Colleen McCullough - The Independence of Miss Mary Bennet

Jupiter ready to ride again, Ned mounted and rode off, being very careful to pull the brambles together. Any with business at Mr. Purling’s house would take one look, and run. No one would report their deaths.

An hour later he found Mary. She had tripped over that root and fallen not yards from the road. What he saw were her white face and red-gold hair; the rest of her blended into the shadows. He made light work of picking her up and carrying her to Jupiter, but when he reached the beast he put her down and conducted a careful examination. No, not desperately injured, but seriously, yes. A huge swelling over her right brow worried him most, the more so because she failed to rouse. What to do? Were she any other female, he would have taken her to the nearest doctor, but well he knew Fitz’s dislike of gossip. Deciding that she would fare no worse for the ride to Pemberley, he put her across Jupiter’s withers and mounted.

What he hadn’t counted on was tainted meat in the pie he had had for breakfast at the Black Cat. Like many big and powerful men, he could work indefatigably for hours, even days, at a time. But that demanded good health, and he began to feel not quite himself just after he passed to the north of Chesterfield.

Jupiter disliked bearing a burden across its withers, but did so for Ned’s sake. Just after darkness fell, Mary stirred. The consciousness she regained was confused and irritable; thinking him Captain Thunder, she tried to fight. Having, as he saw it, no alternative, he tipped neat cognac down her throat, and was only content when she slipped back into oblivion. Once Mary sagged, Jupiter neighed softly and settled down.

Not half an hour later he lost the ability to control his gut, pulled Jupiter up, threw the reins over its head and lifted Mary down to lie on a soft patch of short, pungent grass and herbs. Tugging at his breeches, he went into a small copse of trees and endured some minutes of uncomfortable cramps and diarrhoea. Oh, what a bother! Lucky it hadn’t made him heave, but the runs were bad enough. Tidying himself as best he could, he stood waiting to see if there was more to come, but apparently not. How long had he been? A glance at his fob watch reassured him; no more than ten minutes. How bright the stars were, out in the middle of nowhere! Even without a moon, he fancied he might have been able to read the larger print in a newspaper. Certainly he could see his watch face.

Jupiter was standing in a grateful nap when he returned to the bridle-path, but Mary Bennet had disappeared. Confounded, he stared at the squashed herbs where her body had rested-God, no! No, no, no! Where had she gone? Into the trees to relieve herself, as he had done? She could hardly go far in ten minutes, not in her parlous condition.

But she was nowhere in the grove, nowhere on the bridle-path, and nowhere within an easy walk in any direction. Trembling, Ned stopped to think things through without panicking, and decided it was time to mount Jupiter, from which elevation he could see better and farther.

Two hours later he put his head against Jupiter’s mane in dull despair. Mary Bennet was nowhere to be found. And now he would have to report to Fitz that he had rescued Mary, only to lose her to some new, unknown peril. She had been stolen while she slept beside the bridle-path; nothing else made any sense, for walk off on her own two legs she had not.

“It is not your fault, Ned,” Fitz said when Ned reached him before breakfast on that Monday. “I blame myself and no one else. I gave you Lydia and Mary. So terribly unfair!”

“’Twas not you who lost her.”

“No, but how could you predict a bellyache? And why would you think her in danger on a deserted bridle-path well beyond Chesterfield? You are a rare man, Ned. You can plan well ahead, then seize the opportunity of a moment in a moment. I can trust you with these exceeding delicate matters, and in turn that leads me to overburden you. What undid both of us was a bellyache, but who could have predicted its outcome? Don’t blame yourself. And I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. As you say, who could have predicted a bellyache?”

He hesitated, then decided that he would have to tell Fitz about the fate of Captain Thunder and Nellie: a laundered version that would not upset Fitz’s own principles.

“Captain Thunder and his light-skirt are dead. When I found their house, a rather wild mкlйe ensued that proved me better prepared-and the better shot.” He grinned sourly. “In fact, I begin to think that it’s the element of surprise and the pistol already cocked and levelled have made Captain Thunder the terror of these parts for fifteen years. The poor girl threw herself in the way of the first ball to save her love. Blew her brains out. I managed to prime and fire my second pistol while the Captain was still fiddling with his powder horn. He took my ball in the heart. I doubt anyone ever goes near the place-they had even hidden the track to it with a formidable hedge of brambles. With your consent, I would rather not divulge the events. Especially because I have to deal with Lydia for the next few days. Could we simply let the pair of villains rot?”

There was no pleading in Ned’s voice; Fitz considered his tale carefully, and decided he did not disapprove of the way Ned had handled things. Clearly it had been a matter of life and death, and the only other man he knew was as knacky as Ned over the exasperating business of getting a pistol ready to fire was Charlie. Even had their capture been peaceful, he could see where keeping the pair for the hangman’s noose would cause unwelcome publicity. Mary was too involved, and now Mary was missing yet again, which necessitated a new search for her.

Fitz shrugged. “I agree, Ned. Let them rot.” He poured Ned fresh coffee. “Today you must rest. Nurse your belly, yes, but most of all get a long sleep. Charlie, Angus and Owen Griffiths went out at seven this morning in search of Mary. They don’t know your story, but they might find out something interesting. I predict that they won’t return until tomorrow evening, which gives you plenty of time to recover. And yes, I could send someone to bring them home at once, but I would rather not. They will approach the task a different way than you, and we don’t know who took Mary off you.”

“As you wish, Fitz.”

Fitz got to his feet, came around the table and gave Ned a warm hug. “I thank you for your splendid work, Ned. Were it not for you, Mary would have died in the forest. As it is, I think we may safely assume she is still alive. I am deeply in your debt.”

“When do you want Mrs. Wickham escorted to Hemmings?”

“Thursday, I hope. Spottiswoode has had a letter from the proprietress of the agency in York he uses, saying she has someone on her books, but first must thoroughly check the woman’s recommendations. Now go home and sleep.”

Ned rested his cheek against Fitz’s hand on his shoulder, then got up wearily. He departed glowing, despite his sense of failure. Fitz had hugged him, the love was still there. Could anything destroy it? This business had been the most acid test of it, yet still it survived. Oh, Fitz, what would I not do for you?

All of Elizabeth’s time had been taken up in caring for Lydia, whose health was quite broken down. Nor did she see why she should be shifted from Pemberley, where there was always someone else to do the irksome tasks like keeping herself and her clothing clean. Who knew what other premises would yield?

“Lydia, in your heart of hearts you must know,” Elizabeth said, secretly sharing her sister’s sentiments about removal. “Pemberley is Fitz’s seat, famous enough to seem a pinnacle of social achievement. An invitation to stay here is an aspiration fulfilled. He needs Pemberley to further his political career. You did untold damage when you burst into the dining room mouthing disgusting obscenities and accusing Fitz of murder. Your audience included some of the most important people in England- and Caroline Bingley, who remains in residence here. She will use your behaviour to belittle and denigrate Fitz. How can you blame him for wanting to be rid of you?”