Alias Smith and Jones (Pride and Prejudice Shorts)

15th July 1806 11 o’clock

“Miss Smith?”

“Mr Jones?”

That was how our first encounter began.

The situation was unusual, to say the least. We were anonymous, lest any reputations be damaged.

Several intermediaries had arranged our meeting, so nobody knew all the principles.

It was an odd, though not extraordinary, business, trying to arrange a buyer and seller with none the wiser—though to be honest, such cautions were far more common in the criminal classes than mine.

Anonymity was her requirement for obvious reasons. I could tell at a glance she was gently born, so I presumed her reputation was of utmost importance, for herself and any sister she might have. She was pushing her luck, but I supposed she had her reasons.

Had I been dishonest, I could have traced her intermediaries back to their source; and I was so well-known she could have worked out my identity by chance. The anonymity was not water-tight but sufficient for one meeting. We had agreed on the terms, and I would uphold my end of the bargain.

The young lady was interesting, and in that sentence, I know not whether to stress interesting or young.

She was obviously nervous, as she should be.

She was accompanied by a fuzzy faced youth as a sort of chaperone, but he did not have the look of a servant.

I have seen my share of farmer’s or labourer’s sons, and he fit the bill.

I decided to take charge of the affair, such as it was. “You look very young for this sort of activity, Miss Smith. Might I ask your age.”

She gave a mulish answer, “Fifteen—not that it is any of your business.”

That was very young to be skulking about meeting gentlemen clandestinely, but I liked the bit of impertinent fire she displayed.

She was not especially tall, and had the typical adolescent problem of not having expanded evenly into her growth.

Her limbs were not quite in harmony and showed the awkward gait I remembered from my time at that age, as if her reflexes had not caught up.

Naturally, I had to establish some authority, so I just stared at her hard enough to intimidate a grown man. I was somewhat surprised when my worst had no real effect save proving her impertinence.

“I congratulate you, sir. Your stare is nearly as intimidating as my mother’s. Do not be cast down though; it handily beats my father.”

I could not help a chuckle, and when she gave an impertinent grin, and even a slight giggle, I decided I liked the little hellion, impertinence and all.

I softly said, “May I suggest some ground rules, young lady.”

She grimaced but nodded.

“Our anonymity is as solid as these things can be. Might we, just between us, agree to be honest until our business is complete.”

She stared at me a minute before finally blowing out a sigh. “I will be fifteen in a fortnight.”

I chuckled, wondering what possessed me to bargain with a fourteen-year-old girl. Ordinarily I would do no such thing, but if my informant was correct, she had something I wanted.

She continued relentlessly. “I may be young sir, but do not mistake me for a fool. I bet your estate has a dozen maids younger than me, whose parents threw them to the wolves in service without a backward glance when they got too costly to feed.”

I flinched slightly, primarily because she had a point.

I did not have that many, but children entering service at twelve were not uncommon.

I treated my servants very well, and more importantly, did not allow guests or other servants to do otherwise; but not every maid was so lucky.

I even had second or third son ancestors who had gone to sea at twelve.

“Point to the lady,” I said to show I knew what she was about. “I should keep my hypocrisy in check.”

She did something like a very slight start of a blush, but she was no shrinking violet and came right back to it.

“Shall we proceed, sir. My uncle does not know where I am, and I prefer he remain unaware.”

“And your parents?”

“Even more so.”

“You can understand how that might make me nervous.”

“I can,” she said, then gave me a stare far too mature for her age, as if daring me to show some mettle.

“Perhaps you might tell me what brought you here.”

“Why?”

“I wish to ensure I am doing nothing nefarious.”

She did not seem impressed by my logic but probably thought she wanted to sell her item more than I wanted to buy it. That put her at a disadvantage, which I was beginning to suspect she knew, though I had no idea how I came to that conclusion.

She sighed and finally gave her story. “My father’s estate is entailed, and I have no brother. My mother is terribly worried we will be thrown out to starve in the hedgerows when my father dies. My elder sister came out at fifteen, and my mother wants me to do the same.”

I gasped. It was not unheard of in the country, but not common either. It would be suicidal in town, but country rules were different, I supposed.

My curiosity was aroused. “Go on.”

“My mother is convinced we all need to be married, since that is the ‘only respectable way to be free from want.’ She insists I come out and ‘catch a husband,’ as she puts it.”

I was dismayed, but hardly shocked. “Fifteen is young to be at the sport.”

“I agree. My sister is seventeen, has been out two years, and is five times prettier than anyone else in the country, so it all seems pointless. Nobody will look past her to me anyway.”

“If I may be so bold as to suggest, you have no idea how beautiful you will ultimately be. You have not had a chance to grow into it.”

She shrugged as if her beauty was a point not worth debating, and to tell the truth, I had already stepped at least a yard over the line.

“You do not want to come out? Is that it?”

“No sir, I do not. Who would?”

I chuckled because I had been in society for several years and at least half-agreed. “And?”

She sighed resignedly. “I made a bargain with my mother. If I could find enough money to support our family for a year after my father passes, I may delay my entrance until seventeen.”

That startled me and raised my curiosity. “How difficult was that?”

“The argument or the task?”

“Let us start with the argument,” I suggested, for no other reason than to satisfy my curiosity.

She grimaced. “Imagine a stone arguing with a rock.”

She was clever for one so young. Stubborn too, apparently.

“And the task?” I asked gently, presuming it was not going well if she was meeting anonymously in town with a gentleman without her guardians’ consent.

She gave a resigned sigh and began her tale.

“I spent months reading the entail documents and speaking with one uncle, who is a solicitor, and another who is in trade. I thought there might be a way to break it that my father never bothered with.”

“It seems unlikely, but worth a try,” I replied, impressed with her gumption. I knew plenty of fully educated sons who would have given up without even trying; and of course, there is always a chance of improprieties or mistakes in the entail documents.

“I suppose,” she replied glumly. “I played in the attics extensively as a child.”

I had a difficult time keeping a neutral expression, since she was still a child.

She stared as if she could read my mind, though I doubt it was all that difficult. “I found the item we came here to discuss, verified it is not on the inventory… and… well, here we are.”

“Yes, here we are, so I suppose we should get to business.”

She looked relieved that the interrogation was over, and I seemed willing to accept her bona fides, which was not a given. We both had reputational concerns, and even though I was a man, I was not entirely impervious to gossip.

With some obvious nervousness, she handed me a polished wooden box she took from a valise.

I opened it carefully and gave it a brief inspection. The item was spotless and recently cleaned. It easily verified its validity by a well-defined but not very visible scratch on the handle. It was what I sought.

I gave her a slight smile, which had no more effect than it would on a statue, mainly because she was tight as a bowstring.

The girl certainly had pluck, but this whole ordeal could not have been easy for her.

I wondered what it was like to be in a position as helpless as that; ruefully admitting I had not the slightest idea and never would unless someone shipped me off to some barbarous colony after amputating both legs above the knee.

“You have done well, Miss Smith. This is what I seek,” I said, in the probably vain hope it would make her less nervous.

“That is good,” she said, and I could see she was eager to have the business concluded.

I could have made things easier for her but suspected this was far from her last effort in this vein, and the next man might not be so honourable. I was not all that busy, so thought I might just educate her a tiny little bit.

“How much are you asking for this?” I said, perfectly aware it was a tremendously unfair question.

“I was hoping for… ￡50?” she replied nervously.

“What makes you believe it is worth that much?” I asked harshly, just to test her mettle.

She clenched her teeth and balled her fists while I waited to see what she would do. I was being slightly cruel, but the next man she dealt with was likely to be worse.

“I suppose it is not. Give it back and I will find another muttonhead to buy it,” she finally snapped angrily.

I let out a chuckle, which made her stand up, slap the desk, and speak in a hard-edged whisper that was quite intimidating for such a little slip of a thing.

“Give. It. Back!” she said with a tone that could grind rocks.

I knew I was skating on thin ice, since I did want to buy the thing far more than she wanted to sell it, and she could easily get ￡50 from almost any gentleman… though, obviously with considerable effort, given how hard it had been to meet with me.

I had to admit something that quite surprised me: I liked the little spitfire! She had spunk!