The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet, Katherine Cowley [books successful people read .TXT] 📗

woman who claimed to be a relative when no connection between them was apparent, and who surely must know of Mr. Withrow’s friend, the thief.

These thoughts made her wary, so Mary stepped towards the room quietly, hoping to hear what they spoke of. But before she could hear anything of their conversation, Lady Trafford said loudly, “Miss Bennet, please come in.”

Apparently she had been louder than she thought.

As she stepped inside, Lady Trafford passed Mr. Withrow a paper which quickly disappeared into his jacket.

“Miss Bennet! What a pleasure to have you join us here at Castle Durrington.”

“I am glad to be here and grateful for this opportunity.” She tried to remember the words of her speech, but Lady Trafford gestured for her to be seated.

“And how was your trip? Not eventful, I hope.”

“Nothing unusual occurred. How was your trip to Brighton?”

“Very brief, but necessary.”

“Mr. Withrow said you were there for some charity work?”

“Yes, I am on the board of Brighton’s Society for Literacy and Improvement of the Poor. There was an incident with one of the teachers we hired, and so I thought it best for me to resolve the problem myself.”

The answer was satisfactory, though still a little vague. But Mary supposed it was better for Lady Trafford to not disclose the particular details about the incident, in order to protect those involved.

“I wish I had been able to go with you to Brighton. My friend from Hertfordshire, Mrs. Blankenbeckler, lives there now.”

“I do not visit Brighton very often,” said Lady Trafford, “but if I visit again, I will make sure to bring you with me.”

They engaged in polite, trivial conversation—or at least, Mary and Lady Trafford did. Mr. Withrow looked on, not saying anything unless prompted by his aunt. There was nothing strange or unusual in the conversation, unlike the night that they had met. Everything was exactly what you would expect from a woman of Lady Trafford’s position. Mary kept wanting to bring up the issue of the family Bible, but she needed to do so delicately. She did not want to be accusatory, for she had only arrived and would rather not endanger her stay.

“How were your lessons?” asked Lady Trafford.

It was only the first day, Mary reminded herself, thinking of Fanny’s words. And she did not want to appear ungrateful. “They were not quite what I expected. But I really enjoyed the drawing.”

“I agree that French is challenging,” said Lady Trafford. “But I suspect you will find the effort worth it, in the end.”

Mary had said nothing about French, and so wondered at Lady Trafford’s rather accurate surmise.

Mary summoned up her courage, and said, in as polite a tone as she could, “I brought a detailed family chart of names with me. I know you said that we are related, and I was hoping to discover our connection, and so I—”

“That is quite a natural desire,” said Lady Trafford, cutting her off and thus preventing her from mentioning the Bible. “I believe one of your great uncles or aunts married one of my cousins. I have my own chart which contains all of the details. I need to find it, and once I do, we can compare.”

Mary supposed the records in the Bible could be incomplete, but before she could reflect on it, Lady Trafford moved to a new topic of conversation.

“Mrs. Boughton said you did not finish your tour of the house.”

“I had seen sufficient.”

“Oh, it is much better to be thorough. Come, take a stroll with me on the back lawn.”

“But it is cold.” It was only September, and yet already the temperature was dropping.

“I presume you have a shawl. And if not, I insist that you borrow one of mine.” She did not wait to see if Mary agreed, instead turning to her nephew. “Will you be joining us, Henry?”

“Unfortunately, I have matters of the estate to attend to,” said Mr. Withrow, all courteousness. “But perhaps we can take a walk together later.”

Lady Trafford rang a bell and called in Fanny, who carried Mary’s drawing supplies up to her room and returned with her black shawl.

From what Mary had observed, there were two ways to exit the house to the back lawns—from the parlor downstairs, and from this parlor, on the first floor. They exited and found themselves on a large terrace. Lady Trafford led the way down the grand marble steps. Mary followed her closely, keeping her eyes fixed on the older woman in case she started to fall, but Lady Trafford’s steps were deliberate, and she had no trouble. She guessed that Lady Trafford was about the age of her mother—maybe a few years older—but more physically able. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, they walked out onto the lawn, which was rather plain with an undeveloped landscape.

“Do you often take unexpected trips?” asked Mary.

“From time to time. I like to keep myself busy and involved in many worthwhile endeavors, which means there are always many places to go and things to do. When possible, I travel farther afield. There are always so many new experiences, so many possibilities that the world has to offer.”

Mary had never had a desire to see the world. She had always been able to experience plenty of the world through books. And people were more understandable in books than in life.

Lady Trafford turned back to face the house, but Mary continued to look out across the lawn. It was difficult to tell if she saw the sea or only storm clouds. She would need to attempt a drawing from this angle; it was a worthy view.

“Why did my lessons start so quickly?”

“Would you rather wait a week or two? I thought it best to begin immediately, for both myself and Mr. Withrow can be rather dull company. Besides, there is always so much to learn.” Lady Trafford gave her a sharp look. “Really, Miss Bennet, you should turn around and look back at the house.”

Mary did so and could not stop a