The Independence of Miss Mary Bennet

The richer by a second guinea, Mr. Hooper could find no more to tell his auditors until long after they had gone. So enthused was he at the prospect of earning a third guinea that he trotted off to the Black Cat at once to impart his afterthought. Too late! The three gentlemen had ridden off.

“Oh, well, ’tain’t important,” said he to himself. Just that it was very peculiar to have two lots of enquiries about the same lady inside three days. Big, surly, black bugger, last Saturday’s enquirer had been. Blotted out the sun. Did not bestow guineas-his idea of largesse had been a shilling. A shilling, and he the manager!

All of which left Mr. Hooper with some questions of his own: who was this lady, why did she have gold in her reticule, who were the gentlemen in search of her, why were there two lots of them, and who was the pretty young man’s dad?

They rode for Mansfield at once, Charlie having decided that their horses were rested enough to survive another fifteen miles. Neither Angus nor Owen disputed Charlie’s authority in the matter of horseflesh; Owen’s father was a farmer, but topnotch mounts were as far from his ken as they were from Angus’s.

By six that evening they were dismounting in the yard of the Friar Tuck, and agreed that they would go no farther that day.

When they entered the inn they found its proprietor hovering expectantly.

“Your three best bedchambers, landlord,” said Angus, every bone in his body aching; a carriage-based London existence was not conducive to careering around the countryside with Charlie Darcy. His rump was very sore, but he could still sit down; heaving a sigh of content, he did so.

“It’s too late for ale-your best wine, landlord!”

“Ask him, ask him, ask him!” Charlie kept muttering.

“In due time. First, we wet our whistles.”

“Lord, I’m tired,” said Owen.

“Cawkers, both of you.” Charlie subsided with a scowl.

The cellars of the Friar Tuck yielded an excellent claret; after consuming two bottles of it, they repaired to their rooms to freshen up. In the kitchen Mrs. Beatty, exhorted by Mr. Beatty, was cooking what she termed a “tidy meal.”

After doing the tidy meal justice, Angus finally broached the subject of Mary.

“We are in search of a lady,” he said to the landlord. “We believe she came in on the Sheffield stage last Friday, it seems thinking she was on the Derby one. On learning her mistake, she alighted, apparently to seek some means of going to Chesterfield. Did you see her?”

“No, sir, I did not.”

“I thought the Sheffield stage-coach stopped here?”

“It does. But I weren’t here, sir. I was visiting my son at Clipstone, didn’t get back until well after the Sheffield stage. It don’t wait, sir, just sets down and picks up.”

“Surely it changes horses here?”

“No, sir. It does that in Pleasley, two mile farther on. Another of my sons has the King John there, and we split it-he changes the northbound coaches, I change the southbound.”

“And does your son in Clipstone have an inn?” Owen asked, fascinated at so much nepotism.

“Yes, sir. The Merry Men.”

Charlie sat looking as if the world was ending. “If you did not see her, landlord, did anyone else?” he asked curtly.

“I could ask my wife, sir.”

“Kindly do so.”

“Is there a Robin Hood hostelry in the family?” Owen asked while Mrs. Beatty was being sent for.

“How amazing of you to know that, sir! The Robin Hood belongs to my son Will, over in Edwinstowe, and the Lion Heart to my son John, in Ollerton. Though it’s a tavern, not an inn.”

Expecting praise for her dinner, Mrs. Beatty bustled in engaged in a private debate-did they like the roast venison or the stew delicately flavoured with sage and lamb’s kidneys? But the faces of her diners, she now discovered, did not belong to gentlemen with food on their minds. In fact, all three looked forbidding. She began to stiffen, some instinct telling her that she was in trouble.

“Matilda, did a lady get off the Sheffield stage on Friday?”

“Oh, her!” Mrs. Beatty sniffed. “I would have to call her a woman, for a lady she was not.”

Charlie yelped; Angus’s foot had made contact with his already bruised toes.

“What happened to her, madam?” Angus asked, heart sinking.

“I sent her about her business, that’s what! She stank! Dirtying my clean floors, and them not even dry! I’ll have none of you, I said, and marched her out my door.”

“Do you know where she went?” Angus asked, swallowing an ire quite as hot as Charlie’s.

“Only that she wanted to go to Chesterfield, but first she needed a room. I sent her to the Green Man.”

“Oh, Matilda!” cried Mr. Beatty, looking horrified. “She was a lady! Our guests are in search of her.”

“Happen they’ll find her at the Green Man. Or Chesterfield by now,” said Mrs. Beatty, unrepentant. “She didn’t look no lady to me. She looked like a dirty drab. Too pretty for her own good.”

“Charlie, hold your tongue!” Angus snapped. “Then we go to the Green Man in the morning. Prepare an early breakfast.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Mr. Beatty.

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Go to the Green Man. ’Tis a felons’ haunt. Every rogue and thief on both sides of the Pennines congregates there. As well as the highwayman Captain Thunder.” He rounded on his wife. “Which is why, Matilda, I take leave to say that you are a sour and bitter woman, to send a lady anywhere near the Green Man. You are always prating about God and you won’t even let your daughters dance, but mark my words, God will punish you for your lack of charity! Methodism! Making it impossible for your daughters to find husbands outside of the church, and a more dismal lot than those young men I don’t know! Well, this episode is the last straw for me! My daughters will wed men who like a drink and a dance!”

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, Angus yawned until his eyes watered and shepherded Charlie and Owen bedward before the domestic storm could break.

“There is no point in fretting, Charlie” were his final words to that indignant young man. “We’ll be on our way early tomorrow, so get some sleep.”

“Just as well I brought my pistols,” Charlie said, eyes sparkling. “If the Green Man is half as bad as the landlord says, we may be glad of a pair of barkers.”

“I’d feel better about that if I knew you could shoot.”

“I can culp a wafer at twenty paces. Pater may deem me bellows to mend in a boxing ring, but he’s seen me shoot too often to despise my skill with a pistol. In fact, he had Manton make me my own pair.”

Angus’s staunch faзade fell once he was safely inside his room; surprised because he had felt no pain, he found that his nails had cut into the palms of his hands, he had clenched them so hard. Oh, Mary, Mary! Turned away as a common trollop by an imperceptive bigot like Mrs. Beatty! Filthy from her fall-wherever she had stayed in Nottingham had not offered her a bath, probably not even hot water. Well, no doubt Nottingham’s inns were stuffed with Mrs. Beattys too. He had good reason to think that his Mary would not be intimidated, including by a pack of felons, but worry he must.

A state of mind Mr. Beatty did not improve when he knocked softly on Angus’s door a few minutes later.

“Yes, sir?” Angus asked irritably, clad in his nightshirt.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Sinclair, but I judged you the leader of your search party, and did not want to wait until the morning-we have a group of visitors arriving to view Sherwood Forest, and I may not get the time.”

“What is it you want to say?” Angus asked, feeling a qualm.

“My wife told me that Captain Thunder was lurking last Friday noon when the Sheffield coach arrived. To do her a meed of justice, she was frightened, and very anxious to bolt the door. Though why she couldn’t shout for the grooms I have no idea.” He scratched his head, dislodging his wig. “After the coach went north to Pleasley she took a peek outside, and there was your lady walking down the road to the Green Man. Captain Thunder was following