Chapter 2

Mary sat in the parlor five afternoons later with still no word as to when they might leave for Scotland. Such a delay dictated she pen a letter to her sister, Jane, just as Mrs. Holt inquired from the sofa about Mary’s habit of sending so many letters.

“I should fear my hand would cramp most dreadfully if I held your quill. Why must you write so many letters, my dear?” Mrs. Holt had taken as much of a liking to Mary as her husband increased his disapproval for the unplanned guest in his house.

“I do apologize. Would you prefer I suspend my writing until after dinner?” Mary offered her hostess her undivided company, to which the older woman shook her head.

“Nay, forgive me for interrupting. My curiosity you see…” Mrs. Holt trailed off as Mary glanced at the letters folded before her.

One was to her aunt and uncle in London, another for the Darcys at Pemberley. Tucked into the one addressed to Pemberley were additional missives to the Countess of Matlock in case it arrived before they left for London. If it did not, Mary trusted her sister to send the letter on to their town home.

Remembering Mrs. Holt’s inquiry, Mary shook her head and piled the letters into a stack. She asked if Mrs. Holt had any business to see to in town. At this mere hint of a suggestion to shop, Mrs. Holt brightened and announced she would call their carriage.

Inwardly, Mary groaned. She had always disliked shopping with her younger sisters and wondered if Mrs. Holt would be like her older sisters, whom she could tolerate, or her younger sisters who were a nettlesome pair. A sudden lump formed in Mary’s throat as she remembered there was no longer a pair of younger sisters. The stark reality of never enduring Lydia’s whining and begging at a dress shop again brought an earnest yearning for that very hardship.

“I’m ready, Miss Bennet, if you are?” Mrs. Holt interrupted Mary’s melancholy as she looked down at her unfinished letter to Jane. With a slight twist of chagrin, Mary packed up her unfinished letter into her writing box and tucked the stack of letters to post into her reticule.

“Might we stop at the inn so I could post these?” Mary asked, wondering if the innkeeper would recall who she was.

“Mr. Holt would happily post your letters for you if you leave them in the hall,” Mrs. Holt presented a most generous offer, but Mary politely declined.

“Thank you for your kind offer, but no. I’m afraid many of these letters are traveling quite far to my sister’s home and my aunt, in London, and I cannot put you or Mr. Holt out that expense,” Mary said gently as Mrs. Holt’s cheeks turned a slight tinge of pink in embarrassment.

“So the letters are to your family, then?” Mrs. Holt renewed her curiosities that now appeared to be a bonafide inquiry as to the nature of Mary’s elopement.

Mary nodded and gave a shy smile.

“I’m afraid I am eloping with all the romance and none of the scandal. My brother-in-law, sister, and uncle all assisted the General and me in these plans in case the word came he was to deploy.” Mary began to follow her hostess out the door to the waiting carriage.

Mrs. Holt waited until they were comfortably seated inside the conveyance before asking a question she had long worried over in her evening chats with Mr. Holt and his suspicions about Miss Bennet’s situation.

“Please forgive my impertinence, but with you staying in our home for some time now, I’m afraid Mr. Holt and I do feel a slight responsibility for you.”

“You hold the letter from my uncle. I do promise that I have represented myself as true.”

“Yes, yes, but it’s just …” Mrs. Holt trailed off as their carriage paused and a line of Geordies trooped past, their faces black with soot from the mines. Seeing the shift change prompted an inspired tack for the words Mrs. Holt so desperately wanted to say. As the carriage resumed its trek, she spoke.

“The lads here, many live a short life. They work around the clock in those mines, as there isn’t any sun anyhow, the most grueling of the masters run their crews morning and night. It pays well, but they become sick, or worse, a beam fails and there’s a collapse. The young wives know it, yet they marry these men and bring the babes anyway.” Mrs. Holt’s voice cracked at the last comment and she turned to face Mary, who tried to follow the significance of her speech. When her companion said nothing, Mrs Holt further explained.

“A soldier’s wife is a similar lot and the war rages on. There’s no shame in waiting until the General returns in a year or so and marry then. You shall be apart regardless, your family does not appear to stop you from contact with him. Should the worst befall him, you won’t be another widow with a mouth to feed and spoiled goods to the young fellows in your fancy cities. You’d be Miss Bennet, a charming, faithful and godly woman.”

Mary sighed as Mrs. Holt was novel in her connections to the miners, but unoriginal in her concerns.

“All I am saying is, before you run over the border to the anvil, please truly consider whether you want a few weeks with your beau and forever known as a dead soldier’s widow, or if you’d like the chance to be a wife only to the man you spend the rest of your life with, whether it be long or short.” Mrs. Holt reached across the bench and patted Mary’s hand as they arrived in the more congested area of Newcastle, the same place where the post-chaise had brought Mary and her maid.

“Mrs. Holt,” Mary began as she realized she was almost out of time before the carriage door would open.

“Oh, no need to sway me with your plans, I’ve observed you long enough to know you are no silly dunder chasing a red coat. I merely wanted to say my piece and a spare a young person grief if possible,” Mrs. Holt spoke in a forced cheerful tone and Mary began to guess that somewhere in Mrs. Holt’s past was an attachment to a young miner that Fate did not shine well upon.

Mary grimaced but kept her countenance. “While the Apostle Paul does say it’s better to remain unmarried, I’m afraid my duty as an Englishwoman calls me otherwise. I not only intend to marry General Fitzwilliam, but where he goes, I go.”

“Oh! I thought the General was against you going along with him on deployment.”

“Oh, he is, most undoubtedly. But that didn’t stop me from making it to Newcastle, did it?” Mary finally allowed a small amount of personal pride in her bravery to color her words.

Dumbstruck by Miss Bennet’s forward nature that matched her own, Mrs. Holt finally let out a short laugh, followed by a much longer giggle.

“I suppose it did not, did it?”

Mary joined in the laughter as the carriage door opened and Mrs. Holt reached out for her footman.

“No, it did not,” Mary echoed as she spoke to calm her nervous laughter and found herself looking at the very same inn that had scared her less than a week ago.

Mary wondered briefly if the innkeeper would remember her. She imagined Newcastle received more than a few visitors, and yet she felt a little nervous as she asked Mrs. Holt to step in now that she was again faced with the possibility of recognition.

“Would you mind if I ran this errand alone?”Mary asked timidly.

“I could not dream of sending you in there alone. We did not bring your maid and we have no idea who might be present inside.” Mrs. Holt gazed at Mary with astonishment as the footmen hurried to open the door for his mistress.

Unlike the last time they visited, Mrs. Holt was correct in that instead of an empty room, the inn bustled with activity as the day’s carriage from the north had not yet arrived to pick up passengers heading south. Mary squinted in the din before she took some paces forward with her letters in hand. To her surprise, her companion took the letters from her and marched straight to the innkeeper and explained what was needed. Mary blushed but soon followed behind to make sure that her payment could be arranged for such an expensive errand.

“You are not the only woman who doesn’t listen when she’s told no.” Mrs. Holt triumphantly escorted Mary right back to the door so they might begin their shopping.

Mary felt a slight twinge of aggravation, but she also noticed that Mrs. Holt inspected the direction and name addressed on each letter before handing them to the innkeeper. She couldn’t blame her hostess for verifying that she was indeed writing to her family and that the nature of her elopement was exactly as portrayed. Still, being the third daughter of five, Mary Bennett bristled at the overruling of her wishes which happened so often as the middle daughter.

With another fond reminder of her dearly departed sister’s penchant for shopping, Mary resolved herself to continue in her stubborn nature now that she knew Mrs. Holt could appreciate such a personality. As they began to walk the busy streets down to Mrs Holt’s favorite dressmaker and bonnet shop, Mary resolved to repay both Mrs. Holt”s financial kindness and interest in her welfare. She would watch most carefully for an opportunity, and when an opportunity arose, Mary would make sure a trinket or trim of ribbon was added to their order as a surprise to the woman so graciously sharing her home. It was the least she could do.