It's quite a while since I last updated and I am terribly sorry for that. The Holidays were full of demanding relatives and visits to uncles and aunts I didn't even know I had. Probably a scenario that repeats itself in every family. Then school started being a prick more than usual. Finally, I managed to find time and inspiration to write. Hope you enjoy and I promise the next chapter will be longer.

p.s. Thanks Annie for your kind review (anonymous review).

Chapter 27: The Road Not Taken

It was with great affliction and concern that the Gardiners saw Mary to her carriage the next morning. Her luggage was wrapped with brown paper in large crates, along with some gifts from her uncle and her purchased books. It was a dull day, with very little sunshine and large, yellow clouds that were belated in their pouring down with heavenly rain.

She had not the chance to say many goodbyes to Anita, not to mention find the whereabouts of unfortunate Theodore. Her mind was now set on reaching Rosings and attending to her father's bed day and night. Much to her dismay however, constant thoughts of the past days came in and out, with recurring images of Theodore, Margaret and surely Mr. Prowler.

The latter she considered deserved no honoured pity, putting a prodigal blame on him for most of the piteous events. A woman however of her age, with or without prejudices, will inadvertently excuse some of the errs of a young gentleman she had seen in a favourable light until then, not only because her heart ruled more than her mind, but also because her own pride found more comfort.

'My dear, do pay our best wishes to your poor father. I can only imagine what sorrow my sister has in her heart,' Mr. Gardiner said affected.

'Moreover, if you could write to us from time to time and tell us of his progress we would be at rest,' his wife added. 'Wear a woollen bonnet, my dear. The fog shall set in, in the evening and if it does not rain it shall still be frightfully wet.'

Mary bid her goodbyes and kissed both uncle and aunt before stepping in the carriage and giving London a last aggrieved look.

In our days, the gaol is no longer a disgraceful place. What man does not know that some of the sincerest and purest hearts lie in the humid, putrid air of a filthy cell?

No, the gaol only remains a dirty, inhabitable, hopeless institution. Shame is not to be associated with it.

Theodore Stoddard was one of the current guests of this loom house, all due to the foul and disgraced Morel, who upon seizing him in his own house, made no waste of time until he had him locked up. Their contract had been broken, now his fury would have no limits, for no one toys with Morel and escapes unscathed.

Our newly found hero was trapped in a place where no one heard his calls, no one listened to his pleas, no one lent him a hand. He was considered just as much a villain as a demented man who slew children on the street.

He was to stand on trial soon, but that was a mere formality, Morel's brother seeking only to humiliate him, he guessed.

James had been made aware of his incarceration and had fled desperately to his friend, but by then it was perhaps too late, far too late. The crafty lawyer had no craft, now that his plan had gone to dust. Any form of apology to Theodore would not do.

He had disappointed a friend. However, the good-natured Theodore had not held it up against him. In a peculiar way he felt like he had known James could never have truly helped him on this quest.

He received him with hope, which hope was fuelled by the necklace which bore Georgiana's likeness and his love for her.

'My dear friend, times are upon us. I fear that now God has finally seen to punish me for all that I've done…now, in my bloom! When I finally feel I can redeem. It was predictable one day this would happen. But it is nonsense to dwell on it. I must atone.'

'Theodore, it is not you who must bear this sacrifice, but the scoundrel of Morel, who has deceived and destroyed so many before you.'

'It is no point comparing. I have done my share, I must pay for it.'

'It is noble of you to talk so, but what of Georgiana? Her suffering means nothing?'

'Oh, do not speak of her! I think of her all the time whilst here. I cannot think of her pain. Not yet.'

James sighed. His mind was an engine ready to start its steam but now there was no scope. He decided to think this through and find a plausible solution. Of course, he knew he wouldn't succeed ethically.

Ethics had become a touching subject for him as of late. A certain young lady had shown him a sort of dignity he never knew existed, thus it was double harder for him now to render his services using deceit and malign wit, his usual means of exploit.

However, he would not allow himself to despair. His mind was sharp, his position not disagreeable, his influence not little. Some way or another he would free his friend.

The news of him having acquired Mr. Darcy's ownership papers of Bartley House lifted his spirits immensely, at first.

'But my boy! This is wonderful news. We must be able to achieve something by it. Not to mention, Darcy himself will be tenfold grateful to you and will strive to aid you.'

'It might be as you say and I am happy I've found them…I can help the brother of my dear one. He is then like a brother to me as well. But I doubt that this will secure my leave.'

'It is indeed risky, but I shall not give in. We have a track, one only, but we must follow it.'

James left the gaol with a different sort of mind, but by the time he reached his house darker thoughts had seized his mind. His housekeeper, Mrs. Lemond reminded him of his correspondence that had not been replied to, but he went into his study in an execrable mood, ignoring her.

He sat at his desk thinking of a plausible course of action to undertake. Confronting the situation with Mr. Darcy could have less than pleasing consequences, but on the other hand, the man desperately wanted to recuperate his property. If he, however, tried acting alone upon this evidence, he would perhaps face graver obstacles than envisaged.

In the end, he decided upon writing a letter to let him know of what had transpired.

Kent was, at the moment, not a favourable resting place for someone as bedridden as Mr. Bennet. It had kept bucketing down so much so that Mr. and Mrs. Collins were worried it would never stop. The first had some fears related to his orchard, the latter concerned about the wetness and cold air affecting their guest.

Mary's carriage had to stop twice to get the horses and the wheels out of deep mud, but at length she reached the Collins residence safely.

Her welcome there, however, was of the most impudent kind. Indeed, Mrs. Collins was the only creature to show some mercy regarding her weariness from travel.

As soon as she stepped foot in the house, a livid Mrs. Bennet started bellowing at her from the top of her lungs.

'Fancy seeing my daughter flaunting her graces in London, while her poor father is dying in bed! Shame on you, you recreant daughter, conniving and plotting against your own mother and sisters! I've lived to see the day when I was abandoned by all and had to tend to your father all by myself!'

This last accusation was a contraption, however, since it had been Charlotte who had waited on her father more than anyone. A mother, nevertheless, was entitled to make a fuss and scold her ungrateful offspring whenever she had the chance.

'How could you have let him go on such weather? In such conditions? You knew so well he was weak-hearted. Was it a gesture of defiance? Do you want poor Lydia to end up on the streets? Who will provide for her if your father is gone? Who will provide for you, you reckless creature? Or have you already concocted a scheme for yourself of some sorts?'

'Mama, how can you accuse me of wishing my poor father ill luck? I've mistaken terribly but don't wrench my heart so!' she exclaimed.

'Oh! I should have pity on you? It's the last time, Mary, I ever let you go by yourself anywhere, for I have seen no one can depend on you. Your duty is to stay here, at home and help your elderly parents!'

'If I recall well, mother, you were the one who put me through the journey to London to begin with,' she reminded her.

'And this is what I get for having done this much for you?! What single woman can afford this much luxury? Your father and I worked hard for you to have a chance in the world but you sought to repudiate it.'

She sighed, trembling of cold and fatigue. Her head hung sulkily down as strands of black hair swirled in front of her eyes. Her conscience started nudging her again, conspicuously, telling her to give in and accept her unpardonable errors. But there was some small pride in her that told her all was not her fault and perhaps her mother was accusing her too harshly.

'I well agree my trip brought only misfortune but let me now go to my father and care for him. I shall let you have your justice mother, you can punish me for all my ill-doings, but now papa needs us all.'

'Do not make yourself so busy! Fortunately, your sisters, Jane and Lizzy have aided me a great deal and your presence is not quite vital. I say, Mrs. Collins herself was very polite and dutiful but it is obvious she wants your father out of the house. And I couldn't agree more, such dwelling is not suited. At Bingley estate he will be more comfortable. Of course, no one listens to me, why should they?!'

With that she bid her come with her to her father's chamber, her voice crisp and severe. She had never seen her mother so upset; it was clear now that Mr. Bennet was seriously ill.

'Mother, where are Kitty and Lydia?'

'Oh! So it is now that you care to worry about them! Hypocrisy is a fine thing, my dear. Kitty and the Colonel have yet to receive our letters since they're up in the North, visiting the man's regiment. I am certain thought that, unlike some fickle daughters, Kitty will arrive at Longbourn in no time.'

'At Longbourn?'

'Well! I cannot trust the servants with poor Lydia, who is in such delicate state! Kitty must take care of her. Besides, they would both be no help here.'

When Mary stepped into Mr. Bennet's ill-lit room, barren of some commodities and presenting only a small fireplace, an oak wardrobe, some chairs and a tiny crumpled bed, her heart shrank. In the sheets, lay a man who was anyone else but her father.

It was a weakened man, a man no longer in his old power, a man who had lost his vitality and energy, all absorbed by the cruel wind of time which does not allow for aged men to see another spring if they fall in winter. Ironically, it was just the beginning of a promising April.

His eyes had violet, bruised dark circles, his feeble arms showed all his pulsing veins, his chest moved unevenly and his hands trembled slightly. His white hair shone more prominent than even. For the first time, Mary saw him as an old man.

'Mr. Bennet, that wandering daughter of yours has finally come to see you. London air suited her well, humph!' Mrs. Bennet remarked going to straighten his pillow.

'Mary darling…' he said hoarsely. 'I am delighted to see you.'

Mary sat next to his bed hesitatingly, not knowing what to say, with her mother there.

'Will you, dear Mrs. Bennet, leave Mary and I alone for a while?' he spoke gravely.

'Oh! Well, I can see how you have a firm grip on your family!' she said cynically before going out upset.

'Do not mind her dear…I cannot begin to express my sorrow at having caused you all this trouble…' he half-whispered. 'When I planned my journey here, I never envisaged this sorrowful point where my entire family would bear the consequences of my reckless thinking.'

'Do not strain yourself, papa, you've done well, you only tried to provide for your family, that is what husbands do, isn't it? You couldn't have foreseen this,' Mary reassured him.

'Mr. Collins shouldn't have let the cat out of the bag in such a way, but then again, that's the man's talent,' he said coughing. 'I am worried, Mary. I thought there was still life in these old bones…'

'Of course there is! This rotting weather has done it all. No man, be him strong or feeble, can survive this wet weather and come out unscathed.'

'Ah…your poor mother, do not blame her for her anger…she's been in such a fit these past two days.'

'I know, I do not accuse her, I accuse myself for not having arrived earlier and…for other incidents,' she said looking down.

'Mary. Even if you had attempted to keep me in London I would have still travelled to Rosings, to try at least,' he said smiling. 'I had given up my pride a long time ago.'

'Will you be alright soon papa?'

'I don't know dear, I don't know… this is not like the bout I had this autumn. It looks like I will be lying in a bit longer.'

'I shall be here, always.'

'That I do not fear. I only wish to see you all happy, my dears and I hope I can, in time. So much sorrow has fallen on this family…you'd think it's to repay the happiness your two elder sisters have shared.'

At Bingley estate, there was great rumour and talk among the family members. Lizzy and Darcy had arrived earlier two days ago and she was already at her father's side, Jane being able to come from time to time as she was carrying herself harder, what with the child.

Mr. Darcy, however, received a letter in the course of the day that had been sent at Pemberley which involved important matters concerning affairs in London.

Considering this was important business he locked himself in Bingley's study and read the letter thoroughly. It was of course from Mr. Prowler and though it bore some good news, the rest was somewhat grim and almost unbelievable.

It was made known to him that not only had the documents been found, but they had been discovered by a former thief (who had now turned to more rightful ways) in an urn in Morel's house. This farfetched story continued in the arrest of Theodore Stoddard, having been discovered by long-time nemesis, Morel. If this was not his lawyer, he would think he was reading another fanciful novel by Mrs. Radcliffe.

When the facts became real in his mind, he wondered now what his course of action should be, for he could not simply call for his papers and ignore the poor soul's fait in the gaol. Thief or not, he had redeemed himself, a thing vouched for by James and he had helped him, one way or another. He owned the man, only he did not possess an ounce of power to do anything for him, per se.

Nevertheless, he instantly set to writing back, calling Mr. Prowler to Kent urgently.

'You would be setting up against that fellow, Morel, if you were to help Mr. Stoddard,' Mr. Bingley later told him during a glass of port.

'I can very well see that. Yet I must honour his service.'

'Of course you must, I never uttered a word against it. Lord knows I try to help the unfortunate as much as I can. Only you must find a useful way of helping him, Darcy.'

'Getting a man out of gaol is difficult, nevertheless, I might still have some old friends to rely on,' he spoke.

'Meanwhile, we should decide when to bring poor Mr. Bennet here. It should be done as soon as possible, the dry air in that house is very deficient for him, so the physician says,' Charles added.

Mr. Darcy nodded gravely. 'It shall be done, though I am afraid it won't help much…I have seen his state.'

'Bite your tongue, Darcy! If Elizabeth hears you…goodness I wouldn't want to be there.'

'I already told her…last night. She cried, I heard her, in her sleep…I tried as much as I could to comfort her.'

'You shouldn't have said anything!'

'I did not breach the subject to begin with, but she asked me what I thought. She told me she wasn't sure he would catch the next autumn.'

'Good Lord! How terrible! What a lot of pessimists you are! Darcy, you've corrupted poor Elizabeth and now she is as grim as you.'

'If it was only that, but our fears are becoming reality.'

Three days passed in dismal weather, when on the fourth at last the sun shone and a letter arrived at the Collins' residence. It had a very peculiar seal, not quite unfamiliar to Mary though.

Unfortunately, she was not the first to see it. She was out in town, purchasing medicine with Charlotte and her mother took the epistle in her possession, perusing it interested.

As she bore her sulky countenance through town with her friend, little did she know what her mother was already concocting.

She came back with Mrs. Collins later in the afternoon, tired and wary of her mother, but she was the first to receive her when she walked through the door.

'Mary! I have wonderful news,' she said in a somewhat upset voice (her rancour over her "errors" having not passed), holding the letter conspicuously. 'You have received a letter of great importance and I demand that you reply to it.'

Mary took the letter from Mrs. Bennet and read it in a gasp.

It was from none other than Mr. Fowler.