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Chapter 9 C
Seth put down his pen and looked across the table at the sleeping figure of Daniel Kitwell. He smiled and shook his head in amusement. Had Daniel actually fallen asleep in the chair next to the fire every night that week? Seth was almost sure that the man had. And every night that week, the young footman reluctantly retired to his room only after Seth had awoke him and told him to leave. Daniel seemed to think that a requirement of the job that John Barrow had given him was to keep constant watch over Seth, and it was the only duty that he didn't seem able to accomplish.
Not that Seth minded it at all or blamed the young man for not being vigilant enough. It wasn't very easy to keep vigil over someone who didn't sleep anymore.
The quiet sound of Daniel's snores were comforting to Seth, so he chose not to awaken the young man. He would do so as soon as he finished his sermon for Sunday. It wasn't progressing very well at all. Seth sighed deeply and tried to turn his attention back to the paper on the table and the Bible opened next to it, attempting to summon up some words of faith or images that could be derived from the passage that had been chosen.
None came into his exhausted brain.
Seth stood up and walked over to the window, peering out at the church yard and, more specifically at Mary Sutherland's grave. He had fallen into the habit of checking to make sure that there was nothing disturbing the peace of the church yard and had very nearly worn a path into the floorboards between his table and chair near the fireplace and the window. How many times had he already walked over to the window on that night alone? Seth hadn't even bothered to count. The apprehension that would come upon him as he crossed the floor drained when he recognized that there was nothing there -- but he still couldn't rest easily. He assumed that the dread of finding something outside was the cause of his current bout of sleeplessness: he was afraid of going to bed for fear of what he might find in the morning.
Daniel snorted uncomfortably and rolled his head over to his shoulder. Seth watched as the man continued to sleep peacefully and envied his ability to do so. When would he be able to fall asleep with such ease? Seth shook his head in disgust. Would he again be able to sleep once the men who had defiled Mary Sutherland's grave were found? And what if John Barrow and his assistants were never able to discover the men who committed such an appalling act? Would he never sleep again?
It was not that he had no confidence in John Barrow's ability to do the job. He simply knew that the task itself might be something of an impossibility. Nothing had been discovered in the week since it had happened, and it seemed to become less likely with every night that passed.
Seth went back to his chair and wondered if there weren't something else that was keeping him from slumber. His memory of yesterday's visit to Miss Bennet still bothered him. In fact, her words of frustration and his own heated responses had haunted him over the greater part of that day. By the time that he and Daniel sat down for their dinner that evening, Seth had so heartily regretted his harsh words that he had decided to attempt an immediate reconciliation. His hat in his hands, he had taken a hack chaise over to the Darcy home -- a very great expense for someone in his position -- and had arrived just in time to see a carriage draw up to the front entrance and the townhouse's inhabitants come out of the door. It appeared that the family was going visiting that night.
He knew that it would be highly impolite to interrupt them on their way out, so Seth had watched from the window of his own cab as Mr. Darcy very slowly and solicitously escorted his sister-in-law down the stairs and assisted her into his carriage. Mrs. Darcy was equally attentive to Miss Bennet's needs: she carried out a lap blanket and made sure that her sister was well tucked in before she allowed her husband to hand her into the carriage.
Watching Miss Bennet's family being so sweetly considerate of her made Seth feel even more like the heel that he had become. And he was a heel, wasn't he? A inconstant and capricious man who's horribly tardy visit to a close friend had ended with bitter words and raw emotions. Thomas -- or Miss Bennet -- or whoever she was -- deserved better than he had given her on the day before.
And it didn't look as if he would ever get a chance to redeem himself, did it? It appeared that she was getting just what she needed at this time: unconditional love from family members who truly cared about her! And these were family members who cared about her because she was Mary Bennet, not because they were impressed by Dr. Townsend's skill and usefulness.
Had he ever showed his friend such limitless affection? Had everything that he had ever given come with requirements?
Of what use were his own fickle attentions to Miss Bennet?
Seth had skulked home in the same hack chaise that he had hired to take him over there in the first place. He arrived back at his house in a very dark mood and the last thing that he wanted to do was attempt to write a sermon.
Two hours later, he was not much further from when he first began. In frustration, he tore the sheet that contained more ink blots than comprehensible words and let the two halves fall to the floor. He took up his Bible rather desperately and began to leaf his way through the Psalms, eventually coming upon the 51st. It was the one that he cherished above all others and he felt that familiar sense of comfort come over him as he began to read over it, hearing the phrases in his mind even before his eye found them on the page: Have mercy ... according to your unfailing love"
He closed his eyes and his mind leaped ahead. "Surely you desire truth in the parts; you teach me wisdom in the inmost place"
What was the truth that the Lord desired and where could he find the wisdom that he had been taught? Seth wasn't sure where the truth lied anymore or what it would mean to be wise. Was it wise for him to have forsaken his friend because she hadn't lived the truth? She concealed her innermost nature from him -- but wasn't that act a forgivable one?
Seth had only recently discovered this. It was forgivable, of course it was forgivable. He had proven the fact that she had good reason to hide it from him.
And what if the Psalmist had a different definition of "truth" in mind? Could it be that the truth that the Lord desired was even greater than simply being honest?
Had he never thought of that before?
Perhaps being "truthful" was to live with a sense of moral integrity; an uprightness of character that informs a person's every act.
If that were the case -- then Miss Bennet was the truest person he had ever known. Nothing that she had ever done was out of an ulterior motive. Every part of herself was given freely to others. She healed the sick because they needed a capable person to care for them.
And she was capable, wasn't she?
Seth struggled with those thoughts and went back to the text, allowing the images of being cleansed to wash over him. -- "Create in me a pure heart...Renew a steadfast spirit within me. Restore me... Grant me a willing spirit to sustain me." The Psalm spoke of renewal, of a having chance to start over, of having your transgressions forgiven gladly.
But Seth hadn't emulated these words, had he? He had wronged Miss Bennet by not being more forgiving. Where his spirit should have been willing to accept her as she truly was, his own spirit had been begrudging.
The result was the loss of an honest and steadfast friend.
And all that remained to him was "a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart." The only thing that the Lord would find a suitable sacrifice.
With greater purpose, Seth put down his Bible and attacked a fresh sheet of paper. He was profoundly sorry for the way that he had treated his friend. He could not expect to be welcomed back by Miss Bennet.
But he could still do his work -- the work that he had been called to do. He would be able to find some meaning in that. Couldn't he?
And couldn't his parishioners find meaning in his mistake?
Head forgetting about the earlier Bible passage -- Seth chose to create his sermon around the Psalm that was still ringing in his heart.
Chapter 10 A
Lord Rodale showed a greater amount of cheer than he had during their earlier meeting. His demeanor was noticeably easier -- as if he had shed some of the weight that had been holding him down. John wasn't quite sure what to make of that and had left Lord Rodale's rented townhouse more perplexed than when he had come.
Later that same afternoon, John made sure that a well-equipped and handsomely-funded Willie Barton was placed on a mail coach going to York and that his assistant had strict instructions to list every minute detail in his daily reports. Money would be no object when it came to the size of the letters sent or their frequency. Willie was also permitted to send a letter express if he deemed that the situation warranted it.
His third appointment of the day was at the Darcys, and Arabella and Little Charlie chose to accompany him on that visit. That was an unexpected pleasure. It wasn't often that his little family was able to spend some time together during his work-filled afternoons. John had held Charlie on his lap as they drove through the street, with Charlie pointing excitedly at all of the things that he could see from the window. Charlie loved horses and fancy carriages with lots of details and brass trimmings and it seemed as if they were to be found in abundance on that day. John had to hold the little boy close to the glass so that he could press his nose against it in order to peer out.
"Papa! Look at that one!" Charlie pointed excitedly.
John followed his little son's gaze. It led to a pair of perfectly matched white ponies, drawing a small, brightly painted cart with a young girl and a companion inside. The little girl was skillfully managing the docile little creatures and her chaperone was relaxing, apparently pleased with her charge's horsemanship.
"Yes, they're very sweet," John agreed with his son even as the young boy began to scan the street for another diversion.
"At least Charlie hasn't started asking for a pony," Arabella commented in a whisper to John as Charlie noticed yet another pair of pretty horses trotting past.
"Heaven forbid," John smiled back, knowing that he would be hard pressed to refuse to grant that wish. Arabella frequently teased him about him being the more indulgent parent. For John, it was a matter of pride that his son didn't want for anything that it seemed acceptable for him to have. That is not to say that he spoiled the young child -- he did attempt to rein himself in when it came to unnecessary presents and possessions -- it was simply that he never wanted his son to question just how much he was loved.
Actually, Arabella would say that her husband was unintentionally spoiling the boy, but didn't mind it as long as it didn't ruin Little Charlie's sweet disposition.
Once they arrived at the Darcy townhouse, Arabella and John sent Little Charlie upstairs to play with George and John Thomas and went into tea with the Darcys and Mary Bennet. Mary, John noted, was in much better health than when he had seen her last, although he was still a bit surprised when he first looked upon the face that had once belonged to a man named Dr. Townsend. He was able to hide his shock successfully, however, and was pleased to see that her spirits had also seemed to improve. In fact, she smiled frequently as they talked about Little Charlie and the other children. There seemed to be a sense of calm satisfaction in her face that he hadn't seen since they had made their discovery. He wasn't sure how to account for this change in countenance and decided to ask Arabella about it on their way home after their visit. Arabella was remarkably perceptive about such things.
After an hour spent in cheerful conversation, he and Fitzwilliam removed themselves to the study while the ladies finished their tea. There John began to explain what they had learned about Mr. Percy.
"Our investigation of Richard Percy has taken an unexpected turn," he began tentatively, not exactly sure how to make the whole confusing situation comprehensible.
Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow in surprise as he leaned back in his chair, giving John his full attention while he explained all about Lord Rodale, Captain Linson's blackmailing scheme, and Mr. Percy's possible role in it. That Fitzwilliam was dismayed went without saying. He was severely disappointed in Richard Percy. He, too, couldn't account for the fact that the man seemed to have arrived at Oxford from nowhere at all. The man who had recommended him, the rector at Kympton, had only known him while at Oxford -- not before. Fitzwilliam's interest in that man as the rector of his own parish was now over of course, but what surprised John even more was the fact that Fitzwilliam was already well-acquainted with Lord Rodale and felt a strong degree of sympathy for the man. It even appeared that they had all met the evening before for dinner.
This made John's next revelation a bit more difficult to make. "There's a bit more to the story, Fitzwilliam," John began even more tentatively.
Fitzwilliam saw through this hesitation immediately. "Rodale's involvement is not limited to his role as the victim?" Fitzwilliam supposed, voice dull with even more disappointment.
John nodded his head. "It's possible that he or someone that he hired was responsible for unearthing the grave where his mother is buried. He appears to be one of the few people who had a reason for doing so, and we have proof that Captain Linson knew nothing about it."
Fitzwilliam shook his head sadly and looked ill.
"The fact that the body was not taken, but the clothes were is still perplexing," John continued. "If we are correct about his motive -- then he would have wanted the corpse for an anatomy dissection. We still have yet to figure out what could have been discovered from the clothes."
Fitzwilliam seemed to see a small glimmer of hope in this. "Is it possible that it was not Lord Rodale at all, but someone else with a different motive?"
"Of course," John agreed, "But it would be a remarkable coincidence."
"Couldn't it have been just a normal resurrection theft?"
"A normal resurrectionist, if you can use such a term to describe them, would never have taken the clothes. The men in London who perform such acts for profit know that the theft of the grave clothes is a deportable offense."
"How strange that our laws don't make the theft of the body a hangable crime," Fitzwilliam mused regretfully and considered. "There's a great deal that you still don't know, isn't there?"
John nodded his head. "It's one of those cases where the discovering of a new fact just adds to the complexity of the situation."
"Can I be of assistance?"
"Yes," John admitted, not bothering to hesitate before making his request. "I was hoping that you could continue to invite both men to your home and not alter your behavior towards them. We need more time to investigate without either becoming suspicious."
Fitzwilliam nodded his head in agreement. "Although I have to tell you that continuing to welcome Mr. Percy into my home will be something of a punishment. Not since Mr. Collins descended on Longbourn have I met with such a silly little man." Fitzwilliam shuddered in distaste. "He positively preens with unctuousness. I should sic him on my aunt Lady Catherine. He'd be just the sort of man that she would appreciate."
"Has she a need for a rector at the moment?" John asked.
"No," Fitzwilliam explained. "But, I'm afraid that the one she currently has is not nearly attentive enough for her tastes. I believe that she is only visited by the man every other week. The rest of his time he spends attending to the sick and poor in the village."
"A capital sin, if I've ever heard of one!" John agreed. "How she must be suffering!"
Fitzwilliam laughed openly and John smiled in response. His friend had so rarely laughed before his marriage. It was a sound that still caught John off-guard, but he was pleased to hear it. Fitzwilliam's wife, Elizabeth, had taught him not to think of himself so seriously.
Fitzwilliam turned melancholy again. "Mary," he breathed, shaking his head somewhat.
John was confused by that. "What about Mary?" he asked.
Fitzwilliam paused, "I believe that she's become somewhat attached to Lord Rodale," he said after a moment.
"Really?" John had not expected that.
"It seems that neither of them play whist," Fitzwilliam elaborated. "They sat on the sofa last night while the rest of us played cards."
"And they improved in each other's acquaintance?" John asked for confirmation.
"I don't believe that I have ever seen Mary smile so much," Fitzwilliam recalled. "Her countenance actually seemed to brighten as they talked away. I can tell you that my wife and Mrs. Bingley were both very glad to see it. They kept on congratulating themselves on making the match and played their hands very badly. Charles and I were able to win quite easily."
John remembered his own conversation with Lord Rodale that morning and how that man's spirits seemed to have taken a remarkable turn. "For the world, I wouldn't want to dampen any bit of her joy -- but..." he trailed off.
"She deserves to know," Fitzwilliam finished. 'We have to protect her."
John nodded his agreement.
"And," Fitzwilliam went on after a long pause. "Perhaps she would be the better one to assist you with your investigations. It appeared as if Lord Rodale was quite close to taking her into his confidence last night. Perhaps she might learn something that will be of use to you."
"Well, that will hardly be a consolation to her!" John retorted, already beginning to feel guilty for having to dash her newly awakening hopes.
"But she does like to be useful," Fitzwilliam considered. "I think that she's about ready to go mad here with nothing important to do. Elizabeth keeps on trying to interest her in her old pursuits, but she will have nothing to do with them. The only thing that seems to give her life meaning is being able to attend to Marianna. The fact that she's making remarkable progress is to Mary's credit alone."
"Being useful is one thing, being valued by a man is another." John pointed out. "If Lord Rodale was really coming to appreciate her, then there's nothing that we can give that will make up for that."
"No," Fitzwilliam agreed. "But she does deserve to know the truth. We can't shelter her from this." He seemed to consider for a moment. "And who knows? She might learn something that will exonerate him completely. She might like to work towards that goal."
"Then, I assume that we should call her in?" John asked.
"I believe that it would be best to tell her now." Fitzwilliam said while reaching for the bell pull so that a footman could summon his sister.
Chapter 10 B
Little Charlie fell asleep in the carriage on the way home. John and Arabella laid him across their laps and let him take a late afternoon nap while they talked quietly about what had happened during their visit to the Darcys.
"Mary appeared to be quite devastated by whatever it was that you and Fitzwilliam told her in the study," Arabella said softly, not mincing words.
John shook his head regretfully. "It couldn't be helped."
"I'm sure that it couldn't," Arabella agreed, without having to probe further into the particulars of the discussion. They both made every attempt to keep John's professional life separate from the private life that they shared. The lines drawn around this particular case were blurring somewhat for Arabella, however. She couldn't help but worry about Mary and her role in the situation. "I just hope that she can recover from whatever disappointment you've visited upon her," she said finally, "She deserves some degree of happiness."
"And do think that she was on the verge of finding a measure of happiness?" John had been hoping that things hadn't progressed so far between Mary and Lord Rodale.
"If you're going to ask about Mary's feelings for Lord Rodale, I won't know how to respond," Arabella supplied, understanding the issue that weighed heavily on John's mind. "Elizabeth certainly was promoting the match. It was the only thing that she seemed to be able to talk about after you and Fitzwilliam left, and Mary did redden very prettily whenever his name was mentioned," Arabella seemed to consider further. "But she's far too practical to fall in love with any man on such a brief acquaintance, regardless of how much her sister presses her on it or how wealthy and important he is. But I do think that she was well on her way to liking him a great deal. I hadn't seen her this cheerful in quite some time. Certainly not since she the incident in the church yard!"
"But she was well on her way to falling in love with him?"
"It's possible, but not as likely as Elizabeth thinks," Arabella revealed. "Seth still appears to command a very large place in her heart and he's not going to be unseated from that position very easily."
"How do you know that?" John asked.
"After you and Fitzwilliam retired to his study, all of Elizabeth's questions and comments had been about Lord Rodale and all of Mary's questions had been about Mr. Shackleford." Arabella explained. "She's still very concerned about him and it seems that we're the only people that she can probe for information."
"Unless she sees him for herself?" John mentioned.
"It's not very likely that he'll come to call on her again," Arabella said. "He visited yesterday and they must have had -- words. She feels quite guilty about their exchange and doesn't expect him to return."
"Perhaps we can --"
"-- tell him?" Arabella asked. "I'm not quite sure if she'd appreciate that. It might wound her pride even further."
John nodded his head in agreement. She would not thank them for telling Seth that she felt guilty for speaking so angrily to him, regardless of what the outcome might be. They shouldn't interfere. "Well then," he continued, "I assume that the only thing left to us is to hope --"
"--that they'll come back together on their own," Arabella nodded and smiled sweetly at him. "People have been known to get past misunderstandings without outside assistance."
John smiled widely, remembering that they had been able to do just that on their own. It was a very pleasant memory: both he and Arabella had been quite determined, hadn't they? No misunderstanding was too great for them. Perhaps Seth and Mary would prove to have the same resolve?
"They might be just as determined as we were to continue their friendship," Arabella summed up.
John shook his head, suitably impressed by his wife's ability to read his mind. "Do you always know what I'm thinking?" he asked.
"Not always," Arabella smiled, "But often."
The play appeared to be diverting and the audience was willing to be entertained by it. That, at least, is what Mary could discern from the raucous laughter that floated around her, assaulting her ears with its sharp bursts of elation and merriment. Mary looked around and realized that she had no idea of what was passing before her on the stage and gave up trying to paying attention to it. She hadn't the heart for a comedy tonight.
Leaning back further in her chair, she allowed the curtain of their private box to obscure her from view and Elizabeth turned around in her chair and flashed her a look of concern. Elizabeth was always flashing her that look of concern, it seemed.
"I'm fine," Mary mouthed in frustration. "Watch the play!"
Elizabeth shook her head sadly but left her sister to brood alone. And she was brooding, wasn't she? She had been in a dark mood ever since that afternoon's conversation with Fitzwilliam and John Barrow. They, most solicitously, had told her to be wary with regards to Lord Rodale and had explained their reasons for doing so.
Mary had to admit that their rationale for putting her on her guard had a great deal of merit. She was already fully aware of the danger that the grave robbers in the church yard had posed. Could John and Fitzwilliam have forgotten that they were the ones responsible for injuring her in the first place? Mary, at least, could never forget that. She'd bear the scar on her side as a reminder of their deceitfulness for the rest of her life! She still felt pain from it as well.
And now, onto that physical pain was added yet another emotional wound. Mary didn't now how to assimilate the idea that the man who had appeared so interested and charmed by her the night before was actually responsible for her own injury. How was she to justify her recollection of Lord Rodale as a man who had understood that both Yorkshire and Barbados were beautiful in their different ways with her memory of the knife that stabbed her in the side? How was she to pin the responsibility of grave robbing onto her idea of Lord Rodale -- the gentle, attentive Lord Rodale who hadn't been too busy or bored to attempt an explanation of the taste of a mango?
She couldn't resolve those two personalities together and she wished that she hadn't been asked to try.
But it seemed as if John Barrow could use her assistance. And -- through him -- Seth might be helped. He understood from John that Seth was still quite worried and concerned about what had happened, even going so far as to purchase a wrought-iron coffin for Mary Sutherland's reburial. Mary wondered if he had to dip into his own family's funds for such an expense. She knew that he would have hated to use his father's ill-gotten and tainted money. If left with no choice, however, he might have done it.
Mary closed her eyes and wondered if Seth was having trouble sleeping. He always had difficulty sleeping when something frustrated and perplexed him.
The audience broke into a loud round of applause and Mary was jolted out of her reverie. Elizabeth and Jane were already out of their chairs and were moving towards the doorway. "Intermission already?" Mary was surprised.
"Yes Mary," Jane affirmed. "Haven't you been paying attention?"
Mary shook her head, knowing that she hadn't.
"We're going to find some refreshment," Fitzwilliam explained, taking his wife's hand and placing it on his arm. "Will you accompany us?" He held out his other arm to Mary.
Mary looked at Fitzwilliam and the other three and decided against it. She was getting tired of playing the role of the individual lady in the midst of happily married couples, always the second woman holding onto the other arm of a brother-in-law, a fifth person spoiling the picturesque symmetry of a dinner table set for four. Even tea with the Barrows that afternoon had been a reminder of her singularity: the four married people had chatted away about common concerns -- children being the greatest interest of all -- and Mary had found herself trying to smile and nod at all the appropriate places. She felt as if she had nothing to contribute to such a discussion.
"I'm feeling rather tired," Mary explained to Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, "I think that I'd rather sit here and wait for the play to resume."
"Are you sure, Mary?" Elizabeth pressed. "People generally don't go to the theater to see the play, they go to the theater to see each other during intermission."
"I would hardly know anyone here," Mary pointed out.
"But I could introduce you to --" her sister continued, but Mary quickly stopped her.
"I'm really not feeling up to meeting people tonight," Mary interrupted, attempting the smile that she did not feel "Could I perhaps ask you to delay those introductions?"
"But --" Elizabeth began again, but Fitzwilliam nudged her out the door.
"Let Mary have some time to herself, Elizabeth," he admonished kindly. "She will have more than enough opportunities to meet your friends."
Mary breathed a sigh of relief, glad that her brother-in-law, if no one else, had noticed that her disappointment was beginning to get the better of her. She was glad for the opportunity to sit anonymously in the theater and quietly watch the other members of the audience as they enjoyed their intermission. She drew her chair up closer to the rail of the box and looked on as an elderly woman led a train of young cousins through the orchestra section. The last cousin appeared to be quite interested in a gentleman who she was passing -- she flashed him a brilliant smile while her chaperone was not looking. The man returned that smile and chose to follow the line out into the lobby.
Mary looked around at the other boxes and saw a couple sitting close together -- hands held, eyes locked on one another. She watched in fascination as the man leaned in towards the lady and pressed his lips onto her own. Mary gasped in surprise and looked away quickly. Did these people have no sense of propriety? Kissing in public? They could at least have closed the curtains.
Furtively, Mary looked back towards their box. She couldn't help but be curious about two people who seemed to have no inhibitions. They were still kissing! Mary stared openly. The man, sensing that he was being watched, broke away from his beloved and returned Mary's gaze. Mary gulped and blushed in embarrassment as the man glared at her, stood up, and began to pull the screen across his box.
"Well, if you didn't want to be watched, you should have done that in the first place!" Mary muttered to herself as she glanced around the auditorium, attempting to see if anyone else had noticed what had just happened. Her eyes stopped roaming when they were arrested by another man looking back at her. He stared openly at her, an expression of shock and surprise playing across his face.
Mary blushed deeper and looked down at her shoes. Who was that man? Had he realized that she had been spying on that amorous couple?
Mary glanced up again and saw that the man was continuing to look at her. Their eyes met and the man smiled in recognition!
Mary's mouth opened in surprise! Was everyone in London society impertinent?
And now it seemed as if he were claiming an acquaintance with her. The man stood up and bowed towards her politely.
Did he know her? She sat, stunned, and tried to place his face, admitting to herself that he looked rather familiar. Surely she would have remembered him, however. He looked to be the type of person that people hardly ever forgot: impertinent and bold. As he assumed his full height, she could also see that he was quite tall and handsome, with a thick thatch of sandy blond hair. As he continued to stand before her, she realized that they must have met before.
But she hardly had any acquaintances in London.
Or -- she should say that Mary Bennet hardly had any acquaintances in London. Dr. Townsend was somewhat more connected.
Mary looked back at him in horror. Had she met him when she was masquerading as Thomas Townsend? If that were the case, then how had he recognized her?
Mary stood up. She had to leave right now!
But it seemed as if the man in the opposite box were quicker. She noticed that he had already left his box and was probably making his way to her own. She entered the crowded hallway and walked as quickly as she could in the opposite direction, trying to make for the stairs before he could find her.
"Miss!" a voice called after her. Mary turned her head around and saw that he had picked her out of the throng of people and was after her.
"No!" she breathed and picked up her skirt to rush down the stairs.
"Please! Wait!" she heard him call again. "Miss Townsend!"
Mary stopped at the use of her name and turned around. She couldn't have him call after her like that again! She glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed his attempts to delay her. It seemed that everyone was too engrossed by their own conversations to recognize the name of the woman for whom the papers had been searching. But a second utterance might grab their attention.
She couldn't have him use that name again. Not knowing what else to do, she allowed him to catch up with her.
"I thought that it was you," he said quietly as he stood before her. "How are you, Thomas?"
Mary closed her eyes and bit her lip. This man was going to be the undoing of her! Everyone would know who she was in an instant if they remained together much longer. "Don't call me that!" she said, "Please!"
"Then what name should be used?" the man ventured, moving closer to her. "Will you tell me your true name?"
"Mary?" Elizabeth's voice sounded next to her. Mary turned and saw that her sister and Fitzwilliam had returned to the second floor, refreshments in hand.
Mary turned to her sister and shook her head furiously, trying to convey the fact that she shouldn't say anything more.
"Mary? Is that your name?" the man pressed.
Elizabeth turned towards the man and regarded him carefully. Why was this unknown man attempting to learn her sister's name? "Pardon me?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow imperiously and gave the man a look that would have frozen a hot coal.
"I was just renewing my acquaintance with Miss Townsend," the man smiled charmingly, seemingly unaffected by Elizabeth's manner.
That was enough for Elizabeth. She seemed to understand the danger completely. Here was a man who had recognized her sister and was easily capable of exposing her sister's identity. She had to get Mary away from the theater. "The carriage!" she whispered urgently to Fitzwilliam as she turned her sister towards the stairs and began to lead her down them. Mary rushed down them, propelled by her sister's arm around her shoulder.
"Wait!" the man prepared to follow them down the stairs, but the ushers began to walk through the crowd just then, ringing the bell to inform the audience that the intermission was over and they should make their way back to their seats. The crowd surged up the stairs and he was caught by them.
"I don't think that we can get to our own carriage quickly enough!" Fitzwilliam rushed ahead of them, "I'll go ahead and secure a hack!"
"Anything!" Elizabeth agreed. "We have to get Mary away from here!"
"What about Jane and Charles?" Mary asked, glad for once to have Elizabeth take care of everything.
"We'll explain it all to them later!" Elizabeth shouted back, opening the door onto the street.
Mary turned around to look for the mysterious man. He was still making his way down the stairs.
Fitzwilliam held the door open on a very disreputable cab and Mary jumped into it with Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam following quickly. Fitzwilliam shouted the address to the driver and the hack jerked away from the curb, just as the strange man pushed his way through the door.
"Wait!" he called again as Mary watched from the rear window and Fitzwilliam urged the coachman to drive faster.
Mary didn't begin to breathe again until they had turned the corner and were out of sight of the theater. "That was close," Elizabeth sighed.
"Do you think that he'll try to follow us?" Mary asked.
"He'll have a difficult time of it," Fitzwilliam admitted. "The other drivers are having a long drink at the nearest pub, with my compliments. He won't be able to find a cab to take him anywhere until the end of the play."
"You managed all of that?" Mary was surprised at her brother-in-law's ability to think quickly.
"Let's just hope that it wasn't done in vain," he turned around and looked behind them. "It doesn't look as if anyone is coming after us."
"Who was that man and how did he know it was you?" Elizabeth stared at her sister.
"I have absolutely no idea," Mary was stunned and wondered that herself.
Chapter 10 C
Scoggins was quite pleased to see John Barrow, not Willie Barton, walk past their appointed meeting place the next morning and mentioned it as a greeting. "I see that I rate the man 'imself again! Your underling a bit under the weather today?"
John looked at the man sternly. "You still 'rate' Mr. Scoggins," he assured him. "And as for -- as you put it -- my 'underling', Mr. Barton happens to be gathering information in another county right now. He will be returning, of course, and the two of you will have many opportunities to meet together."
"Of course," Scoggins replied sourly, but looked as if he had decided not to antagonize his employer any further by telling him what he really thought of Willie Barton.
"Have you learned anything else about our resurrectionists?" John asked, not sounding as if he had much hope for hearing any real news.
Tim turned defensive, "It's been a 'ard nut to crack! You can't expect miracles!"
John shook his head, "Are you sure that you've followed up every lead?" he pressed.
"Wot do ya take me for?" Tim stared back. "I've talked to every person around 'ere! Twice! You wouldn't believe all the stories I've 'eard since you put me on this miserable case! There's nothing there!"
"That's enough," John held up his hand, "I'm sure that you've done your best."
"Of course I have!" Scoggins exclaimed, and felt somewhat put out by Barrow's quick dismissal of his work.
"Regardless, I have another job for you. Perhaps you'll meet with greater success on this one," and he pulled out a name and an address, "I need you to intercept any letters written by this gentleman. "I assume that you can find plenty of ways to waylay any messengers that might be carrying such letters."
"It's wot I do best," Scoggins said smugly, taking the slip of paper from Barrow. "Ya still want the letters delivered?"
"Yes Tim," Barrow agreed. "And neither Captain Linson nor the recipient should be aware of the fact that someone else has viewed the letter."
"Who is this Cap'n Linson?" Scoggins asked curiously, studying the address.
"Never mind who he is," Barrow said patiently, "He's just back from India, and I want to keep tabs on his activities in London as well as his circle of acquaintances."
"And the resurrectionists?" Scoggins reminded, hopeful that he might be let off of that particular job.
Barrow sighed loudly, and looked somewhat disgusted by the way that things had turned out with the elusive men who had stolen the clothes off of Mary Sutherland's body. "Keep your ear to the ground about them as well."
"That's a lot of work!" Scoggins protested loudly.
"And you're a hard working man!" Barrow returned with a smile. "I know that you're up to it!"
Mary spent the rest of the evening and laid awake half the night trying to recall where she had met the man who had recognized her at the theater. She wasn't able to resolve the issue until the next morning, when a Dr. Hugh McConnaugh chose to present himself at the door of the Darcy townhouse, asking to be granted an audience with "Mary".
"Of course," Mary breathed and felt numb. She had met him before, at a gathering hosted by a Dr. Marion Smith, one of the few physicians that Mary had felt was worth knowing, having opinions that were not dissimilar to her own and having never ridiculed her for keeping a practice in the East End. She should have known Dr. McConnaugh just as soon as he spoke her name. He hadn't lived in London long enough for society to have removed a Scottish lilt from his voice.
And, since he had found out where she lived, Mary had no choice but to oblige him. Unfortunately, both Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam were away from home, Elizabeth out shopping with Jane, and Fitzwilliam was taking care of business at his club. She would have to see him alone.
Apprehensive, she directed the footman to show the gentleman in and stood facing the door, a hand on a chair to steady herself.
It was evident from the broad smile spread across his face that Dr. McConnaugh was not at all fearful of meeting Mary again. He walked directly over to her, extending his arm as he approached. Mary supposed that she should take his hand and make him welcome, but all that she really wanted to know was what he wanted to do now that he had found her.
"Dr. McConnaugh," she pronounced his name weakly.
"I would return that greeting if I knew your name," Dr. McConnaugh's smile broadened into what Mary could only read as a gesture of triumph. "But, since you told me not to use the name Thomas, and I don't feel as if we know each other well enough to use the name that your --" he raised his eyebrow, curious. "Was that your sister who called you Mary?"
"Surely, if you managed to find out her address, you also know the nature of her relationship to me!" Mary snapped in frustration at his unreserved and easy manner. Did he not understand that this was not a pleasant meeting for her?
The smile disappeared instantly from the physician's face. He dropped his hand and looked down at the floor. "You're right," Dr. McConnaugh admitted quietly. "I know exactly who your sisters are: Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Mrs. Charles Bingley. It was not difficult to discover the names of the family that had secured that box at the theater, nor was it difficult to find their address or learn the name of the long-lost sister that has just come to stay with them." He looked up and regarded her slowly. "How are you, Miss Bennet?"
"What do you want with me?" she ignored his attempt to be polite.
"I want nothing!" the man protested.
"Nothing?" Mary scoffed angrily. "You hunt me down as if I were an animal only to tell me that you want nothing from me?"
"Only to see that you are doing well!" he retorted.
"And the fact that my brothers are quite wealthy and might be willing to pay large sums of money in order to have my secret kept did not induce you to discover my whereabouts?"
"Not at all!" he raised his voice.
"Or perhaps the papers would be willing to pay more handsomely for your discovery?" Mary went on.
"I don't require anything from either your brothers or the press!" Dr. McConnaugh attempted again.
"Then, why did you come?" Mary shouted back.
"I came to see how you were doing," Dr. McConnaugh professed. "Dr. Smith and I have been trying to find you for some time now."
"Dr. Smith?" Mary shook her head in confusion.
"Did you not know that both Dr. Smith and I voted against your expulsion?"
Mary did not recall that. She stared back at the man, stunned.
McConnaugh continued on. "We both assumed that something tragic had happened to you after your --" he tried to think of a way to describe what had happened to her. "-- after your unmasking and disappearance. I'm truly glad to see that you haven't come to any harm!"
"You voted against expulsion?" Mary asked, resolve against Dr. McConnaugh weakening, trying to remember if the paper had mentioned anything about a dissenting voice.
"I and Dr. Smith," McConnaugh came closer. "We both agree that it was wrong -- you had proven yourself to be a capable physician, regardless of your name or your sex."
"You came to tell me that?" Mary was still unsure of his motives.
"Yes," he agreed, "And --hopefully -- you'll allow me to remain a colleague."
"A colleague?" Mary was surprised by his use of the word.
"That's what we were," he nodded. "And that's what I should like to remain."
Mary stared openly at the man. She? A woman? Remain his colleague? Was he deliberately attempting to be absurd?
But she looked further and all that she could read was sincerity on his face.
"You're a good physician, Mary Bennet," he affirmed quietly. "I should like to see you use those gifts once again."
"What?" Mary said, uncertain that she was actually hearing what he was saying correctly. "Use those gifts again?"
"It would be a shame if you were unable to find a way to practice medicine," he said soberly. "Dr. Smith was most vocal about your ability to heal and openly admiring of the work that you were doing at that parish clinic. It's a shame that others in the college didn't share his view."
"He was?" Mary could do nothing but ask questions, it seemed. She also felt quite fatigued. She let go of the chair and let herself down onto the sofa.
"Most definitely," Dr. McConnaugh continued, taking the chair that she had been leaning on and moving it closer to her before sitting down on it. "No one will ever be able to replace you at that clinic."
Mary bit her lip and felt like weeping. It was almost as if Dr. McConnaugh had been sent to tell her exactly what she needed to hear. She had been valued for the work that she had done and there were some who felt that she could do it still.
"Is there anyone taking care of that parish right now?" Dr. McConnaugh continued.
Mary shook her head, realizing that she hadn't yet tried to secure someone to take over at the clinic. "My brother-in-law is willing to hire someone to take over the work, but I haven't been able to locate anyone suitable." Mary looked up at him guiltily. She should have attempted to find someone sooner than this.
"You've been ill yourself," Dr. McConnaugh soothed, "You haven't had the strength to do so."
Mary shook her head, brushing aside his attempt to console her. "I should have done it before now," she said.
"I could help you with that," he suggested. "I happen to know a very good surgeon who could use a position."
"You do?" Mary asked slowly, still not sure if she should trust him completely.
"I could bring him to visit," he responded, nodding approvingly.
Mary considered further. She did need to find someone to fill the position that she had vacated. "You can bring him to visit tomorrow afternoon," she said eventually, apprehension still coloring her voice. "My sister and I will be willing to see him."
Dr. McConnaugh's smile widened even further. "So, you are allowing me to visit again as well?" he asked.
"I --" she began and then stopped. Did she want this man to come visit again? What would the harm of that be? He already knew all that he needed to know in order to expose her to the world. There was nothing more for him to learn. "I suppose so," she finally agreed, still attempting to make her voice sound grudging and distant. She wasn't sure if her own heart was behind those emotions.
But she brushed that thought aside for the moment and decided that she wanted him to account for how he had recognized her in the first place, especially since there were some among her small acquaintance who weren't able to know her at all. Her mind flew to Seth and his last visit there. It had taken that man more than a few seconds to understand that the woman who had walked into the drawing room was actually his old friend Thomas. "How did you know that it was me?" she asked, confusion playing across her features.
Dr. McConnaugh smiled, "You mean, other than the fact that I've been trying to find your face in every crowd for the last two weeks?" he asked. Mary continued to look perplexed and so he went on. "After you disappeared, Dr. Smith and I looked for you quite unsuccessfully. We were both convinced that you had not left London. I suppose that it was only natural that I would attempt to place your features in every face that passed by me."
Mary shook her head in disbelief, finding it hard to understand why he would go through so much trouble.
"The memory of your face has been haunting me for the better part of a fortnight." Dr. McConnaugh summed up. "Last night, I looked around and there you were, with the same scowl of disgust firmly etched on your face that I remembered from our first meeting together. Do you remember it? You were annoyed by something that Dr. Handlin had just said in passing and made the exact same expression."
Mary grimaced at the thought that she had been recognized by a frown.
"Yes!" Dr. McConnaugh said triumphantly. "That's the face!"
Mary wiped it off quickly and tried to make her features express nothing.
"Oh, don't do that," Dr. McConnaugh protested. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with having an expressive face, regardless of the emotion that it is trying to convey!"
"I have an expressive face?" Mary asked, skeptical.
"It's very easy to tell what you are thinking from watching the change in your features," Dr. McConnaugh said approvingly.
Mary shook her head and resolved to be more guarded. "It must be a weakness to be so easily read," she said softly.
Dr. McConnaugh shook his head. "I would say that it's a virtue."
Chapter 11 A
The fever that began to rage through London's East End later in the week brought more than the normal number of desperate people to the door of Seth's parish. And Seth had no idea of what to do for them, especially after a several of them fainted on his doorstep and had to be carried inside and laid out in palettes on the floor of the parsonage. Seth had already exhausted his supply of blankets and sheets creating make-shift beds for the sick, all the time recognizing the fact that he had never thought that having a clinic in a parsonage might open it up to occasionally being used as a hospice as well. Seth was worried that his new housekeeper, Mrs. Flynn, would be decamping at any moment, as well as Daniel Kitwell, who was only on loan to Seth in the first place and probably never expected that he might have to play nursemaid when he agreed to act as companion to his employer's friend.
But, as Seth walked from the clinic to the parlor to the dining room, he saw both Mrs. Flynn and Daniel carefully spooning broth into the mouths of the Harris twins -- who it seemed needed to match each other in all things, including illness. Mrs. Flynn looked up at him when he walked into the room and smiled patiently, "You look as if you could stand a bit of broth yourself, Mr. Shackleford."
Seth breathed a large sigh of relief, Mrs. Flynn didn't look as if she were going to leave just yet, and he would have told her that he was fine at the moment and then attempt to make her aware of just how grateful he was to both her and Daniel for remaining and assisting him in the way that they were, but he was prevented by a loud knock at the front door.
"Oh no," Seth muttered and walked slowly over to the door to open it. In tumbled Mrs. Hoover, nearly incomprehensible from fever, but still clutching her tiny baby in her arms. She would have fallen upon the floor, had Seth not been there to shore her up. "Let's get you inside," he said, attempting to close the door while supporting her weight and making sure that neither of them upset the baby.
He wasn't completely successful. The baby woke up from the jostling and began to howl. The ailing Mrs. Hoover didn't even notice, it seemed that she was beyond being able to take care of her child. Leaving the door open, Seth took the child out of her hands and placed it on the floor for the moment -- just until he could make the mother a comfortable place on the floor. "Do we have any more blankets, Mrs. Flynn?" he called over to his housekeeper.
"Just our own," Mrs. Flynn walked into the room.
Seth closed his eyes and shook his head -- no more blankets. But he had to do something. "Would you please go and get the ones from my bed?" he asked as he helped Mrs. Hoover down to the floor.
Mrs. Flynn hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Seth responded tersely and Mrs. Flynn left the room, returning a moment later, carrying the quilts that usually laid on his bed. Together, they folded them around Mrs. Hoover while her little baby cried hysterically for her mother. The others sleeping the room began to wake up from the noise, groan, and cry for water or food.
"I'll go heat up some more broth," Mrs. Flynn told Seth who nodded as if he had heard her clearly through the din that the helpless little child was making.
But then, he noticed that the baby stopped crying. Seth looked up for a moment, tried to focus on where he had seen the infant last and saw instead -- an angel.
No -- it couldn't be an angel -- Seth's brain must be growing cloudy. He blinked his eyes furiously to clear them and recognized that it was a young lady in a dove gray cape that he had mistaken for a messenger from the Lord. And it was she who had the baby in her arms and was rocking her gently and speaking in low, soothing tones. He watched as she stood up and walked further away from where he was kneeling next to the infant's ailing mother, calming the baby even further by pacing up the room. Then she took off her cloak and laid it on the floor, making up a palette for the now sleeping child. Seth could now tell that the young woman cut an elegant figure and was very well dressed in a white gown jacketed by a dark blue Spencer. It was obvious from the quality of her outfit that she was not from around here. Who was she?
Seth stood up and walked quietly over to where the young lady sat next to the child. She heard him approach and looked up, smiling somewhat shyly at him. "Rough day, Seth?" she asked.
Seth had to blink furiously again. The young woman looked just like Miss Bennet. Dear Lord! It was Miss Bennet! She stood up to greet him.
"Miss Bennet!" he spluttered, "I didn't recognize you!"
Miss Bennet rolled her eyes and smiled wryly. "You seem to be having particular difficulty recognizing your friends these days."
"Well, they've become somewhat unrecognizable!" Seth defended too quickly, forgetting his earlier promises to himself to be nothing but forgiving and kind to his friend if he should ever meet with her again.
Mary stopped smiling and looked as if she was trying to come up with cutting retort to that. But, just as quickly, she seemed to bite back her own words. Instead, she just looked at him, shaking her head in disbelief. "I haven't changed that much," she stated quietly, but in a way that left no room for argument.
But how could she say that? Regardless of his earlier resolutions, he could not lie to himself. Had the woman not looked in a mirror recently? Seth couldn't have imagined a transformation more extreme -- here was his dearest friend Thomas turned into a tastefully-dressed young lady. It was barely comprehensible!
But then, Seth remembered that there had always been a certain degree of elegance to his friend Thomas. Dr. Townsend had always dressed simply, but rather carefully. His cravat was always well tied around a collar that wasn't in the least bit frayed and his jacket and waistcoat never exhibited a wrinkle or a piece of lint. In fact, when Seth really thought back on it, he realized that his friend was rather fastidious in his grooming habits -- his boots had always been polished, his gloves had always been white white, and his hair had always been trimmed.
Seth, who was not the type of individual who put much stock in personal appearances, had also always been glad that his friend attempted to assist him when necessary. He looked down, realizing that his vest had become unbuttoned again and his cravat was nowhere in sight. He must have loosened it ages ago and left it somewhere in the mess that was now the parsonage. He could only imagine what his hair looked like. He was a sorry sight when placed next to this elegant Miss Bennet.
But she didn't give him any time to reflect on such matters. Someone had started to call for Dr. Townsend. Seth looked over at Mrs. Hoover, the woman who had just arrived with her little baby, and saw that she was reaching out her arm towards Mrs. Bennet! "Dr. Townsend!" Mrs. Hoover whispered gratefully. "You've come back!"
Miss Bennet walked over and knelt down next to the woman, "I can't stay long, Emmaline, but I've arranged for someone to take care of you all."
"My babe is feeling poorly --" the woman continued as if she hadn't heard what she had said or had noticed that Dr. Townsend had made a rather remarkable transformation since she had seen him last.
"I'll see to Little Agatha before I leave," Miss Bennet assured the sick woman, "You need to rest now."
The woman nodded and laid her head back down on the floor as Miss Bennet stood up. "I can see that you need some more blankets," she said, "You shouldn't have to give up your own comfort in order to see to others. You don't want to fall sick as well, do you?"
He didn't know how to respond to this. He was still shocked that Mrs. Hoover was able to recognize Dr. Townsend's face under the close bonnet and curls that Miss Bennet wore that day. He just stared dumbly at her.
"Your parishioners don't care whether I'm a woman or a man, do they?" she remarked baldly. "They just want someone to take a look at their sick children."
Seth bit his lip and tried to think of something that might refute that. But, instead of waiting for a response from him, she pulled a piece of paper out of her bag and held it out for him to take.
"What's this? he asked in surprise.
"A list of the qualifications of a young surgeon who's acquaintance I have just made." she replied crisply. "I've retained him to take my place at the clinic."
Seth scanned the description, becoming convinced that he could never pay the price that such an individual might command. "I'm not sure that we can afford him here," he said, folding the paper back up.
"You won't need to." Miss Bennet replied. "Fitzwilliam has agreed to underwrite the cost."
"Fitzwilliam?" Seth asked, momentarily confused.
"My brother-in-law, Mr. Darcy," Mary explained. "It appears that he has a very charitable spirit."
Seth bit his lip and wished that he didn't need to accept such charity, but -- considering the difficulties in which he now found himself -- he had no right to shun such assistance. "Please thank him on my behalf and that of my parishioners, Miss Bennet," Seth said quietly, looking down.
She shook her head sadly at his continued use of her last name, "Miss Bennet," she repeated his formality with some degree of sadness and then tried to shake it off. "I believe that you should convey your own thanks to him."
Seth nodded his head at the rightness of that. "I'll try to visit him tomorrow evening."
"Good," Mary smiled calmly. "I would be sorry to see that my friend was too afraid of me to visit the house where I currently reside."
"I'm not afraid of you!" Seth exclaimed at that.
"Aren't you?" Mary quizzed. "You never recognize me and won't call me by my Christian name."
"That doesn't mean that I'm afraid of you!" Seth replied. "I'm just --" he searched for a way to explain what he did feel, " -- I'm just not used to it yet."
"Well , when do you think that you might become used to it?" she pressed. "Because, I really miss my friend and would like to have him back sometime soon."
Seth looked down, contrite. She missed him? He hadn't thought that she might be longing for the relationship that they once shared as much as he had. "Perhaps we might be able to go on from here?" he asked eventually.
Miss Bennet smiled and looked somewhat relieved. "And might you be able to call me Mary from now on?"
Seth nodded slowly, "If that's what you would like... Mary."
Mary's smile widened until she was almost grinning with pleasure. "That's what I would like," she looked into her reticule again and fished out another piece of paper. "You can expect Mr. Hart -- the surgeon that I've commissioned for you -- tomorrow morning. I'll also send around a few more blankets so that you don't have to be cold in your own bed tonight." After making her explanation, she held out the letter. "And Elizabeth asked me to give you an invitation to a small party she's holding in two weeks time."
Seth took the card with some degree of apprehension. He wasn't sure that he was equal to the challenge of a small party at the Darcy townhouse.
"John and Arabella have also been invited," Mary went on, "So you won't be entirely without friends. And it's being given in my honor." She smiled, somewhat self-deprecatingly as she revealed this last, "I don't believe that you should refuse to attend considering that, do you?"
She looked so sweet as she tried to cajole him into attending, biting her lip as she waited with some anticipation. His attendance at this function seemed to mean a great deal to her. How could he refuse to do something that would seem to bring her some degree of happiness? "I'll be there," he assured her.
Mary smiled, completely pleased now, and Seth noticed a familiar brightness come into her eyes as she did so. They positively sparkled with delight.
Chapter 11 B
Seth had escorted Mary to the Darcy carriage after their meeting and Mary had asked the coachman to drive her directly back to the Darcy townhouse. She, unfortunately, had another appointment to meet on that day: Mr. Percy was once again coming to tea.
Mary's investigation into Mr. Percy's childhood had not progressed very far at all. Regardless of how silly and insensible the man acted when in her presence, it appeared as if he knew how to protect his own interests. Mary had met with the man three times during the last weekend he had been able to deflect her innocent-seeming curiosity about his childhood with an uncanny instinct towards self-preservation. To no avail, she had tried to draw him out by describing her love of her own little village in Hertfordshire. He had only nodded courteously and hadn't added any similar reflections on his own birthplace. Vainly, she had related many humorous anecdotes about being the middle daughter of five girls. He mentioned nothing about his own family. Desperately, she had even pulled an atlas of England from a library shelf and pretended to be a geographical idiot, even going so far as to suggest that the Lake District was a Kentish attraction and that Wales was due East of London. Nothing that Mary could do or say appeared to be the correct bait and -- by the end of his third visit -- she was quite sure that he knew exactly what she was trying to do and was enjoying every chance to thwart her attempts.
This did not endear Mr. Percy to Mary, of course, and by the time that she had returned to the Darcy townhouse she had worked up a great revulsion for him and had almost determined to feign illness and refuse to see him.
A much more endearing man, however, happened to be awaiting Mary as she arrived home from her mission of mercy to Seth's parish: Hugh McConnaugh was with Elizabeth in the drawing room. He stood up to greet Mary as soon as she joined them. "How did it go?" he asked, coming over to take her hand.
"Very well, Dr. McConnaugh," Mary responded, blushing somewhat as she attempted to keep a proper sense of composure in front of her sister. In actuality, both she and Hugh had progressed on to calling each other by their first names. This was something that Mary had thought of as a return to an earlier understanding: colleagues almost always dispensed with the propriety of formal names. And Hugh still considered her a colleague. Elizabeth might not understand that, however, and would probably assume that their relationship had taken a more intimate turn.
Or perhaps Elizabeth already assumed that. Mary watched as her sister smiled knowingly, made an absurd excuse about having to see her cook, and slid out of the door. Mary rolled her eyes as she watched her go, but was somewhat glad to be getting rid of her. She and Hugh could now speak freely without having to entertain their chaperone as well as each other. Mary had discovered that speaking with Hugh was something that she could do with great ease. He had made several visits to her now and she was quickly learning that he was intelligent without being pompous and charming without being insincere, In short, he was utterly fascinating. He was also one of the few people with whom she didn't need to be guarded since he already knew her deepest secret. Mary found it relaxing to be able to talk unreservedly with someone other than a family member.
Anticipating what she hoped would be a long conversation, Mary walked over to the sofa and sat down in it. Hugh followed her.
"Did your friend Mr. Shackleford find Mr. Hart's qualifications suitable?" Hugh asked as he took the seat next to her.
"I hardly think that he looked at them," Mary revealed, smiling sadly. "He seems to be much engaged at present with tending to the needs of the parishioners. They were lining the floor today. I am quite sure that Seth would find anyone suitable at this time." Mary shook her head as she thought of her friend. "The poor man, he needs a great deal of help."
"He must be at his wits end," Hugh agreed, "He wasn't trained to take care of a score of feverish patients. I assume that his education ran towards the writing of sermons that hardly anyone will listen to and the construction of lectures that all will ignore."
Mary started at that disparaging remark, but allowed that Seth didn't have any competence as a nurse.
"And that resurrectionist problem as well. I'm sure that no divinity school prepares its students for a run in with a pair of body snatchers."
Mary shook her head, "No, we were both quite unprepared for that as well." Mary had already revealed to Hugh the circumstance that led up to her unmasking.
"I wonder if he's taking any further steps to keep bodies in the ground from now on." Hugh mused out loud.
Mary nodded her head. "He's investing in those wrought iron coffin lids now," she explained. "Mary Sutherland was reburied in one and he's considering burying the few next in the same manner."
"That's an expensive solution," Hugh said in surprise. "Wouldn't it be easier to hire a night watchman or a guard to keep vigil over the graves?"
"It is difficult to find a trustworthy and sober man to do such a duty," Mary admitted. "I think that he believes that this is a more fail-safe solution to the problem. And, as for expense, he's has been reduced to using his own family's money to pay for them."
"Can his family really afford that?" Hugh asked further.
"He no longer has a family," Mary said, shaking her head. "It is his money to do with as he pleases and, from what I understand, it is a sizable amount."
"Then, why does he live as a penniless parson?" Hugh was quite confused now.
"He swore that he would never touch a fortune that had been made through the slave trade." Mary explained further. "He was quite adamant when it came to that. He used to tell me that he preferred to let it languish in the bank rather than sully his hands by touching it."
"Even if he could use it to alleviate the suffering of others?" Hugh was skeptical.
Mary sighed, "He believed that no white European should benefit from it."
"So, now he's decided that only dead, white Europeans should benefit?"
Mary shook her head, "For him, I think that this is a compromise that is difficult to rationalize. He just couldn't allow anything else to happen to another body."
"Or to anyone else who might stand in the way of these insidious resurrectionists," Hugh looked at her closely. "When I think of what might have happened if that knife had -"
Mary raised her hand to stop him. It was something that she didn't like to dwell upon. "I am well now," Mary smiled. "That's all in the past."
"Yes," Hugh sighed in relief. "It is all in the past now, isn't it? And we all can go on from here."
Mary looked back at him and wondered what it might mean to go on from there. The smile that was playing across Hugh's face at the time could only be termed knowing and the twinkle that was shining through his gray eyes looked almost conspiratorial. Mary wondered what he was thinking.
She wasn't able to contemplate that for long, however, Hugh decided to take the conversation in a different direction. "Will I be able to make the acquaintance of your friend Mr. Shackleford at the party your sister is giving in your honor?" he asked.
Mary nodded her head. "He did accept the invitation."
"I hope that he didn't have the foresight to ask for the first two dances?" Hugh continued, grinning further. "I was hoping to be granted that honor."
Mary looked away, blushing in earnest now. "I don't believe that there is to be dancing -" she began.
"Oh yes there is," Hugh raised an eyebrow significantly. "Your sister told me so just before you arrived."
Elizabeth had told her nothing about having dancing when she had suggested this small party! The event appeared to be quickly spinning out of her control. Mary had only agreed to the event because she knew that her sister had planned it to be a very small and intimate occasion, just a few couples and a smaller number of individuals getting together for an evening party. Why should there be dancing at such a gathering?
But Hugh was still staring at her earnestly and Mary thought that he might feel rejected if she refused to dance with him even on the grounds that there was to be no dancing. And she did not want him to feel rejected, did she? "If there is to be dancing, then I'll shall consider us engaged for the first two."
Hugh sighed in mock resignation. "I see that this is all the assurance that I am to get," he smiled. "Very well then. I shall hold you to that promise, if there does happen to be dancing."
Mary giggled at his way of phrasing it so that there could be no further quarrel. There would be no further attempts at discussion either, for at that moment a footman knocked and entered with the message that Mr. Percy had arrived.
Hugh stood up, "I should make my exit now," he said.
Mary heartily wished that this were not the case. She hated the thought of trading her easy conversation with Hugh for a stilted, jarring one with the awful Mr. Percy. But she had agreed to try to discover Mr. Percy's secret for John Barrow.
"I would like to return tomorrow, Mary, if that would be acceptable to yourself and your sister," Hugh grinned significantly.
Mary tried again not to blush, but found it difficult. "You know that you are always welcome, Hugh," she said sweetly, walking with him to the door and opening it.
On the other side stood Mr. Percy who did not look at all pleased to see Dr. McConnaugh exiting from a private conversation with Miss Bennet. "Sir," said he, voice laced with disapproval.
"Sir," Dr. McConnaugh responded, inclining his head very slightly. Then, with one last smile to Mary, he walked out into the hall.
Both Mary and Mr. Percy's eyes followed him as he gathered up his coat, hat, and walking stick from the footman and walked out of the front entrance. Mr. Percy didn't turn around to address Mary until the door had been closed and Hugh's footsteps could be heard on the stairs. "That man has no idea of what's proper and decent," he mentioned, after giving Mary his own sweeping bow, to which she attempted to bob a decent curtsey. She was quite out of the habit of such formalities.
"Proper and decent?" Mary echoed in confusion. What was improper and indecent about Dr. McConnaugh's behavior?
"I should never allow your honor to be compromised by remaining in a room alone with you!" Mr. Percy exclaimed. "I believe that we should call for your sister to join us."
"By all means," Mary returned icily, thinking that it was rather silly, but glad to think that someone would be joining her in holding another ridiculous conversation with the strange little man. "We shall send someone for her immediately."
"And, until then, I shall remain here at the doorway so that the footman can serve as our temporary chaperone."
Mary turned away to hide a smile of contempt. "Whatever makes you the most comfortable, Mr. Percy," she tried to say without any hint of disgust, all the while wondering if Mr. Percy weren't related in some distant way to her own odious cousin, Mr. Collins. Perhaps she should mention his name today to see what reaction she might receive.
"But I do believe that I should take the earliest opportunity of soliciting your hand for the first two dances at your sister's ball," he continued on unctuously.
Mary started at that. "I hardly think that it can be called a ball," she began awkwardly, wondering if there was any way to get out of having to dance with the disagreeable man. "I have only just learned that there is to be dancing on that night."
"I consider any evening engagement that includes dancing to be a ball," he stated imperiously. "And I'm sure that you will be danced off your feet before the evening wears out. I should like to have the earliest opportunity of being favored with your company." He smiled widely, exposing a large number of yellowing teeth.
Mary tried not to look away in revulsion. "I'm afraid that Dr. McConnaugh has just claimed the first two," she had the opportunity to say with some satisfaction.
Mr. Percy stopped smiling immediately. "I suppose that I shall have to content myself with the second two." He said coldly.
"I suppose that you shall." Mary echoed with equal frigidity, already dreading the moment when that man might have the opportunity to lead her onto the floor. She would really have to talk to Elizabeth about this! Surely they did not have to have dancing on such an occasion!
Chapter 11 C
Willie wished that someone had told him to bring a pair of thicker boots with him on his journey to the North. He hadn't been in Yorkshire a week before his own shoe leather had given out, leaving his sole flapping wildly at every step and his sock nearly black from dirt. He had never expected that investigating in the Yorkshire countryside would require so much walking.
Willie looked around as he walked down what could barely be called a road and felt as if he finally understood what the word 'desolate' meant. The moors around York and Malconbury were the quintessential visual definition of that term. He had no idea what they might be like in spring and summer, but in winter they were stark, bleak places filled with rocks and scrubby bushes that grew low to the ground. It was a thoroughly inhospitable place not fit for furry beasts much less human creatures. If there were animals that lived out on those plains, Willie could not see them: there had been no discernible movement at all much less another human form! It almost spooked Willie to think that the nearest person was probably miles away. He could never have imagined how spread out villages and towns would be compared to London. He was much more used to people living nearly on top of each other with only the foot of land that they stood upon to call their own.
For Willie, the only saving grace about Yorkshire was the view of the horizon in the distance. This was something that he had always longed to see. He had heard many sailors speak of the place where the sky touched the water and had once dreamed of venturing out on the ocean just so he could experience it for himself. His grandmother had quickly put a stop to those plans, however, and Mr. Barrow had halted them completely. He would much rather work for him than travel around the world on a tiny sailing ship with only the seawater and a horizon line to stare at.
Unfortunately, his work for Mr. Barrow was now giving him plenty of opportunities to stare out at the horizon. He had spent the last three hours walking towards it: he had been told that the town of Edgemoor was supposedly just beyond the horizon and Mr. Richard Percy was supposedly from there.
Learning that man's history had proven to be the most difficult part of this investigation. Discovering Captain James Linson's own heritage had been child's play when compared to it. Everyone in Malconbury -- the market town nearest to the Rodale estate - had something to say about that man, and Willie had yet to hear anything that was in the least bit approving. James Linson was described as a bully and a tyrant who had never been quite satisfied with his own lot in life. While still in Malconbury, he had often spoken against his cousins Talbot and Edward Linson, especially Talbot who was Lord Rodale at the time. Most of the villagers in Malconbury were glad to see him go into the army and were gladder still when he had been sent away to India. No one had yet learned that he had returned to England and was currently living in London, something that spoke volumes to Willie about the fact that Captain Linson had no family or friends in Malconbury.
Willie had been sorry to see that Richard Percy didn't have any friends there either. No one had ever heard of that man and Willie believed that he had discreetly asked everyone - from the blacksmith to the vicar to the innkeeper's very obliging daughter. She seemed to be a well spring of information and Willie had to spend quite a bit of time discovering all of her opinions.
It wasn't until late last night that Richard Percy's name even struck chord in another mind. Willie had been sitting at the inn's bar as he often did before going upstairs to the room that he had rented for the week and he was having his now nightly conversation with the innkeeper's daughter. Most of the other villagers that congregated at the inn during the evening had already gone home and the innkeeper himself was in the cellar. Willie had begun to look forward to these private moments with the young woman. "I donna suppose that tha' found thy friend yet," she had asked solicitously, pouring Willie another mug of ale.
Willie had shaken his head, allowing her soft accent to roll around in his mind. He had let it be known in the village that he was looking for a friend named Richard Percy who had once told him that he came from Malconbury in Yorkshire. "I'm starting to believe that I got the town wrong," he admitted to her. "There certainly doesn't seem to be any family named Percy around here."
"Surely such a mon as thysel' wouldna have that wrong," she said shyly, causing Willie to smile in return.
"He's na wrong," a voice said from the other corner of the room.
Both Willie and the girl turned to look in that direction. Willie had thought that they were alone but at the other end of the room he saw a man, possibly older than the ancient stool that he sat upon and at least as old as the weathered stones that lined the hearth. "What did you say?" Willie asked, peering at the man intently.
"Thee is na wrong," the man repeated, creaking slightly as he changed positions on his stool so that he could reach into one of his pockets and draw out a pipe and a pouch of tobacco.
"I'm not wrong?" Willie asked, picking up his mug of ale and crossing the room to stand in front of the aged man, "You've heard of a family named Percy?"
"Donna listen to him!" The innkeeper's daughter had admonished. "Full of tales, that one is! Father has to kick him out most nights."
"I knows all who live on this moor!" The man had shot back.
"Then, a man named Richard Percy did use to live here?" Willie had pressed.
"Aye, that he did," the man had chuckled and looked satisfied at having an audience.
"An do you know where I can find someone who knows where he is now?" Willie furthered.
"Can find th' man 'imself if th' walks towards Edgemoor."
"The man himself?" Willie echoed, confused now. He knew that Richard Percy was actually in London at that moment, but couldn't reveal that without ruining the story that he had told everyone of looking for an old friend.
"Aye," the man agreed. "He's over Edgemoor way, first tree past the church,"
"First tree past the church!" The innkeeper's daughter had exclaimed in disgust. She had come over to stand next to Willie in case her customer might need some assistance in dealing with the old man. "Nonsense! I won't have thee telling thy tales in here!" and she had pulled him up by his arm and made ready to throw him out.
"I'm going, I'm going," the man had mumbled to no one in particular and began to shuffle towards the door. He appeared to be quite used to being shown the exit.
"Where's Edgemoor?" Willie had asked the innkeeper's daughter as they both watched the man leave.
"About five miles south" she had explained and then went further. "Thee believes that man?"
Willie didn't want to lose face with her. "Well, I have nothing else to do tomorrow," he explained.
And now, Willie looked back from where he came and wished that he hadn't been so quick to take the old man's suggestion. After walking for two hours, it began to look more like the ravings of a drunkard that he was following rather than a sober, rational man. Willie wished that a cart would materialize going in either direction. At this point in time it didn't matter which way he went next. It could either to take him the rest of the way or help him to return to Malconbury and the inn where he had left his belongings. Since arriving in Yorkshire, he had learned that this was the primary way that people who didn't have the luxury of their own carriage or their own horse got around. Willie had neither, of course and, since he had never been on a horse before, he decided that he shouldn't attempt to hire one.
But a cart did not come his way, so Willie continued to trudge on in the direction of Edgemoor, almost staring in disbelief when he finally saw some buildings on the horizon. As he walked closer he could see that one of them was indeed a church and it did appear to have a few trees in front of it.
Willie's long journey finally came to a halt in front of the first tree past the churchyard. He looked around in frustration: there were no houses anywhere near to it! In fact, the only thing within one hundred yards of the short, stunted tree were graves.
Willie gasped as realization dawned. Could the old man have been talking about a Richard Percy that had already died? The man's ancient countenance appeared to make this possible. Perhaps he had been thinking of a Richard Percy who had been among the living when he was a boy himself. Willie hopped over the low fence that lined the grave yard and began to study the names of the graves in order to confirm this, running his fingers over some of the most weather-beaten names in order to identify them.
But he had no difficulty at all reading the name Richard Percy as soon as he came upon the correct grave. In fact, the carving had not faded at all. It was as crisp and sharp as the day that the mason had cut it into the stone. And so was the date - which showed that this Richard Percy had died only six years ago -- the same year that the Reverend Mr. Richard Percy was on his was to Oxford!
This was a coincidence too large to be discounted! But Willie was still not sure how it was to be explained. It was at that moment that he wished that John Barrow had been with him on that trip.
"He's never going to believe this," Willie whispered to himself as he knelt down in front of the grave and took out his pad and piece of paper to write down the information. Then, thinking better of it, he tore a piece out of the pad and placed it over the etched letters. With his pencil, he began to rub over the carving, transferring it to the paper. Let Mr. Barrow see it with his own eyes!