Welcome back! Thank you for your loyalty and gratuity. Things are gaining momentum now! To all guest reviewers, I'm touched by your concern for the Bennet girls and for their getting good matches. One guest, who said they should be paired with OC characters instead of canon, very intriguing! To r1965rd, I hope to deliver for them both. I will not blow any secrets yet, but I daresay, you will not be disappointed with the future I have in mind for Kitty.

Be warned, I'm steeling myself for backlash, I don't know how this update is going to hit you all. I have seen some FF, even film and TV adaptations, that make the mistake of making period drama/characters too modern and out of character. Sometimes, it works; sometimes, it doesn't. Not against variation, but sometimes it's so blatant and unreal. I'm hoping this chapter will not fall into OOC, but maybe it can't be helped. As Jane Austen said of Caroline Bingley in a later chapter, that angry people are not always wise...

Chapter 15

Lydia turned circles before the mirror, practicing a saucy simper, grabbing the corner of her new blue pelisse to expand like a wing in her twirl. Aunt Gardiner had distributed presents to all her nieces. For Mr. Gardiner's income offered her the chance of affording much nicer presents for family whenever it pleased her. For some time, a fifteen year old girl had nothing more to expect than a book on drawing, which was never read, or a set of watercolours, which were never used. Now at such an age, though young to be called a lady, she now had a present from her aunt to make her proud.

"Isn't it darling?" she moaned adoringly. "If I could but wear it in London, I'd be in heaven. How do you like your gold bracelets, Kitty?"

"So elegant! Aunt Gardiner says that they're worn on top of the gloves." Kitty demonstrated with a worn and sorry wool pair that should've been discarded. "Well, don't judge it by how it looks on these ratty ones. But I cannot wait for the next assembly! I'll borrow Jane's gloves, the ones that come up to the elbow."

"Mama has hinted that Aunt Gardiner would like to take Jane back with them to town. Perhaps if you're sweet, Jane might bring you back your own pair."

"Jane is going to London?" echoed Mary. As much as she loathed to take part in this idleness, reclined and ready for sleep, she raised up a bit.

"Well, I think she will. Aunt Gardiner hasn't asked yet, but I'm sure she will," Lydia replied distractedly.

"I wonder perhaps if she'll see Mr. Bingley…"

"Capital scheme to be sure! She can go and stay until she gets herself engaged. Then all will be right as rain!"

"I do hope so, for her sake," said Kitty. "Would certainly be nice to have our sister at Netherfield. I shall ask them for at least four balls a year."

"That's a lot of money to burn," Mary protested, "especially being it's not your money."

"Next to money, connections are just as important. So Mama says," replied Lydia.

"When you start talking about connections and status, you begin to sound like the Bingley sisters. In fact, none of you are very different from one another, especially when you've stayed up all night for a ball."

"I should hope not. Miss Bingley might be pretty and fashionable, but she's above the company. Gives herself too many airs to stoop to laughing at a good joke, and she didn't get asked to dance very often. Pratt said she was like ice when Chamberlayne, just to be polite, asked her to dance."

"Lydia, will you please put the candle out? Kitty and I are tired."

Kitty had slumped at the wash table, with gloves and bracelets still on. Her eyelids weighed down. "Speak for yourself, Mary. We're not stopping you from going to sleep."

"You can barely keep your eyes open, Kitty. And I can't sleep if you both don't stop chattering."

"Beware Kitty, she's starting to get more cross. That's a sign of worse days to come. Perhaps we ought to take heed. Actually, I'm monstrous tired anyway."

It occurred to Mary that Jane's going to London might make it easier to inquire for herself. Far be it from her wish to visit London, especially for the diversions Lydia longed for, her aunt and uncle would certainly welcome her to their house on Gracechurch Street. After waiting for several minutes after the candles were blown out, Mary slipped from bed and downstairs. The drawing room was empty. All the Gardiners had gone up, the children having been abed long ago. They were always very kind and reasonable. Knowing their nieces so well, Mary had been given a new author for her voluminous collection. Mrs. Gardiner might also be able to escort her for an appointment with the specialist, knowing where to go, wait with her, and give her support.

Mary almost feared that everyone had gone, but a dim light still burned in her mother's parlour. The children had expended whatever was left in the strength of her nerves. She already had leaned back in her chair by the fire, eyes closed and snoring softly. It rather startled her to feel Mary's hand grasp hers, rouse her from this medium doze.

"Oh dear, Mary," she yawned. "What on earth are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same. It's past twelve."

"Heavens! Cook has quite outdone herself. I don't even remember your Aunt Gardiner getting up to leave. Suppose it would be good to get up to bed." Mrs. Bennet pulled her shawl a bit tighter around. "It's so difficult to leave a warm fireside."

"May I ask a word with you, Mama?"

"Well, I'm really tired, Mary. Make it quick, if you please."

Taking the opposite chair, very likely vacated by her aunt, Mary struggled to compromise between brevity and reasonable explanation. While explaining the benefit of the recent tonic, in regards to helping alleviate some of her worst pain, reducing pain was the extent of it. It did not cure or explain the cause of her problem. Comparing herself with the rest of her sisters, when they were indisposed, her experience was very different. Normally, everyone still seemed to go about their day; meanwhile, she suffered cramping, nausea, fatigue that kept her in bed for several days. When it came to the point:

"Mama, may we ask my Aunt Gardiner, if I might go with the family and Jane back to London? I should like to see a doctor."

"A doctor? D-Do you know what you're asking, Mary?"

"Yes Mama."

"Mr. Jones has helped you plenty over the years."

"Indeed, that he has, but you must admit, it's only done so much. There's really been no improvement; that you must admit."

"Mary, there's no need for alarm. It's not as bad as all that."

"Mother, I want to see a doctor." Captain Carter's admonition came to memory. She spoke with the urgency of a command rather than a request, more forcefully than she had intended. It came as an evident surprise to her mother, from a daughter she had never experienced stubbornness. For a few seconds, Mrs. Bennet sat gaping, mentally grasping, suddenly awake and disturbed.

"No."

Mary blinked. "No? Why?"

"No. I will not allow it."

"But Mama-"

"Your situation is not the best, but it certainly could be a lot worse, my girl. You have no idea! Doctors are horrid, nosy and invasive. Any examination you might choose to undertake… Mary, it's a barbarous impropriety. Criminal against women-"

"Mama, doctors are there to help. When we fall ill, we need-"

"We've had Mr. Jones to help us through illnesses for many years. I've not been seen by a doctor in twenty-five years. I've borne five healthy children. That's a great risk upon one's health and nerves, but I did just fine with a midwife in my time. I survived childbirth. All my girls survived childbirth, as well as colds and fevers. Lizzy survived pneumonia when she was ten years old. Your father, thank heaven, is as virile and strong as men half his age."

"I do not understand. Why are you so against it?"

"Let me tell you. Let me tell you, Mary. You weren't born yet, so you'd have never met Dr. Stone. He was the attending physician here in Meryton some twenty years ago. I was recommended to see him for my personal care, and especially during pregnancy. Everywhere that doctor went, every house, farm, lodging, death followed into every family. On one of the neighboring farms, the farmer suffered an accident that necessitated an amputation of the leg… From what I was told, he operated on the poor man. It was against his better judgment. He was a man with a family, after all. The operation was successful, then some infection developed. And the poor man was dead within the week."

How desperately Mary wished to interrupt, stop her mother on this nervous, hysterical rant. But now it was too late; whatever strength for argument she had been gathering was sapped.

"He did nobody any service. I shall never forgive him, especially on account of your Aunt Phillips. I'll tell you…" Mrs. Bennet's voice shook, with tears and emotion gripping her throat. "None of you girls know this. Don't ever share this with anyone, I forbid it, Mary… Your Aunt Phillips came to be with child. She, too, went to see Dr. Stone. He examined her and declared everything to be fine. She's healthy, the baby is healthy. When she began to have unusual pains, he still persisted that it was normal. Oh, Mary…"

Mrs. Bennet pulled her handkerchief from a pocket, trying her best, in vain, to contain herself. This wasn't like the common whining and whimpers heard so often by the family, whenever Mr. Bennet trifled with his wife's nerves. She breathed with some difficulty and exhaled with moaning sobs, leaving her daughter bewildered and grieved.

"Mary, I'll never get over it. My dear sister and dear Mr. Phillips… they were devastated. Something had gone wrong, but he could not explain it. When they hoped another baby would come in future, to their disappointment, all hopes proved in vain. Mrs. Phillips refused to believe that miscarrying once would put an end to everything. To be of comfort, or so he assumed was comfort, he told her to accept the reality that she may never have children. Instead, she ought to think of charity, or make herself and Mr. Phillips a benefactor for some other poor child… What an asinine thing to say to a bereaved woman!"

"I-I'm very sorry for Aunt Phillips, Mama. You cannot know how…"

"It's abominable that he never faced lawsuit from anybody in Meryton. He moved onto some practice over in Liverpool. He left the country with honour and a higher wage. For Meryton didn't pay him enough, and he left his apprentice, poor Mr. Jones, high and dry… Mary, the profession may be a noble one, but noble men do not enter it. I'm not fooled by their pretensions to serving their fellowman. They're cheats!"

Mary inhaled. "Mama, I can understand your apprehensions. But we are talking of Dr. Stone. It's hardly fair to judge the whole profession upon the basis of one doctor."

"Hardly fair? Dr. Stone is certainly not alone. When your Aunt Phillips was advised to go to London, see a doctor there, they gave her even worse news. Not only could she not have children, but even in that unlikely event, pregnancy would prove fatal. Fatal! They're all heartless cheats. They're all just the same."

"Mama-"

"Is that what you want, Mary? Do you want yourself examined by some heartless, old man? Do you want to be humiliated? Then be told something similar, that you have too weak a constitution for bearing children?" Through narrow, red, soggy eyes, Mrs. Bennet scowled back at her daughter, who was almost too frightened beyond her wits. "For as long as that suspicion remains an ambiguity, you may form an attachment and marry a man without a pang of conscience. You cannot be blamed for what you do not know. But, if something is wrong, he'll have to be taken in, duped upon your marriage. When he's expecting children, you-"

"That is hardly a question here, Mama!" she blurted, shuddering. "There is no man to be considered here. How can I respect any man that would marry me, marry any girl, in ignorance? But that is beside the point. We're not talking of marriage. I'm talking about my health, my quality of life."

Springing from her chair, Mary went upon her knees before her mother, grasping the hands and handkerchief. "Mama, I'm resigned to live with any disappointments. What I cannot abide is doing nothing, knowing a chance of improvement is within my power."

This all was beginning to exhaust Mrs. Bennet, who huffed a bit. Old wounds had been opened, and as she struggled to regain composure, her daughter's logic plagued her. For once, she was thankful they did not live in London. This obstinacy must be due in part to Elizabeth, the ungrateful child, influencing her meekest.

"Perhaps, Mama," Mary stammered, hesitated, feared to suggest, "perhaps if someone you love and trust were to recommend a doctor, one in particular, might you reconsider your position? You and Father could meet him and question him yourselves, and if we are all satisfied, might you allow me-"

"My answer is still no!"

"Please-"

Mrs. Bennet rose. "I am very tired, Mary, and so are you, quite done in. Now, let's go to bed, and we will say no more about this. Come get up, child! Honestly, how you try my nerves Mary. You have no idea what I suffer, tossing and turning at night, worrying about all of you turned out of our home when your father is dead."

Fortunately for Mary, not given to melancholy and passionate outbursts, she did not spend a sleepless night awake from tears. There were a few tears, but no fits of crying. Neither of her sleeping sisters heard anything. Darkness was kind and peaceful. She had her few minutes of tears while anger still ran hot. She still said her prayers. Though tears subsided, anger did not. It gathered strength in her calm. For all her mother's concerns about future marriage prospects, and her own statements to the contrary, Mary had already considered it. Not long ago, she had been concerned about Mr. Collins. Now that he was no longer in question or concerned party, her freedom of conscience still belonged to her. Anger and clear conscience eased the difficulty of some decisions.

"I'm rather surprised you've decided to come walking with us," declared Kitty. "You never go on walks."

"One of these days, we ought to take the spinster in to the milliner's. A pretty bonnet would just brighten you up a bit," suggested Lydia. "Left to your own devices, you'll pick an unflattering style or the most hideous cloth in the shop."

"At least, I still have money to make my own choice. A brag you cannot make for yourself," Mary replied.

"It's hardly fair you should have more money because you dress so drab."

"I have more because I'm better at saving."

"Then you could be more generous with your sisters who have not."

"If you both are suffering from exposure to the cold, take an afternoon and croquet yourselves a pair of scarves."

"Lord no, a homespun scarf is too drab for my new blue pelisse. It simply wouldn't match in its style. I'd prefer to look like a London lady."

When this plan had been concocted, Mary realized that a break from her usual habits might create an amount of curiosity. To throw them off, she might have to endure a few little walks such as these at least a few more times. Not accustomed to it, like her other sisters, Meryton sometimes felt farther than a mile away. Lydia and Kitty also lengthened the distance with this bickering. Also, at some point, it was hoped that Meryton would present a distraction of some sort: whether it be friends, a new window display, or an officer. For that brief moment, Mr. Wickham would've been a welcome sight, and do her the great service of engrossing the attention of her younger sisters. They'd gotten as far as Clarke's library, before Mary's expectations were realized. Mr. Pratt and Chamberlayne, along with Mrs. Forster, were spotted outside.

Clarke's library was a detour, not the destination. As the united party took to the bookshop to escape the cold, Mary found a few seconds to be unseen and retreated. The destination, the apothecary.

The customary bell rung with the opened door. At the sound, the wiry figure emerged from the back. "Ah, good morning, Miss Bennet!" he called out.

"Good morning, Mr. Jones."

"I trust you are well today?"

"I am, yes."

"And how is your mother? I'm still working on her next order. I should have it ready by tomorrow. The post carts always run slow in winter, you know."

"Indeed. Mr. Jones, may I ask your professional opinion on a matter?"

This request set and cocked his triangular brow. He set down the empty medicine bottles on the counter, scrubbed his hands against the oil-stained apron. All her life, this was the image of a doctor: bushy-haired but balding, maniacal precision in measurements yet unable to keep the spectacles level on his nose, eloquent of speech. Highly spoken of throughout Meryton, privy to the secret complaints of all its matrons, her mother's golden standard, Mary caught herself almost trembling, realized how many affronts were to be made. Her heart was beating in her stomach.

"How can I help, Miss Bennet?"

Mary opened her reticule. "Some two months ago, my mother gave me this tonic for pain. May I ask what it is?"

"Your mother gave it to you, you say?" he repeated. When affirmed, he smiled: "I'm sorry. Professional confidence prevents me from disclosing matters concerning other patients, you understand."

"Of course. But this other person is my mother."

With a headshake, and a more humouring smile: "Family ties do not excuse any breach on my part, I'm afraid."

Somewhat expected. "Mr. Jones, are you aware that this tonic was intended for my use? As I am not always well enough to come to town, my mother will often do this in my stead."

"Again, I cannot answer as to that. Had we had a consultation, personally, I'd have more freedom to speak. If you do wish me to offer a full explanation, I'd require that your mother be present, and with her consent of course."

"I really do not think that is necessary."

"I'm sure she wouldn't mind," he insisted. "I might stop by Longbourn later this afternoon-"

In a sudden panic, she practically begged: "Mr. Jones, I'd prefer any consultation not include my mother. I have my own reasons."

"No doubt." Blood rushed to the face quickly, bringing back all the heat and anger of last night. Perhaps, if Mrs. Bennet had proven anything correct, consultations and examinations could bring a rather unsavory result, humiliation.

"You do not see anything questionable, sir, about a patient giving her daughter an unknown medicine? How do I know it's not a quackery?"

"Miss Bennet," he muttered, "do you honestly suspect I'm capable of such a practice? In my home town? Giving fake prescriptions, false advertisements to my neighbors? Such things do happen in London, yes, but not in the country."

"I'm not accusing you, sir."

"Well, it seems that you are, Miss Mary," he retorted. "I take great offense to it. I've known you and your family over twenty years. I even treated the previous generation of Bennets. You ought to be ashamed bringing such a slanderous claim."

Her voice shook. "Simply tell me what this tonic is and why I'm taking it. If it's a legitimate mix of compounds, given for a reasonable purpose of cure, then what is there to hide?"

"If you wish my medical opinion, which has been scandalously called into question, I will only do so with the full authority and presence of your mother. Until then, we have nothing else to say. Good day, Miss Bennet." Regathering the empty bottles to his arms, squaring his shoulders, he bowed merely with a nod. "Oh, since your mother has been taken poorly, I'll be happy to make a house call tomorrow, with her order."

Delivered this final threat, that settled the matter. For as reluctant as she wished to bring in a third party, Mary left the shop unwilling to let such arrogance go without any defense. Her hands shook in a rage that had no vent. It took a few minutes to find composure, and then a few minutes to seek her object. The streets were running red, dozens of officers milling about, a good many preparing for drills at headquarters. Just like Lydia and Kitty did, for other reasons, Mary combed the blur of red for an individual face. Down the street and around the corner, beneath the overhang and sign of the baker's, Mr. Wickham and Captain Carter were engaged in some small talk while, it must be supposed, waiting on an order.

"Captain Carter!"

Both men turned. One courteously acknowledged her presence, while the other seemed taken aback. Another couple words exchanged between them, and the men departed. Mr. Wickham retreated to the bakery to wait inside.

"I hope I have not interrupted-"

"No, no. Wickham and I have just done with a training session this morning," he explained. "We will be meeting Colonel Forster in a little over an hour for a review. Thought a little indulgence in some confections might put him a good humour, and I'm not above it myself. How do you, Mary?"

With an exhale, she began: "Captain, if you're not too pressed for time, may I request your assistance and a few minutes of your time?"

Wide-eyed and astonished, but no less happily surprised. "Of course. How can I help?"

"If you will follow me, and I'll try to explain."

"Are you well? You seem a bit flustered."

"Actually, I just came from visiting Mr. Jones. Needless to say… my visit was not satisfactory."

This gave mental and physical pause. His countenance, lightened by her approach and greeting, suddenly chilled. "I see. Is this regarding a certain matter?"

"Yes. Instead of applying to my mother for an answer, I've taken matters into my own hands."

"What did he have to say?"

"Because he's in professional confidence with my mother, he's not at liberty to discuss this with me."

"Did he?" That old familiar look. Mary's recollection and former dismay upon inauspicious introductions, was a welcome ally. With such emotion, he was armed for battle. "What do you wish me to do?"

"Will you accompany me on a second visit?"

"Certainly." Their pace quickened. No doubt, he was pressed for time despite assurances contrary. But it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume his quick stride had been fired by indignation. A few small parties of young officers that walked through the road were mindfully but brusquely asked to step aside if they came close to blocking their way.

"Do you know what you wish to say?"

"No. I've already offended him by asking too many questions. I fear-"

"Simply ask what you need to know. If you wish me to speak, I'll only step in if there's resistance."

"He promised to call on my mother tomorrow," she stammered out. "I'm afraid of her finding out about this. I did not accuse him of anything, but I'm afraid one question was taken as an insinuation."

"Don't concern yourself about it. You're completely in the right to ask questions."

"My mother, last night-"

"Mary, by the time we leave, he will be more worried you will mention this to her."

Her heart rattled with the rattle of the shop door. This time, Mr. Jones had been busy on his knees, then popped above the counter. At the sight of Mary, for the second time, a grimace was hard to suppress. Now that she came with company, it was his obligation to try and pretend the previous interview had not happened.

"How can I help you, Miss Bennet?"

"I've come to inquire about the same tonic," declared Mary. "Mr. Jones, I ask you please-I demand to know the identity of this tincture, and for what purpose it's to be administered."

"Once again, I defer to professional confidence-"

"That does not satisfy me, Mr. Jones. I have a right to know."

"Your mother knows best, and you ought to trust her opinion. Professional conversations are confidential. It would be a legal violation to disclose the treatment and status of a patient's health. Any conversations I've had with your mother, even if they involve you, I'm not at liberty to disclose-"

"That's hardly a valid argument," the captain interrupted. "Bear in mind, Miss Bennet is of age. She does not need parental consent to consult a physician. And I have a few questions of my own."

"Beg your pardon. Captain Carter, is it?" He gave no more than a curt nod to the apothecary. "I've heard about you. You've been making inquiries about me, about my business. Sir William Lucas has hinted that you ask a lot of questions about my predecessor."

"My questions were mere curiosity about where the sick in Meryton go for medical treatment."

"Suggesting I am not qualified to do so?"

"You have just now referred to the state of a patient's health. Does that make you a doctor?"

"The people of Meryton trust-"

"Simple question: yes or no. Are you a doctor?" the captain scoffed.

"No. If you demand a straight answer, no. But no doctor can practice without proper credentials in pharmacology. Do I dispense medical advice? Yes, I have the authority to do so."

"Do you have a surgery? What is your history of procedures? What school did you attend, or under who have you studied?" Now, silence. "For mixing herbal and chemical compounds, you're using the term patient rather loosely."

"I'd expect that from an army surgeon. What's your specialty? Numbing pain, cauterization, amputations. A butcher and surgeon can do the same work essentially."

Mary's eyes widened in the face of a verbal fistfight. It was perhaps the only occasion in her life she'd ever witnessed a real debate in the real world, no philosophical debates in print.

"You've made your point. We've discussed my work. Let's get back to yours. I have another question." He slid his army hat under arm, then turning to Mary. "May I?" She produced the bottle a second time. He held it up for full view. "Did you do this, Mr. Jones? I'd like to know where is the label for this tonic."

"I did not remove the label."

"Did Mrs. Bennet remove the label herself?"

"I cannot speak for the lady and what she did!"

"Well, you ought to have advised your 'patient' against it. Removing a label from any tinctures is a very risky matter. But I can't help notice that there's no residue, not even a torn piece of a label left behind."

"Captain, I swear upon my honour, I did not remove the label to this bottle!" he angrily protested.

Mary ventured her own smug air: "Maybe you didn't remove it, or perhaps, you didn't label it at all." And once again, silence. Mr. Jones began to redden himself, with his eyes shifting more nervously between herself and the lowly army surgeon. "I'm sure there must be some explanation."

"It is not-"

"Mr. Jones, do you not," lectured the captain, "contemplate the seriousness of mislabeling and similar errors? I call them errors. I could call it something else, but for now, we will assume this was done in error. If there are no clear labels or demarcations, your 'patient' or any third party or curious child is at high risk of serious illness or death."

"Miss Bennet has already questioned my credibility on that score. She thinks I'd sell quack medicines to my own neighbors!"

"I did no such thing, Mr. Jones. And you know it. My concern is valid. Without a label, how do we know you didn't mix up someone else's order by mistake? Nobody is perfect. For its transparency and fluidity, it could be sugar water; it could be arsenic for all I know."

"How dare you!"

"Well, I see we're not getting anywhere here, Miss Bennet. We'll be on our way." Moving to go, he returned the bottle to Mary and replaced his gloves back on hands. "Since Mr. Jones won't answer your questions, I believe we should pay your uncle Phillips a call."

"What? No, you can't-"

Mary whipped back. "Oh, can't I?"

"Well, I mean – is that really necessary to involve your uncle?"

The hint was taken. "I'm afraid you make it necessary, sir."

"Let us be reasonable-"

"If you will not answer my questions, then this conversation is beyond reasonableness. Let's go, Captain Carter." His hand was on the door knob, even causing a faint rattle.

"I beg you! I-" cried Mr. Jones. "I will tell you then."

"Very well," replied the captain. Both stepped forward, invoking a nervous step backward on his part. Although separated by a counter, it was a small barrier to the man's saber and imposing build. "Sir, I believe Miss Bennet asked you a question. It's time you answer her."

Having the tables turned from ten minutes ago, Mary relished the chastised look and fear which he had inflicted now punishing himself. But he had one last qualm to throw up, as a last resort.

"Mrs. Bennet kindly wished to spare you this, and wanted discretion. Do you really wish me to make full disclosure before a stranger?"

Captain Carter could scarcely contain a smile. Mary hardly recognized her own voice, as it took on a contemptuous magnitude. "He is my eyewitness. I expect nothing less."

"So be it… It's one part -, three parts -, two parts laudanum. Your mother has consulted me for years regarding your... forgive my indelicate verbiage, internal complaints. Apparently my other common prescriptions that I give for this sort of thing has been of no effect. Therefore, when she asked for something stronger, I advised her on the use and dosage of the laudanum. She emphatically insisted upon discretion, which I cannot blame her. For as you must be aware, plenty of controversy surrounds the use of opium by the general public."

"For all the greater reason," the captain reprimanded, "you should have labeled the bottle. And given the risks involved, why did you not involve her daughter directly? Doctor or apothecary, you have a legal and moral obligation to disclose your methods and obtain proper consent. She has as much right to be informed as her own mother."

"You've yet to learn, Captain Carter. For you are still quite a young man, and still new to the field. You needn't lecture me upon legality and my duty to my fellowman. If you insist, always, on adhering to the ethics you've been taught in university, you'll unhappily find they're not always received with kind appreciation among the agricultural families and communities. If you don't cater a little to the differing opinions and ethics you'll find there, you won't stay in business. Reality can be harsh. Not everyone wants to face these realities. Sometimes, you need to use your better judgment and tell your patient what they want to hear. Mrs. Bennet doesn't want circulating rumours about her daughter being an opium addict." The shock caused a gasp from Mary. "If I do not have her confidence, her friends likewise will not have confidence in my practice."

"Alright, let's drop the charade. These good, simple people of Meryton are not your patients. They're customers."

"You've forced me to break confidentiality under duress. You've threatened me and insulted me. Please, isn't that enough? Honestly! Had I known what I'd be repaid for some secret kindness. There are greater needs out there. Laudanum comes dear, and doctors need it dearly for surgeries. Some patients, for intolerable, chronic pain."

"Though I may be young in the medical field, I believe as regards what is tolerable pain and what is intolerable, the patient is the best judge of that, not any doctor… Well, have you any further inquiries, Miss Bennet?"

"I don't believe so." As they turned to finally, after an eternity it felt, make their departure, Mary remembered. "I shall tell Mama to expect your call tomorrow, with your delivery. And I trust, there is no need to speak of this 'professional conversation' we've had today."

"You have my word."

And shamelessly added: "Good. I am your patient, after all. Good day, Mr. Jones."

Did I do OOC on Mary? I probably overdid it a little.

In my research, this was a common issue in the medical field, apothecaries and professional chemists fighting over turf. Apothecaries did have some valid knowledge and credentials to practice, but in the Regency and Victorian period, there was a greater distinction between those who could practice surgeries and those who could mix prescriptions. An apothecary might consider himself like a GP, but lacking the full training of real physicians. Just interesting little whatevers from history.

Approve, disapprove, critique, I appreciate and thank you for your feedback. I'm happy to inform you, as far as my progress in this story, I'm almost finished with the canon section of the story. Trying not to rush myself but really looking forward to breaking out of the canon and into my original story line.