Colleen McCullough - The Independence of Miss Mary Bennet

“Brother Ignatius was simple. I think Father Dominus deliberately kept all his children simple-certainly they were never taught to read or write. He told me that he stole them from bad masters, but if Sister Therese and Brother Ignatius bore no sign of ill-treatment, perhaps he stole them at a very young age from their parents, or-or even bought them from their parents or the parish overseers. Parish care can be cruel, depending upon the rapacity of the overseer. It would not have been hard to acquire them at a very young age if there was money in it. As to whether he would have killed all of them upon maturity, we’ll possibly never know, for Ignatius was the oldest of the boys, and Therese the girls.” Mary sighed and clutched Angus’s hand harder. “If he is mad, and I for one don’t doubt that, then to be adored by these simple little people must have contributed to his high opinion of himself. Don’t forget that they worked for him, and were paid nothing. The gospel of St. Mark says, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me.’ If Father Dominus believed himself chosen, one can make some sense of it.”

“Much will be answered if we find them,” said Fitz.

“May I say something about their being found?” Mary asked.

Fitz stared at her, smiling slightly. “By all means.”

“Don’t look in places where the caves are well known, but farther north. If the first body was Brother Ignatius, then he floated down the Derwent, yet was still north of the caves people visit. In the bowels of my prison was a stream, I could hear it flowing strongly, then saw it on my exercise walks. Until I talked to Angus and Charlie, it hadn’t occurred to me that these underground rivers are just that-under the ground. So my stream was much deeper than I had imagined. Go to the north, where all is desolation. These children are like moles, they can’t tolerate the light of day. Search by night.”

The gentlemen were staring at Mary in admiration, and Angus was bursting with pride.

“What a head you have on your shoulders!” he said.

“If I do, then why do I get into such dreadful scrapes?”

Fitz took over, disliking loss of purpose. “The moon is coming up for half, so we can search at night for quite some time. I have spyglasses, and may be able to locate more. It’s quite a dry summer, which means less cloud.”

“I shall have prayers said for the children in churches of all denominations,” said Elizabeth. “They’ll haunt my sleep until they’re found, but if they’re found dead, I’ll never sleep well again. Fitz, may I have the funds?”

“Of course,” he said at once. “Like you, Elizabeth, they haunt my sleep. I’ll call in Ned and put him to work as well. His eyes are very sharp, and he works best at night. In the meantime, those from Pemberley who search will carry tents and camp on the moors. Riding back and forth takes up too much time, though we’ll keep horses with us. I must ask the ladies to limit their use of carriages and riding horses, for I want the grooms as searchers. Huckstep will come with us and leave a deputy here with two grooms. I’ll also commandeer footmen and gardeners if you tell me how many you can do without.”

“Take whomsoever you want,” said Elizabeth.

“Though,” she said to her husband later that night, “I don’t believe that method will answer this conundrum. Mary was freed by a natural convulsion in the earth. My prayers will do as much good as your men.”

“I believe in God,” he said ironically, “but a God of sorts only. My God expects us to help ourselves, not make Him do all the work. Faith is too blind, so I’ll put my trust in men.”

“And in Ned Skinner most of all.”

“I have a premonition about that.”

“Why did you oppose Mary’s crusade so bitterly?”

His manner grew stiff. “I am not at liberty to say.”

“Not at liberty?”

“The more so, now our son is prospering.”

“Cryptic to the last.”

He kissed her hand. “Goodnight, Elizabeth.”

“Well, Lizzie,” said Jane over breakfast next morning, “though we cannot actively help the men in their search, there are still things we can do.” The large amber eyes looked stern. “I am going to assume that the children will be found alive and safe. That their health will be unimpaired.”

“Oh, splendidly said, Jane!” cried Kitty. “They will be saved, I’m sure of it too.”

“You’re leading up to something,” Elizabeth said warily.

“Yes, I am.” Jane answered. “Lydia has left a hole in my heart that only time and apprehension of her murderers will mend. But consider this, Lizzie! About fifty children between four and twelve who probably don’t remember any life except the one they’ve had with Father Dominus. What will happen to them when they’re found?”

“They’ll go to the Parish if theirs can be located, or to orphanages wherever there are vacancies,” said Kitty with composure, spreading butter thinly on unsweetened wafers.

“Exactly so!” cried Jane, sounding wrathful. “Oh, my temper has been sorely tried of late! First Lydia is done to death by thieves who can’t be found, now we have fifty-odd children who have never known the joys of childhood!”

“There are few joys of childhood to be found on the Parish, or in the orphanages, or walking England’s roads because they have no parish,” said Mary dispassionately. “The comfortably off are privileged, and can give their children joys-if, that is, they don’t spoil them on the one hand, or beat them mercilessly on the other.” She got up to help herself to a second plate of sausages, liver, kidneys, scrambled eggs, bacon and fried potatoes. “All too often, children of any class are regarded as a nuisance-seen, but not heard. Argus says that it’s cheaper for pauper females to feed their babies gin than milk, as they’re too dried up to give them suck. The poorest children I saw on my brief travels were infested with vermin, had rotten teeth, crooked backs and shockingly bowed legs, bore atrocious sores, were hungry, wore rags and went barefoot. Joys, Jane? I don’t think poor children have any. Whereas children of our own class tend to have too many, which makes them expect joys- and gives them a perpetual discontent that follows them all of their lives. Comfort should be ever-present, and joys merely an occasional treat. Save for the only joys that truly matter-the company of brothers, sisters and parents.”

How could we have forgotten Mary? Elizabeth wondered. Just such an encomium as she would have come out with in Longbourn days, save that this one is wise. Where, along her way, did she pick up wisdom? She never used to have any. Her travels and travails, I suppose, which doesn’t say much for the sheltered life of females of the first respectability. Jane is wincing because she knows very well that her sons are grossly over-indulged, especially when their father isn’t home to discipline them. And then they go to Eton or some other public school to be tormented and thrashed until they’re old enough to turn into tormentors and thrashers. It is a vicious circle.

“We’re drifting off the subject,” said Jane with unusual asperity, “which is the Children of Jesus.”

“What do you want to say, Jane?” asked Elizabeth.

“That when the children are found alive and well, the gentlemen will lose interest in them immediately. Fitz will donate one of his many secretaries to sort them out, return them to their proper parishes, or their parents, or put them in orphanages. Except that we know orphanages are already overcrowded. There won’t be room for them, especially because, from what Mary says, they won’t know their parents or their parishes. So they’ll end up more miserable than they were under Father Dominus’s care, for at least he fed and clothed them, and they seem not to have suffered illness.”