Everfield took the proffered reigns that Bingley had unwound from the young mare. She was indeed skittish, but soon calmed under the considerable weight of her new rider. Smiling that a solution had been so equitably found, Bingley made polite general conversation the entire five mile ride as if he had been reunited with a long lost friend. By the time they arrived in Meryton, Everfield had been forced to give his promise to attend a small gathering at Netherfield in two weeks’ time.
“My wife is expecting a child you see, and we want to have a bit of celebration before it becomes too awkward for her to attend social outings. We are hoping her elder sister will be able to make the journey from London as well. I believe you are acquainted with the Darcy’s of Pemberley?”
“Er… yes, but it has been many years. No doubt long forgotten.”
“Of course… time can dull even the best of our memories, but Darcy never forgets anything…or anyone.”
Everfield’s ears had burned instantly at the sound of that place and he was forced to maintain his façade of geniality. Pemberley was within a few miles of the estate from which his mother had been dismissed so many years ago. She had often told him stories of its grandeur. It had been the stuff of fairy tales. Now, the sound of its name only sent a course of anger through him. No doubt the master of such an estate was of a similar mien to that which had disgraced his mother. Spoiled… arrogant… careless…. He too was becoming careless. Having so easily forgotten that the man whose identity he had taken was of this same social circle. The real Grayson Everfield had been a schoolmate of Fitzwilliam Darcy. He would not let his guard down again. Saying his goodbyes, the stranger entered his lodgings and immediately went to his room, ignoring the animated chatter of the common room. Bolting the door securely behind, he needed some hours to realign his thoughts. Hiding in Merton was not turning out to be so easy. He could not allow the esteemed Mr. Darcy to discover his ruse. At least not before he had obtained enough money to leave. Besides, social outings such as garden parties were not to his liking and it would give him an excellent opportunity to relieve Longbourn of its valuables.
~Nine~
Mary could not stop thinking about the man who had been murdered. And it was murder. Atlas had determined that the cracked condition of the skull had been acquired before death. He said it had something to do with the way human flesh decayed that proved it had happened while the man was still alive. While it would have caused his eventual death, it had not done so immediately as he had also discovered a significant amount of soil in the man’s nose and mouth. He had been breathing dirt when the animals must have attacked. She did not understand it entirely, but trusted his decisions and was pleased to be included. What puzzled her greatly was the fact that there had been no outer clothing or other objects to help identify the poor thing. Aside from his left hand, the one which she had noticed the odd alignment of the fingers, there was nothing to assist in determining who he was.
“That was very observant of you to notice.” Atlas replied when she had questioned the injury to the deceased man’s hand.
“If you look closely at the bones, there is a faint area that is consistent with regrowth. Can you see the discoloration of the bone?”
Mary had nodded, pleased that her observation was of some assistance.
“This happens when a bone… or in this instance many, are broken and then set. Unfortunately, it appears to have been a considerable injury. Despite it having healed, it would have impaired his grip and caused considerable pain.”
“Would it have been noticeable with gloves on?”
“I think it unlikely that he would have been able to comfortably wear gloves. Look at the curvature of the two smaller fingers… yes, quite impossible to wear regular gloves, but a custom pair could be created to hide the deformity.”
“Hmm… so his hand would have been noticeable to others, but only if uncovered.”
“Definitely.”
“Well that is something. I cannot imagine many persons with such a unique condition.” Mary muttered half to herself as she peered closer to where the flesh of the smallest finger was still intact.
“Atlas… what about this?”
“What? Do you know anyone around Meryton with an injury like this?”
“No… it’s not that. There is a discoloration around the base of the small finger… as if there used to be a ring worn at one point.”
“Mary! You are positively amazing! Exposure to the sun would have caused such a mark when a ring is removed. From the severity of the deformity, removal of such would have been extremely difficult. Perhaps it was lost when the animals were busy with the remains.”
“Maybe… or perhaps the killer took it.”
“That is possible, considering everything else he had appears to have been stolen. I suppose it could fetch a good price if sold.”
“No… those sort of rings tend to be personal. My father has one, engraved with the Bennet family crest. He uses it to mark sealing wax when he sends his correspondence. Any ring this man had would have some personal identifying marks. It was probably taken to prevent anyone from finding out who he was.”
Atlas stared at her in amazement. While he considered himself to be a good doctor… and an even better forensic physician, he was not much use when it came to this type of detective work. Fortunately, deductive reasoning was a particular talent of Miss Mary Bennet. Together, they made an excellent team. If only he could convince her to make another, more personal sort of team. Forgetting himself, he reached out and hugged her soundly.
“That is it my brilliant girl! If the ring is found, so is the killer.”
Now, some hours later, Mary still felt the residue of his embrace. Her common sense shouted at her to put Atlas at a distance, but a tiny voice beckoned his touch. At odds with herself she tried to focus on what to do next, but it was hard to concentrate, it seemed as if tomorrow was years away when she and Atlas would return to the gravesite to look for anything the police may have missed. Unfortunately, she had forgotten about her tutor. She frowned at the idea of taking him along, but by now half of Meryton was buzzing with the news of a murder. The driver who discovered the body had, after a bit too much ale, spilled the secret at the Dancing Duck. By teatime it had been necessary to have a constable stand guard outside the icehouse to keep prying eyes away. Mary only hoped that her presence there had not reached Longbourn before she had a chance to speak with her father. Pushing aside her feelings, she now sought him out. Not wanting to lie, but fearing his disappointment for having disobeyed him, she timidly knocked on the closed door of the library. Hearing muffled voices, she turned to go, thinking her knock had gone unnoticed when the door opened to reveal the grim features of the local magistrate.
“Good afternoon sir,” Mary greeted Sir Philip Evans as she dipped a curtsey and entered as the door was firmly shut behind her.
“Well Mary, it appears that you cannot manage to keep out of the affairs of the police,” Sir Philip said quietly as he resumed his seat in one of the deep leather chairs that flanked her father’s desk.
Caught by surprise, Mary did not immediately answer, standing with her hands clasped behind her back.
“Yes Mary. What have you to say for yourself?” her father demanded in a tired voice.
“Never mind Will, it is too late for that,” Sir Philip interjected.
As magistrate, Sir Philip Evans was responsible not only for dealing with local legal disputes, but also for the professionalism of the constabulary. He could not have people interfering with police investigations, unfortunately Mary Bennet was not just anyone. She was also his goddaughter. Normally, had she been a man, he would have expected and welcomed this level of interest. After all, the discovery had been on Longbourn property, but for a woman…. Well it simply was not proper. Sighing deeply, he resigned himself to her involvement, but resolved to have strong words with that young doctor.
Mary started to speak, but was stopped by Sir Philip’s raised hand.
“I don’t want to hear excuses… you will do it anyway, whether I approve or not. Just have a care to not embarrass your family or yourself. I expect to have full reports of the findings every week. Is that understood?”
Mary nodded as her godfather rose and gave her a quick hug before taking his leave. Sighing with relief as he saw himself out, she sank slowly into his empty chair ready to face the wrath of her father. Unfortunately, and far worse than anger, Mr. Bennet only shook his head sadly at his middle child.
“What has happened to you? Where has the meek, compliant child gone?”
Mary went behind the desk and wrapped her arms around her father’s neck.
“Oh papa… I’m still here… I have simply found myself. I know it is irregular, and perhaps not entirely proper, but my work with Dr. Sutton gives me purpose. Can you understand that? I need purpose… and not just mundane household tasks… real purpose.”
“I just worry about you. A fresh murder is dangerous. Sir Philip and the constable believe that the person responsible may still be in the area. Now that the driver has spread the news, they have been forced to put out extra patrols to calm every nervous matron in a ten mile radius.”
Having not considered that possibility, Mary was secretly relieved that the entire town knew. It would be safer, and she need not hide her work, but it was unnerving.
“I know…I will be careful. Besides, Atlas is always with me. You need not worry, but I love you for it.”
Placing a kiss on the top of his balding head, Mary excused herself and went to the kitchens. She planned to pack a basket for tomorrow’s excursion to the crime scene. Despite the gruesomeness of the proceedings, she found her appetite insatiable. Besides, what better place to hear all the gossip of the town than the kitchens?
Mary pushed open the green baize door that led to the servant’s domain. Passing the butler’s pantry and hall that led to the housekeeper’s apartment, she entered the warmth of the kitchens. Its stone floors radiated the heat from the enormous stove that took up an entire wall. Mary resisted the urge to remove her shoes as she settled herself on a high stool next to where Mrs. Kincaid, the Longbourn cook, stood rolling out pastry crust.
“I suppose you have gone and gotten yourself involved with that poor man they found?” accused the elderly cook with genuine concern.
More of a mother than her own, Mary had spent many lonely hours in the expanse of the kitchens. Over the years, she had developed a true affection for the woman who had supplied her with common sense as well as taught her to cook. If Mrs. Bennet had ever cared enough to find out, she would have been most displeased that Mary preferred the servants to her own family. That is, if she even noticed the absence of her middle child. The kitchen had been Mary’s refuge from the dramatics of the Bennet family for years.
Today, however, she had a purpose in mind and found it amusing that Mrs. Kincaid had already known.
“Well, yes…” she replied and related the extent of her involvement with the gruesome discovery.
“I don’t like it one bit! The man who makes the deliveries says there is a madman about. If you go interfering, it could be you next!” snapped the cook as she shook a flour covered finger in Mary’s direction, sending the younger woman into a fit of sneezing.
Once recovered, Mary wrapped her arms around Mrs. Kincaid’s ample girth, not minding the ruin to her gown.
“I promise to be careful… and Dr. Sutton with be with me the entire time.”
“That is another issue that you have failed to acknowledge. It has not gone unnoticed by many of the amount of time you spend unchaperoned in his company.”
“I…that is we…never...” Mary stammered with a red flush creeping unchecked up her cheeks as she considered the effects of her actions.
“I know dear… you are a good girl, but sometimes that is not enough. Just promise an old woman that you will be careful.”
Filled with frustration, Mary only nodded. She would not be the one to disgrace her family.
~Ten~
As promised, Atlas drove his small curricle to a halt in front of Longbourn shortly before nine the next morning. The skies had dawned grey and dreary, and a few threatening drops of rain had already fallen. Since the discovery of the body, the weather had held fair, but now, with the high probability of a deluge, his sense of haste only heightened. Animals disturbing the remains had been damaging enough, but water would completely destroy any remaining evidence. He chastised himself severely for delaying his own inspection of the site, but he had not wanted to interrupt his time with Mary, nor had he wanted any further decomposition to detract from a first examination of the remains. Smothering a desire to swear as Mary exited the house, his happiness at being able to include her was equally dampened by the sight of Grayson Everfield trailing along behind with a large basket.
“Good morning Mary… Mr. Everfield.” Atlas greeted politely, disguising his disappointment.
“I hope you don’t mind Grayson accompanying us as far as Meryton? I had forgotten to cancel our lessons for the day. It would save him a long walk back.”
Brightening visibly, Atlas nodded with relief. Besides being an unwelcome third party, he did not want any outsiders gaining unnecessary knowledge of an ongoing investigation. It had taken much to persuade the magistrate to allow Mary to assist him. Inclusion of a stranger to Meryton would not be well received.
“Of course… but you will have to ride on the rear step.”
The small conveyance could only seat two persons comfortably, but it had been fitted with a folding bench for luggage that doubled as a seat for servants. It was here that Grayson Everfield found himself strapped for the three mile ride. Uncomfortable at best, it was still better than walking in his new shoes. Although a fit, they were stiff and it would take some wear before he was at ease on longer treks. Now, despite the cramping in his back as the curricle bumped over the ruts in the road, he pondered the use of his unexpected day off. Mary had not disclosed the purpose of her meeting with the young doctor, but rumors of the discovery had flowed as easy as the beer in the taproom below his rented room. What were they looking for? Frowning, he decided to discretely follow them. Discovery of his actions must be avoided at all cost. Upon arriving at the Dancing Duck, he said his goodbyes and hurried inside to change his clothes into something more worthy of a foray in the woods.
*****
For the duration of the short journey, Mary had been silent save for polite comments on the weather. Now, as the possibility of being overheard was gone, she inquired as to what specifically they would be trying to find.
“I have been making a list of possibilities. Clothing of any kind, jewelry… especially a ring, considering the skin discoloration on the one hand….do you think animals could have carried off large items such as luggage?”
“Anything is possible, the body would have weighed at least twelve stone or so, and they managed that… at least in pieces.”
Mary wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. There were still a few body parts missing, who knew what they would find. Soon, Atlas halted the carriage at the exact spot in which the public coach driver had discovered the body. Pulling off to one side, he tethered his horse and helped Mary down, reaching behind her for a large oiled sack and two pairs of well-worn gloves.
“Should we actually find anything…” He explained and led the way slowly into the thicket that blocked the site from the road. In the fortnight that had passed, the foliage had returned much to its natural state. The only remnants of the presence of the police were a few broken branches littering the narrow track utilized by the inhabitants of the forest. Now, as they made their way the few yards to where the shallow grave still stood open, Atlas cautioned Mary around the gaping hole. The dim light offered by the cloudy skies had been reduced significantly by the overhead canopy of trees. Mary shivered from the eeriness as well as the increasing chill of damp as they retraced the booted feet left by the police around the now empty gr
ave.
“The police did a good job in retrieving everything possible from the immediate vicinity. I wanted to search further out. Perhaps there is something that was dragged off. Look for places that a fox or badger could fit, but not a man. We must think like the animals.”
To this, Mary giggled, but crouched low to the ground and duck walked her way awkwardly around the perimeter of the small clearing. Her long skirts gathered to prevent dragging in the mud, Atlas sucked in his breath at the exposure of her stocking clad calves. Despite having doctored his share of patients, Mary included, he found her casual disregard for propriety in the face of practicality immensely attractive. Shaking his head to clear what was quickly becoming unprofessional thoughts, he too dropped to his haunches and joined her in the appraisal of the woods. Scanning in the gloom, he did not immediately see the shred of green wool, camouflaged against the thick undergrowth.
“Look here! Some sort of clothing!” Mary squealed with delight and teased the fabric gently from where it had been snared by a particularly thorny shrub.
Assisting in the extraction, Atlas and Mary pulled the tattered remains of a man’s shirt. A buttoned cuff smartly tailored to what was left of a sleeve glinted in the filtered light. It was a tartan plaid, once of the finest quality wool, the green and black stripes clearly defined despite the layer of dirt. It had not been there very long.
“Black watch pattern. Quite common, but the weave and style of button suggests it was costly when new.” Mary mused as she carefully folded the item in to the sack.
“A Scotsman perhaps?”
“Maybe, considering the bann on wearing tartans did not include this pattern. It became quite popular even amongst the English, as a symbol of Scottish defeat, but our man was too young to have fought in the insurrection.”
“It may have been part of his wardrobe, tucked away unworn, or belonged to someone who did. We cannot say for sure if it was his… or the killer’s,” Atlas reasoned.
Mary Bennet and the Longbourn Tutor Page 5
