Thank you for coming back and reading. I hope you like it.

Chapter Fourteen

Mary was reading the library when she heard someone come in. It was Jane. She was crying, "Mary…" She went over to her younger sister and hugged her, "It is Mr. Wickham!"

Mary put on a face of curiosity and worry over her "fiancée". She hugged her sister back, "What is it?"

Jane pulled away and took Mary's hands in hers, "He is dead. No one knows what happened."

"Oh dear…" Mary said, smiling on the inside. She tried to bring up some tears.

She buried her face into Jane's shoulder and successfully convinced her sister of her sadness.

"Do not worry, Mary, everything will be alright," Jane said as she stroked her sister's hair.

Mary pulled away from Jane and smiled at her, "I know…Thank you for telling me. When is the funeral?"

Jane said, "Mr. Darcy is taking care of the arrangements. I am not sure about when it is. It probably is soon. They will bury him before the ground hardens in winter."

Mary nodded as she began to think.

"..Mary, dear, would you like to go take a nap in your room? If you want, I will make you some tea..." Jane said, trying to help her sister.

"No thank you, Jane. I will go upstairs…That's what I need…A nap," Mary said as she went upstairs.

Jane watched her, curiously, as she went to sit down.

Mary went upstairs and bumped into Hill.

Hill was a young girl, about fifteen years old. She had an orange color hair that was long and curled. She stared at Mary and curtsied, "Miss Mary, I offer my condolences. I heard about Mr. Wickham and his untimely death."

Mary stared at the shorter girl, "….Thank you…" She started to her room.

"When something bad happens to me," Hill said, turning around to look at Mary once more, "I try to find the good that will come out of it…."

"Indeed," Mary said, wondering why she was telling her this. She went to open the door and went inside.

Hill smiled, slyly, as she went down the stairs to do her chores.

Mary went to lie down on her bed and she stared out the window. It was a gray day. It reminded Mary of Mr. Collins' eyes.

She closed her eyes and fell asleep, dreaming of her achievements.

Downstairs…

"NOOO!" Lydia cried out as she latched on to her sister, "He can not be dead! He can not be!"

Jane hugged her, sympathetically, "I am sorry, Lydia…I knew that you were fond of him."

"I love him!" Lydia shouted as tears ran down her face. She tried to imagine her beloved Mr. Wickham. Dead. Her handsome soldier.

Jane sighed, "Lydia, keep your voice down…You do not want Mary to hear, do you?"

Lydia pulled away from her, "Let her hear. She did not love Mr. Wickham. I loved him! He was everything to me and she stole him from me."

Jane couldn't believe that Lydia would speak about her sister in this manner. She stared at Lydia in shock.

Lydia sighed as she wiped her tears away, "…Did…did he suffer?"

She knew nothing about how it took three minutes for Mr. Wickham to die. It might not sound like much to some. However, it was the panic that was the worse. Your lungs constricting as it begged for air. The hopelessness that he could not fight back. The way the body burnt when it was starved for air. Blacking out within a minute. Losing all vision. Then he felt nothing else but the pain. It was the most agonizing three minutes of his life. Three minutes that felt like three years.

"I do not think so. I was not told much," Jane told Lydia.

"I loved him…" Lydia whispered to herself as she sat down on the settee. She felt like she was seeing the world in black and white. She felt pain and misery. She had always wanted to be with Mr. Wickham. And she thought that he felt the same way about her. And that he would ask her to be his wife. But no. He asked her sister.

Meanwhile…

"Queer…Very queer," He said. The "he" that was being referred to was Detective Richard Evers. He was a tall, thin man with dark red hair. He was young, barely twenty-three. However, he was disguised amongst the police force in the area. There was not a lot of murders in the safe little towns, but if there were any they came to him. And he was able to solve each one of them.

The "queer" that he was referring to was the crime scene. He was in the home of one George Wickham. The body had long since been taken away and all Mr. Evers was left with was the crime scene. He found it odd that there were two glasses of wine. Perhaps Mr. Wickham had a visitor before he perished.

"I agree, Mr. Evers," said his partner. His partner was an older gentleman by the name of Detective Edward Phillips. He was shorter and more portly than his partner. He was also the more experienced one. He was the one Mr. Evers came to when he was in a slump. The one who stood in the background as the young and handsome Mr. Evers took all the credit. "Two murders within a week. What is the world coming to?" He mused.

"Do you think they are connected?" Mr. Evers asked.

Mr. Phillips laughed, "Do not be dramatic. It is probably a coincidence. Serial killers aren't in places like here. London, maybe. But here? No. Besides, the methods of killing are different. One was beaten, one was smothered. No connection."

Mr. Evers shrugged, "It just seems odd. Two murders…"

Mr. Phillips shook his head as he went to open the wine cabinet, "It seems that Mr. Wickham was upset about something…"

Mr. Evers went over to him, "What do you mean?"

Mr. Phillips said, "There's about twenty bottles in here. No dust on any of them. He bought these in a short amount of time. And men drink alone and much because they are upset."

Mr. Evers glanced at Mr. Phillips, "Perhaps we should ask his fiancée. Miss Mary Bennet."

Mr. Phillips started to nod and he remembered something, "The man that was killed last week. Wasn't his name Bennet?"

Mr. Evers let out a smirk, "I believe they call that a connection, Mr. Phillips."

Dun...Da....Da...Da...Dun....^^ Don't worry, we've got a long way to go...