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

and walked away. Surely Sir Pickering must be investigating Colonel Radcliffe after reading her letter.

She considered entering the inn and declaring all she knew, but something held her back. She walked up and down the street, examining her motivations. She did feel a small amount of fear, but it was a small fear compared to what she felt earlier, trapped on a boat by herself with a killer. Under further consideration, she realized her true hesitance came from other reasons.

If she took Sir Pickering aside, Colonel Radcliffe would be suspicious, and perhaps take the chance to flee. His boat was ready, and Bonaparte would welcome him with open arms.

She could barge in and make the accusations publicly, but if she did so, then everyone would know that she was responsible, and she might not discover the rest of the truth. For though she knew the identity of the murderer and of the plot to assist Bonaparte, she had more she needed to learn. Beyond a connection with Anne’s death, how was Holloway connected to Lady Trafford and Mr. Withrow? What were they doing with all their secretive actions? If she revealed herself now, the public knowledge of it could prevent additional spying on her part.

She walked purposely through town, pausing only for a moment next to a fabric shop, with their lovely wares on display, the sort of fabric Fanny might love to own for herself. Maybe she would come back to this shop. For now, she entered one of the alleyways.

Mary found the poor woman not far from where they had met originally. The baby was significantly larger and looked better fed than the first time they had met. The woman wore a cloak just as ragged as the one she had sold Mary, despite the fact that Mary’s payment could have bought a substantially better one.

“What is your name?” asked Mary. In their previous conversation she had not asked, but now, since Mary had sought her out intentionally, it seemed important.

“Mine name’s Harriet.”

“It is a pleasure to officially meet you, Harriet. If it is not too much trouble, I need your help again.”

Harriet smiled. “Oh, I like ’elping you.” She began to undo the ties on her cloak. “You be needin’ another?”

“No,” said Mary quickly. “No more clothing. What I need will be a little more difficult.” Mary described, in detail, her plan. “Make sure to demand that as many people as possible be there, and make sure to find the hidden compartment, and have the magistrate examine every single item.”

“And you say I gets five pound?”

“Yes, five pounds. The reward was in the papers.”

“I would give anyone up for five pound. I won’t make a boffle of it.”

“Now remember,” said Mary, “you must not mention me, for I am certain they will ask who gave you this information.”

“I wunt be druv,” said Harriet. It was a common expression in the area, and meant, more or less, I won’t do that, or I won’t be driven by anyone but myself. “B’side I don’t want to share the five pound with you.”

Mary saw an opportunity to add even more motivation for silence. “If you tell them about me, they might decide, since I discovered it originally, to give the entire reward to me.”

“I wunt be druv,” repeated the woman. “Now don’t you be in no gurt fuss about it. I be about my task now.” She turned and walked confidently in the direction of the inn.

Mary followed her at a distance. She could not leave Harriet to her own devices and hope that everything happened the way it ought. She had to stay, she had to be a witness that justice was brought to pass.

Harriet entered the inn. From where she stood across the street, Mary heard a fair bit of commotion; Sir Pickering’s men came and went, and soon Colonel Coates and several other officers from the militia were gathered, as well as a number of other notable individuals from the community. The only person not present was Monsieur Corneau. Mary assumed that either Harriet had forgotten to ask for him, or he had not been found.

The door of the inn opened again, and this time Sir Pickering and Colonel Radcliffe, Harriet and her baby, exited, followed by a train of other individuals.

“This is ridiculous,” said Colonel Radcliffe, gesturing at Harriet. “I have never seen this peasant before in my life. What can she possibly have to say against me?”

“If her suspicions are shown to be invalid,” said Sir Pickering, “then this will be very short. Now, Miss Harriet, since you will not tell us the location of your evidence, please lead the way.”

Mary joined the end of the procession as they made their way down to the docks. None of the people seemed bothered by the rain; of course, in this area of the country, they had over a dozen words for different types of mud, so a little rain must not bother them. When they arrived at the docks, the dockmaster exited his office and bowed obsequiously to Sir Pickering, not once, but three times.

“I do not own, or have access to any boat,” said Colonel Radcliffe loudly.

“That is yet to be determined,” said Sir Pickering. “Now, Miss Harriet, I assume you have brought us here to show us a particular boat.”

“Yes, he does have a boat.” Harriet deliberately looked up and down the wharf.

“Well?” said Sir Pickering.

“There’s a good many boats,” said Harriet. “But I will remember, I will.”

After half a minute, Harriet still stood on the dock, bouncing her baby on her hip rather vigorously, still looking back and forth.

The crowd was rumbling in annoyance, and Mary was about to reveal herself when Sir Pickering turned to the dockmaster.

“Mr. Kempthorne. Perhaps you could tell us.”

“I have shown you the records afore,” said Mr. Kempthorne. “Colonel Radcliffe has no boat.”

“The colonel’s paid ’im to keep it off the record,” said Harriet, triumphantly repeating what Mary had told her.

“If this is true,” said Sir Pickering, “you