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Chapter 18 C
Seth knocked on the door to the study not five minutes after Mary departed, something that did not surprise John in the least. He supposed that the man had been watching from a window upstairs, waiting for Mary to leave the townhouse so that he could come down and ask John about how she took the news. John had insisted that he be allowed to tell Mary alone, not wanting Seth to be involved in what had turned into a very painful conversation. If Mary was to hold anyone responsible, John preferred that he alone should take the blame.
"How is she?" Seth walked over to the desk and came right to the point.
John shook his head, "I'm not sure," he replied, still very confused by Mary's response to his revelations. "Initially, I felt that she was not surprised by such news. It was as if she had her own suspicions and that I was simply confirming them, but I must have been deceived by that small degree of somberness that seems to be part of her nature. I did something rather stupid based on that mistaken perception," he admitted with a growl of impatience at his wrong-headed decision, "I asked Mary if she knew anything that might make Hugh's motives clear to us."
Seth grimaced at that, and John nodded sheepishly. "It was not a wise move on my part," he agreed. "It was a horrible presumption and excited all of her righteous indignation. She even went so far as to question what I would ask her to do next: spy, set a trap, or force him into a confession." John winced as he remembered her comment. "In the end, we agreed that she would not be assisting us on this case, but that I would keep her informed of anything that we learn or of any plans that we decide to implement." John breathed out in exasperation. "Of course, we don't seem to have a plan at present."
Seth, however, appeared to have thought of something. "What if we did do what she suggested?" he mused cautiously.
"What did she suggest?" John asked in confusion. He didn't recall her offering any suggestion whatsoever.
"We can do one of three things: spy, set a trap, or force him into a confession." Seth began an explanation. "Learning anything through spying might take longer than we have, but what if we were to lay a trap that might force him into a confession?"
"How do you propose to do that?"
"What if Mairie Sutherland weren't dead?" Seth furthered. "What would McConnaugh do if he learned that she was still living?"
"He would probably wish to find her," John nodded, beginning to understand. "And, once he had found her, would ask her for the jewel."
"Which might force him into making some damning revelation," Seth agreed excitedly. He was becoming animated now that there was some plan that he could make. He could do something with his time! "You could easily tell Hugh that Willie had made a mistake in assuming that Mairie Sutherland was dead and that you had found her recently and had been wishing to tell him the news. It wouldn't appear odd that you had chosen to do so just as soon as your paths had crossed again."
"No, it wouldn't," John agreed, his mind going further to imagine what could be done after Hugh was told. "If we mentioned to him that Mairie was still alive, then we would have to provide him with a living Mairie for him to meet."
"So we'd need a suitable stand-in," Seth said, "One that he would believe was Mairie -- at least from a distance."
"And under the cover of darkness," John elaborated, mind working out the particulars. "We could tell Hugh that Mairie was working on the streets and give him a direction for where to find her. A stand-in for Mairie could lead Hugh to a place where a conversation could be held through a screen..."
"...Or a window, or a closed door," Seth interrupted.
"A closed door," John liked that thought. "We could be behind the closed door as well, listening to what Hugh might say to our false Mairie."
"The fake Mairie would have to be a very good actress, one capable of taking good direction," Seth thought aloud, "She would have to recognize Hugh on the street and make him aware of the fact that she is Mairie without coming close to him or speaking loudly to him. Then she would have to lead him to a suitable room without getting caught by him and without losing him in the process."
"Then she would have to hold a conversation with him in a voice that sounds close enough to Mairie's own to fool him." John thought about the impossibility of finding some woman who might be able to complete such a mission.
"And -- added to this -- she has to be willing to risk her own safety," Seth's voice sounded equally bleak. He seemed to realize that they would never find a woman who might fit all of the requirements."
"I can't think of another plan, can you?" John shook his head in frustration.
Seth laughed harshly in response. "There is no other expedient way!"
"Then, perhaps we should go up and see Bette? Aside from Hugh, she is the only one who knew Mairie well enough to advise us."
Seth nodded, recognizing the reasonableness of that and stood up from his chair. He followed John out of the room and up the stairs to where the young woman was talking quietly with Tim Scoggins. Tim jumped up quickly as the two men entered the room and looked somewhat caught. It was as if he had been caught in the act of doing something that would be frowned upon, but John wasn't quite sure what that might be. This sense of guilt was not at all characteristic of Mr. Scoggins -- the young thief hardly ever allowed something as difficult as conscience bother him or sway him from his plans. All of this led John to believe that they had interrupted something that Tim was not quite used to himself -- perhaps even a tender moment.
"Bette," John ignored Tim's continued discomfort and addressed himself to the girl recovering on the bed. "I'm afraid that we are in need of your assistance." And, because he could see no other way of asking for assistance without making her fully aware of the situation, John explained all. From the initial attack by the resurrectionists and the wounding of Mary Bennet to Mairie Sutherland's connection to Hugh McConnaugh and Lady McRae's bloodstone brooch, John left nothing out. He wasn't usually so forthcoming with information to someone that he hardly knew, but this was a special situation. He couldn't do anything without her help! And John believed that she could trust her. Tim certainly did and John knew this man to be quite discerning.
It goes without saying that Bette was surprised by their revelations, but she did not allow the shock to overwhelm her and the few questions that she asked proved to John that she understood all the nuances of the case. She even knew in what way he needed assistance when he came to the end of his tale. "Ya need ta find someone ta play Mairie, don't ya?" she asked.
"That's exactly what we need, Bette," Seth agreed. "And you're the only one who can tell us what she was like."
Bette began to think over all that she had known about her friend. "She were tall," she began, "A larger girl than most, with dark blond 'air that always looked red at night." She looked over at Seth. "She 'ad yer coloring, actually," she commented while regarding him.
"Paste white and with freckles?" Seth snorted deprecatingly. "The poor girl."
"Well, she did paint 'er face at night," Bette admitted. "We all do. Frizzled 'er 'air as well."
"And the color of her eyes?" John asked, pretty sure that this would not matter with the distance and the darkness that they were hoping to achieve.
"Oh, light," Bette tried describe, keenly glancing back over at Seth again. "Actually, they were very similar yer own," she mentioned to that man.
"Really?" John was surprised by just how many similarities that Bette was drawing between Seth and Mairie. "I don't suppose that you think that our friend here," he gestured hopefully to Seth, "Could stand in for her?"
"Me?" Seth shouted in horror.
But Bette was already eyeing Seth critically. "It's possible," she said, eyes narrowing as she tried to imagine it. "If I could 'elp 'im get ready," she offered helpfully, "Doing 'is 'air an' makeup. An' I do 'ave one of 'er dresses for 'im to wear."
"I'm sure that I wouldn't fit into it!" It appeared that Seth was no longer comfortable with the plan that he had helped to create.
"That's why we women wear corsets, sir," Bette explained. "It'll take ya in at all the right places, give ya a right womanly figure. And she were a very tall girl."
"And I'm sure that we can find a way to augment those areas that need to be expanded," John said somewhat glibly. For the first time in several days, he was actually beginning to enjoy himself. It was quite diverting to see Seth nettled by the prospect of putting on women's clothes.
"Oh, of course," Tim joined the confederacy against the hapless man. "I think that ye'd make a lovely girl! Shall I go over and get th' dress from Bette's?" He asked John.
"She told me to take it right before she died," Bette explained, "It was 'er second best one, she was buried in 'er best but th' second was also a very elegant article. I always meant to 'ave it cut down, but could never get enough money ta pay for a seamstress."
"Yes, Tim," John agreed, "I believe that you should go over and retrieve the dress."
"Now wait just a minute!" Seth nearly shouted. "I haven't agreed to do this!"
"Oh, you will," John whispered to the man, so quietly that it almost an aside. "Especially when you consider that this is one of the few ways left to you of protecting Mary."
"But I can't pass for a woman!" Seth whispered back, the urgency of it making his voice squeak. "I'll botch the whole thing!"
"You'll do a better job than anyone we could find and teach in the next few days," John replied in a normal tone of voice. "And it might be better to have a man playing the part," he considered. "Just in case anything goes seriously wrong."
Seth sighed loudly and with some frustration. "Me, pretend to be a woman?" He shook his head at the thought.
"Mary managed to pretend to be a man for six years," John tried a final attempt at persuasion. "Don't tell me that you can't successfully play the part for one evening," he said sternly.
Seth chose to keep any further protest to himself.
"Good," John smiled at his friend. "Bette?" he turned back to the girl. "Could we use your room to stand in for Mairie's room?"
"Of course," she nodded, seemingly glad to be of use in any way.
"Then, there's nothing else to do, but go over and retrieve the dress. You may use my carriage if you'd like, Tim," John offered and Tim accepted. "And perhaps you'd like to accompany him, Seth?" He knew that his friend needed to be doing something at that moment, it would give him less time to brood.
"Of course," Seth attempted a smile, but it was a weak effort.
Chapter 19A
Oddly, Hugh did not return to the Darcy townhouse that night, nor did he send a message. Both Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth noted this when they sat down for dinner. "I wonder where Hugh can be?" Elizabeth looked over at Mary.
"Perhaps the business that called him away early in the afternoon has detained him," Mary tried to suggest reasonably, while keeping her stronger emotions in check. It was a difficult balancing act to make, and one for which Mary did not feel at all equal. She had already exhausted herself by attempting to keep both her sister and brother from suspecting that there was anything amiss. Outwardly, Mary strove to appear the happy and contented bride-to-be while inwardly she attempted to make sense of her situation. She knew that she would eventually have to explain John's suspicions to either Elizabeth or Fitzwilliam, but she couldn't imagine doing so that night.
Nor could she imagine explaining her own suspicions to them for that matter. And she had to admit to herself that she did have suspicions. Try as she might, Mary could not force away the idea that John was right to doubt Hugh. There were too many coincidences to be dismissed and too many inconsistencies in his behavior to be ignored. It still angered her that John would expect her to assist him in indicting her fiancé, though. It was a liberty that was not easily forgiven and never would be forgotten -- even though he had appeared to be contrite and concerned for her well being throughout the whole of their conversation.
But she had to stop dwelling upon Hugh's deceptiveness and at least appear to attend to the conversation! She chastised herself and tried to focus upon what Fitzwilliam was saying. "I assume that Parliament's announcement today has made Hugh's preparations a bit more urgent," he remarked offhandedly as he took a sip of wine.
"What preparations?" Mary wondered if she had missed something at the beginning of the discussion. She hadn't thought that her attention had drifted away for such a long period of time.
"The expedition," he responded matter-of-factly.
"What expedition?" Mary couldn't imagine what he meant. "And what announcement?"
"Didn't Hugh mention this to you? Didn't you read about it in the paper?" Darcy knitted his eyebrows in confusion.
Mary shook her head. "What are you speaking of, Fitzwilliam?"
"Parliament has decided to stipulate a monetary reward for the captain and crew that discover a navigable Northwestern passage to China." He explained. "They are setting aside the sum of five thousand pounds."
"Five thousand pounds!" Mary exclaimed.
"It is an attractive amount," Fitzwilliam agreed, "And I'm sure that there will be quite a few private crews that will attempt the voyage, in addition to Hugh's own and the one that is being organized within the Royal Navy."
"A Northwestern passage to China?" Mary spoke each word slowly, as if trying to make sense of the sentence by studying each one of its words. "Hugh is mounting a expedition?"
"Yes, to find a navigable route to the Orient," Fitzwilliam returned, eyeing her oddly. "Didn't he tell you that?"
Mary looked away in embarrassment.
"He hasn't told you that, Mary?" Elizabeth echoed in surprise.
"No," Mary admitted, face reddening as she realized just how strange that must appear to Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam. It was very unsettling to recognize that others knew more about her fiancé than she did.
"Well, he'll certainly have a race on his hands," Fitzwilliam admitted, calling over a footman and asking that man to bring that day's paper to the dining room. "From what I understand..." he elaborated while the footman rushed away to complete the errand, "...the Royal Navy's expedition commander is quite a capable leader and has a very distinguished record."
"What was his name again?" Elizabeth mused out loud.
The footman returned with the paper and handed it to Fitzwilliam who opened it up and found the article. "Captain John Ross," he read out loud before folding it and directing the footman to pass it to Mary.
"Indeed," Mary said apprehensively as she took the paper and glanced at the article. "He does appear to be a very worthy commander."
"His second-in-command, Lieutenant Parry, appears to be a rising star in the eyes of the Admiralty as well; and the expedition's vessels, the Alexander and Isabella, appear to be very worthy ships," Fitzwilliam commented, a wry smile playing across his face. "I certainly hope that Hugh and his captain can find a crew half as well trained and ships that are equally sturdy. They say that the ice is very unforgiving to wooden ships and untested crewmen who have the temerity to attempt to locate an open polar sea."
Mary bit her lip apprehensively and returned to the paper. The article was quite long and it took Mary some time to finish it. The writer had been quite eloquent when he described the peril that would be waiting for the brave Naval officers on such a journey, elaborating on the ever-changing fields of ice that would have to be battled and the arctic wind that would freeze a man's beard to his face within minutes. It all sounded horrific! Mary thought back to the conversation that she had overheard Hugh hold with Marianna. She recalled how he had painted the North as a place filled with wonder and enchantment. Nothing could appear to be farther from the truth! Mary couldn't imagine how any man with sense would be willing to attempt such a crossing.
Finished with the article and folded it back up again; she would have liked to fling it on the floor in revulsion, but would never display such emotion at a dinner table -- especially while the servants were watching so closely. "Thank you, Fitzwilliam," Mary commented, looking back over at her brother-in-law before turning to address the footman. "You may take the paper away now." 'And burn it immediately,' she thought to herself.
"Captain Ross starts out in May," Fitzwilliam mentioned. "Hugh hopes to sail with his own crew that month as well. They can leave no later than June in order to take advantage of the short arctic summer. It's hoped that he will not have to spend the winter there, but I understand that they are provisioning their ships for eighteen months or more."
"Eighteen months," Mary swallowed.
"Yes," Fitzwilliam agreed, "Eighteen. Which is quite a financial undertaking, if I understand the matter correctly."
"Which is why my dowry is going to come in handy, isn't it?" Mary asked dully, already knowing the answer to her question.
"No," Fitzwilliam shook his head. "I wouldn't allow that. Your dowry may only be used to establish a household in London -- or somewhere else in England." He looked over at Elizabeth, who smiled at back at him warmly.
Mary was surprised by Fitzwilliam's foresight, something that must have shown on her face, because he went on to explain further. "After an absence of six years, your sister and I are not ready to relinquish you to the larger world. We've been too long without you, too long denied your company. You can't blame us for attempting to orchestrate a future that might keep you near."
Mary found that she could not look directly at either her brother-in-law or her sister. While they had already expressed their joy at being reunited with her, they had not needed to act on their feelings. It was a strong testament to their attachment that they had chosen to stipulate the manner in which the dowry could be spent.
It was also a very protective plan. Mary might have found that infuriating a few weeks earlier, but now she was glad for it. She was beginning to realize that she might just need to be protected.
"I did agree to invest in the expedition, however," Fitzwilliam revealed. "Which did soften the blow when it came to the restrictions that I had placed on your dowry."
"Really?"
"It appears to be a worthwhile venture," Fitzwilliam reasoned. "Such an investment might pay dividends if they actually do find a passage to Asia."
"Or you could be just throwing money into the deep sea," Mary added.
"Perhaps," Fitzwilliam agreed. "But hardly any profitable business is completely devoid of risk."
Mary understood the concept of risk well enough, but Hugh's venture simply seemed like a suicide mission. She began to wonder if there was any way that he could be talked out of it. Was his resolution to make the trip so strong that he couldn't be worked on? Would she manage to have any influence over him? And how did John's revelations about Hugh's character and past fit into his current ambitions?
Nothing made any sense to Mary!
These questions stayed with her throughout dinner and she hadn't resolved any of them by the time that the last course was being removed. All she knew with any certainty was that she had to have a long conversation with Hugh just as soon as she saw him again.
The sound of the front door being opened by Reynolds and a guest being greeted in the hall outside of the dining room excited all of Mary's anxious feelings. It was certain to be Hugh; no other person would call at such an hour and be quickly admitted by the Darcys' very vigilant butler.
So it was momentarily disappointing for Mary to learn that it was not Hugh who had come to call, but John Barrow. That man was ushered into the dining room where he politely refused the offer of a glass of port and asked if he could have a private interview with Mary.
Mary could tell that the urgency of John's request made both Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam wonder, but neither of them had any time to give an explanation. She excused herself from the table and led Barrow into the library.
"What news?" Mary turned to John just as soon as she had closed the door.
"No news," John admitted, somewhat tentatively. "But I've devised a course of action that I plan on executing tomorrow evening. And -- since you asked to be apprised of any decision regarding Hugh -- I decided that it would be best if I came to see you tonight."
"What plan would that be?" Mary was intrigued. When she had talked to him earlier in the afternoon, John hadn't seemed to have any idea what to do next.
"Well," he cleared his throat before attempting an explanation, looking more apprehensive than Mary believed she had seen him since the day that Arabella gave birth to Little Charlie. He had, of course, been a wreck of nerves on that day. "I need a confession from McConnaugh and it seems that the only way to elicit one from him is to trick him into it."
"How do you propose to trick him?" Mary asked for clarification, trying keep emotion from coloring her voice. It was something not easily done and was only accomplished by attempting to ignore the fact that they were talking about the man whose proposal she had accepted not four days ago.
"We're going to offer him a living Mairie Sutherland to meet," John went straight to the point. "I'm going to pretend that Willie Barton and I had made a mistake, that we were in error when we told him that she had died. Then I'm going to offer Willie as a guide to take him to Mairie."
"And hopefully the shock of meeting with Mairie again will draw out the right response?" Mary questioned.
"We're hoping that -- if nothing else -- Hugh will ask our false Mairie for the bloodstone brooch." John admitted.
"Have you actually found the brooch?" Mary asked.
"No," John shook his head. "We're assuming that it's still buried with the real Mairie Sutherland. And, hopefully, there it will remain."
Mary wondered about that. If John did manage to implicate Hugh in the theft of the brooch and manage to make him admit to the resurrection attempts, would that stop others from trying for the jewel? What about those men who Hugh had hired? Did they know the reasons why they were being asked to excavate old graves in the middle of the night?
"And you still don't know why Hugh..." Mary attempted another question, but found it too difficult to pose. She couldn't ask it without reminding herself they were speaking of Hugh. This was not some nameless, faceless criminal who's motives were unclear -- this was her fiancé!
"No, Mary," John shook his head. "We don't have any idea why he is doing this."
And she noticed that he did not attempt to ask her again if she knew anything that might be useful. He was certainly being true to their agreement and, even if he weren't, she didn't know anything about Hugh that might be the least bit helpful.
Or did she? She recalled Fitzwilliam's revelations at dinner, wondering if Hugh's anticipated arctic expedition was the reason behind his criminal behavior. But could such an honorable-seeming man really allow an exploratory mission to drive him to such ends? She would have liked to discuss it with John, but something in her mind blocked that.
"There's really nothing else to say, is there?" Mary whispered.
"I'm sorry Mary," John said in return.
"I'm sure that I shall get over it," Mary attempted, but knew that her voice did not sound convincing. She turned away from him, not wanting to see the look of pity that might have been playing across his face. "How is Seth?" She chose to change the subject. "Is he still in shock over the loss of his parish?"
He didn't respond immediately, so she glanced back over at him. He appeared to be considering her question. "Well," he said, "he certainly is in shock."
Author's note: The year 1818 marked the return of England's attempts to find a Northwest Passage to China. With the Napoleonic Wars behind them, they needed something for their Navy to do! Parliament actually did pass an act in 1818 that made provisions to reward the crew responsible for either finding a navigable passage or for making it to the North Pole. Two separate Naval expeditions set out in May. Captain John Ross headed Northwest and managed to take his two ships into Lancaster Sound. He turned back after mistakenly spying what he thought was a mountain range stretching at the far end. None of his officers saw this range, but Ross insisted and even went so far as to name the range the 'Croker Mountains' after a secretary of the admiralty. No mountain range ever existed, though, and Ross returned to England where he was ridiculed around town and dubbed 'Croker Mountain' Ross in the papers.The practice of naming significant landforms after members of the Admiralty continued of course (although I don't think that Croker ever got anything else!). A Sir John Barrow (no... not OUR John Barrow) did have his name used. The strait that Captain Ross would have sailed into had he not chosen to turn around is named after this man. Barrow, Alaska is as well.
Chapter 19 B
Seth sat in shock. Quietly waiting while the coachman attempted to navigate the crush of traffic that clogged the narrow East End streets, Seth had ample time to consider what had just happened. Had he actually agreed to dress up as a woman in an attempt to impersonate Mairie Sutherland? Was he actually on his way to pick up one of her dresses?
And was all of this really going to work?
The rational part of Seth's mind said that John's plan had no chance of succeeding. Seth could not imagine pretending to be Mairie Sutherland even long enough to lead McConnaugh into a place where he might be forced into making a confession, much less actually securing that admission. He was sure that he was too tall for the role and that his features were too strong to be mistaken for those of a woman, even with the face paint that Bette seemed to think would camouflage him suitably. Seth did not think of himself as a handsome man and was sure that he would make an even less attractive woman!
But Bette seemed to think that it would all work and she was the only person who had known Mairie, other than McConnaugh, of course. They had to rely on her judgment in this situation.
It was quite late by the time that the carriage rolled to a stop. Seth got out and followed Scoggins up the stairs to Bette's room with a glassy-eyed stare that did not fully take in his surroundings. He had never been in that particular part of the East End before and wondered about it.
"'Ere it is," Tim Scoggins gestured towards a door halfway down a second floor corridor, pulling out the key that Bette had given him. He fitted it into the lock and opened the door. Tim walked in easily, it seemed to Seth, with an almost proprietorial air about him. He could tell that he had been in her room many times before. It confirmed what he had already suspected about the substance of Tim and Bette's relationship. Tim must have been a frequent customer. He considered that, unable to reconcile that fact with Tim's current behavior towards the girl. He seemed to be too determined to protect her for him to have been just another user of her services.
"Well, come on in!" Tim said impatiently.
Seth abandoned his post in the hall for one just inside the room.
"Th' rats won't bit if ya jus' stare 'em down," Tim said huffily, as if annoyed with Seth for appearing to be so squeamish. "And anyways, the rats don't come inta Bette's room. She keeps it too clean for the likes of them."
Seth looked around and had to agree with that. The space was wonderfully tidy, although sparsely furnished. There was a table with a chair in one corner of the room; a few pieces of dishware and cutlery were stowed on a shelf above it. Another wall had a neat line of dresses arranged on pegs. Only the bed appeared rumpled and unmade and, had Bette been well enough before she left the room, Seth believed that she would have neatened this up as well. He could tell that Bette took a great deal of pride in her appearance and possessions.
Seth watched as Tim flipped through the dresses on pegs. "These are all 'ers," he said, "I s'pose we should bring 'er a change of clothes while we're 'ere. Knowing Bette, she'll want to be in 'er own clothes soon, not that Mrs. Barrow's kind donations aren't good enough fer 'er." He took one down from a peg and began to fold it. "Should've brought a bag with us." Seth nodded in agreement as Tim began to scan the room. "Wonder where she put Mairie's dress, then?" he questioned.
Seth looked around and spied the trunk lying at that end of the bed. "In here?" he asked, walking over to it.
Tim joined him there as well. Fortunately, it was unlocked. Tim threw open the latched and raised the lid, revealing piles of nicely folded, well-laundered undergarments. Seth turned away, face reddening with embarrassment. He had never seen such feminine apparel, never having had sisters or even a mother whose drawers he might have accidentally -- or purposefully -- explored when he was an inquisitive young boy. And he would have never imagined sneaking into the bedroom of the distantly polite, but cold aunt who brought him up. "Ye'd better get used ta it," Tim jibed humorously at Seth's apparent discomfort. "These'll be next ta your skin soon enough!"
Seth's color deepened. He had allowed himself to forget the reason for their errand, hadn't he? He was the one that they were attempting to costume correctly, not Bette. "We'll, let's find the dress and get it over with," he said in exasperation.
Tim began to paw roughly through the clothes, stirring them up and releasing a pleasant scent. It wafted through the room as Tim located a small sachet filled with dried flowers. "So, that's where it comes from," Tim said wonderingly as he touched it.
Seth looked at him and raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Well, she always smells like flowers," he mumbled sheepishly.
Seth would have laughed at the young man's discomfort, had Tim not chosen to remind him again of the indignity that was soon to be his. "Right, let's find yer dress, shall we?" Seth believed that Tim was taking too great a pleasure in pronouncing the dress his. It was just too bad that Mairie hadn't been of a medium complexion with dark hair and blue eyes. Then Mr. Scoggins would have found himself thrust into the role of Mairie Sutherland instead of him.
Tim appeared to find an unknown garment at the bottom of the trunk. "This must be it," he said, letting it out. "I've never seen 'er wear it before."
Seth would have marveled again at Tim's great familiarity with Bette's wardrobe had he not been shocked into gasping at the dress. The neckline was shockingly low. He shuddered when he thought of where it would fall on his chest. "I can't wear that!" he exclaimed, beginning to clutch at the front of his shirt, not even noticing that his waistcoat had already become unbuttoned and his neckcloth had been pushed askew.
"Oh forget yer blasted modesty fer the moment!" The man returned in frustration.
"It's not modesty, it's rationality!" Seth shouted back. "That dress will expose the fact that I, like any normal man, have hair on my chest."
"Well, I guess that ye'll jes' 'ave ta shave yer chest like ya do yer chin!" Tim smiled back, sneeringly.
Seth glared at him. The infuriating man appeared to have a solution for everything.
"And I'm sure that Bette won't mind if you use one of 'er lace fichus as a tuck," Tim found one in the trunk and draped it teasingly over Seth's neck.
Seth tore it off and threw it back into the trunk, anger rising. "Must you be so witty at my expense?"
"You think this is fun fer me?" the man returned, dropping the dress in order to free his hands. "You don't think that I 'ave better things ta do than ta play dress up with the likes of you?" He placed a threatening hand on Seth's neckcloth and continued, in a voice that was quietly menacing. "You listen 'ere, Mr. Shackleford. I'm not doin' this fer you or even fer my own enjoyment. I'm doin' this as a favor to the guv'nor."
Seth slapped Tim's hand away in a manner that he hoped would prove his disdain for such a show of violence. Seth did not frighten easily and would not be shrinking away in fear. "You listen to me, Mr. Scoggins, I'm not doing this for Barrow, I'm doing this for Miss Bennet and Miss Bennet alone. She's the one who needs our assistance and protection.
Tim stared back at Seth, tight-lipped and silent. Then, as if recognizing a similar motivation, dropped some of his reserve. They both wanted the same thing: to be able to keep safe the people that they loved.
But Tim wouldn't admit to that, would he? "Alright then," Scoggins said grudgingly, standing up from the trunk and pulling Mairie's frock up with him. "Let's see if it'll fit ya."
Seth stood up as well. "Do you think it will?" he asked, eyeing it skeptically. He had no experience measuring such things. He relied on a tailor's careful measurements whenever he chose to purchase something new.
Tim held the dress up to him, "Might be a little bit tight around the middle," he took one hand and examined the waist. "Mebbe it could be let out some."
"Is there any extra material at the seams?" Seth thought he had heard a female parishioner once say this to another, while selecting a garment at a church fair.
"Mebbe," Tim upended the dress and sought out the seams.
Seth bent his head and examined it as well. There looked to be a bit of extra cloth at the sides.
"Ya might be able ta take it out an inch or so," Tim fingered the surplus of material.
Seth didn't know whether to agree or not with that estimate so, in an attempt to hide his ignorance, he took a closer look at the cloth, tracing a hand down the seam, stopping only when he ran across a bump that made his arm recoil in surprise.
"Wot?" Tim looked at him, curious.
"There's something in there," Seth replied, voice sounding mystified.
"Summin' in there?" Tim touched the lump as well. "There is!" he exclaimed, fingers beginning to work at tearing it out, ripping stitches in his impatience to discover what had been secreted.
Seth watched, mind racing. He saw now how Mairie had tacked down the extra material on one side of the seam, making a small pocket with it. Since it was at the end of the seam, just below the place where the skirt joined the high waist of the bodice, it probably couldn't have been felt from the outside. The gathers and tucks of the skirt would have successfully padded it. It was the perfect place to hide something like a stolen brooch.
"The bloodstone!" Tim Scoggins shouted as he tore it out of its hiding place and held it up to the dim light.
"The bloodstone brooch," Seth echoed in awe. "It wasn't buried with her after all."
"Thought she kept it 'idden in her best dress," Tim nodded. "An' it was in this one all the time."
"And McConnaugh must have never thought that she might give the actual dress to another woman," Seth reasoned further while staring at the stone.
"It's too bad that Bette didn't ever 'ave time ta 'ave it altered," Scoggins said, admiring the jewel. "She might've found it sooner."
And then he pocketed it.
"I hope that you're going to show that to Barrow when we return to his house," Seth said, raising an eyebrow.
"Why?" Scoggins shrugged, "'E doesn't know the value of a good stone like I does."
"You aren't going to keep it, Tim," Seth quietly insisted. "It doesn't belong to you."
"Well, it belongs ta Bette!" Tim hedged.
"No," Seth persisted. "It was stolen from Lady McRae and should be returned to her."
"Aw, th' old biddy doesn't miss it! She didn't even know it was gone 'til last year!"
"Regardless," Seth said, "It is hers." He held out his hand. "Give it to me." And he said the last with such simple authority that Tim grudgingly did so.
"Thank you," Seth said as he pocketed it, almost surprised that the young thief had given it up without a fight. Then he bent down to the trunk and began to return Bette's garments to it. "Why don't we pack this trunk back up and take it to Bette?"
Chapter 19 C
Both John and Willie called upon Dr. McConnaugh the next morning at the rooms he kept in a neighborhood that was nearer to the docks than it was to the more fashionable sections of town. The pair had chosen to make their visit quite early so that they would not find their quarry already out and about.
As John waited for the footman to answer the door, he couldn't help but wonder if Dr. McConnaugh would agree to see them and, if he did, what his reaction to their visit might be. What might McConnaugh believe to be the reason for their coming? What would be his speculations? Barrow fervently hoped that their man's suspicions would not be aroused by their call. John didn't believe that the man could suspect anything. While McConnaugh would know that John was aware of his relationship with Mairie Sutherland, he could not know that John had made the connection between this woman and the resurrectionists nor did he know that John had been given the task of discovering who was behind these resurrection men. Mary had made this much clear in their discussion the night before. While she had discussed the particulars of her injury with Hugh McConnaugh and the graveyard problems that had plagued her friend Seth Shackleford, she had never mentioned the fact that her friend John Barrow was attempting to solve the mystery.
It was all very suspicious, however. John would have to present the matter very carefully -- so that he wouldn't raise an alarm in McConnaugh's mind.
A young woman opened the door and wouldn't deny or confirm McConnaugh's presence or absence within the house. She appeared to be quite well schooled in how to handle unwanted callers for her guests and only suggested that if the gentlemen would be good enough to present their cards, she would check to see if the doctor was in and was willing to see them. This presented John with a momentary problem. He had to consider which card to send in with the woman -- the one that identified him as Blevins or the one that identified him as Barrow? While McConnaugh had begun his acquaintance with John Blevins, he had more recently been properly introduced to John Barrow. McConnaugh was now fully aware of Barrow's real name, so the ruse could no longer be kept up.
But John was calling to continue a piece of business begun as Blevins.
In the end, he handed both of his cards to the young woman, much to her surprise.
It didn't seem to surprise McConnaugh as much, however: the girl returned quickly to usher John and Willie to their man's rooms.
McConnaugh's breakfast tray was still on the table and the doctor was seated before it. "I'm sorry, it appears that we've intruded on your breakfast." John said, even as his eyes began to roam around the space in an effort to learn something about that man's character. There were very few things in the space for his eyes to alight upon. Other than the table with its single chair, a very large sea chest had been placed under a window and next to it stood an umbrella stand that had been appropriated for the storage of what appeared to be rolled charts. One chart lay half open on the floor where it might have been placed after being moved from the table. All that he could tell from a distance was that the lines of the map had been hand inked and that there weren't many place names written on it.
Near the sea chest and the umbrella stand filled with maps lay a desk that was covered with papers and books, both opened and closed. An extensive writing project seemed to be going on, but John had to wonder that any writing could be done on such a cluttered surface. It was a far cry from John's own work area; he was quite scrupulous about keeping his study tidy.
McConnaugh stood up to greet his guests. "Both Mr. Blevins and Mr. Barrow, I presume?" he smiled at John, before turning to Willie Barton. "And I see that you've brought your associate with you?" He looked questioningly towards the young man.
John confirmed that and made a quick introduction, noting that McConnaugh was attempting to keep a certain light indifference in his voice. A more careful inspection of the man's countenance revealed that he did not feel as easy about their visit as he was attempting to appear; he was rolling the two calling cards between his fingers, fashioning them into a sort of spindle.
"There are not many of us who require two identities," McConnaugh said wryly to John.
"I find it easier to manage when I am able to keep the personal side of my life separate from the business," John explained with a patient smile, noting that McConnaugh's fingers continued to worry.
"So, you use the name 'Blevins' only for business?" McConnaugh appeared surprised at that. "Surely you must know that the name 'John Blevins' is quite well known in certain circles in London. Everyone speaks highly of his abilities, although it is difficult to tell whether this mysterious Mr. Blevins has more admirers or detractors."
John knew this all too well. It was one of the reasons why he appreciated Sir John Murdock's foresight when it came to the pseudonym that he had assumed. If it hadn't been for his mentor establishing the good, yet fictitious name 'Blevins', John might not now enjoy the privacy and comfort that his anonymity granted him.
"How frustrating it must be to hide behind an alternate self." McConnaugh commented, with a shake of his head. "Never to achieve that degree of notoriety, never to recognized for your accomplishments."
This comment brought John up short. He never was one who needed public accolades or even a group of supporters. The idea of being recognized by society for his work made him feel quite ill. He would never wish for that. It was enough for him to be able to quietly return every night to the peace of his house and small family. "Lucky for you that you contend with only one surname that serves in both professional and private situations," John commented noncommittally. It was such a perplexing comment, however, that John could not help wondering if McConnaugh weren't making it simply to delay hearing what it was that brought him on his visit. "I assure you that both Mrs. Barrow and myself are quite content with our relative obscurity and would not wish to be better known by society." This last he uttered with some distaste. He had seen enough of the underbelly of 'polite' society to have become disgusted with it.
"Ah, but what about history?" McConnaugh went further. "Surely a man such as yourself would wish for his heroic deeds and intelligent discoveries to be recorded in history?"
Barrow never thought of his deeds as particularly heroic or his discoveries as remarkably intelligent. "No sir," he was able to quickly respond. "I shall be quite happy simply to see my name live on with my son and his eventual children."
McConnaugh nodded his head but appeared unconvinced.
"I see that you don't share my view on this," Barrow added.
"No, I'm afraid that I don't." McConnaugh revealed honestly. "I don't understand why a man who has the opportunity to leave his mark would choose not to do it!" And before John could respond to that, McConnaugh gestured towards the chart on the floor. "Here," he said, going over to pick it up. He opened it on top of the already cluttered desk. "Look here."
It was a view of the world that John had never seen before and it took him a moment to discover the familiar outline of Britain down near the bottom, right corner. Orienting himself by it, John could now discern the shape of Greenland centered in the middle. The wilds of Canada began on the right with the coast of Newfoundland well detailed. Above that, there were only a few bays and inlets identified and named. The top of a map was a large void. "Do you see that?" McConnaugh pointed to that blank area.
"No," John looked over at him, apprehensive. Was the man having delusions? "There's nothing there."
"Oh, but there is!" McConnaugh nodded his assurance. "We just haven't found it yet."
John wasn't quite sure why anyone would need to find it. In his opinion, lives did not need to be risked just to fill in a map with more lines and he was on the verge of making this known to McConnaugh and attempting to turn the conversation back to the reason why they had called when McConnaugh interjected another comment. "And do you know who gets to name these new places once they have been found?"
John was sure that the man was eager to tell him, so he simply waited.
"The explorers." Came McConnaugh's smug reply.
"The explorers?"
"Yes, the explorers! The discoverers! The map makers!" McConnaugh's eyes danced with delight at this thought. "Can you imagine the thrill of having your name attached to a place for all eternity? Can you imagine a Barrow Island?"
"Barrow Island?" John echoed skeptically.
"Or a body of water," McConnaugh nodded. "Barrow Bay! Barrow Sound! Barrow Strait!"
John looked at the man and recognized the fact that this wasn't merely an academic discussion for him. This was a much more deeply held conviction.
"Or McConnaugh Strait?" Barrow inquired.
"Exactly!" McConnaugh let the chart go and it began curling together on its own. "Of course, any explorer will have a few people that he must remember when he goes about naming things: influential men, investors, financial backers," he ticked off a list, "not to mention family members who must not be forgotten."
"Would the name Mairie Sutherland be destined for such immortality?" John asked boldly, becoming impatient with McConnaugh's long, although rather interesting, digression. He was beginning to think that he understood more about the man, but was still unsure of the reason why he might be searching for a misplaced jewel. Going straight to the point might make such a thing clearer. If nothing else, the mention of the woman's name brought McConnaugh's train of conversation to a halt.
"Of course, I should have recalled that this was probably not a social visit," McConnaugh said haltingly, "But what more is to be said about Mairie? You and your assistant managed to discover that she had died." The man swallowed loudly after uttering this and the expression on his face seemed to indicate a large degree of regret. "My only sister." John sensed that he might say more if given enough time to form his thoughts. He wasn't disappointed. "I arrived in London too late to save her."
"What prevented you from coming to her aid earlier?" John prodded carefully.
"I had shipped out two years earlier on a whaling ship bound for the North Atlantic. The captain's goal was not only to fill his hold with whale oil before returning to England, but also to chart a bit of the coast along Baffin Island." McConnaugh returned to his seat near the table an sat down heavily. "That's the rather large island that runs parallel to Greenland," he tried to explain to John. "We were quite North when a field of ice started packing around us. We tried to break out of it and find a lead out to open water, but weren't successful. We were forced to remain where we were for the winter, hunting and trapping what we could to survive."
He looked directly at John. "I never meant to abandon Mairie," he said, voice an attempt to convince him of his earnestness.
John didn't know whether to believe that or not. If it were true, then he might find himself regretting the trick that he had to play on that man tonight.
"You may still be able to remedy the situation," John began. "I'm afraid that we made an error and have only recently discovered it. Your sister did not die as was first reported."
"She's not dead?"
"No," John negatived as he watched the man closely for signs of how the man was taking the news. His shock was clearly reflected in his face, but whether or not the news was welcome was more difficult to discern.
"How do you know that she's not dead?" Can you be certain?" The questions tumbled out of McConnaugh.
"Both my associate and I have seen her," John fabricated rather smoothly. "She's quite a creature of habit and can generally be found on the same street corner every night."
"You mean, she's a..." McConnaugh was not able to utter the term.
"It appears as if she had no choice but to compromise herself." John affirmed.
"Do you know where she lives?" McConnaugh stood up. "Can you take me there right now?"
"I'm afraid that this fact managed to elude us but my associate would be more than willing to escort you to a meeting with her tonight," he suggested.
McConnaugh nodded in agreement, even as the color began to rise in his face; the doctor was becoming angry. "And how was it that her whereabouts eluded you several months ago when I first hired you to find her?" He lashed out. "Why did you not find her then?"
John and Willie had prepared an answer for this. Barrow looked over at his assistant sternly and Willie managed to look contrite, "I'm afraid that there were a wealth of Miss Sutherlands roaming around London at the time and my assistant was not too careful about finding the right one," John admitted. It galled John to appear as if he were placing the blame entirely on Willie's innocent shoulders, but Willie had insisted that this would create the most likely excuse for such an error.
"So many months wasted," McConnaugh shook his head with some frustration. "I could have gotten -- " he stopped himself quickly and redirected his words, "I could have found her and helped her long ago."
John noticed the odd change of words, but couldn't reflect upon it. It was incumbent upon him to now show his own degree of contrition. "Let me apologize again for this unforgivable error," he began and went on to explain just how relieved he was to finally be able to rectify the situation.
This show of culpability seemed to rouse the man to even greater ire and indignation. "Well, the least you can do is set this all to rights tonight." With that, he walked over and took down his hat and his coat from the pegs on the wall. "And now, if you'll excuse me, my fiancée is waiting for me."
"Of course," John demurred quickly, allowing himself to be shown out. "Mr. Barton will return to collect you at seven tonight."
Breakfast was long over by the time that Hugh McConnaugh arrived at the door of the Darcy townhouse. Mary was the only one of the family that was still home to receive him. This was a very fortunate occurrence; she believed that she had not had one second alone with him since accepting his proposal. Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam, or any one her nieces or nephews had been a constant companion. Her family had become most infuriatingly attentive since learning their news, either wanting to have their share of the bliss of a courtship or wishing to keep the happy couple from acting improperly.
But now that she was to have the opportunity to speak privately with him, she found that she was on the verge of losing her nerve. She asked the footman to delay a few moments before ushering Hugh into the library, hoping to work herself into a state of relative composure. This was an easier resolution to make than to carry out for she knew that there would be no turning back after this conversation. Her dream of a marriage of mutual admiration and respect with a man who still considered her to be a colleague would have to be given up after this. She would have to acknowledge the fact that he had lied to her and to her relations, that he had misrepresented himself to all of them, and that she really didn't know him at all.
The silver tray upon which the footman had brought in Hugh's card had to serve as a makeshift mirror. She picked it up and peered into it, trying to discern if there were any signs of turmoil etched into her features. Last night, she had told John that she wouldn't do or say anything to make Hugh suspect that there was any plot against him and didn't wish for the expression of her face to give their plan away. The image reflected back was distorted and unclear. Memory had to fill in what she couldn't perceive in the silver; her mind recalling the overly long nose sitting perpendicular to the thin line that was her mouth. Her entire face seemed pinched and disagreeable and the idiotic profusion of curls that were ranged around her forehead made for an odd contrast. She pulled at one strand unhappily. How she hated having her hair curled every morning! It did nothing to improve her looks.
There was nothing that could really be done to improve her looks, was there? She must have been a fool to allow herself to believe that Hugh had actually thought her pretty. It was all an act that he had played expertly.
She still wasn't sure why, though. Fitzwilliam's investment in his expedition hardly seemed worth the trouble of getting married.
Or was it that he had never planned on actually going through with the marriage?
The door opened and Mary hurriedly put the silver tray back on the table and turned around to face him. "Hugh," she managed to breathe in greeting.
"Mary," Hugh crossed the room quickly, coming to stand in front of her. He looked at her closely and seemed to see something to excite his concern. "Dearest, is there anything wrong?"
So much for her resolution to appear calm. "No, Hugh," she said, "I am perfectly well."
"But somewhat low in spirits?" He took her hand and regarded her further, seeming to read much in the expression on her face. The openness of her countenance was betraying her again. Why could she not be more guarded? She watched as Hugh shook his head sadly. "And I think that I know why. I'm sorry that I've had to be away from you so often lately. You must how that it is your society that I prefer above all others and only the most critical of business transactions would take me away from your side."
Mary listened, stomach turning. She couldn't believe a word that he said, but it did appear as if he had misread her emotion, hadn't he? That was a very good thing. It protected her real feelings at that moment and gave her a suitable opening for her queries. "What is this business that keeps you away from me?" she asked almost pleadingly, not finding it difficult to infuse her voice with a large degree of hurt and petulance. "Are you really planning on mounting an expedition to the arctic as Fitzwilliam told me that you are?" And -- if that is so -- why have you told me nothing about it?
Mary's torrent of questions appeared to catch Hugh off guard. He stared at her in open-mouthed surprise before recovering his mask of amiability. "Yes, that's exactly where I have been," he admitted.
"Securing the assistance of other backers?" Mary asked further.
He nodded and led her back over to the sofa. "You wouldn't believe the doors that your brother-in-law's name has opened for me," he revealed cheerfully. "It seems that quite a few men are more than willing to follow Mr. Darcy's lead when it comes to business ventures."
Mary could well believe that and was frustrated that her brother-in-law's good name was being used in such a way. "Then surely you don't have many more individuals to solicit, do you?" she questioned.
"Not after tonight," he smiled.
"What's tonight?" Mary inquired further, knowing full well who he would be meeting that that evening, but wondering how he might explain it.
"A private interview with a ... highly important financier," he described. "One that definitely has the resources to make my venture possible."
Mary thought of the jewel as he described this imaginary financier. "And what then?" she asked.
"What then?" Hugh looked at her blankly.
"What will you do once you have secured all of the funds necessary to mount such an expedition?" Mary elaborated on her question.
"I'll secure a vessel and begin to fit her up properly for arctic travel, hire a crew..." he began to explain.
"No," Mary shook her head, "I meant what then with us."
"With us?" Hugh seemed to draw a blank.
"Where do you think that I shall be when you are off in the arctic?" Mary asked baldly.
"I assumed that you would be here," Hugh said, "With your family."
"Waiting patiently for your return?"
Hugh didn't respond immediately to that. It appeared that the sarcastic sound of her last question had made him realize that Mary was not pleased with her role in his upcoming adventure. "Would you prefer to go with us?" he questioned. "Regardless of the fact that it would be good to have another physician on board, I can't imagine that you would enjoy it. There are too many dangers to be faced, too many risks."
"Yet you are willing to face these dangers," Mary commented.
"Nothing worth doing is without risk," he responded. "I don't think that you quite understand what it would mean to our country. Finding a navigable passage to the Orient would open up all sorts of new possibilities for trade."
Mary remained silent, so he went on.
"It would mean a great many new possibilities for us as well." He said. "We wouldn't have to rely on the largess of your relatives or of mine. We would be completely self sufficient."
"I think that we could be self sufficient now," Mary said. "You are a very capable physician, I'm sure that if you attempted to establish a practice..."
"But that's not what I want!" Hugh interrupted.
The vehemence of his statement silenced her. She didn't know what to think.
Eventually, he tried to explain. "I can't bear the idea of tending to the ailments of hypochondriacal society matrons like any common sycophant. I never wished to be a physician, but it was the only training that my aunt would allow. She was a very sickly woman. I believe that she sent me to school only so that she would always have someone to tend to her."
"And you would have preferred something else?" Mary whispered, watching him carefully.
"I could not bear to stay forever in Edinburgh," he said, "There's so much more of the world to see."
"But what about your family?" Mary asked. "Don't you ever wish to see them?"
"I would never wish to see my Aunt Una again." Hugh stated matter-of-factly. "And I have no other family."
Chapter 19D
It was late afternoon before Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam returned with the carriage and Mary was able to be off to the Barrows in it. She had just enough time before dinner to dash over for a visit to the Barrows in order to see Bette and make John aware of what she had learned about Hugh.
Barrow's features were soberly cast as he ushered Mary into his study after she examined Bette. "I wasn't sure if we should expect you today," he began hesitantly.
Mary was sorry to see John so uncertain of her. She recognized that she had been quite hard on him during their last two conversations, almost blaming him for something that he did not do. It wasn't his fault that Hugh McConnaugh had turned out to be such a villain. He was only the bearer of bad tidings, not the originator of them. Indeed, when she thought of John's behavior rationally, she saw that he was only trying to protect her. He was a good man. She needed to make her amends. "It was all a lie," she began.
"A lie?" John echoed in confusion.
"Yes," Mary nodded weakly, "I can see now that Hugh never meant to marry me. He just needed to secure Fitzwilliam's support of his expedition so that he could influence other backers."
She would have explained further, had the knock on the door not disrupted her. Mary and John both watched as Seth opened the door and walked in. He seemed surprised to see Mary within.
Mary was equally surprised to see him as well. It wasn't that she had forgotten that he was staying at the Barrow's townhouse now that he left the parsonage, it was just that she hadn't thought that she would have to make this admission in front of him. She was having a difficult time telling John about it as it was.
Then again, she didn't know why it should be difficult to tell Seth about it as well. He had been her closest friend for six years. He used to be the one person that she could trust above all others to listen and to understand. It was painful to feel so distanced from him.
It was also painful to realize that she didn't know how he was doing either! Mary realized that she had absolutely no idea how he was handling the loss of his church. And had he any hopes for another position? Was there any possibility that the bishop might change his mind? She looked over at him in an attempt to learn the answers, but could only tell that he looked different somehow. There was a strangely young quality to his face that made him look even more vulnerable. She felt her concern for him rise.
She stared further and realized that he wasn't fully dressed. Had he actually come downstairs in shirtsleeves? Why in the world would he do that?
"I'm sorry," Seth addressed himself to Mary, looking equally uncomfortable. "I didn't know that you were here. I thought that I'd find John alone," he stuttered as he reached back to the door. "I'll come back later."
"No Seth, stay," Mary stopped him before he could leave.
Seth stood next to the door and waited expectantly for her to go on.
"I was just telling John what I've learned about Hugh," she explained to him.
"What you've learned?" Seth asked, eyebrows knitting in confusion as he moved closer to her.
"About Hugh," she nodded and went on to explain the rest. She talked all about Hugh's expedition to find the Northwest Passage and how Fitzwilliam had agreed to invest in the mission, thereby encouraging others to invest as well. She also mentioned the fact that Parliament had chosen to establish a sizable monetary reward for the people who managed to find such a route. John had already discovered some of this during his conversation with Hugh that morning and was able to elaborate on the fact that Hugh appeared quite determined to leave his mark on a map, if not on history itself. This last was a surprise to Mary. She hadn't noticed how driven Hugh was.
The final stroke was that he told Mary that he had no family, other than his Aunt Una, while telling John Barrow that Mairie Sutherland was his sister. Mary wondered at that for quite some time. Which was the actual truth? Had he a sister or not? And if Mairie Sutherland was not his sister, then who was she?
John, however, appeared to be more interested in the fact that he had told Mary that his aunt's name was Una. "The owner of the brooch is Lady Una Agnes McRae," John revealed. "Yesterday, Tim Scoggins and Seth found it in a dress that had belonged to Mairie Sutherland."
"You have?" Mary exclaimed. "Then the brooch wasn't buried with her after all!"
"It wasn't," John agreed. "It appears that McConnaugh's attempts to resurrect her body were completely in vain. It was in another dress the entire time."
"And that dress was in Bette's keeping." Seth summed up.
Mary had heard enough. "I've been a fool." She said to them both.
"No," Seth shook his head and looked at her steadily. "You're not a fool."
"How can you say that?" She nearly shouted. "After placing my trust in a blackguard such as this, after being used by this duplicitous man, after introducing him into my family, giving him the opportunity to use my brother-in-law's name for his own purposes -- how can you say that I'm not a fool!"
"How were you to know what he was, Mary?" Seth sounded almost soothing.
"If I had been more guarded, less open..." she continued regretfully.
"Then you wouldn't be the individual that we've all come to value and respect." Seth broke in, shocking her completely with his kind words. She looked over at him in an effort to discern his motives, but could detect nothing but genuine sincerity in the expression on his face.
"Others were deceived by him as well, Mary," John added as well. "And -- with any luck -- he will find himself equally deceived tonight."
It was then that Mary remembered that John had an appointment to keep that evening. And he did not have much more time get ready for it.
"We can only pray that he shall be equally deceived," Seth said under his breath, as he looked over at John.
"I have confidence in our deceptor," John raised an eyebrow and looked back at Seth. Mary momentarily wondered in whom they were placing this trust, but didn't have time to ask the question. John, as if realizing that the time was fast approaching for him to leave, stood up. "I'm afraid that we..." he began.
"Of course," Mary stood as well. "I'm sure that you have some preparations to make."
She could not understand John's strange smile in response. "I believe that they've already begun." He said enigmatically as he looked back over at Seth, who was turning an odd shade of pink.
"I'll escort Mary to the door," Seth said quickly, as if trying to cover up some degree of embarrassment. He took her arm and began to move her towards the door.
Bruno was at the entryway, ready to assist Mary with her cloak and bonnet. "I'll take care of Miss Bennet," Seth said, dismissing the man so that he could help her into her cloak himself. She thanked Seth softly as he placed the cloth around her, the weight of his hands lingering on her shoulders for an instant longer than was necessary. Her mind teased her with the idea that she could almost feel the warmth of his touch through the heavy material. She shivered unconsciously at the thought and he removed his hands from her. She turned around to face him but didn't know what to say. Now that they were able to share a private moment together, she found that she couldn't remember what she had wanted to ask him. Feeling quite awkward now, she turned to the mirror and placed her bonnet on her head. Seth stood watching as she adjusted it in front of the glass. The surface reflected his image next to her own. She found her eyes wandering over to his face and was struck by his steadfast gaze. It looked almost ardent in nature. If she didn't know better, her mind would have begun to make comparisons to the way her brother-in-law Fitzwilliam frequently regarded her sister, especially while she took her turn at the pianoforte. She well remembered those looks he gave Lizzy during their courtship at Longbourn.
She turned around to look at him herself, completely confused by his behavior. Why was Seth looking at her in this manner?
"Mary," he whispered.
They were standing close together now, close enough for Mary to again wonder at the change that had come over his face. He looked almost boyish for some reason.
Then she realized that he had no longer had sideburns. She could see only smooth skin in front of his ears. Without thinking, she touched the place where they had been.
"Why did you shave them off?" she asked.
His hand immediately went to the side of his face in embarrassment, as if he had forgotten about it as well. "Oh," he hedged quickly. "I thought that it... might be an interesting change... " He stumbled through an explanation.
"Seth, you hate making changes!" Mary reminded.
"I do not!" Seth insisted hurriedly. "Change can be quite..." he searched for a word. "Quite exhilarating!" Mary must have looked skeptically at that, because he chose to attempt an additional explanation, "I believe that a lack of facial hair is 'la mode' in the first circles." He said sheepishly.
Mary couldn't think of another man in society who had done the same thing and was on the point of telling him so when she realized that this just might embarrass him further. She realized that it might just be a greater indignity than he could bear.
Little did she know that even greater indignities were to be his on that night and that he had just completed a very difficult, pride swallowing attempt to shave his own chest. Poor, unfortunate Simmons had to rescue him from nicking himself further and had then reminded him that a lady would also not have so much hair on her face. Seth shaved off the sideburns himself, but drew the line at plucking his eyebrows. With these preparations behind him, the only thing that remained to do was to tighten a corset around his frame and don the dress. Cold feet had sent him rushing down to Barrow's study, where he was half hoping to get the man to think of another plan.
Instead, he had found Mary there and she had seemed so disappointed and disheartened that his only thought was to comfort her. He had just been on the point of telling her that he was the only fool in this scenario for not discovering earlier just how much he cared for her when she noticed his missing sideburns.
But Mary didn't know any of this as she tried to understand why Seth was acting so strangely. She simply continued to stare.
"Well," he said eventually, "Perhaps I'll start a trend." That, he knew, was hardly likely, but he had to say something.
"Perhaps," Mary agreed to that, not even knowing what she said.
The arrival of Constance provided the pair with their next diversion. "Mr. Shackleford," she said, coming into the entryway. "Mrs. Barrow and Miss Bette have sent me to fetch you."
Mary watched as Seth winced unhappily at her reminder. "You have to go now, don't you?" Mary asked.
"Yes," he nodded.
"Are you going with John to meet Hugh tonight?" she questioned, the thought suddenly coming to her mind.
"Yes."
"Will you be careful?" She asked, beginning to feel somewhat apprehensive for the man. She knew that John Barrow and his men could take care of themselves, but wasn't at all sure that Seth was as well schooled in handling dangerous situations.
"I'll try," he promised softly.
There was nothing left to do but to move towards the door and pass through it. Seth held it open as she did so and she walked down the stairs to the awaiting carriage. One of the Darcy footmen helped her inside and closed the door after her. She settled back on the seat and the carriage began to move. Looking out of the side window, she saw that Seth was still standing in the door, watching her drive away.
They had driven halfway down the block before Mary had recovered some of sense and began to seriously question the mystifying things that had just occurred during her visit. There was something that John Barrow wasn't telling her and it appeared that Seth was in on the secret as well. This was quite annoying, considering the fact that she had just told him what she knew about her fiancé's deceitful nature and motives for lying to them all. And Seth's own attitude towards her was beyond comprehension. Why was he suddenly acting so kind, almost tender towards her?
And why in the world would he still be in such a state of undress in the middle of the day? She knew that he no longer had parish business to attend to, but she would have never thought that he would allow himself to become so lazy as to not put on clothes in the morning. Seth had never been so indolent before. And what was he thinking when he decided to shave off his sideburns? Surely it wasn't an attempt to follow fashion, as he had so lamely suggested.
And for what did Arabella and Bette need to see him so urgently just now?
These were questions for which she could not even begin to posit answers and she was quite sure that she was going to be in agony until she had discovered the reasons for them. She could easily predict an uncomfortable evening sitting at home with the Darcys, attempting to amuse herself with books that had no hope of holding her interest, waiting for some bit of news to trickle back from either John or Seth.
Would they even bother to come visit her on that night? Would she have to wait until the morning?
This was an intolerable thought! She couldn't wait until the morning!
There had to be a way of learning it all that night. If only she could go along with them as well. Then she realized that there would be very little they could do to stop her from accompanying them, especially if she showed up completely determined to come along. The man that they were setting off to meet was, after all, her fiancé. Did she not have a right to be there?
But they would probably never allow a woman to take part in such a difficult and perhaps dangerous mission, even if they would have allowed Thomas Townsend to be present.
But what if Thomas Townsend was able to make an appearance?
Mary rapped on the top of the carriage, plan forming in her mind. The driver reined in the horses and leaned over to receive her instructions. It took Mary a moment to remember the street address of the tailor that she used to patronize as Thomas Townsend and an additional moment to decide whether or not the man could be trusted to assist her. Deciding that she had little choice in the matter, she gave the driver the direction. She would have to dismiss the carriage after that, sending the equipage back to Elizabeth with a note telling her sister that she intended to have dinner with the Barrows and that they had offered to see her home at the end of the evening. She could only hope that John would agree to provide her with an adequate way of getting back to Elizabeth's house after their adventure.