“Mr. Yarby!” a voice exclaimed.
Startled, the two broke apart and turned to see Kitty at the door.
“I am so glad you have come. Has Mary told you everything? Please come into the parlor and lead us in prayer for Papa. The doctor says he will be fine, but your prayers would only add assurance to that, would they not? Please—come at once.”
Mr. Yarby stood, then helped Mary up, and they followed Kitty to the parlor.
Chapter 21
It was the day before Christmas. Mr. Bennet was recovering quite well according to Mr. Mills. There was no sign of infection; therefore, the doctor declared he would allow the patient to come downstairs for Christmas dinner as long as he did not overly exert himself. Church services, however, were ruled out as entirely too strenuous.
When word of the accident became known, friends and relations visited, but Mary put her foot down and refused them access to the sickroom. She, Kitty, and Lydia were astounded at the many gifts of food brought to Longbourn; even Mrs. Hill grumbled upon the lack of space in the larder for such bounty.
“What am I to do with all these jams and preserves?” she was heard to remark. “Do they think we don’t put up our own?”
Mrs. Withers was especially disappointed not to be allowed to visit the patient, but since even Mary was unaware of the intimacy of her and Mr. Bennet’s relationship, all she could do was bring over custards or soup and sit and make brief, polite conversation with Mary and her sisters. She was, of course, deeply relieved to hear that Mr. Bennet would survive, but how badly had he been hurt? She longed to speak to him alone. As rector, Mr. Yarby had been allowed a personal visit, and his report to her upon his return helped calm her mind a bit at least.
Mary had been most attentive to her father since the accident, spending many hours in his room, reading to him or sometimes just watching him sleep. But today, he seemed more alert and in less pain, so Mary asked whether they could have a conversation about an incident the day of the accident. When he nodded, she shut the door to his room and pulled a chair close to the bed to relate the tale of her finding Lydia rummaging through their mother’s jewelry case.
“So, I believe you should take this bracelet, Papa, and keep it safe,” Mary concluded. She held out the gold band, and he took it, shaking his head and exhaling slowly. She was struck by his expression. He had not shown such a sorrowful countenance since Mrs. Bennet died.
“Thank you, Mary. You handled not only that situation well, but I must also compliment you on the way you took charge in the chaos after the shooting. Things were in such a state, and you seemed to be the only one with your wits about you.”
Mary could not help but feel pride in his rare compliment. “What will you do, Papa? I mean, about Lydia?”
“I shall give Lydia some money—yet again.”
“It seems an endless cycle though, does it not?”
“Sadly, yes.” Mr. Bennet leaned back against his pillows, wincing slightly. “And it also, perhaps, explains something about the accident.”
Mary felt a chill come over her. “What is your meaning?” she whispered.
“That day—I have been replaying it in my mind ever since. Wickham and I had already bagged several birds. I was ready to head back, but Wickham wanted to continue and pushed us on to the far edge of the estate—the end of the large field north of us—you know the one that’s rather hilly?” Mary nodded silently. “We came to a fence, and Wickham gestured for me to climb the stile first. I thought he was being polite. I went ahead but took a misstep at the top, which made me lurch to the right. I had to grab a post to keep from falling. Then I felt the sting of shot and tumbled off.”
Mary forced herself to ask the question that had been uppermost on her mind since that dreadful afternoon. “On…purpose, do you think?”
“Every hunter knows the basics of safety when climbing or even walking with a gun, Mary; you must disengage the barrel so it cannot fire. Despite his protestations of forgetfulness”—Mr. Bennet leaned closer to his daughter—“I fear he was hoping to stage a fatal accident in order to get his hands on Lydia’s inheritance early. I dismissed the thought before, thinking my general dislike of Wickham was the only reason I would conjecture such a thing. But now that you tell me he and Lydia are deeply in debt, it does create a sort of motive, I believe.”
Mary’s hands shot to her mouth, and tears sprang to her eyes. After a moment, she softly replied, “Papa, I must tell you: I happened to see Lydia’s expression as you were brought in. She did not look at you at all but fixed her eyes firmly on Wickham’s. And her expression—I can still see it in my mind—I could not decipher it at first, but now…now I believe it was one of accusation. She knew what her husband did was not an accident.”
She took her father’s hand. “I should like to always think the best of our fellow human beings—and especially of a member of our own family. But I fear I cannot comprehend any other possible explanation of the situation you just related. You must ask them to leave at once.”
Mr. Bennet sighed. “I cannot do that. Just before Christmas? It would cause too much of a ruckus, and then Kitty and your aunt and uncle Phillips would demand to know the reason behind their sudden departure. No, I believe Wickham will be on his best behavior now that he has failed and likely knows I suspect him.”
Mr. Bennet took the gold bracelet and put it the drawer of his bedside table. He gave his daughter a wry smile.
“I can tell you this much, however. It will be a cold day in hell before I ever go hunting with him again.”
Chapter 22
Despite everything, the Bennets had a most happy Christmas. Kitty was good to her word and accepted all her gifts with grace, gratitude, and nary an envious glance at what others received. Lydia and Wickham were unusually quiet throughout the day and either spent their time conversing and playing whist with the Phillipses or taking the boys on long walks—despite the cold weather.
Mr. Bennet was getting stronger each day, and he had to be persuaded to retire from the festivities even though he said he felt “so well.” Mary noted his cheerful demeanor and agreed it was the correct decision not to send Lydia and her family away before Christmas. However, now and then he caught her eye and raised an eyebrow, a way of signaling the secret they shared. It made her feel oddly happy to be close to her father in that way, even regarding such an unpleasant issue.
Happiest of all, perhaps, was Mr. Yarby, for Mr. Collins had sent word late on Christmas Eve that Charlotte had begun her labor. Mr. Collins regretfully said, therefore, that he did not expect he would be able to give the Christmas Day sermon after all. Yarby’s talk was hastily written but well received, and following Christmas morning services, he and Amelia joined the Bennets for dinner: white soup, roast beef, venison, roast potatoes, and carrots. The crowning achievement was the Christmas pudding served flaming on a platter and decorated with freshly cut holly. Mrs. Hill was called in to take a bow in recognition of all her work.
Following the meal, everyone sang carols as Mary played the piano. She was thrilled when Amelia complimented the improvement of her technique in front of everyone. She truly thought she had never enjoyed a nicer Christmas, despite its being the first without her mother.
