Mary smiled to herself as she took the basket and finally began her journey to Meryton. Despite the added time, she chose to forgo her carriage in favor of a walk as she did not want her arrival to be noticed. The surgery was closed to the public today, save for emergencies and she did not want to be the subject of gossip with her carriage parked for all to see. Besides, the early winter air was crisp and the exercise would do her some good. Swinging the laden basket to match her step, Mary arrived quickly and let herself in through the back entrance, out of prying eyes.
The interior of the small cottage that served as both workspace and home for Meryton’s resident doctor was still dark, despite the late morning hour. Passing the stair leading to the bedchambers, Mary stopped in the small kitchen and deposited her basket on the center work table. Tipping her head for any semblance of sound, she was met with complete silence. Where was Atlas? Late as she was, Mary expected to be chastised for sleeping in, but apparently she was not the only guilty party. Calling out softly, she heard a telltale thump of feet above.
“Wake up sleepyhead!” she called up the narrow stair and received a mumbled reply.
Mary had never been inside the private rooms above the surgery. Previously, when she had been beset by illness, Atlas had spent the night in her own bedchamber, asleep in a chair. However, the impropriety was overlooked due to his profession. Despite her curiosity, there would be no acceptable cause for her to inspect his quarters. Deciding to allow Altas a few minutes to dress, Mary went have a look at the young man who lay cold and dead in the room that functioned as both morgue and operating theater.
Peeling back the edge of the oiled duck cloth that covered the body, Mary peered closely at the corpse. He simply appeared to be sleeping. The previous times in which she had assisted Atlas had been quite different. The first body had been practically mummified, dry and leathery. The second, Mary winced at the memory, had been gruesome, as the remains had been strewn about by animals. Somehow, this time it was less comforting to see a complete person. It did not allow for any sense of detachment. The lifeless form was to entirely human, and very young. In her study of the deceased soldier, Mary did not hear Atlas come into the room. Turning at the sound of him clearing his voice to make his presence known, Mary chuckled at his appearance with a raised brow.
“Sleep well?”
Atlas looked down at his wrinkled shirt, the buttons were mis stepped, creating a gap that exposed his chest. Having long forgone the formalities of proper dress when examining a body, he did not usually wear a coat or tie, but otherwise maintained propriety. Now, his only recourse was to re-button completely or remain awkwardly indecent. Seeing his dilemma Mary calmly played the valet and set his clothing to rights without comment, but Atlas noticed how her fingers rested for a moment longer than necessary as she did so. Taking her fingers in his, he raised the tips to his lips for a moment and stared into her eyes before slowly releasing. It was going to be a long torturous engagement for them both.
“Well… I suppose we should begin?” Mary suggested quietly, not taking her eyes from his.
“Yes…before I do something foolish,” he replied as the body on the examination table chose that very moment to release vapors of decomposition, taking them swiftly back to the present matters requiring their attention. Wrinkling her nose as the noxious fumes reached her, Mary nodded in agreement and reached in her apron pocket for the vial of peppermint oil she kept for that very reason. Relieved, yet inwardly disappointed that the moment had ended.
The casual intimacy had increased in recent weeks, so much so that Mary too feared she would at some point be unwilling to resist her own feelings. However, the strange chaperonage of a dead man quelled all romantic leanings. Handing Atlas his lab coat, Mary attempted to distract herself by arranging the lined sheets of paper and inkpot to record the findings. Unfortunately, the memory of his bare skin did little to direct her attention where it was needed. Turning back to the exam table, Mary donned a pair of thick gloves and assisted in the first assessment of the deceased.
“His skin is slightly mottled, and body has relaxed, no outward signs of injury. Other than his pinpoint pupils there is nothing out of the ordinary, and as we know exactly when he died, it will require an internal examination to determine cause of death. I shall have to remove the clothing…”
Atlas paused to gauge Mary’s reaction. He did not want to cause embarrassment, but it was indeed necessary. However, she simply produced a pair of scissors and began to cut away the dead man’s uniform.
“Will we need to examine his clothing for anything?” she inquired as she carefully lay each item on another tarp covered table.
“Probably not, but we will keep it just in case,” Atlas replied. It was a relief that Mary was such a meticulous person. In the past, careless assistants had all too often destroyed important evidence from crime scenes. When it came time to remove the man’s small clothes Atlas asked Mary to read back the interviews from the previous evening as he carefully draped the soldier’s lower abdominal area.
“We have one Corporal James Waverly, age nineteen. He has served in His Majesty’s Army for the past two years in general infantry. Wounded during a campaign in India…part of the Punjab war, for which he received commendation. Well-liked by his regiment. Not married. Family resides near Manchester.”
“Hmm… there is significant scarring on the left shoulder. It is consistent with bayonet wounds I have seen, but appears to have healed some time ago. There is another, more significant scar on the lower right side of the rib cage that concerns me. I shall need your assistance to turn him.”
Mary looked up from where she had be making neat notations on an outline of the human body. Taking her position at the man’s shoulders, while Atlas managed the greater weight of the midsection, they carefully turned the limp form over, exposing a deep indentation that crisscrossed the muscles of the dead man’s back.
“What would have caused this? It appears that something took a great bite out of him,” Mary inquired as she traced a finger down one of the deeper indentations left in the flesh.
“Shrapnel from an explosion is my logical guess, but it is impossible to say for sure. Of what I can be sure is that an injury of this nature would have caused considerable chronic pain. That only confirms my original suspicion.”
“Poison?”
“Yes, probably an overdose of opium. What surprises me is the fact that he was still able to perform his duties. Most people would be confined to a chair with this amount of physical damage, if not the effects of regular opium consumption.”
Mary thought about what Lydia had told her about Wickham’s own injury. Did he take opium regularly? Was that why he was in possession of such a great amount? Staring down at the body, Mary imagined her sister lying in such a state. How much opium did Lydia ingest? Swallowing hard, Mary confided her suspicions and discovery to Atlas.
“Unfortunately, there are no regulations as to the purchase of opium, but it is not generally sold in such a large supply. Apothecaries generally dilute the powder in sherry. Nor did I prescribe any to Captain Wickham despite his request. The army prefers to tightly control the usage by soldiers. If he is in possession of the quantity you say, I have no idea how he acquired it.”
Mary frowned in frustration. George Wickham was deliberately providing Lydia with opium and there was nothing she could do about it. As her husband, he had complete rights over her, with no one to say otherwise. Even if she protested, Mary knew it would fall on deaf ears. Lydia was completely blind to any of Wickham’s faults, especially if they were embarrassing. Understanding Mary’s strange silence, Atlas patted her hand. “If there is anything at all to be done for Lydia, I shall help in any way I can.”
Mary only nodded and brushed away a tear that threatened to spill out of sheer helplessness. Lydia had always been on a destructive path, long before she married. It was no use to deny it, only try to be supportive when Lydia finally found sense, but that was not tod
ay. Forcing her attentions back the man on the table, Mary gave Atlas a grateful smile before arranging the tray of instruments for the internal examination.
*****
Several hours later, with the autopsy complete, Mary signed her name next to that of Atlas as a witness on the certificate of death.
“Heart failure due to accidental overdose of opium,” he announced quietly as she put away her pen and ink.
“Will this cause trouble for him even now?”
“I don’t know. It is up to the army how they want to handle it. The worst they can do is send a letter of disgrace to the family, but considering his exemplary service, it may be concealed in the best interest of all.”
“I do hope that is the case. His parents will be heartbroken enough.”
~Eight~
Just as Mary and Atlas were finalizing the cause of death for Corporal Waverly, Lydia Wickham stretched like a contented cat from her bed. Nearly three in the afternoon, Lydia was well rested from the effects of the day’s sleep, assisted by the previous night’s consumption of wine in addition to her opium laced tea. Blinking her eyes against the late sun, she did not immediately notice her husband watching her movements from a chair across the room.
“I see you finally woke… it must be rather nice to sleep the day away.”
“Oh George! Don’t be so mean. It was quite rude of you to abandon me yesterday, surely you could have found someone to take your duty just this once. Besides, today I intend to ask Papa to give me my inheritance. Mama’s interference won’t be necessary once I tell him that I am expecting a child.”
George Wickham’s eyes grew wide and he immediately suppressed a flare of anger at Lydia’s announcement. “Is this truth?” he demanded without betraying his feelings.
“Of course not silly! I am not about to spend my days stuck with a slobbering baby doing nothing but changing nappies. That may be well and good for the likes of Jane and Lizzie, but I am not finished having my share of fun. However, Papa will see things differently. Surely he will want to see his grandchild well settled. He may even give me more money than Kitty, after all, she is not even married.”
Relief flooded Wickham and he relaxed. It was bad enough having to cater to Lydia’s demands and tantrums. She was only tolerable under the effects of the opium he supplied. A pregnancy would have been unbearable, but he could see the merit of such a ruse.
“As you see fit my dear, so long as your father agrees to a settlement.”
“Oh he will… trust me. I shall have him doing my bidding by this time tomorrow.”
*****
“Oh Papa! How insulting! Cannot you see the impropriety of what you suggest? Its positively indecent and I won’t do it!”
“Then you shall not receive one penny! I am well aware of the generosity of Mr. Darcy on the occasion of your wedding. It is difficult to believe that you have managed to spend that amount in less than two years. I will not have that wastrel of a man you call your husband doing the same with my money.”
Lydia immediately burst into tears and threw herself heavily down on the small sofa in her father’s study. How dare her father suggest that she submit to a medical examination? It was terrible that he did not believe his own daughter. Sobbing loudly she peered through her lowered lashes to gauge his reaction. Unfortunately, her best tantrum went unheeded as Mr. Bennet calmly folded his arms and waited for her to cease. When Lydia’s wails finally subsided into sniffles, he began again.
“Lydia, you are far too old to be acting like a spoiled child, especially if you are indeed expecting one of your own. I would never see any grandchild of mine live in poverty, but I am not a fool…. For that reason alone, and much against my better judgement, I shall allow you and Wickham to live here until other arrangements can be made. And IF…you do manage to produce a child…then I will reconsider a financial settlement, but not before.”
“But Papa…what if…” Lydia faltered and lowered her lashes once again in an attempt at humility, but it was useless. Her father saw through the ruse immediately and addressed her unasked question.
“What if I die? I am well aware of my present age and life expectancy. Your mother reminded me daily when Longbourn was still entailed to Mr. Collins. Even though eviction is no longer a concern, you will simply have to hope that I do not suddenly expire. The entire estate, save what I have put aside for Kitty’s dowry will go to your sister Mary. She deserves it. And should you get it in your silly head to contest anything, Mr. Darcy has been appointed my executor and is aware of my wishes.
“Oh Papa! How could you be so cruel? You always preferred any of my sisters to me. As for Darcy…that arrogant man? He will probably cast us aside completely… Darcy has always hated George.”
“Darcy is not arrogant in the least, and if he dislikes Wickham it only proves that he is of sound mind. As for Mary being my heir, she earned it and continues to do so, quite unlike some other lazy miss I know. If it were not for her we should have never known about the money at all. Now go off and seek sympathy with your mother, this conversation has given me quite the headache.”
Lydia rose stiffly and left the room without a backward glance. She would simply not give her father another thought. Soon he would regret treating her in such a fashion. It wasn’t fair! Stamping her foot angrily as she stood alone in the hall, Lydia contemplated spending the rest of the day locked in her chamber and made her way above stairs. Wickham would not be pleased to know of her father’s decision. He had been so moody lately and far less agreeable to doing her bidding. In reality, she had hardly seen him since their arrival. What was he doing all the time? Surely there could not be that much to do in Meryton. Frowning at the thought of her husband, Lydia planned to find out. But first, she needed to take more of Wickham’s medicine. After such a trying episode with her father, she required a little something to calm her nerves. Fortunately, the bottle he had mixed for her was still full. Removing it from where she kept it hidden from the maids, Lydia placed a few drops in the remnants of her afternoon tea. Drinking deeply, she could already feel the tension slipping away as her hands steadied and her breathing slowed. Soon, all thoughts of anything but sleep disappeared as Lydia lost consciousness.
~Nine~
For the next few weeks, life seemed to return to a sense of normal. The only excitement being the arrival of Jane’s babies. Never one to put another out for her own sake, Jane had waited some hours before requesting assistance. Fortunately, Atlas and Mary had arrived before it was too late, and managed the difficult birth without incident. Now mother and children were resting comfortably. Despite daily visits to her sister and nephews, Mary continued to work three days each week alongside Atlas in the surgery. She was becoming rather adept at treating all variations of common illness and injury. Longbourn had also quieted down as Lydia spent most of her time paying social calls on the days when Mary was occupied with the running of the estate. It was almost as if Lydia and Wickham were not even there. It was only at Sunday dinners that Mary was able to observe the continued deterioration of her sister’s physical condition. The previous evening, it had been just Mary, Lydia and her father. Kitty and Mrs. Bennet had installed themselves at Netherfield to assist with the twins, and Wickham was required at the regimental headquarters. Lydia had been unusually silent, barely poking at her food. Feigning oblivion, her father only shrugged when Mary inquired as to her well-being, leaving the sisters alone as he took refuge in his library.
“Lydia? Are you feeling ill?”
“Whatever could possibly be wrong with me? Not that you would care if there was!” Lydia snapped in reply and gave her uneaten dessert a vicious stab with her fork.
“How can you say such a thing?”
“Oh don’t pretend to be so concerned. Save that for someone more appreciative. I could be dying and no one would even notice.”
“You are being dramatic… and silly.”
Lydia’s hand shook as she tried to ignore Mary and focus on her puddin
g, but it was of no use as her vision swam before her eyes. She had been without Wickham’s medicine for nearly three days…and had not seen him in just as many, not since she told him that her scheme had not worked on her father. He had been so angry and refused to listen to any of her ideas. Deciding that Mary might be an ally against her father, Lydia sniffed loudly and carefully lay down her fork.
“It’s just all of this talk about Jane’s babies,” she whispered in what she hoped was her most convincing voice
“What of it? Ethan and Edward are darlings. I am happy for her. Don’t tell me you are jealous… I never took you for the mothering kind,” Mary replied honestly.
“That just tells you what you know… it is different when one is married. Children are expected…” Lydia faltered.
“I see… well you are young yet. Mama did not have you until she was past thirty I should not worry so.”
“You don’t understand. Wickham doesn’t want children…ever.”
Mary was silent. She was unsure as to how much of what Lydia said was actually true and not a fabrication to gain attention. Her father had made her aware of his conversation with Lydia when she had arrived home that same evening.
“I fear that I have been the cause of strife between you, but it was best she know the truth. As for her being with child, well that remains to be seen.”
Mary had not commented. She was all too aware that Lydia was not pregnant. Just that morning she had done her best to console the laundry maid as she threatened to give notice.
Mary Bennet and the Return of the Soldier Page 4
