There he found only more panic and confusion, as servants jostled to fill their buckets before running off again and flinging the water feebly towards the devouring flames.

Darcy inserted himself into the midst of the mess. “Men, form a bucket brigade!” he roared. “Line up! Pass them hand to hand! Douse the east wing! Wet the walls to try and prevent the spread!”

He watched as the dithering servants, under clear instruction, formed a ragged line, filled and half-filled buckets traveling towards the house, empty ones moving back to the spigots at the summer house and the yard next to the west wing.

Footmen and stable hands and a few tenants stood shoulder to shoulder, a handful of doughty older women – one wearing a housekeeper’s uniform, another a cook’s garb, a farmwife with rough gnarled hands – mixed in among them.

A cluster of maids huddled at the spigot, filling buckets to pass to the men.

Darcy turned for the house, setting his shoulders and slipping in through a set of French doors in the west wing.

He moved through the hallway, checking carefully for fire in each room until he reached the main part of the house.

So far, he had found nothing but smoke, until he reached the dining room.

There, the heat was greater, and he could hear a faint crackling on the other side of the wall the dining room shared with the kitchen.

He turned away, eyeing the window, and finally picked up an unlit candelabra to smash the glass clear and shimmy out of the opening.

“Here!” he called, and numerous heads turned towards him.

“Some half a dozen of you, bring buckets in here and start drenching these walls! One of you must go upstairs through the west wing and see if the fire is encroaching on the upper floor! We must prevent it spreading! Maids, follow me – we have a chance now to remove valuables and necessities!”

Several of the men and the young women sprang to obey, the bucket chain closing the gaps and the group at the spigots redoubling their efforts.

Darcy accepted a bucket to soak the inside wall of the dining room before handing the empty pail back to a stable boy to be taken and refilled.

He slithered back in the window, sweeping up the silver to hand out to a maid.

“Go in the west wing,” he ordered, “and start there. If necessary, break the windows on your way to clear out escape routes.”

Darcy climbed back out and surveyed the yard just as a cart rattled swiftly up and a spare man with spectacles adorning a kind face leapt down, carrying a black bag.

Beside him, the excitable stable boy darted towards the summer kitchen with urgent gestures.

Miss Mary would soon be attended by the apothecary, which brought hope and strength to Darcy’s limbs.

He turned with his bucket to toss the contents with renewed vigor.