Kitty sighed, a sound that emerged from the depths of a soul that had seen too much. She turned to Jane, ignoring the spectacle on the settee.
"Tell me, Jane," Kitty whispered, her voice hollow. "In Town... do the fashionable corpses prefer velvet or satin for thecasket lining this season? I feel I should prepare a trousseau for the afterlife."
Jane blinked, glancing from her morbid sister to her husband, who was currently shouting agreement that Mr Jones the apothecary was a butcher and should be tried for treason.
"Velvet, I believe," Jane whispered back, watching Robert wipe a smudge of cocoa from Mrs Bennet's chin. "Though Robert prefers we focus on the living."
"Typical," Kitty muttered, watching Mrs Bennet finish the first box and reach for the sherry. "No appreciation for the aesthetics of the end."
Securing the peace of mind of Mrs Bennet required the reassuring presence of a Titan. Robert Fitzwilliam stood firm on the portico of Longbourn, wrapping his heavy driving coat around the trembling Matriarch like a fortress of wool and sandalwood.
"Fear not, Mother." He squeezed her shoulders, holding her gaze with unwavering confidence. "I go to conquer Bedlam. I shall march into Netherfield, secure the invalid, and ensure that neither death nor Mr Collins dares to cross the threshold. You are to remain here, safe in the stronghold of Longbourn, armed with the bonbons."
Mrs Bennet gazed up at him, her hands clasped under her chin, her expression one of religious ecstasy. "My Son. My protector. You will save us from the hedgerows?"
"I shall save you from the hedgerows, the ditches, and the apothecaries. Bring me more calamities. I shall save you fromeverything." He kissed her forehead—a benediction from on high. "Rest your nerves, Madam. I am on the case."
Mrs Bennet let out a sigh that fluttered the ribbons of her cap, watching him with sheer adoration as he turned and swept Jane and a mourning Kitty towards the waiting barouche.
The carriage thundered down the drive. Robert leaned back against the leather squabs, adjusting his cuffs with a snap.
"Right," he declared, the devoted son shifting instantly into the chaotic investigator. "The Matriarch is pacified. Now, let us see what madness Bingley has wrought."
Soon enough, he descended to the gravel, ignoring the footman's offer of assistance. He felt large, loud, and entirely too energetic for the countryside. Jane followed, a vision in blue velvet, casting a worried glance back at the road to Longbourn. Kitty emerged last, draped in her every-day funereal crepe, blinking at the sunlight as if it were a personal affront.
"Squawk," Sir Polonius announced from his gilded cage, which Robert swung casually by a single finger. "Foreclosure."
"Optimism, Sir Polonius. Try it." Robert marched up the stairs.
The Netherfield butler opened the doors, his expression freezing instantly upon sighting the Viscount wielding a cane and a tropical bird.
"My Lord." The butler bowed, his eyes darting to the parrot.
"Take the poultry." Robert thrust the cage into the man's arms. "Feed him almonds. Do not play piquet with him. He cheats. Where is the body?"
"The... body, my Lord?"
"The invalid. The Fallen Patriarch. The Man of Broken Bones."
"Keathley."
Colonel Lindon appeared from the shadows of the hallway. He looked weary. His uniform was immaculate, yet his expression implied he had spent three days herding cats through a thunderstorm.
"Colonel!" Robert clapped a heavy hand on the Colonel's shoulder, nearly sending the man into a side-table. "You look terrible. Rural life disagrees with you. You possess the pallor of a root vegetable."
"We have had a week, my lord." Lindon rubbed his temples. "Between the storm, the fracture, and Bingley's newfound identity as a peasant, I am ready to surrender to the French. It would be more restful."
"Take us to the scene of the crime."
The Colonel led them through the house. "Miss Bennet is upstairs," he said quietly to Jane. "She barely slept these three days, never left your father's side. Tepper finally forced a cup of broth into her hands and banished her to the guest quarters an hour ago."
"Poor Mary," Jane murmured, gathering her skirts. "I shall go to her the moment we see Papa."
"Prepare yourselves," the Colonel warned, stopping before the door. "The Green Room has become... a theatre. Literally."
He pushed the door open.
Robert strode in, ready to offer condolences, and halted.
