Mary Bennet and the Longbourn Tutor

by Carrie Mollenkopf

  Not normally a place to be locked, the public ice house was generally available to all residents. However, due to its new occupant, it had been necessary to secure the location for the time being. Fortunately, being early spring, most people were not in need of cold storage.

  “Atlas! It’s me... let me in before anyone sees me,” Mary rasped at the closure.

  Looking down the street, Mary was relieved to find it empty save for an elderly woman hurrying in the opposite direction. Soon, she heard footsteps echo faintly before the door scraped open to reveal Meryton’s young doctor.

  Atlas Sutton was wrapped in layers of woolens to prevent the effects of the cold as he worked. His cheeks were red from long exposure in the dark depths of the ice house.

  “I am glad to have you here, but I must warn you that it will not be pleasant. At least the low temperatures have limited the rate of decay, but it will not last for long.”

  Nodding, Mary held back the urge to wrinkle her nose as the stench of decomposition struck her nostrils the moment Atlas closed the door. With the warmth of the sun now gone, the noticeable difference in temperature between the outside air and the dank interior of the ice house became instantly apparent sending an involuntary shiver down Mary’s spine.

  Handing her a matching over coat to both protect her gown and keep her warm, Atlas led Mary down a wide earthen stair to the main chamber below. Her feet scraped on thick mold that carpeted the damp, muffling their movements. Here, she saw large blocks of ice, hewn during the winter months from the nearby river. They were covered in layers of sawdust to reduce the melting. Peering into the filtered darkness, she did not see any sort of laboratory, only her breath as it hung in icy puffs as she exhaled through her mouth to reduce the increasing pungency of what must be the remains. Noticing her confusion, Atlas proffered an explanation.

  “The remains are over here, behind the partition. As it has been unusually warm, some of the local merchants have been regular visitors to keep their wares fresh. It was necessary to obscure my work from observation.”

  Pulling aside a thick canvas curtain, Atlas exposed the area set for his examination. Lanterns hung from pegs at regular intervals, casting an eerie glow about the space. On the makeshift table, covered by another tarp, lay what was left of a human body. Beside it, in a careful methodical order, resided the assortment of tools needed for the examination process. Additionally, as he had expected Mary’s assistance, a small desk and chair, holding pen, ink and paper, waited for her use.

  Pleased that she had been included as a true assistant to the process, Mary smiled in the darkness. The soft glow of the lanterns caught the flash of her teeth, sending an equal feeling of happiness through Atlas. He had missed her greatly these past few weeks. It had seemed like an age since they had worked together previously. It felt even longer since their brief encounter in the cow shed.

  Mary had never mentioned the single kiss they shared. Having been quite ill from her exposure in the rain, Atlas sometimes wondered if she even recalled the moment. He hoped she did… but was the memory a fond one, or one she chose to forget? As Mary had practically demanded to be of assistance in this new case, Atlas still held the possibility that Mary Bennet would someday return his affections in his mind. However, he realized it would be a slow process to convince her that he was meant to marry her. For now, it was best to focus on the task at hand. The remnants of the human body that lay before them was of most importance now. Pushing his personal thoughts aside, Atlas reached for the tarp, but hesitated, looking to Mary for confirmation.

  “Go on… I have steeled myself for the worst,” she said with a nod.

  “Of your determination I have no doubts, but this sort of thing can make even the most hardened queasy.”

  “Not a worry, I have come prepared.” Mary replied calmly and produced a scent soaked handkerchief which she delicately swabbed under her nose before offering it to Atlas.

  “Rosemary and peppermint. It has known properties to be of ease for those with questionable constitutions.”

  Atlas took the proffered square of embroidered linen and repeated her actions. Almost instantly, the reek of the body was reduced to tolerable levels. Showing his surprise, he was met by Mary’s gentle laugh.

  “Did your medical training not include the use of herbs for things beyond the purely curative?” she teased.

  “You continually amaze me. I had not ever thought to do anything such as this. It would have saved me many a second visit from my breakfasts before examinations of this variety.”

  Mary only chuckled. She could not imagine Atlas vomiting his food over anything beyond the most severe of stomach complaints, but then… she had not been privy to his line of work before he came to Meryton. Now, with all preventative measures taken, she was ready to provide what assistance she could to identify the poor soul beneath the tarp.

  With this last reassurance, Atlas slowly rolled back the tarp to reveal what had been recovered from the hidden gravesite. On the table lay an assortment of what could only be described as parts. Having expected the worst, and now actually viewing what remained, Mary let out an audible sigh of relief. While it was gruesome, of that she could not deny, her practical self-remained objective as she took her first measure of the remains. Atlas simply watched as Mary drew on a pair of heavy gloves and turned over one of the limbs for a better assessment.

  “I had expected a full body… but this… this is truly quite the puzzle.”

  “Indeed. Unfortunately, animals had been rather busy before the discovery and if it hadn’t been so, he might have remained there indefinitely. The local police have scavenged the surroundings but nothing else has been recovered. We shall have to make do with what we have until I can visit the site myself.”

  Walking around the table, Mary slowly examined each piece as if she were looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Having no formal training in such, she did not know for what exactly she was looking, but knew that each person was unique. There would be something about this person that would lead to an identification, of that she was sure. As it was, the “man” had been rather savagely used. Heavily encrusted with mud and debris, the body had yet to be cleaned as Atlas preferred to examine the surrounding environment first, but it did little to disguise the severity of the dismemberment. What remained of his head was mostly bone, the hair and facial tissue almost completely missing. Both of his arms had become detached and most of the left lower limb was also missing. Atlas had chosen to keep the midsection under the tarp as to not offend Mary’s sensibilities as the animals had been particularly attentive to that region, but she made no attempts to further expose the body, preferring to focus on the hands.

  “There is something about one’s hands that is special. The work one performs. How they hold objects. How they write. All are particular just to that person alone. Was this all that was recovered?” she asked as she turned over what remained of the left hand, exposing fingers curved rather oddly. Not knowing if the positioning was due to an injury or a result of animals, Mary gently lay it back down as it was.

  “I had planned on returning to the site in which he was found for my own search. The police may have missed something, or the animals may have carried off further than they supposed.”

  “You will be taking me along of course.” Mary insisted with a defiant lift to her chin that Atlas found positively charming.

  Atlas nodded in agreement and broke into a smile. It was for this purpose exactly that he needed Mary’s assistance. In the short time he had known her, Mary Bennet had demonstrated an unusual way of seeing the world. She noticed much of what others ignored or deemed insignificant. Sadly he attributed this to having spent years in the shadows of her sisters. But with their subsequent marriages, many people had noticed that Mary had begun to emerge from her shell. It was Mary to whom they looked to at Longbourn for direction and guidance, a role she now filled as mistress of the estate in the frequent absence of her frivolous mother. This
responsibility, combined with his own work, had not left much time for Atlas to attempt his courtship. It had taken a tragedy such as this to allow him time with Mary, and he would not waste one moment. Clearing his throat slightly, he broke her attention away from the remains.

  “I have only just begun my cursory examination. If you would be so kind as to transcribe the formal report we can begin immediately.”

  Removing the heavy gloves, Mary took her seat at the desk and tested the tip of her pen.

  “Ready when you are.”

  Atlas cleared his throat and began a slow description of the remains. Unfortunately, after more than two hours of painstakingly slow work, it did not give much information beyond the obvious. It was Mary’s keen ability to deduce what was not seen that would help with identification.

  “So… we have a slightly built male, between approximately twenty and thirty years of age, dark hair and remnants of well-made clothing suggesting gentleman’s status. Anything to add Dr. Bennet?” he teased.

  While Mary enjoyed the familiarity of the nickname, it was a constant reminder of what society forbade her gender. Burying her irritation, she put down her pen and once again examined what had once been a living person.

  “Hmm…having pieces only does make it difficult, rather like a giant jigsaw puzzle,” she muttered as she withdrew a tiny clump of matted hair from beneath the curled fingers of the left hand. It did not appear to match that of the man’s head, being far more coarse and mixed with gray. Dried blood had fused it to the remaining skin, but it was clearly different.”

  “You are a wonder Mary Bennet! It is customary to not wash the remains until the exam is complete, for this exact reason. Something like this would have gotten removed with the rest of the debris.”

  Atlas placed the fragment under his microscope and fiddled with the various knobs until the focus was to his liking. He squinted through the eye piece for a moment before moving away with a frown. Gesturing to Mary, she peered through the lens herself.

  “I am not sure what I am supposed to see, but the hair looks different somehow.”

  “It belongs to a dog… or perhaps a wolf.”

  A gasp of realization escaped her lips as the meaning registered. “He must have been fighting it off when he died.”

  “Yes, so it seems. Our victim was still alive when he was attacked by the animals. He may have been buried alive.”

  ~Eight~

  While Mary and Atlas began their labors in an attempt to identify the person found in the forest, the man responsible for his demise lay in his rented room contemplating the events that had led him to such a state. Posing as Grayson Everfield was becoming not the easy task he had first supposed. Mary Bennet was not the typical simpering miss that he had expected. While her formal schooling was self-admittedly lacking, the young mistress of Longbourn had the practical sensibility of an Army Sargent. After she had deposited him at his lodgings, he had spent the better part of two hours poring over the borrowed books so that he might learn enough to retain his position as her tutor. Fortunately, as a child he had an interest in the subjects, one fostered by his mother when she was not exhausted from her long work hours. Thinking back to the only woman he had ever felt any true affection, his memories were bittersweet.

  It had not been easy for a single, unmarried woman, to raise a child alone. This was especially so for one accustomed to a comfortable living. As a governess to a prominent family with many children, his mother had a valuable post that promised years of employment. Well versed in modern languages, basic mathematics and history, as well as the accomplishments of music and art, his mother was well qualified for her position. Her only flaw, if it could truly be a flaw… was her considerable beauty. As happens with many young ladies in her situation, a handsome face did not go unnoticed. Possessed of the same raven locks and piercing blue eyes, she had not gone about her work as just another servant among many. He had been the result of what his mother had thought to be the truest of affections from the eldest son of the family. However, when presented with the obligation of a potential wife and child, and one from a much lower social class, the heir denied the attachment. Rather than face disgrace, his mother had chosen to leave before her condition became apparent, taking employment far from the man responsible for her impending ruin.

  For the rest of her life, his mother had refused to speak the name of his father, blaming herself entirely for a lack of sense. Nor did he ever meet his maternal grandparents, for all he knew, they were still living and not aware of his existence now on the outskirts of Oxford, where his mother had eventually found employment as a charwoman to the university. It was here that he lived in the shadows of the aristocracy and learned to be among them, but never one of them.

  Over the years, he had taken a variety of jobs to supplement their meager income. His level of education had supplied opportunity beyond that of general labor, but he had struggled with authority, resulting in one dismissal after another. Eventually, the lure of the clubs and the easy money to be found at the card tables led him away from honest employment. The late hours resulted in limited contact with his mother despite the increase in ready cash. By the time he realized that she was ill, all the gambling in the world was not enough to save her.

  He had not even been home when she died. Instead, her cold form was discovered by a neighbor, some days after she had passed. He had returned nearly a fortnight after her burial in a pauper’s grave, to find their lodgings already let to another. In his grief and guilt, he had not even bothered to discover where she had been interred, turning his back on that part of his life forever. The only legacy of her existence was a small locket engraved with her initials. Fingering the scrollwork, he nearly broke the clasp with the pressure of his anger. The life he chose was that of easy money, but with high risks. It was just as easy to lose great sums as it was to win, but not everyone was a gracious loser or accepting of those who could not pay. Some, preferred to resort to violent means to recoup their losses. Now, as he found himself forced to enter the surroundings of the higher classes once again, this time as a matter of personal safety until he could repay his gambling debts. Resentment festered once again on an old wound. If only circumstances had been different… if only… As a child he used to dream about having a different life. Going off to America or Australia had seemed like the answer to everything, but even that dream had faded. He was a born gambler… and now a murderer.

  Frowning at his musings, the imposter tucked away the locket in his shirt and rose from his bed, going to where he had carefully hidden the items he had acquired from Longbourn. Taking the pearls and the paperweight from their place he held them up to allow the filtered light of the room play off their brilliance. The sooner he fenced the items, the closer he would be to leaving. It would not do to be caught with them in his possession. As he had the considerable part of the day remaining, a short journey to ____shire was possible. Besides, he needed to attend to his feet immediately. The stolen shoes would soon impair him significantly. A thief that cannot run is as good as dead. Dressing in his own clothes, he soon found himself on the road out of Meryton.

  *****

  Less than two hours later, with the fortunate ride offered by a farmer going to market, he was able to arrive in the city. Finding a shop in which to pawn his items had been no problem. People were reluctant to ask questions when a bargain was to be had. Many of the aristocracy often fell upon hard times, occasionally needing to sell pieces of jewelry or art. No one had recognized him in the fashionable part of town and he had escaped notice from those whom he owed money while he went about his business. Now, with nearly fifty pounds in his pocket, and a new pair of properly fitting dress boots in a wrapped parcel, he made his way back to Meryton. As it was some miles, he hoped to arrive before nightfall. Stopping to one side of the road as the sounds of hoof beats made the presence of another traveler known, he squinted against the glare of the late afternoon sun as the rider slowed to a stop.

 
“Hey there! Headed to Meryton?”

  As this was the sole road in that direction, and Meryton the only town for some miles, the man posing as another only nodded. There was something familiar about his sudden companion. He had seen him about the town, accompanied by a very lovely young woman. Had Miss Bennet mentioned their names? Chastising himself for not paying better attention, he was irritated by his own lack of wariness. He would be more vigilant in the future, it would not do to make mistakes. However, it did not matter at the moment as the handsome young man smiled genuinely at him and gestured to the second horse that he had tethered behind that which he rode.

  “My name is Charles Bingley… of Netherfield. I would not normally impose upon a stranger, but it appears that circumstances have placed me in need of your assistance.”

  The man inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, but did not speak as the rider continued.

  “As we are traveling in the same direction, I would be most appreciative if you could grant me the favor of riding my new mount the rest of the way. I am afraid the poor girl does not care for being tethered and I find myself being pulled regularly in opposite directions. You would be doing me a great service, as well as relieving you the trouble of walking Mr.…?”

  “Everfield. Grayson Everfield.” He replied evenly, but did not offer more. Nor did he move from his stance on the perimeter of the road.

  “Everfield? Might you be the tutor of one Miss Mary Bennet?”

  “The same,” he responded with a short bow. Having been recognized, he felt a pang of apprehension course through him. How he hated small towns; it was impossible to keep one’s privacy.

  “Wonderful! That relieves me considerably. She is my wife’s sister and one of the best judges of character. You do ride of course?”