Chapter Seven

The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton. This proved a most convenient distance for the young ladies of the family, who were often tempted thither three or four times a week. They would pay their duty to their aunt, and to a milliner's shop just down the street from her house. The two youngest of the family, Kitty and Lydia, were particularly frequent in these attentions. A walk to Meryton was indispensable to add amusement to their morning hours and furnish conversation for the evening. However bare of news the country in general might be, they always contrived to learn some novel on dits from their aunt.

At present the girls were well supplied with both news and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia regiment in the neighborhood. They were to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was their headquarters. Colonel Forster, an older gentleman from Derbyshire, was the commander. His age and recent marriage rendered him of little interest to the younger Miss Bennets, but the dozen or so single young officers also with the regiment were more than enough to whet their appetite for any morsel of intelligence on the topic.

Elizabeth was more sanguine about the presence of such a collection of potential beaux, as she was more aware of the pecuniary situation of most militia officers. While they were, by law, gentlemen, most were the poor relations of modest landholders. They subsisted on their own money, as they made none from the militia. A marriage to one could well spell a fall even from the low altitude of their current financial position. Those with the ambition or gifts to make a mark in the world found their way into either the regular army or the Royal Navy. Sir William was a prime example of how that path could take even a gentleman of the first generation, the polite manner of referring to a wilder, into some level of prominence. Sir William was knighted for the same valiant action that caused him to be invalided out of the army.

This caution did not stop Elizabeth from accompanying her sisters on their almost daily pilgrimages to the Phillips’ house. Their visits were now productive of the most interesting reports. Every day added something to their knowledge of the officers' names and connections. Their lodgings were not long a secret, and at length the Bennets began to know the officers themselves.

Mr. Philips visited them all, and this opened to his nieces a source of felicity heretofore unknown. The younger sisters could talk of nothing but officers. Even Mr. Bingley's large fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their mother, was worthless in the younger girls’ eyes when compared to the regimentals of an ensign.

After listening one morning to Kitty and Lydia’s effusions on this subject, Mr. Bennet coolly observed, "From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced."

Kitty was disconcerted, and made no answer. But Lydia, with perfect indifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter, and her hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he was going to London the next morning.

"My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of their father and mother. When they get to our age, I dare say they will not think about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well. Indeed, I do so still in my heart. And if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year, should want one of my girls, I shall not say nay to him.”

Mr. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman with a note for Jane. It came from Netherfield, and the servant waited for an answer. Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was eagerly calling out, while her daughter read,

"Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well, Jane, make haste and tell us. Make haste, my love."

"It’s from Miss Bingley," said Jane, and then read it aloud.

My dear Friend,

If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.

Yours ever,

Caroline Bingley.

"With the officers!" cried Lydia. "I wonder my aunt did not tell us of that."

"Dining out," said Mrs. Bennet, "that is very unlucky."

"Can I have the carriage?" said Jane.

"No, my dear, the horses were engaged on the farm,” said her father.

“Then I had better go on old Daisy.”

“She’s certainly useless on the farm,” agreed Mr. Bennet. “Be aware it seems likely to rain.”

“That is no bother. I will stay dry.”

“Knowing your gift with water, my dear, I was not concerned about you,” her father said seriously. “I was worried for old Daisy.”

Mrs. Bennet attended Jane to the door with many cheerful prognostics of the day. She was full of suggestions for her daughter as to how she might parley the invitation into an entire evening or longer, assuring that she would be in company with Mr. Bingley and not just his sisters. Her hopes were answered, though not in a manner any might have anticipated or, indeed, desired.

Jane had not been gone long before a servant from Netherfield brought pressing word. Jane had been attacked and was in dire straits at Netherfield. Miss Elizabeth was most urgently required lest her sister not survive the night.

Whilst her mother swooned, and her sisters were caught up in hysterics, Elizabeth looked to her father. He said but one word – “GO!”

She raced to her room for her special pelisse. She donned it and leapt from her first-floor window. When she hit the ground, she closed her eyes and felt with her gift inside her body. She started to sprout wings from her back. Black feathers slid through the special slits in her pelisse, one that Kitty had spent hours redesigning and reshaping using her textile control gift.

Elizabeth’s ability was to sense and manipulate the very essence of living things, including herself. She most commonly used this for healing. But by constant and permanent manipulation of her own body, she had duplicated the natures the animals around her. She ran with the speed of the horse, stalked with the stealth and senses of the cat, climbed like a squirrel, and leapt like a frog. She had the strength of the ox and the agility of the hart. With proper preparation she could even adapt herself to swim underwater like a fish or to soar through the air like a bird. She made an effort to visit zoos and menageries whenever possible to expose herself to different animals so that she might adopt what was most useful from their natures.

A moment after she had started her transformation, raven-pinioned wings lifted her into the air and propelled her towards her sister’s desperate need.

She arrived to find Netherfield in an uproar. Footmen in oilskins were moving about in the falling rain – lanterns in one hand and cudgels or hunting pieces in the other. Mr. Weaver, the butler, was leading them in what appeared to be a disorganized defense of the house. Several gun barrels were pointed at her as she came in for a landing in front of the portico. When she landed she was quickly recognized by the local lads of the household who had known of her most of her life. The few that did not were quickly informed of her identity and she sensed a relaxing of the tension in many of the men.

Mrs. Weaver, the housekeeper, met Elizabeth at the door. “She’s up this way, Miss,” said the older woman. Miss Bingley rushed into the entrance hall upon hearing the front door’s opening, followed by her sister not a moment behind. They stopped and stared in shock when they saw Elizabeth.

“What are you doing here?” Miss Bingley demanded. Her voice was fraught with fear. Elizabeth could sense her emotional turmoil reflected in her racing heartbeat and other vitals.

Before the visitor could answer, the door again burst open admitting Messrs. Bingley and Darcy. With them was a man in uniform that none of the ladies recognized.

“Caroline, where is Miss Bennet?” Mr. Bingley demanded first thing.

“Charles! Mr. Darcy. We are attacked. It is the French! We must flee!” His sister cried, ignoring his question.

“Miss Elizabeth!” Darcy interjected. “What are you doing here? How did you get here? It is not safe on the roads.”

“Will someone please take me to my sister,” Elizabeth demanded, speaking mostly to Mrs. Weaver. The older housekeeper took her hand and led her up the stairs. Elizabeth could see the blood trail on the steps, and the scent of her sister’s essence left her almost frantic.

They came to a door in the upper hallway. Two maids and a footman were standing in agitation outside the portal.

“She’s in here Miss, and she’s hurt something terrible.” The normally phlegmatic housekeeper said, tears leaking down her cheek. But just as Elizabeth reached for the door, it opened revealing Mr. Jones, the local apothecary.

“Miss Elizabeth. Thank God. I was about to send for you. Your sister has been shot, and worse. It seems as if she was struck by lightning or was somehow else electrified.” The man said quickly.

She and the apothecary did not get on too well, as he considered her an interfering amateur that unfairly competed with his practice in the villages and farms surrounding Longbourn. But he had been known to request her assistance in severe cases that were beyond his abilities and where the threat to life was imminent. Elizabeth was dismayed to discover that he considered her sister such a desperate case.

She pushed past him and sped to her sister’s side. Jane had been lain out on the bed. Her dress was dark with blood and burned black on her side. Elizabeth reached out with her senses, feeling for the waning life essence in her sister’s shattered body. Finding a flickering ember, she laid hands on her precious sibling, and with every iota of her power and skill she began to fan the flame. After several minutes’ intense effort of manipulating the humors in the ravaged flesh, she was finally satisfied that that she had stabilized her sister’s condition, halting her inexorable decline. She was by no means healed, just no longer rushing towards death.

Elizabeth removed her hands and almost collapsed in a chair that had been strategically placed beside the bed. A tumbler of water was thrust into her hands and she accepted it gratefully. She looked up in the dark, penetrating eyes of Mr. Darcy. If she had the energy she might have started at his presence, much less his proximity.

“Please drink,” the gentleman urged.

“I thank you.” While the two spoke, Mr. Jones and the unknown militia man were examining Jane.

“See the wounds, here and here. She’s been shot twice.” The militia man’s voice was rough from smoke and over use. His words were unimpassioned, describing Jane’s injuries like a smith points out impurities in a bar of iron. “And here you can see an electrical burn. From the placement in her mid-thorax I would be reluctant to suggest a natural lightning strike, despite the fact she was riding in the storm.”

“No. That would have struck her crown, the tallest point.” Mr. Jones agreed.

Elizabeth heard a sharp gasp and looked to see Mrs. Hurst standing in the doorway, her fist smothering any further expressions of dismay.

“What is her condition?” Mr. Darcy asked forcefully reminding the two medical men that there was an audience to their discussion.

After a few minutes silent examination both men looked at each other. Mr. Jones nodded his head to the militia man who then turned to Mr. Darcy. “She appears stable. Whatever the young lady here has done, she has brought the patient out of immediate danger. But there is still the matter of the bullets and other foreign matter that may be lodged in the wounds.”

“A moment please,” Mr. Darcy turned to Mr. Bingley’s sisters who were watching in morbid fascination through the open doorway. “Perhaps it would be best if the ladies were to retire to the parlor. This is not a discussion fit for delicate sensibilities.”

“I thank you for your consideration, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth stated flatly before anyone could suggest she withdraw with the other ladies, “But I shall stay with my sister.”

“I was not speaking of you, Miss Elizabeth.”

“I see,” she said. “I appreciate your estimation of the … hardiness … of my character.”

Before Mr. Darcy could respond, the uniformed gentleman interrupted. “We must remove all foreign objects before the wounds are closed. Is that within your capabilities, Miss …?”

“Bennet. I am Elizabeth Bennet. This is my elder sister, Miss Jane Bennet.”

“I am Captain Hawthorne, regimental surgeon. I have some experience with treating such wounds. I can perform the removal and cleaning, if you can then close the wounds and discourage infection.”

“That may be for the best. I could cause her body to expel the foreign objects, but it would be very hard on her and I do not know if she would be able to accomplish the task in her current condition.”

“If you and Mr. Jones will consent to assist me in this operation I suggest we proceed with all due haste.”

“Mr. Bingley, could you please order several ewers of boiled water and clean clothes, perhaps towels or bed linens,” Mr. Jones requested. The young gentleman looked relieved for some occupation. He left the room, his voice already raised, though the servants he needed were waiting close by.

“Mr. Darcy, I think it best if you perhaps join the ladies in the parlor. I am certain they would draw comfort from your company.” Elizabeth suggested, only half in irony. Detestable as the man was, his physical presence and calm demeanor were something of a comfort in this crisis. But she had to concentrate on her sister and could not allow herself to be distracted by the subtle sneers and looks of disapprobation he constantly sent her way.

He silently bowed himself from the room.