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Chapter 15 A
It took Seth the greater part of an hour to walk home from the Darcy's party, but the darkened streets suited his disposition and the empty lanes matched his situation. He felt completely alone. The length of the trip also gave him ample time to think, not that his reflections could do anything to improve his mood. There was nothing during that evening that he was able to look back upon with pleasure. The entire night had been a complete loss. From the moment that he arrived to the minute that he walked out the door, he had done nothing but manage to stalk around the ballroom in a black humor and offend Mary by suggesting that her new friends were not worthy of her -- especially that titled one. Not that he believed that he had been wrong in doing so, but he could have used more tact in dealing with her feelings.
Seth sighed loudly. Mary's feelings...they were a complete mystery to him. Unlike Thomas Townsend, who's own thoughts were completely understandable to Seth, this still new and very unknown Mary Bennet remained an unfit puzzle. Tonight, Seth had looked on uncertainly as the conflict had raged within Mary when he had told her of Lord Rodale, strongly held beliefs clashing against the desire to defend a new friend.
Mary had always been particularly vigilant in her defense of a friend, hadn't she? She hadn't kept that many friends while at Cambridge and later in London, but Seth had seen just how like a mother cat his friend could become when she saw a person in need of protection. He had once been the recipient of her fierce loyalty. That should have helped him to judge better before trespassing against Lord Rodale. He had definitely lost that loyalty now, hadn't he? It would be a miracle if she even talked to him again, much less bestowed an ounce of true consideration or warm affection on him. And he had no one to blame this breach upon but himself.
That thought left Seth cold.
Seth recalled the moment when Mrs. Fenton and he had discovered her true identity, the unbelievable shock of it not as vivid as it had once been. Now he simply wondered why he had never guessed it before. He remembered how he had sat next to her bedside the next day, demanding to be told the entire story. And after she had, he betrayed her by insisting that she return to her family. At the time, it had seemed like the only right thing to do.
He remembered how she had pleaded with him not to do it, how she had attempted to make him reconsider, how she had tried to make him realize that sending her away would not make anything better.
He had refused to listen then. Now, he could see that nothing had been improved by it. He had endangered the health of his parishioners by taking away their physician without immediately replacing her with another, and he had allowed Mary's family to relegate her once again to the very limiting role of spinster aunt. And, as if that were not enough, he had withdrawn his friendship from her when she needed it most.
But she had risen above all of that, hadn't she? Instead of accepting the narrow and superfluous position that she held in her sister's family, she had quietly asserted herself, gaining a place where she was loved and valued for her abilities and gifts. Instead of being bitter about no longer being able to practice medicine, she had actively searched for someone to take her place and had made sure that this person could be compensated. Instead of wallowing in despair, she had chosen to enjoy life, making a number of new friends, all who seemed to value her for her intelligence and rare charm.
It had all turned out very well for her in the end, hadn't it? Seth couldn't help but wish that it had never happened. But -- even as he allowed that thought to roll through his mind -- he realized just how ridiculous that wish sounded. They couldn't have gone on forever without him learning the truth, could they? She couldn't have lived as a man forever. Her secret would have eventually come out.
Seth did wish that he had handled the discovery differently, however. More than anything else, he wished that he hadn't sent her away. He missed her with a passion that threatened to burst out of its confines and overwhelm him completely. But he wouldn't allow that to happen. He had to maintain control. He wasn't about to admit to such large feelings. And he would not be entertaining Miss Tottenham's suggestion.
Just then, a sharp noise came from the direction of the church yard. Seth chilled instantly. It sounded sickeningly familiar -- metal splintering wood, an axe on a coffin lid.
It sounded again and Seth turned towards it, noticing the light from two lanterns shining in the distance. Disbelief flitted through his mind like a spirit, but it was quickly chased away by the furious beating of his heart. He had to do something this time! He couldn't let it happen again! Slowly, Seth crept forward, noting the discarded shovel that was almost within reach. A man wielding an axe had his back turned away from it.
Seth prepared himself to seize the opportunity this time. He watched the man with the axe carefully until he was confident that the person had not yet heard him creep near. He knelt back in a shadow made by a large box tomb and tried to see if the man was working alone.
He wasn't. Seth watched as another figure joined the man, carrying a large sack with him. "'Ave ya finished?" this new one responded gruffly.
"'Nother moment," the man heaved the axe again and brought it down. "Wot's yer rush? Th' parson won't be back fer another hour or two and 'e gave 'is friend th' night orff."
Seth's eyes widened. They must be talking about him. Had they been watching him, waiting for him to give them enough time to strike again?
But it wasn't exactly again, was it? Seth recollected his bearings and realized that they weren't anywhere near Mary Sutherland's grave. And the coffin lid covering Mary Sutherland was now made of wrought iron, not nearly as flimsy as the thin plank of wood that was proving to be no match for the strong man with his sharp axe.
Seth desperately tried to mentally place himself correctly in the yard so that he could recall the name of the person who's grave they were digging up, but his mind was too unsettled. And the man with the sack was speaking again.
"Wot friend?" He scoffed loudly. "Didn't ya finish 'im orff last time wi' th' knife of yers?"
The knife? Dear Lord, Mary was the friend they were speaking of! Something in Seth's stomach heated. These were the men who had injured Mary! Here was all the proof that he needed. Regardless of which grave they were digging up this time, these were the men who had hurt Mary!
"Nah," the first man dropped his axe again. "I think 'e lived," he laughed harshly. "But th' parson's 'ad to replace 'im wi' another, so I must've done some damage."
Some damage? He had almost killed her! If he had succeeded, he would have managed to take away Mary in a way more final and complete than any that Seth had done tonight. It was a thought too large to be countenanced. He had almost lost her for good.
And it would have been at the hands of that man. In that moment, Seth saw red. He had no other thoughts but Mary and the fact that he had almost lost her. He wanted to make that man pay for what he had done.
Rising up quickly, he grabbed the shovel and held it over him, bringing it down on the man's head with every ounce of strength he had in his body. Seth heard himself scream as the shovel head connected with the man's skull. The man collapsed instantly and his companion ran away.
Seth stood over the inert figure in complete shock. He wasn't sure what to do next.
"Sir!" a voice shouted from behind him.
Seth turned. "Daniel," he recognized.
"Are you all right, sir?" Daniel came closer. "Wot 'appened?" He looked down at the body of the resurrectionist. "Oh no!" He exclaimed, "Not another one!"
"Did I kill him?" Seth questioned numbly, trying to make out whether he was more afraid of discovering the answer to that than he was of living with not knowing.
Daniel knelt down next to the man and rolled him over so that they could see his face. His eyes remained closed and he was bleeding from his nose. Seth turned away in revulsion. "'E's still breathin'!" Daniel reported before standing up. "I should fetch the constable."
"What about a surgeon?" Seth asked.
Daniel turned back towards the man, regarding him critically. "'E doesn't deserve a surgeon after wot 'e's done." He pronounced.
Surprisingly, Seth found himself more willing to go along with that statement than he was to go against it. So much for Christian charity. Seth found that he couldn't imagine turning the other cheek in this situation. The man had nearly killed his friend.
But didn't even the men who do evil deserve their share of medical attention? Seth wasn't quite sure of what he believed now. His argument with himself gave way when the man's eyelids began to flutter. He was regaining consciousness. Swiftly, Daniel reached for the axe and armed himself with it. The two watched as the man raised his head, appeared to recognize the two angry individuals standing over him, groaned, and let his head fall back down.
"Perhaps you should go for the constable now," Seth agreed with Daniel.
Daniel handed him the axe in response. "E shouldn't give ya any trouble now, sir," he said. "That whack ya gave 'im took all the fight right out of 'im!"
Seth would have preferred not to think about that at the moment. He took the axe somewhat reluctantly. "Go get John Barrow after you've found the constable," Seth commanded.
"But 'e's not 'ome yet," Daniel reminded.
"He got back tonight," Seth explained. He had seen him enter the Darcy's townhouse just as he was exiting it, but hand't stopped to greet him because of the foul mood that he had been in at the time. "And I think that we have great need of his expertise."
Daniel nodded his vigorous assent to that. "I'll be back wi' 'im as soon as possible, sir," he said, taking one last look at the man lying next to the half dug grave. He glanced over at the headstone and appeared to read it. "Didja know 'er?" he asked.
"What?" Seth was confused.
Daniel pointed to the grave. "The woman's wot grave this is," he said again, "Didja know 'er?"
"I don't believe so," Seth squinted in the dark in an attempt to read the name.
"But ya shouted 'er name," Daniel was perplexed.
"I did?"
"Yeah, when ya hit the guy, ya shouted 'er name."
Seth didn't remember that at all. He walked closer to the grave marker in order to read it clearly. "Mary Sunderland?" he gasped, turning towards Daniel. "What did I say?'
"Ya shouted out 'Mary'!" Daniel nearly exclaimed, looking concerned. "Don't ya remember it?"
"I don't," Seth shook his head vehemently.
"Thass why I thought ya knew 'er," Daniel went on. "Cause ya sounded real angry when ya said it. As if the man was diggin' up a friend of yers. But -- if ya can't account for it..."
But Seth could account for it. He knew exactly why he had screamed out the name Mary, and it had nothing to do with the body that had almost been stolen.
Chapter 15 C
John ordered his carriage directly after the supper, knowing that Stevens and Bruno, the coachman and footman who had accompanied him on his journey into Yorkshire, would both be exhausted and eager to fall into their bed that evening.
And -- to be perfectly honest -- he wasn't too far behind them in his desire to sleep in his own bed that evening. The trip had been quite taxing and it hadn't helped matters that he and Willie had to go directly to the Darcy ball so that they could confront Edgar Mayhew with what they had learned.
There was no reluctance on Arabella's part to leave the ball early either. In fact, she seemed quite eager at the prospect of having John all to herself again. They spent the entire ride home deep in conversation. John imparted what he could to Arabella about his trip North. In response, Arabella had made him aware of everything that had happened while he was gone. But she spent most of her time elaborating on the ball and her careful observation of Mary Bennet throughout the night.
"There was hardly a man at the ball who didn't give her at least one admiring glance," she declared confidently to John. "Although some spent more time looking her way than others."
"We're you able to identify some of her lovers in the crowd?" John asked.
"Oh, that was easily done," Arabella said airily. "That Dr. McConnaugh that she introduced me to seemed very appreciative of her charms." Arabella stopped to think for a moment and then went on, "And her value," She said significantly. "I suspect that the man actually knows the truth about her years spent as Thomas Townsend and doesn't mind it one bit."
"Really?" John asked absent-mindedly. He was busy trying to recall where he had last heard the name 'McConnaugh'.
Arabella nodded. "I can't imagine that he does not know," she said. "Like Thomas Townsend, he is a member of the Royal College of Physicians. That -- as you know -- is not a very sizable group of men.
"We can be certain that they know one another by reputation, if not by sight," John agreed.
"And the unmasking of Thomas Townsend did become quite a scandal," Arabella went further. "Dr. McConnaugh's an intelligent man. He could have easily added two and two together at the theater the night they met," she shook her head and thought further. "It didn't look as if the idea that Mary had once lived as a man bothered Dr. McConnaugh one ounce, though. He appeared to be quite pleased to lead her out into the dance."
"Well!" John replied, a note of surprise sounding in his voice. "Things have progressed quite a bit since I've been gone! The last thing that I remember was Mary's disappointment over our suspicions of Lord Rodale. It seemed as if she was leaning towards him."
Arabella considered that. "She did seem to enjoy her dance with Lord Rodale as well," she replied. "And," she hesitated momentarily, "...it was a waltz."
"Oh, a waltz!" John raised his eyebrows at the thought. He hadn't yet become a proficient of the dance himself, although Arabella had taken to it well enough. "And with whom did you waltz?"
"No one," Arabella responded, teasingly forlorn. "The only partner that I wished for had not yet arrived." She looked at her husband significantly; a glance through her lashes that John believed belonged to Arabella alone.
"I'm sure that your partner grieves to have disappointed you," John replied, attempting to sound properly dignified, corners of his mouth pulled down soberly.
"Perhaps the gentleman can make up for his unfortunate absence later," Arabella returned, attempting to sound properly innocent.
"Perhaps." John didn't bother to force a pleased grin from appearing on his face and began to concoct a plan. But there would be time for that later. He still hadn't heard everything that there was to know about the dance. "I thought that I understood that Seth was invited to the ball. I did not see him there," John commented.
"He was," the teasing light in Arabella's eyes seemed to dim. "He took his leave while you and the others were still closeted in Fitzwilliam's study."
"I take it that he didn't enjoy himself," John responded dryly.
"It was hardly an event designed to give him pleasure," Arabella returned. "The only person that he truly came to see spent most of her time on the dance floor with other men." Arabella shook her head sadly at the memory. "Seth spent most of his time wandering aimlessly around the room, watching Mary's progress through the set. It's a wonder that he didn't stumble into people as he did so, so often were his eyes turned towards her."
"And was his gaze approving or disdainful?"
"Of Mary, it was very approving," Arabella revealed. "But it appeared as if he didn't like any of her dance partners. You should have seen how his eyes darkened and glowered whenever he fixed his gaze upon them. It is a wonder that the men who claimed her hand for the first three didn't have holes permanently scorched in the backs of their jackets, so intense did his expression of disgust become."
"Could Seth Shackleford actually be jealous?" John was rendered almost speechless by that thought.
"I think that he's finally realized what a treasure Mary is," Arabella said, not bothering to hide a somewhat satisfied smile, but it clouded quickly over again. "And he might be too late."
"Too late?" John's heart sank for his friend.
"I wouldn't be surprised if she received an offer of marriage from either Lord Rodale or Dr. McConnaugh in the next few days," Arabella revealed, somewhat sadly. "They were both acting like men in love."
John shook his head, "As much as I know that I should be happy for her..."
"My heart is breaking for him as well," Arabella agreed. "I've been trying to think of a way to delay any decision that she might make, without revealing Seth's heart for him. He wouldn't thank me for doing that."
"I don't think that either one of them would thank us for our interference," John agreed as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of their townhouse. He jumped out of the carriage so that he could hand Arabella out of it. Simmons was already opening the door for them.
"It's good to see you home, sir," said Simmons as they passed into their home. "I trust that your business in Yorkshire went well?"
"Yes, thank you, Simmons," John said as he began to unbutton his greatcoat so that he could hand it over to the man. Arabella's cloak was already draped over Simmons' arm. "Mrs. Barrow and I won't require anything further tonight, but I would appreciate it if you could send something out to Stevens and Bruno. I'm sure that they could use it."
Simmons agreed quickly and walked off to do his master's bidding, which gave John the opportunity that he had wished for: a moment alone with his wife, the perfect time to execute his plan. "Come here," he turned to Arabella and began to lead her towards his study. "I have something for you." He opened the door and walked over to his desk, unlocking the bottom, right hand drawer and pulling it open. From that drawer, he withdrew a small box, wrapped in brown paper.
He looked up and saw that Arabella was watching him carefully, a bemused expression on her face.
"I was going to save this for your birthday," he began, carrying it over to her. "But I'd like to give it to you now." He presented it to her.
The small shake of her head told him that she was touched by his gift, and also terribly curious. She sat down on the couch immediately and set to opening it. He sat down next to her and cut the string with his pen knife. The packaging fell away, revealing a wooden chest.
"It's a music box," John said, handing her the key so that she could wind it up. She did so and the melody sounded, high and sweet, the notes describing a waltz. Arabella looked up at John and smiled widely, knowing exactly why he had chosen to give her this birthday present a few months too early. "May I have this dance, Mrs. Barrow?" John stood up and held out his hand to her.
She took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled up next to him. "I saved it just for you," she whispered in his ear. John felt himself begin to grin as Arabella took her hand and rested it upon his shoulder. He drew her in close, wrapping his own arm around her back.
Together, they took small steps around the carpet in front of the fire, neither one bothering to recall the actual pattern of the dance. There was too much to be thought and felt for either of them to pay attention to the actual steps of the dance. And there was no one around to watch and judge their performance. It was enough for John that she should be pressed up against him, moving back and forth to the music.
A sharp rap at the window startled them both. They broke apart and John went over to investigate. Recognizing Daniel on the other side of the pane, he opened up the glass. "This isn't a very timely moment to visit, Daniel," John chided in exasperation.
"I know that, sir," Daniel agreed. "But Mr. Simmons didna answer the door and I 'ad to speak to ya!"
"What is it?" John asked, annoyance forgotten, replaced by concern. "Is something wrong with Mr. Shackleford?"
"There's been another unburying!" the man exclaimed, with a characteristically odd use of words. "An' Mr. Shackleford's caught one of 'em!"
"He caught one of them?"
"Yeah!" Daniel affirmed. "'E 'it one of 'em over the head!
"He hit another one?" John was astounded. The first time had been quite surprising to him, considering all that he knew of the pastor's dislike of aggressive acts. This second act of violence from Seth was almost too incredible to be believed.
"Yup!" Daniel replied somewhat admiringly. "Knocked 'im clean unconscious, 'e did!"
"I'll get my coat," John said grimly. He couldn't refuse to go, could he?
He turned back to Arabella, who had come to stand next to him. She smiled thinly. "Of course you must go," she accepted his excuse even before he made it.
John bent down to kiss her forehead, savoring their moment alone for just an instant longer. "Don't wait up, Bella," he whispered. "This might take some time."
It took Daniel twenty minutes to find a hack chaise willing to be hired at such a late hour and thirty minutes for the old nag that pulled the rig to traverse the quiet London streets that led from the Barrow's townhouse to Seth's church. John had no choice but to endure the wait, however. He wasn't about to force his horses and coachman out again that night.
By the time that he and Daniel arrived at the church they found that the freshly opened grave had already been covered over with a sheet. A constable had already taken the resurrectionist in charge, and Seth was sitting in the kitchen, nodding over a cold cup of tea in an attempt to stay awake.
John was seriously concerned to see that the resurrectionist had been taken away, and by a constable no less! He wondered if the man in charge of Seth's parish at night was as shaky as was the man in his own neighborhood. Not for the first time did John wonder about the suitability of the men who were responsible for upholding the law in London. And he had to wonder if the constable would find the resurrectionists' activities sufficiently evil enough to hold him. John knew that the law for disturbing graves was vague at best and nonexistent at worst. Frequently, alleged resurrectionists would be brought before court only to see the charges dismissed.
John hoped that this would not be the case this time and accepted a cup of tea from Seth. The two men sat down in the kitchen and John began to quiz him on what he had seen. "So you say that they appeared to know that you would be at the Darcy's ball that evening?" John asked.
Seth nodded. "And they must have been watching for Daniel to leave as well. They must have known that this would only leave Mrs. Flynn, the housekeeper, at home, and she can sleep through just about anything." Seth grimaced sheepishly and looked around the kitchen, especially towards the cupboards and pantry. Spilt tea leaves were scattered on the table surface and the shards of a tea cup needed to be swept off the floor. "She managed to sleep through my making a mess of her kitchen," he admitted reluctantly.
John shook his head. Poor Seth. The man looked like a mess himself. His tie was unknotted and his jacket had been flung over the chair at the end of the table.
"And you heard them mention the fact that they had knifed Mary?" John asked further.
"Well, they didn't mention her name or even the fact that they had injured a lady," Seth began, voice sounding angry and strained. "But there's no doubt in my mind that it was her of whom they were speaking. And that the one was pleased about it!" he spat out.
"And that's when you hit him?" John asked further.
Seth nodded, weakening somewhat as he remembered his own behavior. "And that's when I hit him."
"And was it Mary Sutherland's grave that they were digging up?"
"No," Seth shook his head. "That's the strangest thing. They appeared to have come for a Mary Sunderland this time!"
"Sunderland?" John echoed in surprise.
"Yes," Seth confirmed. "It would almost appear that they had the wrong grave the first time -- that they were confused by a similar name."
"And that this Mary Sunderland was the intended victim all along?"
"It looks that way," Seth agreed. "But I can't see why anyone would want to dig up Mrs. Sunderland's grave either."
"What do you know about her?" John asked.
"I had to go back quite a ways in the parish records," Seth explained, "She died over thirty years ago after a long, presumably happy life. She appeared to have borne three children, but I couldn't begin to tell you where you can find them now."
"Why would anyone wish to disturb thirty-year-old bones?" John mused out loud.
"Perhaps that's what the resurrectionist can tell us?" Seth suggested hopefully.
John nodded, agreeing to that. "I should be off, then," he took a final sip of tea.
"Would you like for me to go with you?" Seth stood up, tired eyes betraying his reluctance to attend him to the gaol where the constable took criminals.
John shook his head. There was no need for both of them to remain awake, was there? "No, you and Daniel should try to get some sleep," he said.
The man appeared to be unwilling to leave it at that. "Are you sure, John?" he asked.
John smiled. "I'm sure." And then, because he sensed that Seth felt as if he wasn't discharging some duty appropriately, John chose to throw a small barb at him. "Besides, Seth, you just might be tempted to take another swing at the man," he attempted, almost mockingly cheerful.
Seth shook his head at that but didn't try to refute the words.
Knowing that he would be hard pressed to find another chaise willing to convey him home after his talk with Seth, John had the foresight to engage the rest of the driver's evening. He had to reward the man quite handsomely before he had agreed to wait for him, of course. John recognized again, as he climbed into the creakingly aged rig, just how advantageous it was to be able to keep his own carriage.
The now obliging driver drove John a short distance to the local gaol, which at this time of night was the only place around that appeared to be teeming with activity. He walked in and surveyed the crowd in the hopes of finding someone who looked as if they were in charge. People wandered about in various degrees of sobriety and undress, but no one appeared to look at all like an authority who might know the whereabouts of the resurrectionist or the constable who had brought him in.
John decided to settle for the first lucid person he beheld. "You there!" John called out to a man walking past holding another man tightly by the arm. "Can you tell me where I could find the constable who brought in a resurrectionist from..."
He wasn't able to utter the rest of his sentence. "Over there," he interrupted, gesturing primitively towards the wall. He pushed his prisoner past Barrow and disappeared into the crowd. John looked over where he had indicated and saw three men sitting on a bench, all drunk as lords and laughing hysterically. John shook his head at the sight. It was not going to be easy getting information out of any one of the trio. Face set with a grim expression, John made his way towards the wall.
"Excuse me," he said, clearing his throat somewhat as he came to stand in front of the men.
One glanced up, "Wot d'ya want, guv'nor?" the man mumbled in response.
"I'm looking for the constable who was called in to take a resurrectionist in charge tonight," John explained, deciding to start with some degree of patience.
"Wot fer?" another mumbled.
"I'd like to ask the resurrectionist a few questions," John responded, biting back a strong desire to retort more sharply.
"Oh, like wot type of pick axe 'e uses or where ta find the freshest bodies?" the third jeered imprudently, causing his buddies to erupt with laughter.
That was enough for Barrow. A polite appeal would obviously not work here. He grabbed hold of the jacket lapels of the third man, hauled him up and pushed him against the wall with some force. "Never mind what I want to ask the man, just tell me where he is!" he menaced quietly.
That display of anger bit into the man's bravado somewhat, especially when he looked to his friends and saw that they were either too drunk or too unwilling to come to his aid; the other two sat on the bench like stones. "Granger there," he gestured over at the first man with his head, "'E let 'im go."
John immediately dropped the man back on the bench and turned his attention towards Granger. "You let him go?" he made ready to pull that man up as well, but it wasn't necessary; the man had already taken himself off the bench and was trying to edge as far away from Barrow as possible. "Why did you let him go?"
"'E was jus' a resurrectionist!" Granger began to insist in an increasingly squeaky voice. "It wasn't like the judge wouldn't dismiss the charge anyways! 'E didn't even get inta the grave! There weren't nothin' ta keep him fer!"
John knew that well enough, didn't he? It was what he had already supposed might happen. Seth would never have known not to hand a resurrectionist over to such a irresponsible constable. "You're as useful as a pile of soot!" John advanced towards him again, causing the man to cower back further. That disgusted John completely. He decided to leave. "It's time we had a useful police force around here," John muttered as he made his way back through the crowd.
Back in the hack carriage, John's sleep deprived brain tried to form some plan that went further than the much longed for moment when his head could touch his pillow and he could sink into a deep -- if not prolonged -- sleep. He supposed that he'd have to go see Mr. Scoggins and put him back on the trail of the resurrectionists tomorrow. John pulled out his watch. That left him exactly three hours to rest.
Chapter 16 A
Quite uncharacteristically, Mary slept in the next morning, not waking until Little Marianna's curiosity got the better of her. She simply had to know whether or not 'Auntie Mary' enjoyed her ball and wasn't about to sit down to her lessons until she had heard it all. Her nurse could do nothing with her; Marianna could be quite stubborn and almost imperious when she wished to be.
She could also be quite furtive. While her nurse was engaged in giving Little Charlie and John Thomas their breakfast, Marianna stole into her favorite aunt's room, pulling a chair closer to the bed and climbing up on it. Soon her feet were impatiently kicking the chair legs just like they always did. She knew that this soft, but constant noise would be enough to wake her auntie up.
Mary rolled over and squinted into the light that came from the window. She blinked several times as her eyes attempted to focus on the small figure in the chair. "Good morning, Marianna," she said sleepily.
"You're awake!" Marianna jumped down and over to the side of Mary's bed. "How was it?" she asked hurriedly, "Did you dance every dance? Did the Prince come? Did you dance with the Prince? Did you have some of cook's cake?"
So many questions issued so quickly were almost too much for Mary's still recovering brain. "Oh my," she whispered to her niece. "You want to know all about it, don't you? You could go ask your Mamma, you know."
"Mamma won't tell me," Marianna explained petulantly, as if that answer made up for the fact that she disturbed her aunt's rest. "She's still sleeping."
"Well," Mary pulled herself up and arranged her bed clothes. "Since you must know it now, I danced many dances, as did your mother and father, the Prince Regent was not in attendance, and cook's cake was very good."
Marianna dimpled at her aunt's answers. "Now," Mary scolded slightly. "I believe that you should be at your lessons."
Marianna's smile turned downwards. She did not appear to be eager to go back to her lessons. "And you should be downstairs," Marianna hedged, almost as if she were hoping to tease her aunt into letting her stay longer. "Dr. Hugh's been waiting for you for over an hour!" she revealed, calling him by the name that he had allowed Marianna to use, after it had been discovered that she had difficulty pronouncing his last.
"Hugh is?" Mary sat straight up, surprised.
Marianna nodded quickly. "He's reading the paper in Daddy's library!"
Mary's eyes narrowed. "Marianna, how did you know that?" she questioned sternly. "Have you been downstairs?"
Marianna looked caught. She wasn't supposed to go downstairs until after she had her lessons. "Nanny's too busy with Charlie and John Thomas to give me my lessons right now," she defended weakly.
Mary found that she couldn't reprimand her. She was too beloved and charming a niece to do that. She also appeared to know very well just how much she could get away with when it came to her Auntie Mary. The girl was becoming just as incorrigible as she understood Elizabeth was at that age! "I think that you need to return to the nursery now, young lady," Mary hopped out of bed and firmly took hold of the little girl by the shoulders, escorting her out the door.
"I'm going," Marianna said disappointedly, shuffling slowly down the hall. Mary shook her head as she watched her go, but didn't have much time to spend contemplating her niece's reluctance to return to her studies. She had to get dressed and rush downstairs to see Hugh.
Elizabeth's maid came in to assist her, but Mary sent her away -- deciding that she didn't have time to have her hair curled that morning. She was very curious to hear how Hugh would explain his disappearance last night. She had found it quite disturbing that he could leave without telling her good-bye, especially since she thought that he was expecting her answer that night. She was downstairs in less than fifteen minutes and did find him reading in the library. He stood up as soon as she walked through the door. "Darling," he breathed, coming over to her and placing a kiss on her cheek.
"Hugh," she returned, somewhat reservedly.
He appeared to understand her reticence. "I'm sorry that I left so quickly, dearest," he took both of her hands in his own. "But I received a message that one of my patients needed my assistance immediately. I had to go instantly, and you were still locked in Fitzwilliam's studio with Lord Rodale and those other gentlemen."
"Oh," Mary felt a degree of contrition for having thought badly of him and allowed herself to remain in his grasp. "I hope that your patient is doing better?"
"Much better," Hugh nodded, gently leading her over to the sofa. "And -- as she doesn't require my attendance at this moment, I decided that it would be best for me to come over here immediately and beg your forgiveness."
Mary sighed in relief as she sat down, glad to know that there wasn't any other reason why he had left so mysteriously, although she hadn't been aware that he actually had a group of patients in London that required his attention. She thought that most of his time was taken up with writing his findings from his recent arctic trip. "There's nothing to forgive," she said kindly. "You had to leave. I'd have done the same thing, if I were in your position."
Hugh smiled and looked quite relieved. "Thank you," he murmured, smiling and gazing at her so intently that she could tell what was to happen next. He didn't disappoint. "Believe me, my dear, I wouldn't have left your party for any other reason. Especially since I was hoping for an answer to my..." he stopped, seemingly unsure of how to describe it.
Mary bit her lip and felt a warm rush of excitement run up her spine. It had been some time since she had dreamed of accepting a gentleman's proposal of marriage. She had left such hopes behind when she escaped from Longbourn on the night of her sister Kitty's wedding, and now that this dream was being realized, Mary found herself unsure of what to say. Since Mary didn't appear to be able to assist him, Hugh had to continue. "I proposed to you three days ago," he said deliberately, almost as if he didn't want any of his words to be unclear. "Can you give me an answer today?"
Mary felt something begin to tug at the corners of her mouth and she soon felt herself beginning to smile, a slow gesture that widened into an expression of complete happiness. She was wanted. She was valued. She was loved.
"Darling!" Hugh exclaimed, "may I take that as a yes?"
Mary nodded, too overcome to speak.
It was enough for Hugh. He gathered her up in his arms and kissed her, strongly and without any hesitancy.
Mary knew that it was improper, but she allowed it all, relishing the taste of his lips as they touched hers, allowing her hands to slowly travel up the sides of his arms until they found his shoulders. Tentatively, she allowed one hand to move towards the back of his neck.
The sound of a door being opened stopped them from continuing any further. They broke apart quickly and looked in that direction. "Oh!" Elizabeth said, looking very startled and unsure. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that you were in here."
"That's perfectly fine, Lizzy," Mary stood up from the sofa, attempting to appear perfectly composed. "Dr. McConnaugh and I were..." she couldn't think of any excuse that would explain what her sister had just witnessed.
"Yes," Elizabeth nodded her head and raised an eyebrow significantly. "I see."
Mary felt herself blush furiously.
"I just came to find the paper." Elizabeth explained, eyes looking around the room for it.
"I haven't seen it in here," Hugh stood up and walked around the room in an attempt to be helpful, going to stand near the fireplace and turning his back towards it in an apparent effort to warm himself by the fire.
"No?" Elizabeth said, forehead wrinkling as she considered that. "That is strange," she commented, "I assumed that it would have been brought to the library, since neither Fitzwilliam nor myself viewed it during breakfast." She looked over at Mary somewhat sheepishly. "I'm afraid that most of our household is having a rather late start this morning."
"That might explain the lapse in your butler's general procedure," Hugh suggested. "I assume that he also had a late night and might not be as attuned to every detail as in general."
"That must be it," Elizabeth agreed. "Reynolds was looking quite discomposed when he offered me a cup of tea. In fact," Elizabeth seemed to think back, "I think that his wig was on rather crooked!"
That appeared to amuse Hugh; he laughed openly. "Was it?"
"Poor man," Mary mused, "He wasn't able to sleep in as we were, was he?"
"No, Mary," Elizabeth agreed, giggling somewhat. She looked over at her sister and didn't seem to appreciate all that she saw. "Did my maid not come to assist you with your hair this morning?" she asked, eyeing her critically.
Mary's hands flew up to her head. She had forgotten that she hadn't bothered to have it dressed. In fact, she had only run a comb through it a few times in order to induce it to lay straight. "No," she hedged. "Someone," she did not want to say who, "came up to make me aware of the fact that Hugh had arrived, and I chose not to curl it this morning."
"Well, perhaps you'd like to do so, now," Hugh suggested. "I assure you that I don't mind waiting."
"But it takes so long," Mary found herself wanting to complain in frustration.
"I assure you that the effect is worth the wait," Hugh encouraged.
"And I should like to be given the opportunity of speaking with you," Elizabeth suggested further. Mary looked over and saw that her sister was looking at her with the same knowing expression that she had on her face when she had first interrupted them. Elizabeth would want to hear an explanation for that kiss, wouldn't she?
That seemed to settle the matter for Hugh. "I'll wait for you here, Mary," he said, sitting back down on the sofa.
Mary found that there was nothing that she could do but comply. She allowed her sister to lead her out of the room and back upstairs where the maid was told to warm the irons that would curl her hair.
Back in her room again, Mary was made to tell Elizabeth all that she wanted to hear.
Having only gone to bed early that morning, Seth allowed himself to sleep late the next day, which surprised his housekeeper Mrs. Flynn a great deal. She had not been with the Reverend Shackleford long before she realized that he did not make oversleeping a general habit. She became even more concerned when she saw the mess that had been made of her kitchen, but it wasn't until she had walked outside and had noticed one of the house sheets lying over a freshly dug grave that she realized what must have happened. Another resurrectionist had come to visit last night.
"The poor man," Mrs. Flynn thought, shaking her head. "It's a surprise that he was able to sleep after all that." She chose not to disturb him until he awoke.
It was with even greater shock that she met with a remarkably cheerful Seth Shackleford in her kitchen an hour later. He had made his way downstairs and asked for a cup of tea. Mrs. Flynn made haste to brew it for him, all the while wondering about his odd behavior. How could it be that he was actually smiling on such a day as this?
"I see that there has been another disturbance," Mrs. Flynn began, hoping that this would offer him enough of an opening to continue.
Seth looked puzzled for a moment, as if he didn't know of what she was speaking. "Oh! I suppose you mean the grave," he said eventually. "I've written a note to the sexton about it. He shall see to its reburial today."
"So they didn't get the..." she stopped, fearful of being indelicate.
"The body?" he supplied baldly. "No, they weren't successful. We were, though."
"We were, sir?" she asked.
"We caught one of them," Seth almost smiled at that.
"You did?" Mrs. Flynn exclaimed in shock.
"Yes," Seth affirmed. "And I don't think that we'll have any problems with resurrectionists from now on."
Mrs. Flynn was quite glad to hear that and said so as Seth finished his cup of tea and stood up, shrugging into his best coat and straightening the knot of his tie. He appeared to be leaving.
"Are you going to make some calls, sir?" Mrs. Flynn was surprised. She thought that he'd want to take it easy after such an eventful night.
"Just one," Seth admitted, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with this coat as he did so.
"Well," said Mrs. Flynn, "It must be an important call." She had not seen him devote so much attention to his appearance before going around the parish to make visits.
"It is," Seth smiled back. "Very important. It must be made at once." And, indeed, it was a very important visit and Seth wouldn't countenance any further delays. He was going to go speak with Mary. He had attempted far too many denials and had tried to secrete his own feelings from himself for far too many days.
It would no longer do. He had to be honest with himself.
He loved Mary. He absolutely adored her. He knew it now. He loved her warm and generous heart, he loved her intelligence and her gentle wit, and he loved her brave, courageous nature. What other woman would have taken such chances and risked so much just to be of greater use to society as a physician? And what other woman would have been able been able to pull off such a feat? Seth thought back to their time at university and recognized the fact that she had fooled every Cambridge don with whom she had come into contact, not to mention all of those proper members of the Royal College! Seth honored her for her determination and he was sure that none of the men with whom she danced at the ball last night knew even half of the qualities that made her extraordinary, and wouldn't have the intellect to appreciate them if they did.
To Seth, Mary was like a shining jewel who's facets are too numerous to count and whose brilliance dims all the other stones around it. That was certainly his experience at the ball. Mary had stood out from the crowd in her shimmering white gown. Seth recognized now just how often his eyes had been drawn to her as she danced. Insipid Miss Tottenham had been right all along. He had spent the entire night admiring Miss Bennet from afar. To him, she was a beautiful mixture of the familiar and the new; her well-remembered smile centering an individual that he was just now learning to know.
Such a woman was not to be given up! Seth was determined that she should at least know his heart before she accepted a declaration from any other man. That is not to say that he was certain of the reception his own confession would receive. In fact, when he thought too long about his behavior the night before, he became somewhat anxious about being welcomed by her at all.
But he also knew that she was a fair-minded person, generally willing to give others a second opportunity to prove themselves worthy of her regard. It was on this that he pinned his hopes and was more than ready to do a fair amount of groveling if it should prove necessary.
"I might not be back for luncheon," Seth instructed his housekeeper as he walked back through the door to the hall and went to gather his greatcoat and his hat, hoping that he would be invited to stay for dinner at the Darcys as well.
"Going out, sir?" Daniel asked, coming down the stairs just at that moment.
Seth glanced up at the young man. "Yes," he affirmed. "If Mr. Barrow calls while I'm away, please tell him that I've gone to visit the Darcys and Miss Bennet. He can find me there if he wishes to discuss anything about last night."
"I'll do that, sir," Daniel agreed, walking further down the stairs. He peered out through the window on the landing as he went past. "But what would ya like for me to tell the gentl'man wot's walking through the yard right now?"
"What gentleman?" Seth joined Daniel on the landing and peered out the window with the young man, recognizing that tall, imposing figure in an instant. "Good Lord, what's he doing here!" Seth's heart sank.
"Who's 'e?" Daniel asked quizzically.
"The bishop," Seth's shoulders went slack as he went to open the door for the man. It appeared as if he were to have another visitation.
Chapter 16 B
Tim Scoggins was quite surprised to see John Barrow walk past their designated street corner the next day. He hadn't seen his employer in over a week and was beginning to wonder if he would ever meet with him again. This, of course, had made Mr. Scoggins feel very ill-used, and he planned more than a few cuttingly sarcastic things to say to Barrow while he followed him down the street and into a side way. Tim didn't like to keep vain vigils on street corners, even on the best of days, and this day the weather was particularly unattractive -- bleak, wet, and cold. There was hardly anything in the paper that Tim found worth reading either. He couldn't care less about the latest act of Parliament or the social lives of his supposed betters, which left him with very little to capture his interest among the sheets of newsprint. There was only one article that he even bothered to read in its entirety and that was only because it happened to deal with the theft of an interesting brooch made of bloodstone.
The exploits of other thieves always interested Mr. Scoggins and he was finding himself to be quite the connoisseur of bloodstone these days. The hatpin with the bloodstone bead was still in his possession, and Tim was rather intrigued by the thought that there might be a larger piece worth finding and fencing. It was hard to tell from the illustration, but Mr. Scoggins suspected from the description that it might be an interesting and valuable object. He noted that there were 22 brilliantly cut, albeit small diamonds that circled the larger stone. Those individually would fetch a good price. There was absolutely no chance of his finding it, however, as the brooch had been last seen in Edinburgh over seven years ago. Mr. Scoggins suspected that this Lady McRae who had lost the brooch would never see it again either. It served the old bat right for not having it better secured.
But he had no more time to contemplate Lady McRae's sad loss. John Barrow had halted in front of him and was turning around.
"Well, if'n it isn't Mr. Blevins!" Scoggins threw the paper into a dustbin and greeted his employer coolly. "Fancy meetin' you 'ere! I was beginnin' ta think you were dead!"
"Not yet, Tim," Barrow didn't even bother to react to the sarcasm.
"On vacation, I take it?" Scoggins baited again.
"On a case, as you can well assume," Barrow replied with a voice that signaled his dislike of Tim's current tack in the conversation.
But Tim wasn't finished quite yet. "Really? A case, not a vacation? I find that surprisin' considerin' that ya didn't even bother ta come see if'n I had found out anythin' about yer friend Captain Linson."
"Oh yes?" Barrow raised an eyebrow.
That was enough of an opening for Scoggins. "Ya might 'ave found the fact that yer Captain Linson and his friend Mr. Percy met with the right important Edward Linson, Lord Rodale last week at the National Academy and that Lord Rodale looked quite peaked after 'is conversation with 'em!"
"Really?" Barrow didn't sound as interested as Scoggins thought he should. "Were you there?"
Tim nodded, attempting nonchalance. "Someone 'ad to be! And you weren't 'ere! They definitely are blackmailing 'im!"
Strangely, Barrow smiled at that. "They were," he said, rather triumphantly. "But they won't be able to do that while in the gaol."
"Wot?" Now it was Scoggins' turn to look interested. "Wot are they doin' there?"
"They were arrested last night, confessed to the blackmail of Lord Rodale and now await their day in court."
"When did all of dis 'appen?" Scoggins exclaimed, beginning to feel somewhat offended. If John Barrow hadn't needed his help, then why did he enlist it?
"Last night, Tim," Barrow explained. "Barton and I found enough information in Yorkshire about Edward Linson and Mr. Percy's true identity to thwart their attempts at blackmail. It seems that there was no truth to the story with which they were threatening Lord Rodale."
"True identity?" Scoggins asked.
"The real Mr. Richard Percy died many years ago," John went on, smiling somewhat as he recalled the solution. "And this Mr. Percy was merely an impostor. He was quite forthcoming with information once we revealed his ruse."
For once, Mr. Scoggins was speechless. Mr. Barrow hadn't needed his help at all! Tim was quite annoyed by that thought. "Well, then, wot didja come ta see me fer? To tell me that my services were no longer required?"
"I have great need of your services, Tim," Barrow sobered instantly. "Arresting Linson did not seem to solve our problem with the resurrectionists."
"Not that again!" Tim was disgusted by the thought. "I tol' ya that there's nothin' ta find there!"
"I need you to start on it again," Barrow went on. "One of them was caught last night and turned over to a constable, who later allowed the man to walk free."
"Wot?" Tim felt the need to laugh at that. "'e let 'im go?"
"It seems as if he didn't feel that there would be any crime worth charging him with." Scoggins watched as John rolled his eyes at that.
Scoggins considered that. "They coulda come up with somethin' if they had half a mind," he said.
"My sentiments exactly," John agreed. "I'm also willing to agree with you about the men not being your normal resurrectionists, which is probably the reason why you couldn't find them earlier."
That statement did little to assuage Tim's wounded pride. "I tol' ya so," he said.
"They're working for someone," Barrow ignored Scoggins' barb, "And I intend to know who. I need you to find that man for me now that the constable has deprived me of the opportunity of speaking with him."
Tim shook his head and sighed loudly. This was going to cost him even more wear on the soles of his shoes.
"The man who was arrested should be walking around with quite a headache today," John added. "My friend at the parsonage managed to hit him on the head quite soundly."
"Really?" Scoggins wasn't sure what to say about that. "I thought that 'e 'ated fights."
"I guess that he's changed his mind," John supposed. "Although I don't think that we'll be seeing him in the ring any time soon, with gloves or without."
"Not ready to turn into one of them pugilists, I guess." Scoggins added somewhat distractedly, thinking about the task ahead of him.
"Not yet," Barrow smiled. "I should be getting back home. Shall I leave you to your rounds?"
"Yeah, my rounds." Scoggins scoffed, hating the idea of going over the same territory that he had already canvassed. Scowling, he began to move down the side way.
"Oh! Tim?" Barrow called after him. Scoggins turned. "How's your friend doing?"
"My friend?" Tim asked blankly.
"Yes," Barrow raised an eyebrow significantly. "The one with the present and the dilemma of whether or not to give it to the girl."
"Oh, the gift." Scoggins repeated, nodding.
"Did he finally give it to the girl?" Barrow asked, looking directly at him. Too directly for Tim.
"Err...no," Tim finally admitted uncomfortably. "'E didn't. Took yer advice and decided that the girl might make too much of it."
Tim looked over at Barrow and thought that he read some degree of disappointment in his face, but the man just nodded. "I see," he said, before turning and walking back down the side way.
Tim watched Mr. Barrow walk back down the side way, feeling somewhat disgruntled. He had been trying not to think about Bette these days and Mr. Barrow had successfully managed to remind him of the fact that he hadn't been to see her in almost a week. He winced as he thought of that. She deserved better than just an occasional visit, but he found himself feeling uncomfortable whenever he contemplated going to see her. She had never said anything about desiring a stronger connection or a more committed relationship, but Tim couldn't imagine that she wouldn't wish for this.
He knew that he couldn't give this to her. He wasn't the type of man who could make such commitments and that any gift that he would give to her would be a false testament to feelings that he couldn't back up with a more constant presence.
But she would be wondering where he was, wouldn't she?
And Tim found that he truly wanted to see how she did.
He would go to see her this afternoon, before he began his 'rounds', as Mr. Barrow put it, and before she had to start her own work.
Chapter 16 C
Arabella paid her duty visit to the Darcys that afternoon, knowing that it was only proper for nearly everyone to stop by the day after a ball, thank their hosts for such a splendid occasion, and ask how the family did. For Arabella, however, it was less a duty and more a pleasure. She had woken up that morning and found that she was filled with a large degree of curiosity about Mary. Had she enjoyed herself that night? And were the gentlemen with whom she danced as agreeable as they appeared? And had either one of them made their affections known to her in any larger way?
She also had to wonder about Mary's current opinion of her friend Mr. Shackleford. Arabella was quite concerned for that young man, especially when she remembered the hopeless expression on his face as he took his leave. For Seth's sake, Arabella prayed that Mary hadn't been induced to accept either one of the two gentlemen with whom she danced last night.
Mary managed to dash Arabella's hope almost as soon as she walked in the door of the house. Miss Bennet, excusing herself momentarily from the roomful of guests that were drinking tea with herself and her sisters, pulled Arabella into Fitzwilliam's study and told her that Dr. McConnaugh had proposed to her that morning and had been accepted.
Arabella had difficulty hiding her true feelings about such a report, but Mary looked so pleased and seemed so content that she couldn't bear to spoil her happiness at that moment. Arabella smiled and said that she was glad to hear such good news, but inwardly wondered if Mary knew what she was doing. She longed to ask her if she was sure about the man and if she felt as if she really knew him well enough to be taking such a step, but couldn't think of any way to phrase such questions. Nor could she think of any way to bring Seth's name into the conversation.
Their private talk was interrupted soon after that by Elizabeth asking that they rejoin the party in the drawing room, and Arabella left the Darcys' townhouse and returned to her own home just as soon as she could politely excuse herself. Her spirits, on entering her own home, were quite low. She was wondering if it wouldn't be a kindness for John to acquaint Seth with the change in Mary's situation rather than allow him to find it out on his own.
But she wasn't given much time to think about that. Simmons met her at the front door and told her that Daniel Kitwell had returned from Mr. Shackleford's and that he was waiting to speak with either herself or Mr. Barrow.
Arabella handed Constance, one of the maids, her cloak and followed Simmons into his pantry where Daniel was waiting, a packed bag next to his chair.
"Daniel?" Arabella inquired as the boy stood up to greet her properly. "Is anything wrong with Mr. Shackleford?"
"'E's been sacked!" Daniel blurted out.
"Sacked?" Arabella gasped in disbelief. Here she had thought that things could not grow worse for Mr. Shackleford. "He was let go?"
"Or 'e quit or summin," Daniel affirmed.
"Well, which was it?" Arabella was confused.
"It's 'ard to say," Daniel admitted. "Th' bishop came for a 'vis-a-tation' and started tellin' Mr. Shackleford jus' 'ow disappointed 'e was at wot 'ad 'appened in the grave yard an' wanted ta know wot Mr. Shackleford was goin' ta do about it. An' then Mr. Shackleford tol' 'im that we 'ad caught one of 'em and 'ad 'im arrested, and the bishop asked 'ow that 'appened, and Seth 'ad ta tell 'im that 'e 'it one of 'em with a shovel."
Arabella winced. "And the bishop didn't like that way of dealing with the problem, I take it."
"'E said it was 'uncalled for'," Daniel made a face and looked angry. "But it was! Mr. Shackleford 'ad every right ta 'it that man! So Mr. Shackleford said that 'e'd like to 'ave seen th' bishop handle the situation better, and that didn't seem to sit well with the man."
"He actually said that to the bishop?" Arabella exclaimed.
"Yeah, 'e did!" Daniel said, seemingly admiring of Seth's defiant behavior. "An' then the bishop said that 'e didn't think that Mr. Shackleford was fit to care for a parish, and Mr. Shackleford said that 'e didn't think the bishop was capable of caring about anythin' at all besides 'is own comfort and pocketbook."
"Oh my," Arabella sighed. "Then what happened?"
"The bishop told 'im to clear out by th' end of th' day."
"Where is Mr. Shackleford now?" Arabella asked.
"'E's still packing, but I dunno where's 'e's gonna go after that. 'E jus sent me back 'ere. 'E wouldn't even let me 'elp him!"
He wouldn't, would he? Arabella realized that Seth would be far too proud to allow for that. But he certainly was going to need all the help he could get at this time.
"I suppose that we shall have to go get him, then," Arabella said to Daniel. Turning back to Simmons, she asked for a room to be made up for the unfortunate man and for cook to be informed that there would be one more for dinner that night.
Dr. McConnaugh came early for dinner that night and insisted on a meeting with her brother-in-law. It appeared that Hugh wished to do the proper thing in asking for her hand and, since her father was no longer able to be consulted about the matter, Hugh chose to petition Fitzwilliam. Mary didn't think that this was at all necessary, especially since she had lived independently for so long, but Hugh refused to be swayed from his resolution.
Mary remained in the drawing room with her sister Elizabeth and attempted to quiet her apprehensiveness that seemed to grow stronger with every passing moment. Why was it taking them so long? What could they possibly be discussing? Eventually they did rejoin the ladies and Mary was a little comforted by Hugh's smile and even more so by Fitzwilliam's. Her brother-in-law walked over to her and cheerfully asked to see her in his study.
She followed him immediately.
"Well, Mary," he said, closing the door behind her. "May I offer my congratulations? I expect that the two of you will be quite happy together."
"Thank you, Fitzwilliam," Mary accepted, "I hope that we shall."
"After all," Fitzwilliam began to elaborate. "Your interests are quite similar, your education almost a match, and your dispositions do not appear to be incompatible. And, when you add to this the fact that there will be no financial woes to overcome, I think that your chance at happiness is as good as most can boast upon entering the marriage state. Hugh appeared to consider the size of your dowry as being more than adequate."
"My dowry?" Mary was surprised. "I don't have a dowry, Fitzwilliam."
"That's not true," Fitzwilliam shook his head, "Your father kept your inheritance to one side for you. It was very clearly stipulated in the will. The same dowry that was given to his other four daughters should be held in reserve for you just in case you returned someday."
Mary wasn't sure what to say to that, so remained silent.
"I've enhanced it somewhat, of course," Fitzwilliam admitted.
"You have?"
"It seemed only right," he shrugged slightly. "And I've agreed to invest in his next expedition."
"His next expedition?"
"Yes," Fitzwilliam agreed, looking at her very closely. "Hasn't he told you about his plans?"
"No," Mary admitted, perplexed. "He hasn't made me aware of them."
"Well," Fitzwilliam appeared to be shocked by that as well. "He hopes to mount another expedition into the arctic next year, with himself going as the ship's surgeon and general scientific investigator. He appears to be quite excited about it."
Mary had known that he was interested in returning to the arctic, but had no idea that he was already making plans to do so. "He is?" Mary murmured, wondering how long they would have together before he shipped out and what she would find to do with herself while he was away.
"You'll always have a place in our home while your husband is away, Mary," Fitzwilliam said quietly.
"You've been very kind already," Mary realized just how much she and her new husband would be in her brother and sister's debt. "We don't deserve it."
"Really?" Fitzwilliam sat down behind his desk and looked at Mary quite carefully. "You don't deserve the funds that had been designated for you by your father?"
"No," Mary hesitated, "But we certainly don't deserve to have you augment my dowry with your own fortune or invest in Hugh's expedition."
Fitzwilliam appeared to find this quite interesting. "Mary," he began, "You were more than willing to allow me to use a bit of my money to assist your friends at the parsonage, yet you won't allow me to assist you and Hugh?"
"It's a different situation," Mary tried. "That was charity, this is..."
"It is what?"
Mary wasn't sure what it was.
"Mary, your sister and I care deeply for you and are, of course, interested in your future. You can't deprive us of the chance to assist you."
Chapter 17 A
Seven o'clock saw Tim Scoggins knocking on Bette's door, an hour before she would leave to make her own rounds to Drury Lane or the Haymarket. She would generally use this hour to dress for the evening and never seemed to mind it when Tim showed up to talk to her as she did so. In fact, she was so far from minding when he made an appearance that she could generally be induced to take the night off and spend it with him. She was a very accommodating and agreeable girl. Tim pondered her good qualities as he knocked on her door and waited for her to answer.
No sound came from within. Slowly becoming impatient, Tim knocked again, more loudly this time. She still didn't answer the door. Tim thought that it was very odd that she should already be out for the evening; she was very organized when it came to her day. She was one of the few women that he knew who would wake up at the same time in the early afternoon and was the only one he knew who took a walk through town every day after breakfast. She said that it was to go shopping, but she rarely purchased anything, and Tim suspected to she went on these excursions simply for the opportunity of being out in the world. She was quite a creature of habit and Tim found it hard to believe that she would stray very far from her set schedule.
"Bette?" he called loudly, banging on the door again. "Bette? Are you in there?"
"Yeah, she should be in there," a neighbor came out of her own room. "Saw 'er go in last night. 'Aven't seen 'er come out yet."
Tim was surprised at that. "She always goes out!"
"Not today," the woman shook her head. "I thought that was odd as well. She usually asks me if I need anythin' before she leaves -- so I knows that she didn't go out."
"No?" Tim was starting to feel uncomfortable. He heard his voice and noticed a strange, high-pitched note in it. He would have been very glad if Bette opened the door at that moment.
But she didn't and Tim continued to pound on it, knocks becoming louder and more insistent.
"Mebbe she went away?" the neighbor suggested, looking critically at Tim. "Wot d'ya want her fer, anyway?"
"She wouldn't 'ave gone away without tellin' me!" Tim shot back.
"Ooh, oo' are you to her? 'Er brother? Mebbe 'er mother? Wot makes ya think she'd tell ya if she didn't tell me!"
That's right. Why should she? He had no hold on her and she had no hold on him. Just as he was free to come in and out of her life as he pleased, so as well was she.
He probably should give up and try her again tomorrow, shouldn't he? Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. "Bette?" he called through the door again and held his ear up to the wood to see if he could hear her stirring within.
Very faintly, a voice responded. "Tim?"
It was enough. She was in there but didn't seem to be able to get to the door. Backing up, he heaved himself against the wood, summoning all of his strength to muscle down the door. It took him five tries, but eventually the lock broke and allowed him to go tumbling through with such force that he fell onto the floor and had to pick himself up before he could make it over to where she lay on the bed.
"Oh Bette," he gasped as he knelt down next to her, cradling her head with one arm. In the dim light coming from the hall outside, he could see that her lip was swollen and split in two, that her left cheek bore an angry purple bruise and that her right eye had been reduced to a sliver in a circle of darkened flesh. The blood was clotting on her cheek from a small cut right below her eye. "Oh Bette," he said again.
"There you are," she whispered, attempting to smile, but grimacing in pain instead. "Where 'ave ya been?"
"I've been..." he dropped off, not even sure of what to say to that. What could he possibly say in response to that. "Bette, wot 'appened?"
"Oh," she whispered huskily. "Some gentl'men jus' like ta play rough, thass all," she tried to soothe through her tormented lips. "I'll be all right."
"You'll be all right?" Scoggins echoed, voice breaking. "Of course you'll be all right." He tried to smile at her reassuringly, but was barely able to do so. All he could think about was what he was going to do to the 'gentlemen' who did this to her.
"Wot are ya doin' here anyway?" she asked.
"I..." What was he doing there? "I came to see ya, of course!"
She shook her head. "I'll be bad company tonight."
"I'm gonna take care of you, Bette." Scoggins said, voice sounding his determination.
"Now, ya don't 'ave ta go doin' that," she negatived, closing her eyes sleepily. "I jus' need to sleep it off."
"You need to be seen by a surgeon!" he insisted.
"No," she said again. "I'll be fine," she murmured without opening her eyes.
But she did not look as if she were going to be fine. In fact, it appeared to Tim as if speaking to him had drained all of the strength right out of her. She seemed to be drifting back into unconsciousness. "No Bette," he said, "I'm gonna ta take you to see a surgeon!"
"Mmm," she responded, not agreeing or disagreeing with his decision. She seemed to be too far gone for that, so he decided to assume her compliance with his plan and picked her up in his arms. She weighed hardly anything at all and he momentarily marveled at the idea that this woman that he always thought of as so strong and independent could actually be like a feather in his arms. She didn't fight back or argue as he carried her out of her room and down the hall. If anything, she nestled closer into his chest.
He was on the stairs before he recognized the fact that he had absolutely no idea where he was going to take her. It wasn't as if he had ever made the acquaintance of a surgeon and wasn't quite sure if he could just show up on any man's doorstep with a battered woman in his arms, especially since he wasn't even sure if he had the money to pay a surgeon. He wasn't even sure if he had the money to pay a hackney cab driver to take him somewhere. All he really had was the little bloodstone hat-pin that he could have given Bette weeks ago.
Perhaps she would have been able to protect herself had she such a little weapon in her grasp. The thought that he could have prevented her pain and had not done so sickened him even further. But he couldn't undo what had already been done. All that he could do was take responsibility for her well being now.
He ran out into the street and forced the first unoccupied chaise to stop by standing in front of it and glaring angrily at the driver. The man had no choice but to pull up his horses. As soon as the carriage slowed down enough, Tim grabbed onto the door and pulled it open, clumsily placing Bette inside and attempting to settle her on the seat before hopping in himself.
"I'm off duty!" The driver exclaimed.
"I'd like ta see ya try to get me out here!" Scoggins shot back menacingly. "Not until ya take us to --" he stopped, still not sure where they should go.
"To where?"
'Where we can get some help!' Scoggins thought rapidly. "I need to get her to a surgeon!" he said.
"No surgeon's gonna agree ta see the likes of you orff the street like this!" the man scoffed, confirming what Tim already knew.
"Wot can I do then?" Scoggins asked, the question more for himself than the driver.
"Ain't ya got any friends?" the man responded.
"Any friends?" Tim had many acquaintances, but hardly any of them qualified as friends. And none of them could be useful in this particular situation.
Then again, there was John Barrow. The image of John came to his mind. Normally, Tim would never consider bothering his employer, especially at his home.
But this was a very special situation.
And he couldn't think of anything else to do.
Bette shifted uncomfortably on the worn seat and gasped in pain. That decided it for Tim. He gave the driver Barrow's address in an authoritative voice and jumped back into the cab. The driver grumbled but set the horse in motion.
Tim gently sat down next to Bette and placed her head in his lap. "You just 'ang on, dearie," he whispered soothingly to her as he stroked the side of her head.
By the time that the Barrows sat down for dinner with their new houseguest, they had all become acquainted with the particulars of the twin tragedies that had befallen Seth Shackleford on that day: the loss of his parish and the loss of Mary. Arabella had gone to collect him after Daniel had acquainted her with the results of the bishop's visit and, while she had to use quite a bit of persuasion to convince the man to accept her offer of hospitality, he had finally agreed to let her take him home. Arabella asked John to break the news to Seth about Mary's engagement just as soon as he had returned from his own fruitless attempts to discover why the resurrectionists had chosen to dig up this new Mary Sunderland's body. Seth couldn't be shielded from the news forever and it was best to know it all at once.
And, John thought, for a man who had just seen two dearly loved things slip through his fingers, Seth seemed to be holding up rather well. He had managed to dress for dinner and was attempting to eat what had been set before him as well as politely take part in the conversation.
Of course that conversation did revolve around Mary.
"So, you think that this Dr. McConnaugh knows that Mary pretended to be a man for six years and isn't put off by it? Seth addressed Arabella.
"It would seem that way, Seth," Arabella agreed, choosing to use his more informal name now that he was a guest in her house. "Mary did say that he knew her when she was Thomas and that he still considers her a colleague, regardless of what the Royal College says about it. He even voted against her expulsion in the first place."
If it was on Seth's tongue to curse the man for this, he was able to suppress it. "How good of him," he said instead, attempting to smile, but smirking instead. "And what are their plans for after the wedding?" he asked further.
John was surprised by that question. It was almost as if the man wanted to rub salt into his own wounds.
"I believe that it is all still very new to Mary," Arabella began. "I'm sure that she hasn't thought that far ahead."
"I suppose that they'll stay in London, though," Seth said weakly, turning whiter at the thought. John wondered if Seth was beginning to consider other cities and countries where he might settle without running the risk of meeting up with Mary. "Most physicians do like to stay in London. There are many wealthy patients here. There's a good deal more money to be had."
"Yes," Arabella agreed. "Although I believe that Dr. McConnaugh is originally from Edinburgh and may wish to return there."
"What is he doing in London in the first place?" Seth couldn't seem to help snapping somewhat. John understood this bitterness. Had Dr. McConnaugh never happened to come to London there would have been no opportunity for him and Mary to meet and fall in love.
"I believe that he returned to London as a part of an arctic expedition," Arabella continued to explain. "I understand from Mary and Elizabeth that he has been writing a piece for publication about his travels and that he should like to go again, if he and his patrons can gather enough money.
"Really?" This was the only piece of the conversation that seemed to rouse Seth from his stupor and John believed that he understood this as well. A trip to the arctic was fraught with peril. The good reverend must be harboring some very uncharitable thoughts towards his rival for Mary affections -- including a small, probably fleeting hope that the man might meet with an untimely and tragic end.
John watched as Seth seemed to chastise himself for thinking such thoughts. He colored deeply and looked down at his plate in disgust. He shouldn't wish such a thing on Mary, should he?
"Well," said Seth, after awhile, "I hope that they shall be happy together."
John knew how much it cost Seth to utter this statement and sympathized even further with his hapless friend. He could just imagine how the man must feel. Had he not contemplated the same fate one day while driving through Hertfordshire and spying on a certain Miss Smith as she walked down the streets of Meryton with a gentleman who was possessed of a very pleasing countenance? John remembered how he tortured himself with visions of that Adonis-like creature who appeared to be greatly favored by Arabella.
Thankfully, Arabella proved not to be a great admirer of Greek gods and had been free to accept John's proposal once he had worked up the determination and courage to make it. It was very unfortunate that Seth had not been as lucky today, or as timely -- John had learned from Daniel that Seth had been just setting out to pay a visit to the Darcys when the bishop came for a visit. It appeared to be a simple case of learning the nature of one's feelings after it was too late to act upon them. John shook his head. It might be easily explained, but for Seth, recovery would prove difficult. And now the poor man didn't even have the work at his parish to occupy his time. John would have to find something for Seth to turn his attention towards in the next few days. Seth would need to be active and feel useful.
Just as John began to contemplate a project for his friend, Simmons walked into the dining room. "Excuse me sir," he said quietly to John in his distinctively even tone, one that betrayed no emotion, "but Mr. Scoggins is at the front door and appears to be in need of your assistance."
"Tim is here?" John asked in disbelief, putting his napkin to one side of his plate and rising from his chair. In an instant Arabella was up as well, deftly aided out of her seat by Bruno. "What in the world?" John commented as he walked out into the hall.
Tim hadn't yet been allowed inside the front door. He remained on the steps seemingly impatient to meet with John.
"Well, man, what is it?" John asked as he walked towards him. "You'd better come in and close the door."
"Sir, if you don't mind," Tim Scoggins didn't move from the doorway. "I need to see you out here. I have a friend with me." And he gestured towards a hack rig pulled up to the curb and glanced back at John with a look of such insistent pleading that he had no thought but to comply. He followed him down the street to the carriage. The door was already opened so John looked inside.
The girl was asleep, which was probably a blessing, considering the damage that had been done to her face. Her cheeks were bruised and swollen and John could see where some blood from her lip had begun to dry on her chin. A cut below her right eye was probably responsible for the thin trail of blood that was drying on her cheek. John swallowed with difficulty. It was hard to tell if she had once been pretty.
"Oh the poor thing!" Arabella exclaimed. John turned and saw his wife gazing at the other woman with a look of heartfelt sympathy. "John, we need to get her inside!"
"Of course," John said and moved to step into the rig in order to gather her up, but Tim was there before him. He picked her up off of the seat with a gentle effortlessness that John would have never believed that the rough Mr. Scoggins could possess. It was quite evident to John that Tim loved this girl. In that moment, John realized that this was the one who should have received whatever present Tim had been contemplating giving. But she hadn't received it, had she? John remembered their conversation from today and knew that the man had decided to follow his advice and delay.
John grew angry with himself. What a ridiculous thought!
"I'll lead the way," Arabella said to Tim and walked back towards the house, calling for Constance to quickly prepare a bed for the injured woman.
Seth stood at the doorway as they passed. "What happened to her?" He addressed himself to John as the others mounted the stairs that led to the other floors of the house.
"I have absolutely no idea," John shook his head. "But the girl shall need to be seen by a physician."
"Then you'd better send for Mary." Seth said.