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

was not a riding habit and did not have the extra length, so she could not completely do so. The Bennets had never purchased riding habits for their daughters. Sometimes they did drape a blanket over their legs, but Mary did not want to incur the extra effort of keeping a blanket in place the entire ride.

Mr. Tubbs handed her a riding crop. “When you reach Worthing, stop at the inn and mention that you live at Castle Durrington. They will tie up Dusty, free of charge, and help you mount when you are ready to come home.”

“Thank you,” said Mary.

“Once you feel ready, start her at a walk.”

Mary took a moment to concentrate and then urged the horse forward. Dusty walked, calmly, slowly. The horse followed her directions with only gentle suggestions as she urged her to turn left and then right.

“Now take her at a trot. Yes, like that. Now do not ask her to go any faster than that.”

“There is no risk of me wanting to go any faster,” said Mary.

After leaving Castle Durrington Mary looked back several times, but it did not appear that anyone was following her. Her ride to Worthing was uneventful, and she did as Mr. Tubbs recommended and left the horse at the inn.

First she stopped at the bookseller where she found a very small writing book, with minuscule sheets of paper bound together. She intended to record her notes and observations on Lady Trafford and Mr. Withrow in order to better notice any abnormalities and transgressions in their behaviour. In case someone saw her in the shop and informed Lady Trafford of her visit, Mary also bought a new piece of music for the pianoforte.

Mary left the bookseller and looked at the post office next door. She could not simply walk in and ask for Mary Woodville’s mail; she had visited the post office before, and they might recognize her as Mary Bennet.

Instead she walked farther up the street. She stepped inside a clothing store that catered to the working classes and immediately drew so many startled looks that she knew she could not purchase from such an establishment. She promptly left the shop without even managing a proper apology for her haste.

This would not do—this would not do at all. She needed to return to Castle Durrington before the length of her absence became suspicious, and she needed to check for mail.

In frustration, Mary turned down a smaller side street, and then into an alley. She kicked at the dirt road, and it coated her shoes and turned the bottom of her dress a dusty brown. She stopped kicking the dirt as she passed a raggedly dressed woman sitting on the side of the road, rocking her baby.

A few steps later Mary stopped and turned around. “May I buy your cloak?”

“What you be needin’ mine cloak for? Yourn is purty espensive.”

“It does not matter what I want it for. I will give you…seven shillings for it.”

“I wunt higgle over that,” said the woman. She stood and ripped off the cloak in one quick motion, without setting down the baby.

Mary counted out the shillings and exchanged them for the cloak. It was ragged and smelled like a stall that had not been mucked, but it was very long and had a large hood that would help hide her face.

The woman kissed one of the coins, spit on it, and put it in a pocket, keeping the other coins in her hand. Mary’s confusion must have shown, for the woman said, “Tis good luck.” She began to walk away with her baby.

“Wait!” said Mary.

She turned around. “You be wantin’ mine dress too?” She gave a bawdy laugh and tugged at the collar.

“I do not need your dress,” said Mary firmly. “But I will pay you an additional two shillings if you do not tell anyone that you have seen me or sold me your cloak.”

“That’s mighty suent,” said the woman, her hand outstretched. The baby began to cry.

“Do you promise you will not tell anyone I bought this from you?”

“I swear it, on mine baby.”

“You should not be swearing on your baby,” said Mary, concerned that the woman might have done this many times before.

“But I do. I swear on mine baby.”

Mary sighed. “Very well.” She handed over the extra two shillings. “Please, buy yourself a new cloak before you freeze.” The woman hurried off down the alley.

Mary wrapped the cloak around herself and pulled the hood over her head, allowing it to cover part of her face. She did up all the clasps to cover as much of her dress as possible, then smeared some dirt on her hands and her face.

Her disguise ready, Mary entered the post office. A woman holding a large package pulled her two children as far away from Mary as possible, then hurried them out the door. The same man as last time greeted her, but not with the same smile.

“My name’s Mary Woodville,” she said, trying to imitate the original owner of the cloak’s way of speaking. “I’m expectin’ two letters.”

The man looked in the back room and then returned to the desk. “I do have a letter for you, Miss Woodville.”

“Only one?”

“Yes, one. It will be eight pence.” The man looked skeptical that she possessed the funds.

As she passed him the money, she realized that this was a rather shoddy disguise. An old cloak and some dirt could not hide her hands that had never seen labor and her well-kept fingernails. And if anyone knew her well, they would still recognize her face. But at least this man did not seem to.

She took the letter. Her name and address were in Kitty’s handwriting, which meant there was no letter from Maria, even though Brighton was closer and she should have received the letter faster.

Mary returned to the alley where she had purchased the cloak. She broke the seal and read her sister’s words.

My dearest Mary Woodville,

I did not realize that we read the same