The Independence of Miss Mary Bennet

Maplethorpe-or Mr. Skinner!-because you look so well cared for-cared for properly for many days. No, I do not believe you, Lydia.”

By the time that Elizabeth had finished speaking, Lydia was in floods of noisy tears.

“Come, dearest, weeping won’t help,” said Jane, hugging her. “Let us ring the bell. A cup of tea will do you more good than all the wine in creation. You grieve for George, we know that.”

The comprehensive look Miss Maplethorpe gave Lydia when she came in spoke volumes. “Oh, dear! Has Mrs. Wickham been trying to tell you that there are bars over the windows?”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth.

“A part of her delusory state, Mrs. Darcy.”

“She says you keep a house of ill fame in Sheffield,” said Jane.

That made Miss Maplethorpe laugh. “How did she ever get that into her head, I wonder?”

“She says she overheard a conversation between you and Mr. Edward Skinner.” Jane sounded so aggressive that Elizabeth was startled.

“How extraordinary! I’ve met Mr. Skinner only once, when he brought Mrs. Wickham to Hemmings.”

“Where did you live before you came to Hemmings? What kind of work did you do?” Jane asked with rare persistence.

“I administered the women’s Bedlam on Broadmoor, then I cared for a relative of the Marquess of Ripon,” said Miss Maplethorpe. “I came with glowing recommendations, Mrs. Bingley.”

“A women’s Bedlam? I thought men and women were cared for in the same institution,” said Jane, apparently unimpressed by the glowing recommendations.

“That is so,” said Miss Maplethorpe, looking a little harried, “but it is still necessary to have a supervisor for the women.”

“I didn’t know there was a Bedlam on Broadmoor,” said Jane.

“Indeed there is! There is also a Marquess of Ripon,” said Miss Maplethorpe tartly.

“One reads in the letters of Argus that mad people in a Bedlam are shockingly mistreated,” said Jane. “Like animals in a menagerie, only worse. Sightseers pay a penny to tease and torment them, and the staff resort to torture.”

“Which is why I left Broadmoor to go first to the Marquess, whose relative died, and then to come here.” Miss Maplethorpe’s face had gone to flint. “And that is all I have to say, Mrs. Bingley. If you have further complaints, I would appreciate it if you addressed them to my employer, Mr. Darcy.”

“Thank you. Might we have some tea?” Elizabeth said hastily. She took Miss Maplethorpe to one side. “I have a question too, Miss Maplethorpe. Is Mrs. Wickham’s mind permanently deranged?”

“It is too early to tell. I trust not.”

“But if it is, what kind of care will she need?”

“The kind she receives now at Hemmings, but, alas, those bars would have to become a reality. It appears that she is-er-very fond of the company of gentlemen. I have already had to persuade her to return home on several occasions. If this is a new sort of symptom, I am sorry to have to tell you of it, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Pray don’t think it comes as a shock,” Elizabeth said. “She has ever been so.”

“I see.”

“She says she isn’t drinking very much.”

“That is true. She has improved.”

“Thank you!”

Casting Miss Maplethorpe a speaking glance, Elizabeth returned to Jane and Lydia, whose tears had ceased.

Though by nature she was shallow, wild-and self-centered, apart from her devotion to the late Captain George Wickham-Lydia had sufficient intelligence to understand that she had boxed herself into a corner. The one thing she had not counted upon was the silent removal of the bars; in their absence she could see that her own conduct did not predispose Jane and Lizzie to believe her tale. Resolving to keep sober had improved her outward appearance- and her underlying health-so much that she did not look the victim of an abduction. Quite the opposite. And tears, she soon saw, would not benefit her. Her plans to be freed must now depend upon her own actions; neither Lizzie nor Jane would support her, let alone conspire to spirit her away from Hemmings. Therefore no more tears, no more references to abductions, imprisonment, or Ned Skinner.

Though it was not the tea hour, Miss Maplethorpe sent in an excellent tea to which all three sisters applied themselves with enthusiasm. Lydia chatted away quite brightly, allaying what fears Jane and Elizabeth still felt. Fancy Jane flying at Mirry the Moo! But it had not lasted, of course. Jane always believed the best of people, even if they were standing on the gallows.

Since she knew nothing of Mary’s disappearance from Ned Skinner’s custody, Lydia concentrated upon that subject.

“At first I thought she would simply appear after indulging in a fit of abstraction,” said Jane.

“She was prone to those,” said Lydia. “Always had her head in a book and desperate for access to bigger libraries.”

“But it is now four weeks since she vanished,” Elizabeth said, “and I for one no longer think there is anything voluntary about her absence. Fitz agrees. He has managed to have two-thirds of each shire’s constables put to searching for her, and the advertisement has circulated from one end of England to the other. With a hundred pounds reward. Many people have lodged information, but none has led, even remotely, to Mary.” Her face had gone very stern. “We begin to fear now that she is dead. Fitz is convinced of it.”

“Lizzie, no!” Lydia cried, taken out of her own troubles.

Elizabeth sighed. “I still hope,” she said.

“And I,” said Lydia. “Mary could give lessons in stubbornness to a mule. What worries me is leaving the search to the constabulary-Jane, Lizzie, they’re bumbling fools!”

“We agree,” said Jane. “For that reason, Lizzie and I tend to make Fitz’s life a misery. Though Charlie and Angus still go out every day.”

“Angus?” said Lydia.

“Angus Sinclair, publisher of the Westminster Chronicle. Lizzie says he is in love with Mary.”

“Jane, no! Truly?”

The ladies remained another hour, then left in plenty of time to reach Bingley Hall by sunset; Elizabeth was staying there that night, and looking forward to seeing the boys, if not Prissy.

“What do you think about Lydia?” Jane asked as the chaise negotiated a particularly bad section of road.

“I’m puzzled. She looks very much better for her weeks at Hemmings. I didn’t think her deranged.”

“Despite the bars.”

“Yes. But what puzzles me most, Jane, was your attack on Miss Maplethorpe. So unlike you!”

“It was the look she gave Lydia when she first came in,” Jane said. “You were seated at more of an angle than I, so it’s possible that your interpretation of the look wasn’t the same as mine. What I saw was derision and contempt.”

“How extraordinary!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Her manners were all that might be expected, Jane. Very ladylike.”

“I am convinced it is an act, Lizzie. Nor do I believe that she ever saw a Bedlam.” Jane laughed. “Mirry the Moo! If that is not just like the old Lydia of Longbourn days!”

“I’m sure that Matthew Spottiswoode and his York agency would have gone into Miss Maplethorpe’s background thoroughly.”

“Then we must visit regularly, Lizzie.”

When Elizabeth returned to Pemberley she did something she had never done before; she sent for Edward Skinner, who, said Parmenter, was at home.

Their interview got off to a bad start, however, when it took Ned an hour to report. Elizabeth mentioned his tardiness, at her most imperious.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Darcy, but I was engaged in some manual labour when your summons arrived, and had to make myself respectable,” he said without a vestige of apology in his voice.

“I see. What do you know of Miss Mirabelle Maplethorpe?”