Chapter 4
Miss Mary Bennet in Hertfordshire
The Bennet family, though not as wealthy as some of the landowning families they knew, nor, indeed, as close-knit, had one therefore curious habit: that of celebrating birthdays.
Further, they did not limit their celebrations to those of special merit, but instead chose to observe each and every one.
That habit lent no small amount of raised brows considering that most families did not.
At least not in the grand manner of the Bennets, for rather than having a familial gathering with small tokens of esteem, some special gift from the entire family would be procured and a party of significant size held.
The gift Mary could accept with easy smiles and thanks, for that they always chose to be given in private, but the party, that had been a learned thing. One which, when she considered how few of the guests actually enjoyed her company and she theirs, proved a strange atmosphere.
If only we merely did gifts, Mary thought as she made her way through Meryton, Lydia stopping at every shop window they passed.
It is not as if parties hold no interest, but Mamma will insist on inviting everyone.
If it were a party where there were at least friendly relations amongst all the guests rather than strained acceptance or worse still, animosity, it would not be so horrid.
“Mary!” Lydia cried, her sister hurrying to where she stood by the shop window.
“Are you alright?”
“Would this bonnet not suit me to perfection?” Lydia asked with a sigh, Mary’s fierce glare unnoticed by her younger sister. “If only I had not spent my pin money on that ribbon or those slippers, for this would suit me far better than they. Oh, Mary, do you think you…”
“No,” Mary interrupted, “I will not lend you any of mine again; these past five months I have lent you three pounds, and not one have I seen in return. I am afraid your spending habits are your own to check.”
“Oh, but today is your birthday, and it would be a fine thing to share in your good fortune,” Lydia rushed as Mary turned toward their aunt’s house.
“Lizzy endured the presence of that odious Mr. Darcy to see that you might have your present tonight, that was a kind thing, was it not, to do what she did not want to do for another. A very kind thing… No,” she continued, eyes wide as she wrapped her arm in Mary’s, “not kind, it was the Christian thing to do. Yes. No doubt Fordyce would approve, nay, even advocate it.”
“No doubt,” Mary supplied. “Lizzy sets a fine example of generosity which he would be proud of. And yet, my pin money you still shall not have.”
“Oh!” Lydia huffed as she stomped her foot, a fine cloud of dust billowing from its force. “Fine. If I shall not have the bonnet, I shall not accompany you to Aunt’s, but instead buy myself a ribbon! You may meet me here when you are done.”
Turning her head left and right as she considered her options and the potential dangers of leaving her younger sister alone, Mary nodded.
“This store and no other, mind. Mrs. Lovelace will at least see you come to no harm; a quarter of an hour should see me back. Mother merely wanted me to let Aunt know she should arrive an hour before the party so they might gossip.”
“Very well, very well. I shall stay here, though I am not certain fifteen minutes will be enough; I heard rumour of there being some new ribbons and you know I must see them all!”
Sighing as her sister entered the mercantile, Mary turned away, taking the small passageway between the nearby shops, the Phillipses’ residence just on the other side.
Surely Lydia could not get into any true mischief in the time it would take her to go to Aunt’s and back again. Could she?
The passage darker than the street, Mary blinked as she came to a halt midway, the sounds of the town echoing down the small corridor.
Perhaps she ought to go back, endure Lydia’s extended perusal of the ribbons, and then force her to their aunt’s? IF anyone could force Lydia to do something she did not want.
Hesitating for but a moment longer, Mary chose to continue forward, a strange prickling sensation at the base of her neck forming.
“How odd,” she murmured, her gaze drawing behind her in a vain bid to appease the sudden dread within. “N…!” her voice came in a muffled cry, the massive hands of a strange man coming to rest over her mouth.
Biting his hand, the metallic taste of blood meeting her, Mary frowned as another man shoved some old cloth in her mouth before gripping her arms, a rope wrapped around her wrists by the first man in spite of her struggles.
“Is the coach the boss hired ready?” a deep voice asked as Mary rocked side to side in an attempt to escape the bruising hands on her arms, total darkness following as a musty bag slid over her head.
“‘Tis. Though I still think takin’ this one is foolish, we ‘ave the soldier boy.”
“Quit askin’ questions. What if the boss heard ya? Now, take her and make certain no one sees; and watch ‘er good, this one’s trouble.”
Pulling and stomping as her veins turned cold, Mary felt half a moment’s victory at the grunt her tied fists caused before her feet were ripped from the ground and the hard, painful shoulder of a man buried deep into her abdomen as he carried her.
Working to scream through the cloth, the muffled noise sounded pathetic even to her ears, the volume far too low to be heard; but surely, if she struggled enough, she might be seen.
Wiggling and pounding at his back with her bound fists, Mary sought to make herself as noticeable as possible, the man’s grip growing fierce. “Want to make it there alive?” he hissed, her movements slowing somewhat before she tried harder still.
There might never be another chance.
Her body weightless until she met the rocking interior of what had to be a coach, Mary groaned as her back and head met the wooden walls, nausea and a wave of dizziness following.
“You and John here remember what the boss said; you is to see no harm comes to her. None. And that goes for you too Robbie. A hand laid on her and the boss will have your head.”
“I ‘ave ‘ad it with ‘em and his rules. He oughtta…”
“Shhh. Someone.”
“He turned the other way.”
“Get going, but know the boss will kill ya’ if you lay a hand on her, and he is one man I know not to cross.”
A disgruntled reply half muttered and half sworn followed by the slamming of the carriage door and the jolt of movement caused Mary’s last hope of being found to die.
Papa, her thoughts whimpered as tears began to form, I want to come home.
∞∞∞
Praying and watching for any opportunity to free herself from captivity, Mary endured the weight of every minute, her mouth and throat aching with the dry feel of cotton while her form grew chilled, day turning to night though she could tell little difference, the sack they had placed over her head having blocked all light.
“Near five hours of road until we rest,” one of the men began with a yawn, “we ought to take that hood and gag off of her for a bit, what with no one to hear; some water and some food for certain, else the boss will be cross, Ben said so.”
“I ‘eard ‘em, I ‘eard ‘em,” the man who had carried her huffed. “Take ‘em off if ya want; she’s not worth the trouble if yous ask me.”
A wash of fresh air and the low light of day poured over Mary, her lungs grateful for the coolness of the coach.
Whoever this other captor was, at least he had proved a better man than the first. Smacking her lips and unsuccessfully swallowing as he removed the rag from her mouth, Mary shifted in her seat.
“Here, have some water,” he offered, a flask-like shape slid between her tied hands.
Fingers shaking as she brought the flask to her, Mary moaned as the water made its way down her parched lips; the awkward pain of a moment rewarded with a renewed presence of mind and the wonderful removal of discomfort.
Flask clenched between her fingers after her thirst was quenched, Mary took a moment to study the space in the low light.
He is the brute who carried me, she considered as she studied the man across from her and to the right, his unfriendly scowl unforgettable.
Turning to the other as he took the flask, she found a much stranger sight, the man’s expression almost warm, and his person far from unpleasant to look at.
If he were walking down a street, few would think him a kidnapper…
a pity appearances did not always prove themselves in character.
Shaking her head, Mary let her eyes move over the interior of the coach, the space undoubtedly costly even when viewed in the low light.
The hanging straps were accented with golden tassels, the seats were plush and covered in a deep red cloth which must have cost dear, and even the leather clad doors and the window draperies spoke of the highest quality.
Had they stolen the coach? Mary wondered, the words of ‘Ben’ back in Meryton denying that.
He asked about the coach their boss had hired; if so, money could not be lacking in too great a quantity.
This coach, even to hire, would cost no small amount.
True, a coach like this would grant them anonymity even in plain sight, but kidnapping is more often for money than not.
Unless this all proved a mistake, it is not as if Father could afford a large ransom.
Father, her heart ached, would he even notice her absence?
Would any of them notice; Lydia would have to and with the birthday party the others might be more inclined to notice…
still, how long might it have taken before concerns were raised?
And if others outside of her family learnt what happened, the reputation she held so dear might be tainted.
Even her sisters might suffer, and all because these men and their…
their boss decided to carry her off, as if a sack of grain!
Eyes narrowing at the men across from her, Mary felt a surge of courage, resolve, and anger swell. She would not allow that fate!
Heart racing, Mary waited until the horses slowed at the next turn, one eye fixed on her captors and the other on the door handle.
Forcing herself to breathe as she waited, the horses at last slowed somewhat and Mary threw herself toward the door, the handle moving and the door ripping away before her, her body weightless for but half a moment before all air was expelled from her, the earth and her person colliding in one painful thud, her bonnet lost before she continued to roll away.
Slicing rocks, scratching earth, bruising branches, and other debris screamed formerly unknown torment into her flesh and mind, the world forgotten in light of the pain which racked her from one end to the other.
Silence pierced by her gasps and the voices of men not too far away surrounded her, the situation and danger returned full force. She had to run.
Scrambling to her feet, Mary hissed as her arm dripped fresh blood onto the ground, the voices growing louder forcing her to rally against the pain. Come on, Mary, she urged herself as she moved toward a dark expanse of woods, her tied hands pressing against the trunks of trees as she went.
“Blood. This way!” the voice of one of her captors shouted, her pace quickening in response–they were close.
Biting her lip as a branch snagged in her hair, the pins which still held ripped away as she darted forward, Mary searching for any place to hide, or anyone who might save her, yet none appeared.
Heavy footfalls behind her reminded of the closeness of the men who hunted her, the racing of her heart and gasping breath only coming stronger at their presence.
Foot slamming into a raised root, a cry rose from Mary’s lips as she fell until the force of hitting the earth took all sound and air from her, her vision fading in and out as she fought to right herself–they were right on top of her.
Scrambling to her knees, her breath came in sharp gasps as her body fought her will, the growing sound of her captors driving her against reason.
Ripped up by her injured arm, Mary’s hope died, the scowling face of her captor and the pain of his grasp far too familiar. Would she ever have a chance again?
“Well, Missy, believe me, yous’ll pay dear for crossing me.”