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

see nothing of note, and she was not keen to stumble around an unfamiliar space blindly, so she pulled the paneling closed, secured the latch, and then walked to her room and lit one of the candles. As she returned to the hidden room, a servant passed her and, staring at the lit candle in her hand in the middle of the day, asked, “Do you need anything, Miss Bennet?”

“No,” said Mary, attempting to sound cheerful. “I am perfectly well.”

She reached the rotunda, checked to make sure she was alone, and then stepped again behind the fabric curtain, careful not to light it on fire. This time she found and opened the latch easily.

The candle flickered in the darkness, matching Mary’s trepidation, and she stepped inside, closing the panel behind her. It appeared to be a storage room. There were a number of small crates filled with old items, and several pig head statues that matched the ones on a rather whimsical section on the estate’s castle-side exterior. Mary’s hopes sank a little—it was just a storage room, nothing of note. She had hoped for something more, for evidence of Lady Trafford’s misdeeds.

She sat on top of one of the crates. Her candle flickered as if there was a slight movement of air, and yet there should not be any draft. She stood and on one wall noted a vent. Air must be coming in from the rest of the house. But what would be on the other side of this wall? She visualized the floor plan she had pieced together in her mind and realized it would be the large drawing room, the one with the pianoforte.

If air could come through, so could sound. One could sit here and overhear a private conversation happening in the drawing room.

Lady Trafford and her deceased husband had built Castle Durrington. They must have known of this space. She pictured Lady Trafford creeping into this room and eavesdropping on a conversation, and she found that the action seemed in keeping with her character.

Mary paced back and forth around the small space, wondering if the room held other secrets. Her candle’s light flickered on the walls, on the floor. At the edge of one of the crates she noted that some of the floor was wood, not stone. She set down the candle, picked up the crate, which was not too heavy, set it aside, and discovered what could only be a trapdoor.

She pulled it up, as carefully and quietly as she could. It was a trapdoor, with a rope ladder hanging down to the space below. A space that must solve the same circle-in-a-square problem downstairs in the main entryway. This space must directly adjoin the library, where Lady Trafford and Mr. Withrow might still be having their private conversation.

Mary’s heart raced painfully in her chest. If she were Lydia, she would squeal right now, out of excitement or fear, but Mary kept her emotions contained inside of her.

She set the candle on the ledge and carefully, ever so quietly, climbed down the ladder. It was difficult to do in her dress, but somehow she managed.

She crouched on the floor, close to the wall, and indeed there was another grate, large enough, perhaps, for a small person to pass through. Or voices.

“But who will be his partner?” asked Mr. Withrow. “Surely there is someone else in London who could—”

“It is too late for that now.”

“William will not like it.”

“Mr. Stanley will do as directed,” said Lady Trafford.

There was bit of silence. Mary tried to piece together their conversation but did not know enough context.

Mr. Withrow said, “He should be in Arundel right now. Once he is finished with his work, he will ride directly here. He estimated that he will reach Castle Durrington around three o’clock.” He paused. “And before he does, I want Miss Bennet out of the way.”

“You were right about her, Henry, you were right. I was too blinded by my hopes to see it. But do not worry, I will get her out of our way.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“On the day before yesterday, the Emperor [Bonaparte] held a Council of Ministers, and a second Council of Administration of War, concerning the clothing of the troops.”

–The Times, London, a translation from a French newspaper report,

printed on December 9, 1813

After waiting several minutes to ensure Lady Trafford and Withrow were finished with their conversation, Mary climbed the rope ladder, her heart racing.

She closed the trapdoor and replaced the crate, careful to make sure it was in the exact position she had found it. She used the inside latch to open the panel, blew out the candle, and peeked behind the curtain. She waited as Fanny walked across the rotunda and used the smaller spiral staircase to go upstairs. Mary waited for a minute more, then left the shelter of the curtain.

Her body felt like it would burst with energy, and she felt a strange urge to run, but she forced herself to walk across the rotunda and up the staircase to her bedroom.

Fanny was just leaving her room. “I was looking for you, Miss Bennet.”

“I was…taking a turn about the house.” Mary tried to hide the still hot candle in her skirts.

Fanny appeared not to notice. “Lady Trafford would like to speak to you.”

“Can you tell her that I will join her in a few minutes?”

“She requests your presence immediately.”

“Do you know why it is so urgent?”

Fanny shook her head.

“Give me just a moment.” Mary stepped into her room, leaving Fanny in the hall, and put the candle back in its spot. Then she followed Fanny down two flights of stairs to the library.

Fanny turned to leave, but Lady Trafford directed her to remain. Mary’s fingers fidgeted, so she hid her hands in her skirts, fearful of whatever was to come.

Lady Trafford went straight to the point. “I have been considering our conversation from earlier, and I realized that it is not fair to you to keep you in a