Chapter 8
Miss Mary Bennet, somewhere in Scotland
Before the sun might rise, John returned to provide Mary with the items she had requested and to bind her wrists once more, and while he took great pains to avoid her wounds, fear of the other captors in some ways spoke louder than whatever kindness he possessed.
Less than an hour later another captor, Timothy as the Colonel had addressed him, came to see to their bonds and provide food and relief as needed. An unpleasant sort of fellow, Mary had been pleased to see him leave, a wicked chuckle held back as he stumbled up the final step.
Patting the scissors hidden in her dress pocket, Mary turned toward the Colonel, their plans for escape well in hand, even if the loaf of bread between them had all of the stature of a stunted turnip.
“Do you think we might manage another before the day is out?” she questioned, eyes drifting to the bread. “Do they even give you more than one meal a day?”
“Rarely,” he answered, a humourless smile forming. “Though this meal was an improvement over what they have been providing. Usually it is only gruel or a near meatless stew.”
“And today we got that and this wee loaf,” she teased playfully, the action causing her heart to pound wildly.
A night and a morning were the extent of their acquaintance, why was she so?
So comfortable? She never did this with her sisters, afraid they might mock her.
Yet, she was not afraid with him? Because she did not know him?
Because they shared this prison where the world shrunk down to simply him and her?
Perhaps, she conceded as she listened to his laughter, no trace of mockery within it, only honest amusement at her remarks; her heart swelling more than she would be willing to admit. For once the risk of being herself had not brought hurt.
“Well Miss Mary Bennet,” he remarked, her face flaming as she realized her gaze had been fixed to him.
“We have a pair of scissors, two blankets, the hope of having your ropes removed by day’s end, and enough food for five minutes, what more could we ask for?
In the meantime, I suggest we get some rest while we can.
” Studying her, he lowered his head toward his lap, his own face becoming as red as hers, “Here, lay your head, you were unsettled all night; you cannot run as you will need if you are tired.”
Lips pulling to the side as she considered his words, she nodded, her chest tight as she worked her blanket awkwardly over her shoulders before moving to his side.
Eyes closing of their own accord as she laid her head down, her muscles eased as she met the support of his leg, the warmth and soft strength worlds apart from the cold, lifeless stone which had seeped its raw chill into her bones.
Voice warring against her, she managed a small, “Thank you,” the deep rumble of his reply and steady breath reassuring as she let the weight of sleep overtake her.
∞∞∞
A harsh laughter echoing against their stone prison ripped Mary from her pleasant sleep, the mocking face of Timothy meeting her as she lifted her head.
“Eh, Freddie, Sam,” he yelled as he moved toward the stairs, “you just missed it! Miss ‘gentleman’s daughter’ here nestled real close to our favorite military lad.
Imagine how it’d sound to all the gossips in ‘their circle.’ Posh folk like ‘em would spread it and make it sound even grander than it was, I’d reckon, and our Miss would be considered as her kind are–spoilt-like.
” The two men joining him, Timothy grinned, “See what I did there; posh folk are spoiled and the stain on her reputation would see her soiled, I mean spoilt.”
Head dipping along with her courage, she fixed her gaze to her fingers, hoping beyond hope neither of the men he had called would come.
Wincing as deep chuckling sounded from above, Mary risked a glance upward, the two men standing at the top of the stairs grinning down at her.
Ripping her gaze away, Mary frowned. They…
they were too valuable, nothing would happen to them, but…
her thoughts fading away as the voice of one of the men above rushed wildly, “Do you see that? I think our military boy’s angry. Look, his face is all narrow-like!”
“As red as his uniform you mean,” Timothy goaded, the Colonel forcing his expression to become neutral.
“Still prefer viewin’ our little Miss here. What do you think, Sam? Would you rather see the red face of our soldier or the pretty one of her’s?”
Moving as much as his ropes allowed, the Colonel shielded Mary from view; the exclamations of disappointment and outrage loud from the other men as she pressed her face into his back.
“Soldier boy won’t share, will he?” one of the men cooed. “Feed the pair and come back up; John might pinch from our pot if we’re not there–cards were doin’ me well, a pretty face or not, I’d rather enjoy my winnin’s!”
“Alright, alright,” Timothy sneered, the sound of metal on stone deafening, “you two can manage yourselves. Ropes or no, I ain’t stickin’ round to feed ya–if John don’t steal, those two will!”
Footsteps fading, Mary took several steadying breaths as she lifted her head.
“They are gone,” the Colonel growled before he turned toward her, voice softer, “Are you alright?”
Lifting her bound hands to her cheeks, she answered, “You must think me a pathetic sight, hiding from them as I did.”
“I am thankful you did. We will be gone soon, and neither of us shall endure them again–lest for me to testify, and that is a task I would relish.”
“Soon,” she agreed, a breath of doubt in her mind. Yet, as they examined the meager portion of food–naught aside from another morsel of bread able to travel with them–Mary could not bemoan every state of their circumstances; leastwise, not when she considered the brave face of the man beside her.
Between his skill and our determination, there may yet be a solid chance at freedom, she bolstered herself as much as she dared, the full hope of escaping before dawn a thing she feared for the strength of her want. At least, whatever the outcome, she need not face it alone.
∞∞∞
Displeased with the string of bad hands after his encounter with them, Timothy had passed along the task of seeing to their needs to John.
As always, he did all he could to make Mary comfortable, first untying her bonds and seeing to her rapidly healing arm, then providing a meal that, while of no greater quality, came with enough food to see them well-fed before their journey, with a little left over to bring with them.
Thanking him for his kindness, Mary waited until he had locked the door behind him before pulling the scissors from her pocket.
“Hopefully these are enough to cut through your ropes, Colonel, for I do not have another solution to hand.”
Wrists held out, he grinned as she set to work. “It shall feel good to be free of these. It has been an age! Oh, but this ‘colonel’ business will not do, we are comrades in all this; please, call me Richard.”
Face warming, she fixed her gaze to the ropes she now battled, “Very well… Richard. I suppose you ought to simply call me Mary then. No colonel, no miss, just us.”
“Just us,” he echoed softly, her eyes pulling to his without her full permission, though the leaping of her heart made it all worthwhile.
She could get used to this, she half-thought, her attention drawn downward as the tension of the ropes gave way.
Lips broad, Mary turned to the bright eyes of Richard, his fingers pulsing for several moments before he shook his hands and arms. Half their plan had been made good, or near half, for his ability to move freely paired with hers removed many uncertainties.
“Here,” she said, holding out the scissors to him once his freedom had been well enjoyed. “It is best you keep these; we did, after all, talk of them as a weapon once. Hopefully it does not come to that, however…” she let her words fade away, the image of what might be required unpleasant.
“Of course,” he nodded, accepting the scissors before tucking them into a pocket, “There, all settled. Now then, a bit of stew to eat, a few tokens to collect for our journey, a tending of our wounds, then whatever rest we can find. I suspect it might be a long night.”
Tossing and turning proved in no short order that Richard had been accurate in his assumption. For, as minutes dragged into hours, dawn appeared no nearer in coming. Yet, through Richard’s steady reassurances and the natural passage of time, their captor could at last be heard unlocking the door.
Laying the rope over Richard’s hands before hiding her own in the folds of her dress as she lay back down, the two feigned sleep in the hope of drawing him near.
“Pair still as close as love birds it seems,” a voice snickered from above, “might as well enjoy ourselves with another game a’ cards. They ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“Better hope your luck improves,” another man laughed, whatever retort might come next covered by the slamming of the door.
Sitting upright, Mary stared toward the darkened space of the doorway above, whatever hopes they had of escaping that morning snatched away.
“We never would have been able to make our escape with all of them awake,” Richard's voice noted sadly, his words accurate, though a poor balm to her lost dream. “We might have tried something only to fail; we can try again tomorrow.”
A quick nod and Mary forced a faint smile. Another chance would come.
Brows pinched, Mary’s head lifted toward the door, the quick sliding of chairs followed by angry words a stark contrast to the quiet moments before.
“... a… you… senight…” the muffled voice of Timothy drifted through the closed door before their cell became filled with light, the all too familiar form of Ian made visible.
Eyes falling to Richard’s arms then hers, Mary’s blood turned cold. They were neither of them bound. Escape attempt or no, this would be enough to anger Ian; the scissors and saved bread would merely ensure it.