Disclaimer – All original P&P characters belong to Jane Austen

Chapter 26

Charlotte was understandably curious about the Colonel's strange behaviour during his visit and when William returned from Rosings that evening she asked if he could give a reason for the Colonel's abrupt departure from their home. William, tired and cold and eating his first hot meal of the day alone at the dining table, snapped at Charlotte that she should mind her own business and that surely she had something better to do than gossip about their friend.

Charlotte exclaimed out loud at this proclamation but rather than defend herself and say something that would cause further upset she took herself off to bed and lay fuming for an hour or so before sleep robbed her of her ire.

When she awoke the next morning she was still annoyed with her husband and after dressing went downstairs with every intention of asking for an apology but she was frustrated in this as she was told by Emma that he had already left the house in the early hours after receiving a summons from Rosings demanding his immediate attendance.

Emma was in her normal ebullient mood and chattered brightly about the tasks she had to complete that morning and reminded Charlotte, who was glumly eating her boiled egg and soldiers, that she would be absent after lunch as she was going with Mary to clean the home that two of her sons shared on the edge of the village. The boys were clean in their habits but working on a farm and in a garden meant that they dragged a fair amount of their work home with them – this would not do for their fastidious mother and she and their sister were going to bottom out the house, this being something of a Kendle family tradition before each Christmas and Easter.

After eating breakfast and making desultory small talk Charlotte took herself off to the study to begin her Beowulf translation. As a lifelong reader this would normally be a joy but Charlotte just couldn't concentrate on the words on the pages and instead found herself staring absently at the fire in the grate or at the sunlight glinting on fresh snow in the small front garden. Each time she heard noises in the road she jumped from her seat and ran to the window to see if it was a visitor– not that she was expecting anyone in particular of course.

After an hour or so of this fruitless endeavour Charlotte decided to go for a walk. She had thought to take Abigail into the park grounds as an excuse for her escape but he had taken himself off after chewing through the thick tarred rope which was supposed to hold him securely in the parsonage garden.

Some of the more widely used paths in the park had been cleared of the thick snow and, although this would take her closer to Rosings than she was entirely comfortable with, Charlotte thought that it would be sensible to take a walk in a place which wouldn't cause her feet to become too wet or cold. She bundled up in her warmest clothes and stoutest boots and set off determined to break out of her oppressive mood.

Even though the sun was bright enough to cause her to shade her eyes with her hand, the air was so cold as to catch in her throat and prickle against any patches of exposed skin.

She felt a little better now that she was out of the house. Thin rimes covered each depression in the path and after making sure that she was truly alone she made a game of sliding on each one until she was breathless, ruddy cheeked and found to her surprise that she was already halfway into the park.

She had thought to make the rose gardens her destination and to reach them she had to pass through a shoulder high maze of topiary hedges. The gravel beneath her feet crunched loudly and as she was craning her neck to see her path before her and was concentrating so hard on reaching the exit she failed to notice the figure crumpled at her feet until she fell over it.

She gave a cry of alarm as she put out her hands to brace herself for the fall. Sharp gravel embedded itself into the palm of her hands and she could feel the radiating pain from her right wrist where she fell awkwardly onto it and she couldn't tell if she heard or just felt the sharp snap of bone in her left pinky finger.

She rose hurriedly to her feet and attempted to wipe some of the small stones and dirt from her hands but the resulting pain caused tears to form in her eyes and she bit back a rather vulgar word.

A low groaning noise came from the splayed figure on the ground and, despite her fear and pain, Charlotte crouched down and rolled the person onto their back with some difficulty.

The figure before her was barely recognisable as Mr. Wickham. He was emaciated, his cheeks and eyes sunken in fish belly skin, but worst of all was the horror that was his nose and lips. They appeared to have been eaten away amidst a huge crusted scab. Charlotte gulped away vomit as she realised that she could actually see inside his face; the inner workings of his nasal passages exposed, inflamed and bleeding pus and blood and his teeth exposed in a permanent snarl.

"My God," Charlotte cried. "Wickham, can you hear me?"

His eyes which had been closed slowly opened and he squinted at the bright sunlight.

"Do you think you can wait here quietly for a while as I run to the great house for help?"

Skeletal fingers clutched her robe. "No, not Rosings I beg of you. Please, would you take me to your home?" He coughed, a wet and decayed sound.

Charlotte recoiled at the thought of dragging this disfigured wraith into her house, but there were other practical considerations too.

"If you won't allow me to ask for assistance at Rosings, I will need to get you to shelter and the parsonage is too far away for you to walk. If you think you may be able to manage I could help you to Dr. Peterson's home, but it will mean a short walk through the woods. Do you think you could walk that far?"

"Is he trustworthy?" Wickham gasped. "Will he tell that old cunt where I am?"

He was obviously delirious or he would not dare to talk to her as though she were one of his militia cronies. "He is an honourable man and if you wish to remain hidden he would find a way to do this I am sure."

"Help me up then woman, get me away from this madhouse." He released his hold on her sleeve and allowed her to stand. "I believe my wrist may be broken sir so I cannot lift you but if you take my arm I can help you to your feet."

With great effort Wickham managed to get to his knees and taking Charlotte's proffered arm he gingerly gained his feet but stood panting for some minutes before nodding his thanks.

A brisk walk from this point in the park to Dr. Peterson's home would normally take Charlotte about 10 minutes but Wickham was so weak that each step seemed to take an age. It took them nearly fifteen minutes just to reach the edge of the wood which bordered the property and Charlotte stopped to allow the man a chance to rest against the trunk of a large oak.

She was loathe to look at him directly in his face, the diseased, rotting smell of his breath as he walked beside her was enough to have her almost gagging, so to see the destruction that had been brought upon him was too much for her already churning stomach.

"I don't cut such a dashing figure now do I madam?" Wickham gave a small wry laugh at his observation.

"What has happened to you Mr. Wickham? Have you been ill?" Charlotte asked.

"Oh, love has brought me low Mrs Collins," he paused to cough and spat a large yellow glistening chunk at his feet. "I believe that I told you that I met Anne de Bourgh some years ago?"

She nodded at that and he continued. "I've always been popular with the ladies, if I do say so myself, even when I was a very young lad I managed to rut with a farm lass or two and although I'd never deign to marry such lowly creatures they did make for an interesting diversion. I've always had my sights set on a higher prize I admit and although I was thwarted at wooing the young Miss Darcy, I had already had a conquest in her older cousin." Charlotte looked up sharply at this.

"Oh, you didn't know about Georgie Porgie then? I had heard that you had become a favoured friend of the high and mighty Fitzwilliam Darcy, so I assumed that he would have confided in you." He waved his thin fingers in her face. "Never mind, she is but a footnote in my story, but Miss Anne, oh, she is at least worth a full chapter. As I spotted her across the assembly hall standing with that sow of a companion, I recognised that look of sin and sly cunning on her face as I had seen it in my own mirror for years. I inveigled an introduction and, as they say, the rest is history." He laughed, a low and depraved sound.

"She drugged Jenkinson with laudanum that very night you know, and that was not at my suggestion, she did that of her own volition and probably not for the first time, and to my surprise she came willingly to my rooms." He lasciviously rubbed a hand over his groin.

"The dirty, disgusting things that girl let me do to her that night were a revelation. And later when I lay there panting for breath, sated, sticking to sheets coated in our mixed blood and juices and sweat, there was not an iota of shame on her face, she just pulled her bloomers back on and asked when I would next be able to meet with her."

"You're lying!"

"No," he said calmly, "I'm not. She came to my rooms night after night for weeks, poor Jenkinson developed quite a taste for opium I'm afraid, and soon the master became the servant. You see it wasn't just me that she fucked. I knew many men and even a few women that were willing to join us in our sordid little games. But her mother became suspicious after receiving word from the sow and Anne was whisked away from me. But she's a clever cat and wherever I travelled she managed to find me and write me the most salacious of letters. She wished us to marry eventually, but obviously her mother was an obstacle we had to overcome."

He stopped narrating his tale and moved away from the tree. "I'm quite rested now Mrs Collins, I believe I have the strength to carry onto our destination and tell you the rest of my love story." He held out his arm to her and she reluctantly pulled him to lean against her as they walked into the woods.

"By this time she had already started to slip into the madness that is taking her further from me day by day. I had hoped to gain a wife with a little money and all of her sanity but after both Miss Elizabeth and Miss King escaped my grasp at Meryton I took myself here to Hunsford and we happy lovers reunited.

"Blackmail is such an ugly word, so let me just say that I persuaded Lady Catherine to allow me to stay at Rosings as a guest and she, the charitable lady that she is, opened her purse to me, but only wide enough to keep me here as a lapdog to her daughter, not enough to pursue my own interests elsewhere," he growled.

Charlotte had begun to shake and not entirely from the cold weather. There was little sun penetrating beneath the canopy of branches and she was hard pressed to stop them both from stumbling on roots hidden under slimy mounds of rotting leaves.

Her wrist and hands throbbed madly and she felt as though she could literally vomit up her stomach both from her pain and the disgusting words of her companion.

"Lady Catherine kept us well out of sight after a few weeks of course, as our proclivities were there for all to see, so no more visits from the doctor or your good husband, no one could know that Miss Anne and myself were ravaged by the pox..."

"What?" Charlotte actually stopped in her tracks and looked at Wickham at this explanation.

"We have syphilis. Whether Anne contracted it during one of her trysts or I mine is of no matter, Anne is sure to be Bedlam bound and I, as you can see, have developed a symptom or two myself, but I'm sure a little paint and powder will put me right." He laughed again which changed into a wracking cough. He drew in large breaths through his ravaged nose with an awful sucking noise that made Charlotte want to cover her ears. "Please, let us get on I am beginning to feel a little light-headed." Wickham said at last.

They resumed their walk and Charlotte was tempted to rub her hands against her cloak to stop them feeling so filthy.

"We were both receiving mercury treatments until my incarceration..."

Charlotte stopped walking again to look at him directly.

"My good woman, please don't stop again, I will tell my full story but I cannot put forth much more of an effort if you keep stalling."

"I'm sorry," Charlotte apologised. "It's just that I thought you said you were incarcerated?"

"And so I did. A month ago Lady Charlotte received correspondence from her brother the Earl of Essex regarding his youngest son who he was tasking with visiting his aunt. Anne and I were allowed very little freedom at that point, only moving between her rooms and mine which were in the same wing. My disease wasn't as obvious then as it is now, but it still drew the attention of the few servants that were allowed to attend to us. Lady de Bourgh couldn't allow her nephew to see me but she also could not allow me to leave as gossip would inevitably follow in my wake. And so one night a fortnight since the tables were turned and that sow Jenkinson I suspect dosed us both with a sleeping powder. I say both of us because Anne would likely rip out her throat if she thought she was injuring me in any way."

"What happened to you?" Charlotte asked, horror and disgust warring with her curiosity.

"When I awoke I was in what was certainly a room within the cellars as there were no windows and it was damp and cold. The door was thick and barred on the outside and there was no way out unless I was released. There was a small pallet made up in a corner and a bucket containing some dank and rather unpleasant water along with a hard loaf of bread. Gaol rations." He said gloomily.

"When were you released?"

"I wasn't." He sighed and the charnel house smell wafted over her face. She pulled up suddenly and bending from the waist she vomited at her feet. Waves of sickness and dizziness washed over her and she distantly heard someone call her name. She came to feeling a little disorientated, kneeling in her own waste, a silent Wickham standing beside her, his hand on her shoulder. Whether this was to give her some measure of comfort or as a way to keep himself upright she was uncertain.

"I am better Mr. Wickham, thank you," she said trying to find a way to regain her feet without touching the vomit before her or paining her hands further.

Charlotte took a handkerchief from a pocket hidden within her cloak and cleaned her mouth, hands and cloak as well as she was able before throwing the square of linen to the ground.

"Shall we," Wickham gestured before them, for all the world as if they were having a pleasant afternoon stroll.

"Dawson used to come infrequently to bring more water and bread and once she brought a bucket of lime to put on the pile of shit and piss in a corner of my cell. By then I smelled as bad as my impromptu privy, so it didn't bother me but it must have her. Then last night I heard her begin to unlatch the door when she stopped for some reason and I waited for a few minutes and she did not enter. I tried the door and it was still fastened but not fully and after some pushing and pulling which left me in a very weakened state I managed to open it. I could hear distant voices but they must have been too far away to hear the banging of the door and I made my way outside through the coal hatch and I headed for the maze as it was the nearest cover I could reach. I lay down for a second to regain some strength and the next thing I knew you were standing over me."

All was silent. Charlotte hardly knew what to say to Wickham, her mind was awhirl with thoughts on this ghastly tale which could have come from the most lurid of Gothic novels but which she instinctively knew was true.

She was relieved when the trees began to thin and she could see the stone wall surrounding the park. If she had steered them in the right direction it should only be a minute or two before they would see the roof of the house they were aiming for and she could pass off Mr. Wickham to Dr. Peterson.

"Do you not have any words as to the reprehensible behaviour of Lady Catherine, Mrs Collins. Her keeping me captive and half starved for weeks. She was waiting for me to die you know, to take my dirty secrets to my grave."

"I too believe that was her reason for keeping you locked away, but you all behaved...oh, I have no words for what you all did. It's deplorable, evil...I know now that it was you that laid hands on that poor child Dorcas. Just that action should be enough to condemn you to the gallows."

"Well if I go to my death then so should Anne. She goaded me into it and watched from the doorway whilst I had my way with the snit. She wanted to play with the girl herself but couldn't keep Jenkinson occupied for long enough to take the time she needed. We're all base creatures deep down, it's just that Anne and I are honest enough to admit to and indulge in our desires. If you like you can pray for my redemption," he said slyly.

"You're not worth my prayers, you devil," she spat at him. "I wouldn't see any man or beast in physical or spiritual pain, but I'm not sure you have the capability to feel anything, let alone have any regrets about your behaviour do you?"

"The only regrets I have are that I don't have more time or money, but then if I did I would carry on regardless of the consequences as I always have."

They had reached the iron gate in the park wall and Charlotte carefully opened it without engaging her wrist. It was just a short walk along the lane to Dr. Peterson's home and office and she hurried their steps now that they were on level ground.

She could feel tears begin to run down her cheeks but ignored them, letting them splash onto her now filthy cloak. Charlotte heaved a sigh of relief that they had at last reached their journey's end. She pulled the bell and removed her arm from Wickham's letting him lean against the wall as Mrs Landry, the doctor's housekeeper opened the door, her mouth opening in shock at the appearance of the pair before her.

"Mrs Collins, what on earth..." She took a sudden step back once she had a good look at Wickham's ruined face and although she was not Catholic she crossed herself.

"This is Mr. Wickham, Mr. Landry. He needs to see the doctor urgently, is he at home?"

"No ma'am, he's gone on his daily visit to Rosings but he should be back by lunch. Would you like me to send for him."

"No!" Wickham shouted.

"No, let's not disturb him. Is there anywhere Mr. Wickham can rest until Dr. Peterson returns? I'm afraid he's ill, hungry and very cold."

"There's a fire lit in the work room. I can bring him some broth and tea in there." She stepped back far enough into the hallway to make it clear that she did not want to touch Wickham, so once again Charlotte offered him her support into the house. Before allowing him to sit, Mrs Landry placed a large white sheet over the chair to stop him from soiling the fabric. Only once the patient was seated did the housekeeper notice Charlotte's stained cloak, bloody hands and cradled wrist.

"You're injured Mrs Collins! Did this man do this to you?" She rounded furiously on Wickham and picking up the poker from the grate looked as though she would batter him with it if she was told that he had hurt Charlotte.

"No, I had a fall Mrs Landry and I have either broken or badly sprained my wrist. Please put down the poker. Mr Wickham is not responsible for my injuries."

"Would you wait for the doctor with me in my sitting room?" Mrs Landry asked her. She was straining to be away from that ghastly face and wished to take Charlotte to a place of perceived safety.

"I just want to go home Mrs Landry. After the doctor has seen to Mr. Wickham could you ask him to call on me at home to tend to my wrist. Emma can take care of my cuts and grazes easily, but if my wrist requires strapping, I would prefer the doctor do this for me."

"Of course I will my dear. Come with me and my Billy can run you home in the cart. It will probably jog your arm a little but it will be quicker and safer than walking. You don't want to slip on the ice and hurt it even more than it already is."

Charlotte breathed in relief at the thought of the cart, she was feeling a little weak and had not begun to think of the misery of the two mile walk to her home.

She couldn't bring herself to address Wickham any further so she left the doctor's work room and waited in the hallway for Mrs Landry, who was telling Wickham in no undue terms that he was not to touch anything in the room and that she would bring him something to eat and drink shortly. Charlotte was somehow not surprised that she locked the door to the room behind her.

"I won't ask any questions like who he is or where he's come from, but I can see that the man has the pox. I saw enough of it when the doctor had his practice in Dover; some of the doxies and sailors he treated there were riddled with it but there wasn't much he could do for them, poor souls. Brought down by their own wickedness."

"Amen," said Charlotte, her mind flashing to Wickham's awful tale.

She refused a cup of tea and waited in the kitchen for Billy, Mrs Landry's son who acted as the doctor's stable and errand boy, to ready the cart. She'd refused to be seated in the sitting room as her clothes were filthy and she had no desire to add to Mrs Landry's already onerous cleaning duties. She kept everything spotless to the doctor's instructions and scrubbed all of the wooden tables, chairs and floors with boiling hot water and soap daily, which her red and chapped hands were a testament to.

When the cart pulled up outside Charlotte thanked her hostess and reminded her to ask the doctor to visit at his earliest possible convenience.

Billy, a young lad of twelve years, looked at Charlotte and noting that she could not pull herself into the dog cart went to fetch a wooden stool to make it a little easier for her to get into a seat. He was a courteous lad and went out of his way to make the journey easier on Charlotte's sore arm, foregoing whipping the horse into a canter as was his usual habit.

When they reached the parsonage he handed her down, scurried down the path and opened her front door for her. After tipping his cap to her, with a cheerful farewell and the never ending spirit of youth, he sprinted to the cart and sped away home.

Charlotte called for Emma, but on receiving no response to her call remembered that she was out for the afternoon. Bone tired and numb with shock, she slumped against the wall and slipped to the floor. She placed her head on her knees and within seconds she was asleep.