The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet by Katherine Cowley (tharntype novel english txt) 📕

due to the time in the water, his facial structure was the same. His clothes were the ones he had worn that day in the forest with Withrow. He might have even died that very day.

A possibility struck her: could Mr. Withrow have killed the thief? She shook her head. Of course he would not kill someone. He was a gentleman. But even though he and the thief had parted with an embrace, Withrow had seemed severe, angry even, for a portion of the conversation. Perhaps they had met again, and things had escalated between them.

Part of the thief’s shirt was ripped—no, it had been cut. It was a long, straight cut, and beneath, the skin appeared as if it had also been cut open, though the time in the water had clearly caused further damage: at the top of the wound, the flesh was peeled back, and lower down, pieces of skin and muscle were missing.

He had been stabbed.

Someone had stabbed the thief with a knife in the side. She considered possible sequences of events and concluded that he must have been stabbed before his body entered the ocean.

Her stomach felt a touch indisposed, but surprisingly, Mary did not feel a sense of panic. She rubbed her hands on her skirt and stood tall. She could not stand here next to the body all day, hoping that someone would come along and solve this problem for her.

Two possibilities presented themselves before her: she could return to the castle and alert Mr. Withrow, Lady Trafford, and the servants; or instead of taking the path back to the castle, she could walk a little to the east of it, to Goring-by-Sea. With the length of time she had spent walking, she suspected it was several miles back to Castle Durrington, so she headed towards Goring.

After a few minutes, she reached the handful of houses, which were set a little farther back from the shore. Mary rapped her hand on one of the doors. No one opened it, so she tried the next house. Once again, there was no one there. These were working-class people, and they must be at work. She tried the third house, and finally someone answered, a woman with her baby.

Mary told the woman of the dead body, and the woman sighed, as if this was yet another annoyance in her day. The woman yelled into the house for her daughter. A nine- or ten-year-old girl with carefully plaited hair appeared and was sent off to Worthing to find help. Meanwhile, the woman made Mary a cup of tea.

“I don’t ’ave a place for a lady like yourself to sit,” explained the woman, and so they stood, outside, drinking from clean but chipped cups. Mary watched with fascination as the woman cooed and talked to her baby, and then sat on the steps and fed the child at her breast. People of Mary’s station did not raise their own children until they were two or three years old; Mary had spent the first several years of her life in Meryton, cared for by a woman such as this, and visited regularly by her parents. Mary twisted the mourning ring on her finger, struck by a longing for her family and the weight of her loss.

After a second cup of tea, Mary wished she had gone all the way to Worthing herself, rather than letting the woman send her daughter.

The woman attempted to offer Mary a third cup of tea, but her voice was muted by the sound of horses: six horses carrying six men, five of them in military uniform. Not far behind them followed another man, driving a wagon.

The men dismounted and approached. One of the officers, a kindly looking man with curly grey hair, bowed.

There was no way to avoid it; Mary would yet again need to meet someone without a formal introduction. She curtsied and said, “I am Miss Mary Bennet. I am a guest of Lady Trafford’s, staying at Castle Durrington.”

“I am Colonel Coates, the head of the regiment here in Worthing, and I am at your service.” He paused, and then addressed the subject as if it were a delicate matter. “I greatly apologize that you were the one to discover the…” He trailed off, as if afraid to use the word.

“The corpse?” asked Mary.

“Yes, the corpse,” he said gravely.

“It is probably best if I show you where I found it.” It was, after all, why they had come, and there was little point to excessive pleasantries over such an unpleasant matter.

“Oh, no, I cannot allow you to go to such trouble,” said Colonel Coates. “If you simply describe the location, we will be able to find it.”

“It will be easier to show you.” Mary knew perfectly well that they would be able to find it on their own, but it was the body she had found, and even though the man was a thief, she now felt a certain responsibility for him.

“If it really was a murder,” said Colonel Coates, “there is no reason to subject yourself to such an ordeal.”

“Miss Bennet seems as if she is spirited,” said the man not in uniform, an older gentleman with thinning hair and a French accent. “Come, Colonel Coates, let her lead us. I am sure you will have more questions for her.”

“Very well,” said the colonel.

Mary led the way. Colonel Coates walked by her side, the Frenchman close behind, and the others farther back, leading the horses and wagon.

“Were you alone when you found the body?” asked Colonel Coates.

“Yes.”

“Did you come to the beach by yourself?” He seemed surprised.

“No,” said Mary. “Mr. Withrow was showing me the beach.” Her face reddened at the tacit admission that a chaperone had not accompanied them. “He returned to Castle Durrington, and I walked a little more on my own.”

“Has word been sent back to Castle Durrington?”

She shook her head.

“Then I will see that it is done.” He sent one of the other officers to Castle Durrington