Chapter 4: To Hell In A Handbasket

Neither Elizabeth nor Jane got a wink of sleep that night, and, as it turned out, nor did most of the villagers.

In hindsight, the lack of sleep, the fear, and the tension would go onto explain to Elizabeth the subsequent events in the village that would end up changing all their lives. However, on that night itself, no one was thinking much further into the future except somehow managing to stay alive and not get captured by ogres.

As per Darcy and Bingley's instructions, men took turns keeping watch, and at no times did the torches dim. Even those not officially on guard hardly slept. There were many false sightings – both of the warriors returning as well as the ogres attacking. Several little meaningless fights broke out.

"Do you think that Wickham was also captured?" Jane asked during one of her vigils of staring out the window.

"I don't know, Jane, but I somehow doubt it."

"That warrior – the tall one – Darcy – he seemed to stare at you a lot."

"Nonsense, Jane! We were together but for a few moments."

"Still. I believe he did. And you did run into him before. You should try and speak to him; perhaps he can help us remember something."

"Jane, the man was cold and rude. I shan't be asking him for anything, and I am sure he is not inclined to help in any event."

Jane gave her a penetrating look, but spoke no more of the matter. For her part, Elizabeth refused to think of anything at all except the immediate situation they found themselves in.

It was nightfall the next day by the time the warriors returned. Elizabeth heard the cries of the villagers as she was sitting by the fire, almost dozing off. Bleary and exhausted with the lack of sleep, she slipped her arm through that of Jane, held Kitty's hand on the other side, and together they stumbled out into the night. There were many torches lit, some blazing from the ramparts. People were moving everywhere, dogs barking and children crying.

The sisters found themselves in a procession hurrying in a single direction, and even if they were Lydia's sisters, it was with great difficulty that they managed to propel themselves to the forefront.

They came to an abrupt halt, and Elizabeth realised that they were just in front of the gate.

Looking past the Elders in front of her, Elizabeth saw that Darcy and Bingley had returned. They were standing just barely inside the gate.

Darcy was standing quite calmly, to the left of a great bonfire that someone had started the previous evening when the warriors had left on their search. One side of Darcy's figure was illuminated, the other in shadow. The visible part of his face was covered in what Elizabeth immediately recognised to be tiny spots of blood, as if he had just come walking through a fine mist of the stuff. His long hair, though still tied, had come loose and looked wet. His clothes were covered in mud and perhaps blood, and the cloak that had been flung over his shoulder departure was now torn in several places. But the man himself appeared uninjured, and he was now talking quietly to three of the village Elders, including Mr. Gardiner. Elizabeth could see too that Darcy was holding some object in the crook of his arm.

Bingley, meanwhile, just now walked up to the bonfire. He did not stand beside Darcy, as he was leading a horse, who seemed disinclined to be so close to the fire. It was only at the sight of one horse that Elizabeth noticed a second horse some ways behind Darcy. Bingley looked as if he had fallen from some great height, and was notably dishevelled. Like Darcy, he too was speckled in blood.

Neither men addressed the crowd gathered before them. Bingley seemed entirely distracted with his horse, and from where Elizabeth stood, it looked as if he was actually speaking to his horse.

Darcy, meanwhile, was speaking in a low, solemn manner with the Elders. His manner was devoid of any crude swagger, but the authority in it was unmistakable.

As Elizabeth stepped forward, deciding to demand answers, Jane screamed. "Lydia!"

It was then Elizabeth realised that Bingley had in fact not been speaking to his horse, but whispering to Lydia, who was sitting atop. The horse standing away from the fire, no one had noticed Lydia until now.

Lydia seemed oblivious to everything around her. Her eyes were fixed on Darcy's back, to the side of Bingley. Intermittently, Lydia would angle her head to one side, as though trying to peer around Darcy to see something beyond him.

"Lydia! You're safe!"

Elizabeth was surprised that the sight of Lydia, alive and evidently without serious injury, provoked in her neither relief nor joy, but a vague unease. Nevertheless, together with Jane and Kitty, she rushed up to her sister. Bingley helped Lydia off the horse, as her three sisters hugged her.

Elizabeth supposed that her feeling of unease had to do with the odd manner of Lydia herself. Completely unlike the usual Lydia, her sister was entirely devoid of any emotion. She just stood there, almost unseeing, demonstrating no emotions whatsoever. There was no relief, happiness, sadness or even general hysteria in Lydia. Compared to how Maria had been presenting even hours after the attack, it was like Lydia had just woken up from a deep sleep.

A woman – Mrs. Lucas or Charlotte or the widow Long (Elizabeth couldn't focus on who it was) - brought out a bucket of water and started washing off the grime from Lydia's face and neck, even as Jane and Elizabeth started to help Lydia walk back to their house.

Darcy now spoke in Saxon, just loud enough for Elizabeth to hear what he said. "Bingley, why not you carry the girl? They won't let you in their women's quarters, but still, do what you can to stave off the inevitable chaos."

Immediately, Bingley did just that, carrying Lydia in one movement, and asking Jane to lead the way. Elizabeth looked at Darcy for a quick minute and found him looking at her. It was evident that he knew that she understood him; he made no move to look away. Almost briefly, Elizabeth thought she saw pity in his eyes.

She turned away and ran to catch up with Bingley. Why would there be 'inevitable chaos', Elizabeth wondered. Lydia had been found, and she was safe. They would only hold a celebration.

Though she was still silent, Lydia had twisted her head to look at an area somewhere in Darcy's vicinity. Elizabeth followed Lydia's gaze. There was a dull hum of men speaking. It seemed like Darcy was addressing the crowd, or it could be that he was still just speaking to the Elders and it was just the impression from where she was at.

Darcy then turned, and grasping in one hand the object he had been carrying, raised it for the Elders to clearly see.

Elizabeth saw what appeared to be the head of a thick-necked creature severed just below the throat. First, she thought she was looking at an eerily featureless face: where the eyes, nose and mouth should have been there was only pimpled flesh, like that of a goose, with a few tufts of down-like hair on the cheeks. Then Elizabeth realised that what they were looking at was not a head at all, but a section of the shoulder and upper arm of some abnormally large, human-like creature. Darcy was, in fact, holding up the ogre by the stump close to the bicep with the shoulder end uppermost. He then placed the remains of the ogre in front of the Elders, and Darcy bent down on one knee in front of them. Belatedly Elizabeth realised that he must be following some Saxon after-combat ritual.

The crowd recoiled somewhat, before curiosity won out and they edged forward again.

Elizabeth was not able to muster up sufficient contempt for the creature's remains, and she tried to gently turn Lydia's gaze forward, to which Lydia obliged.

Bingley was speaking nonstop, but Elizabeth paid no attention to him. As they finally reached their house, Elizabeth turned back once more, even though Darcy nor the creature were any longer visible.

Elizabeth couldn't help thinking that the remains she had just seen did not resemble any ogre that they had ever heard of.

It was hard to say at which point it all went to hell in a handbasket. Jane would say afterwards that it was when Lydia became unhinged, but Elizabeth insisted it was before that, with the widow Long.

They – Elizabeth and Jane, Mrs. Lucas and the widow Long - had helped bathe Lydia, who was caked with grime. Charlotte had gone to her own home to prepare a fresh meal for Lydia. Kitty just hovered, not knowing what to do. Just like earlier, Lydia was quiet, only answering questions put to her but not speaking much. She was, however, becoming a little less stiff.

Towards the end, Elizabeth moved away, setting out some warm clothes for Lydia to wear, and working on the fire so that everything would be ready for Lydia as soon as the ablutions were done.

"She's been bit!"

Elizabeth dropped the sticks she was holding at widow Long's screeching. Kitty gasped.

"No no," Jane protested, "I think that's just some scar…"

Elizabeth rushed over to look. Indeed, she saw a mark on Lydia's chest, no worse than what a child receives after a tumble. Still, at first glance, Elizabeth's own suspicion was that it seemed like a puncture wound from an animal. Nevertheless, she joined Jane in declaring that it looked nothing like a bite.

Widow Long and even Mrs. Lucas did not seem convinced. Then Elizabeth noticed an identical mark on Lydia's arm, which she tried to cover with a drying cloth. Belatedly, Elizabeth remembered Darcy's words to Bingley about 'staving off the inevitable chaos'. The warriors knew, she realised, that something had happened to Lydia. They had known that the villagers would not take well to this news, and had wisely not said anything.

Widow Long did not wait; she immediately ran outside to raise the alarm. That started off a chain of village women entering their home to examine Lydia; each of them declared that she had been bit. At one point, Elizabeth said that she would bar the door to any more visitors, but Jane wisely pointed out that they could not afford to make enemies of their neighbours upon whom they depended, and moreover, breaking down their door would be a simple task even for a child. And so it had gone on, the endless stream of people entering and exiting their house, declaring Lydia to be bitten, the family to be cursed, and the mood darkening and fear increasing by the hour.

Charlotte, bless her soul, brought a fresh meal for all of them, and stated that she would sit with them. Elizabeth suspected that it was in part to stave off more hysteria from the villagers and prevent Lydia being dragged off there and then. The Lucases were well respected, and Charlotte being there had some symbolic value.

It was almost dawn, and people had mostly stopped trotting in and out when Lydia started.

"Mother does not shriek at me like Widow Long did," Lydia said, completely out of the blue.

"Lydia?" Elizabeth stared at her, confused. Jane blinked rapidly, clearly feeling the same.

"Is your mother not dead?" Charlotte asked, at the same time that Kitty asked, "I thought Mother was dead?"

Lydia stood up, unperturbed. "I heard her voice. Mother was speaking to me, just now."

Jane rushed over, quickly checking Lydia's temperature.

"Is she having a fever dream?" Charlotte asked, and Jane shook her head.

Elizabeth quickly instructed Kitty to go stand at guard at the door, to hold off anyone who tried to come in until they understood what was happening with Lydia.

"Mother tells me that I can bear it, that it's nothing at all. Nothing at all. If they break these thin walls, she says not to worry, because it is all under my control." It was as if Lydia was in a trance.

"Lydia, dearest, Mother is dead. She has been dead some time now. You're just having a bad dream."

"Mother is travelling," Lydia stated. "I control everything, so I have nothing to fear. Do you think she is still travelling?" Lydia asked, turning to Jane, who could only stare back in astonishment.

"Here, maybe she should eat some more," Charlotte said.

"Lydia," Elizabeth said firmly. "Lydia, please come back to us. Our Mother died a long time ago. You're just hearing parts of an old dream."

"She wanted me to do my duty," Lydia said, but she allowed Elizabeth to sit her down. "She wants me to come and rescue her. I have to find the strength to rescue her, Mother says. Perhaps I should eat."

"Yes, yes! Let's eat," Charlotte cried. "That is an excellent idea. That will help you come back to us."

Lydia ate again, this time more herself, commenting on the food. Afterwards, she looked up at them. "Aren't you at least going to brush your hair? Maybe dampen your face a little? Are you actually going to look like that?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The warriors, they are coming. They should be here soon to check on me. I am sure they are coming. La, I am so tired! Charlotte, no need to be stingy, hand over more of that bread to me."

Charlotte managed to hand Lydia the last of the bread, but all the women were confused.

As predicted, within the hour, the two warriors were standing at the door, with a few rays of morning sun behind them.

Bingley entered first, saying all the required pleasantries and questions of concerns. Darcy said nothing, coming in after him and making a great deal of closing the door behind him. Darcy nodded at the women but said nothing. He then walked over to Lydia, and led her to the fire. Without a word, he took Lydia's hand and examined the wound on her arm.

Darcy spoke in Brittonic, keeping his voice low. Elizabeth had to strain to hear him.

"So, young lady, have you kept your promise of last night? About this wound of yours?"

"Yes, sir. I've done just as you said," Lydia replied dutifully.

"Your sisters here, and your good aunt must have asked you many questions about what happened?"

"I've not engaged, as you instructed me to, sir. They believe it an ogre's bite and hate me for it. And if they don't hate now, they surely will soon."

Darcy exchanged a look with Bingley. "Once the wound's healed there's no need for anyone to wonder about it, let alone hate."

Elizabeth decided that it was time to interject. "Pray tell, sir, what you know about my sister's wound and the manner in which she received it? Why are we being kept in the dark about what happened?"

Darcy looked at her with an inscrutable expression. "Keep the wound as clean as can be, and never let it be scratched, by night or day."

Elizabeth had to bite her tongue in frustration. The gall of this man to hid things from her about her own sister! "There are two wounds," she said, trying to goad Darcy.

"Then I strongly suggest that both wounds are kept as clean as can be, without scratching."

"And how would Your Eminence suggest we do that?" Elizabeth drawled. "It might be helpful for us to know what happened."

"Lizzy," Jane whispered.

"You're a bit of a medicine woman, aren't you, Ms. Elizabeth? I'm sure you're well familiar on how to keep wounds clean, regardless of origin," Darcy said evenly, taking Elizabeth by surprise. How did he know that she dabbled in herbs? Had he asked about her from the villagers so quickly? Why?

"We'll be taking our leave, madam," Darcy said, addressing Jane. "I believe that we will be breaking fast soon, and then will go and meet with your uncle."

A/N: So, it's obvious that this fic is waaaay out there to have any semblance of decent readership, but I'm going to keep updating as long as there's at least one or two people leaving regular reviews.