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

filled every spare space. Mary had entered the kitchen earlier and had been shocked by the number of additional hired help. The guests had also spared no expense on their wardrobes. People held themselves as if this were the most important night of their lives. Mary had never found it a sacrifice to attend evening engagements—a moderate amount of recreation and amusement was desirable—yet lavish waste seemed unnecessary.

Mary was torn between her many objectives for the evening. She wanted to observe Lady Trafford and, perhaps more importantly, Mr. Withrow. Additionally, the ball would include Colonel Coates, Mr. Shaffer, and endless other townsfolk who either had motive or opportunity to kill Mr. Holloway. The Tagores were surely not here simply for pleasure and friendship, so she should observe them as well. Not to mention that she needed to speak with Colonel Radcliffe in order to fulfill her commitment to Lady Trafford. It seemed impossible to do all these things at once, so Mary decided to start by observing Lady Trafford and her interactions with her guests as they arrived at the ball.

When guests entered Castle Durrington, they gave their cloaks and other items to servants, ascended the grand staircase, and were greeted by Lady Trafford as they entered the large ballroom on the first floor. Mary stood a ways behind and to the side of Lady Trafford, not close enough to be included in the introductions, but close enough that she could hear the conversation between the guests and their host.

Several officers in the militia arrived, friends of Colonel Coates, but Colonel Coates was not among them.

“Where is Colonel Coates?” exclaimed Lady Trafford. “I was very much looking forward to seeing him tonight.”

“I despise being the bearer of bad news,” said one of the officers, “but Colonel Coates has fallen ill. He sends his deepest regrets.”

Mary wondered if Colonel Coates had actually fallen ill, or if tonight was an opportune time for his smuggling operation.

A few minutes later, Sir Richard Pickering arrived, along with his wife, Lady Charlotte Pickering.

“Thank you for coming all the way from Brighton for this occasion,” said Lady Trafford.

“It is a terrible night for a ball,” said Lady Pickering. “Much too cold.”

“I hope that the fires will suffice,” said Lady Trafford.

“It is much colder in here than it was in the inn,” said Lady Pickering.

“Are you planning to stay at the inn in Worthing tonight?” asked Lady Trafford. “As I have said before, you are always welcome to stay here.”

“I would rather be comfortable.”

Lady Trafford did not seem offended by this statement, though surely it was meant to give offense. Instead of responding, she turned to Sir Pickering and spoke as if she was taunting a wild animal with a stick. “Still no progress on your investigations?”

“I am hoping that I might discover something of note tonight,” said Sir Pickering.

“Please, try not to make the ball unpleasant for all of my guests,” said Lady Trafford. “You did quite ruin my last.”

“I will do what I must,” said Sir Pickering. “As the bard says, ‘truth will out.’”

Mary wondered what had occurred at Lady Trafford’s last ball. Regardless, she felt comfort at Sir Pickering’s presence. While she feared telling anything to either Colonel Coates or Monsieur Corneau, Sir Pickering still seemed trustworthy.

The Pickerings stepped farther into the ballroom, and Lady Trafford turned and gestured towards her. Mary pretended not to see, but then she said, “Come here, Miss Bennet,” so Mary was forced to join her.

“Why are you not mingling with the guests?”

She had already prepared an answer to this question, in case it was asked. “I do not want to miss Colonel Radcliffe’s arrival, so I thought I would stand near the entrance and listen to the introductions.”

“You look conspicuous,” said Lady Trafford. “It is better to spend time naturally with the guests, to learn about people, and make connections. I will ensure you are introduced to Colonel Radcliffe.”

“Very well.” Mary turned to go but Lady Trafford put her hand on her shoulder.

“I thought Fanny made you something new to wear.”

“She did, but I much prefer this.” Fanny had tried once again, just an hour before, to persuade Mary to wear the new dress. When Mary had absolutely refused, she had left in a huff and Mary had been forced to do her own hair, which was better anyway as it kept it simpler and more in line with her tastes.

“It would be respectful to her if you were to wear that which she labored so diligently to make for you,” said Lady Trafford, “and it would please me if you dressed in better apparel. It is not too late to change.”

“Yes, it is,” said Mary. “Everyone has already seen me in this.”

Lady Trafford looked ready to continue the argument, but more guests arrived. Mary slipped away. Now that she had been noticed, she could not stand here, continuing to watch Lady Trafford. She would find and observe Mr. Withrow.

As she passed through a drawing room, Miss Tagore hailed her. As she was also a person of interest, Mary joined her group of ladies and gentlemen.

“This is Miss Bennet. She is a relative of Lady Trafford and has been staying with her for the past several months.” In turn, Miss Tagore introduced her to all the others. The topic soon turned to dancing.

“And what about you, Miss Bennet, do you like to dance?” asked one of the gentlemen, a Mr. Franklin.

“My mother took great care to make sure that I learned to dance. She saw it as one of the greatest accomplishments.”

“But what do you think? Is it an accomplishment you would like to demonstrate?”

“To me, dancing is one of the most transitory accomplishments. It is not to be used until one is officially out in society. It then becomes useful until one secures a spouse, but then after it is used only sporadically.”

“I take it you do not desire to dance?” asked Miss Tagore.

“Being a transitory accomplishment does not necessitate shunning it entirely,” said Mary.

The last man