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

Mary could not hear the response to this statement, or tell from whence it came. The mysterious woman and man exited the house with hardly a sound. Mrs. Boughton locked the front door, and Lady Trafford, Mr. Withrow, and Mrs. Boughton ascended the stairs.

Had these visitors come during the day and not spoken of a dead man, they would seem like respectable people, the sort of people Lady Trafford might do business with, or who might run in similar social circles. Why meet with them in the middle of the night to share information about Holloway? And what had been meant by the comments about the church and grave robbing? Mr. Holloway had not been buried in Worthing; his body had been sent back to Crawley.

Mary twisted her mourning ring, wondering what her father would think. He would probably find it preposterous that she was skulking about a castle in the middle of the night and offer some justifiable reason for their behaviour. Perhaps they were travelling and could not spare the time for a visit during the day, and of course they were speaking about Holloway—since Mary had discovered his body, it seemed that no one could speak of anything else. Mr. Bennet would likely call her a silly girl. He had always lumped her with her younger two sisters in terms of silliness, which Mary had found rather absurd. But now, here she was, behaving precisely as a silly girl would. Perhaps, in order to be silly, she simply needed the proper opportunity. She stifled a laugh that she felt rising, for silence was still paramount.

Once Mary was certain she would not be caught, she made her way back to her room, trying to decide a way in which to discreetly question Lady Trafford about the visit in the morning.

Chapter Twelve

“Some letters expect that seeing the rapid decline of his reputation, and feeling the necessity of attempting something, however desperate, [Bonaparte] will risk everything in a general battle!

‘I have set my life upon a cast,

And I will stand the hazard of the dye.’”

–The Bristol Mirror, Bristol, England, October 23, 1813

Fanny removed Mary’s nicest black dress from the clothing press and shook it out.

“One of the others will serve me better,” said Mary.

“But you are going to town with Lady Trafford,” said Fanny.

“I may be going to town, but it is not to display myself.” Mary yawned, fatigued from her lack of sleep, in part due to the middle-of-the-night visitors.

“Did you not sleep well?”

“I am a little tired, that is all.”

Mary knew Mrs. Boughton was in full confidence with Lady Trafford, but she did not know about the other servants or how strong their loyalties were to their mistress. Of course, whether or not Fanny were involved, she might know something.

“I thought I heard a noise in the middle of the night, perhaps from a horse or a carriage,” said Mary.

“The road is not too far from here. Maybe it was a doctor driving to help someone.”

The response was not useful. Mary wondered who else she could question without raising suspicions.

Fanny helped Mary out of her nightgown. “Lady Trafford has set aside fabric and other materials for me to make you dresses.” She gave a sly smile. “And I would much rather make you dresses than perform some of the less pleasant household tasks.”

“I have sufficient clothing for my needs.”

“But the fabric will go to waste if I do not use it. Will you let me measure you? I can do it quickly.”

Fatigued, Mary did not have the stamina to stand up to Fanny. “I suppose you may make me one new black dress, but it must have no lace, beads, or other adornment, and it should be an example of modesty in all aspects.”

“I assume that by the ball you will no longer be wearing black?”

“What ball?”

“Did you not know? Lady Trafford is throwing a ball, in five weeks’ time.”

“I was never informed.” It did not matter whether she was at Longbourn or here; Mary was always the last person to hear about balls.

“If you are still wearing black, it would not be appropriate for you to attend, and as her honored guest for all this time, I can only believe you would want to show her your gratitude by attending rather than shaming her by not.”

Fanny was skilled at leaving no room for argument.

“I will stop wearing black by the time of the ball.”

“I am so glad. I have such a wonderful plan for your new ball gown.”

“I do not need a new ball gown,” said Mary firmly. “My green dress has served me for many a ball and will serve me for another.”

“Maybe you will change your mind,” said Fanny. “At least let me take your measurements so I can make you a morning gown.”

“Very well.”

Fanny began taking measurements and writing down notes. She was efficient and seemed more skilled than others who had measured Mary before.

“Where did you learn this?”

“My mother works for a dressmaker in London. And my father is a tailor. Some day they will open their own shop and make all their own designs.”

“I am sure if they are industrious, they will do well for themselves.”

Fanny gave a look as if she did not completely agree, but she said nothing.

After a minute of silence, Mary asked, “Do your parents like living in London?” She had only been there for two days with the Gardiners and had not seen much of the city at all.

“They like it well enough. My mother has lived there her whole life. My father was born in Virginia as a slave. He gained his freedom by fighting with the loyalists when the colonies revolted. When we lost the war, he came to London. He misses the weather in Virginia, but not much else.”

Fanny finished the measurements and helped Mary into her most plain mourning dress.

“What about you?” asked Mary. “Did you like London? Or do you like it better here?”

“It does not matter