Chapter Thirty-Three

Mr. Collins proposed to Charlotte the day after the Netherfield Attack. She accepted, as did her father. The prospective groom then returned to his home in Kent, promising to return for the wedding. He arrived most punctually on the Monday fortnight, but his reception at Longbourn was not quite so gracious as it had been on his first introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much attention; and luckily for the others, the business of love-making relieved them from a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was spent by him at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Longbourn only in time to make an apology for his absence before the family went to bed.

Mrs. Bennet was often to be found in a most pitiable state. The very mention of anything concerning the match threw her into an agony of ill humor, and wherever she went she was sure of hearing it talked of. Her only comfort was Jane’s match with the considerably more eligible Mr. Bingley. The sight of Miss Lucas was odious to her. As her successor in that house, she regarded the younger woman with jealous abhorrence.

Whenever Charlotte came to see them Mrs. Bennet concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession; and whenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Collins, was convinced that they were talking of the Longbourn estate, and resolving to turn herself and her daughters out of the house as soon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She complained bitterly of all this to her husband.

“Indeed, Mr. Bennet,” said she. “It is very hard to think that Charlotte Lucas should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to make way for her, and live to see her take my place in it!”

“My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor.”

The day the wedding of William Collins to Charlotte Lucas occurred the church was filled with well-wishers from the Neighborhood. There was a subtle sense of anxiety as many attendees wondered if this would be the next occasion the terrorists would choose to strike. But the morning went without any such disturbance. Soon afterwards, the happy couple left for Kent, but not before Charlotte extended an invitation to Elizabeth to visit in the spring.

Afterwards Mrs. Bennet was heard to bemoan Elizabeth’s culpability in losing the future of Longbourn to her friend. “But, Lizzy! Oh, sister! It’s very hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collins's wife by this time, had not it been for her own perverseness. She insisted upon displaying her uncouth behavior in front of him. I honestly think he developed a disgust of her. I overheard him describe her animalistic behavior during the fracas at the ball to Lady Lucas. He sounded positively traumatized.”

“Mr. Bennet must, then, shoulder his portion of the blame, as he is always encouraging her to undertake such masculine responsibilities as his sheriff.” Aunt Phillips replied.

“I declare he has no notion of what it takes for a young girl to find a husband in today’s world.” The sisters commiserated at length, before eventually turning to the topics that most interested them, Jane’s engagement and Mr. Bingley’s reconstruction and renovation of Netherfield.

Elizabeth had spoken with him and Jane on the topic a number of times. He was dwelling in the steward’s residence while the renovations were underway. The weather was kind to him, allowing the workmen, both local and imported from Town, to hurry the project along. He and Jane had decided to postpone their wedding until at least some part of Netherfield was habitable, if not complete.

“I will not have her living in a cottage,” he had told the family while dining at Longbourn one evening.

“I would not care, as long as we are together,” Jane replied.

“Wealth and luxury, like gifts, are not necessary to happiness and useful living,” said Mary. “As can be seen in the lives of the majority of our fellow men.”

“I see you have been reading the Weekly Register again,” her father quipped.

“Not just reading. I have recently had published a letter decrying the violence of the ExtraOrdinaries, while supporting the need for gradual change in the current system to address the very real grievances of the non-gifted.”

“What?” screeched Mrs. Bennet. “You did not sign your name, of course. You would not do that to us.”

“Not exactly. I signed it Miss Mary B. I am not ashamed of my opinions. I feel fully justified in them. But I would not bring public notice on this family without your consent. That would be as wrong of me as the magisterial requirements on father are. No one should be forced to act against their will, at least not without due process.”

“Mrs. Bennet, you have my congratulations. You may have raised a revolutionary, but at least she is a very considerate one.”

“Mr. Bennet!”

During her daily patrols, Elizabeth took extra care searching for any sign of unusual activity. Over the weeks of peace, she had begun to relax somewhat. The militia continued their patrols as well. It was possible that their overt presence had frightened off any ne'er-do-wells, as even the highway trade appeared to be suffering fewer depredations. She often stopped to greet the officers in the course of her regular travels. The ones she encountered most frequently were Captain Hawthorne and Lieutenant Wickham.

“Good morning Miss Elizabeth, I was hoping we might meet this morning.”

“Good morning Captain Hawthorne. How is Sergeant Pell today?”

“Much better. Once again, a combination of my surgery and your healing have saved a limb, perhaps even a life.”

“You think it was that serious?”

“The wagon had rolled over his foot, crushing it and driving both splinters and stones into it. There was every chance, without our intervention; and by that, I mean under any other medical team’s care, that he would have lost the foot and if infection set in unchecked likely the whole leg and even, possibly, his life.”

“I am glad then that I could be of some assistance.” Elizabeth was uncomfortable with the enthusiasm of the surgeon’s praise. He fell in step beside her as she walked towards Meryton, but did not offer his arm.

“I must say I think we could go far with such a medical partnership; an office in London even.”

Elizabeth laughed and attempted to change the subject. “How fair our prisoners? I would like the opportunity to examine them again soon. There is something about their temporary gifts that I want to delve into further.”

“I would be happy to arrange something with Sir John. I am somewhat concerned because Reilly seems to be doing rather poorly in the past few days.”

“If it’s not something obvious to you, given your breadth of experience, perhaps it is something to do with his current altered condition. I would like to see him as soon as may be.”

“Shall we go now?”

“Please.”

They continued to the militia encampment, wherein a stockade had been built to hold the prisoners surrounded by the entire regiment. Inside, were the three prisoners with temporary gifts. Those of the terrorists without gifts were held in a more mundane cell.

“Morning, Miss Lizzy.” Reilly looked peaked and drawn. He was definitely losing weight and his hair appeared thinner. Even his voice lacked its customary joviality.

“Reilly. I must say you are not looking like your usual dapper self.”

“I wouldn’t look dapper in Brummell’s best.” He broke off in a fit of coughing. “But I feel like shite.”

“Let me examine you.” She entered the reinforced cage and set her hands on him. She sent her gift into him, finding numerous places where his humors were so imbalanced that he was literally rotting away on the inside. And the cause was the sphere of his temporary gift leaking energy throughout his body. She attempted to use her influence to redirect the errant energy, to no avail.

She had no idea how long she explored the artificial construct slowly killing the raggedy man. Nothing she did could curtail, or even delay, the damage being done. Eventually a hand on her shoulder shocked her back to awareness of the wider world. She discovered that Reilly was lying unconscious, looking worse than when they had arrived.

“Miss Elizabeth?” Captain Hawthorne’s voice was full of concern.

“He’s dying,” she stated quietly looking down on the man. “And there is nothing I can do about it. The power in him is eating away at his organs and poisoning his blood. I can see it, but cannot stop it.”

“You can see it?

“I can see it in all of them. It’s different from a true gift, more concentrated and it seems to shrink over time, in the others at least. For Reilly, it seems to be in some state of metastasis. The false humors are spreading rather than receding. And I cannot stop it from happening.”

He took her hand and led her from the silent cell. “Even with your power, you cannot save everyone. Every healer loses patients. You’ll need to learn to sublimate the grief into your determination to save the next. I can help you in this, and many things.”

Elizabeth squeezed his hand, then pulled away. “I think I need to be alone for a while.” She spread her wings and launched herself into the sky.

In the morning four days later, Reilly was found dead. During the post-mortem it was discovered that it was not the malignancy of the temporary gift that finally killed the man. It was a fast-acting poison taken with a drink of whiskey.

“This means that there is an enemy in our midst,” Mr. Wickham stated at the subsequent informal inquest. Sir John and Sir William shared the chair as the local leaders and the officers attempted to determine the implications of the prisoner’s murder.

“Which demands a tightening of security procedures and a general increase in vigilance.” Mr. Bennet added. “This is a reminder that not all dangers come breathing fire and lightning. The mundane threats of the silent blade or the tainted cup can be just as deadly. I suggest we convene a subcommittee to investigate the actual murder, while the officers and magistrates separately examine their processes for securing prisoners and protecting our populous.”

“Agreed,” said Sir John.

“Capital!” added Sir William.

After the meeting Elizabeth approached her father. “Sir, have you noticed how solicitous Mr. Wickham has been towards Jane in the last few weeks?”

“I have, as has Mr. Bingley. And I cannot think he is best pleased with the development.”

“Surely you do not think her affections have changed.”

“No, but you will recall the warnings Mr. Darcy offered about this gentleman. I cannot think his intentions are honorable, but her dowry is insufficient to attract a fortune hunter.”

“It is possible that she is unaware of the implications of their interactions?”

“That is entirely possible. Jane is by no means insensible, but she does tend to assign the most positive motive to the actions of others. It would not surprise me to find she simply thinks Mr. Wickham is being friendly.”

“Mary’s behavior has also changed recently. She is more withdrawn, and that is saying something for her.”

“I have seen her spending considerable time at the writing desk. I believe she was inspired by her recent publication and has caught the political variety of the literary bug.”

“Something with which you are intimately familiar, I believe.”

“The politics I write about tend to be rather more ancient than hers, but yes, it is not an avocation wholly unknown to me.”

“Well, I wish her joy of it. It seems a harmless enough pastime.”

It was late January before the construction on Netherfield had progressed to the point where there was a habitable core to the house, even though several areas were still under renovation. This meant that the wedding of Jane and Mr. Bingley might finally be held. The ceremony and subsequent breakfast were the social event of the season for the residents of the Meryton area. Whatever plot Mr. Wickham had contrived had failed. The happiness of the couple was evident to all, eclipsed only by Mrs. Bennet’s joy at finally having a daughter well married.