The Independence of Miss Mary Bennet

“There’s one without a rag,” said Angus suddenly. “Oh, I wish we had better maps! I have written to General Mowbray for army survey maps, but so far not a squeak from the man. Which probably means they do not exist.” He marked the cave as best he could on his map, noting the look of the terrain in the vicinity. “It’s somewhat off the beaten track as caves go, Charlie,” he said anxiously.

“Don’t fret, Angus, it will be attended to as soon as we go a-caving again,” said Charlie in a soothing voice.

Angus was not looking very Puckish these days, Charlie thought. His hair had less apricot in it, and the creases in his cheeks were threatening to become fissures. Any doubt he had experienced about the depth of Angus’s affection for Mary had vanished; the man was head over heels in love, and quite demented by worry. Over five weeks, and not a sign of her anywhere. If she were still alive, she had to be held in a cave. Of course she might have been spirited several hundred miles away, but why?

Under the lee of a curling cliff they encountered a bizarre procession coming toward them on foot, and courteously drew off the bridle-path they were following to let it pass. Perhaps thirty small forms clad in brown habits, hoods pulled right over their heads, walked two abreast behind a little old man clad in the same fashion, save that his hood was pulled back and he wore a large crucifix on his chest. He looked somewhat like a Franciscan friar. In the rear came two bigger children pushing a hand cart loaded with boxes that clinked as if they contained bottles.

“Hola, Father!” called Charlie as the friar drew level with him. “Where are you going?”

“To Hazel Grove and Stockport, sir.”

“For what reason?” Charlie asked, not sure why he asked.

“The Children of Jesus are on His business, sir.”

“And what business is that?”

“Follow me.” The friar stepped aside. “Children, walk on,” he said, and the children obediently walked on.

How miserable they seem! Angus thought, watching them as they passed. Shoulders hunched, cowls entirely hiding their faces, and their eyes fixed upon the ground. Flinching and shivering as if in distress, even emitting faint moans. Then he saw that the friar was moving toward the hand cart, and followed.

“Halt!” the old man cried. The procession halted. One gnarled hand indicated the boxes. “Pray open any of them that you wish, sir. They speak of the purity of our intentions.”

A box of blue bottles was labeled CHILDREN OF JESUS COUGH SYRUP, and a box of green bottles were a remedy for influenza and colds. A sluggish brown liquid proclaimed itself an elixir for the cure of diarrhoea. A box of clear bottles contained red liquid that said CHILDREN OF JESUS PAINT FOR BOILS, ULCERS, CARBUNCLES & SORES. A box of tins were an ointment for horses.

“Impressive,” said Charlie, concealing his smile. “Does this mean you make nostrums and potions for diseases and ailments, Father?”

“Yes. We are on our way to make deliveries to apothecary shops.”

Charlie held up a tin of horse ointment. “Does this work?”

“Pray take it and give it to your stable master, young sir,” said the friar.

“How much do you charge for it?”

“A shilling, but it will retail for more. It is popular.”

Charlie fished in his waistcoat pocket and produced a guinea.

“This is for your trouble, Father.” He managed a trick he had learned from his father, of looking very sympathetic, yet all steel underneath. “It’s such a beautiful day, Father! Why do your boys wear their cowls up? They should be getting some sun.”

Rage danced in the pebbly blue eyes, but the answer was smooth and reasonable. “They have all suffered from bad masters, sir, and I have to physick them with a lotion that reacts badly in the sun. Their skins would burn.”

Angus intervened. “Father, have you seen a lost lady in your travels?”

The rage died, the eyes widened innocently. “Of what kind is this lady, sir?”

“Tall, thin, about forty, reddish-gold hair. Handsome.”

“No, sir, definitely not. The only lady we have seen was poor Moggie Mag. She was bringing home rabbits for her cats and lost her way, but we set her upon it.”

“Thank you, Father,” Angus said. “Whereabouts do you and your children live?”

“In the Children of Jesus orphanage near York, sir.”

“A long way to walk,” said Charlie. “Given that there are no monasteries anywhere in this part of England, where do you stay?”

“We beg for alms and we camp, sir. God is good to us.”

“Must you go as far afield as Stockport to hawk your wares?”

“We do not hawk, sir. The apothecaries of this part of England like our remedies best. They’ll take everything we can manage to bring with us.”

The three men prepared to ride on, but the friar held up a hand to detain them, and addressed Charlie.

“When I thank God for this guinea, sir, I would like to mention its donor’s name. May I ask it?”

“Charles Darcy of Pemberley.” Charlie tipped his hat and rode off, the others following.

“The Children of Jesus,” said Angus. “Have you ever heard of them, Charlie? I haven’t, but I’m not from these parts.”

“I’ve never heard a whisper of them. Still, if they really do hail from York, that would account for my ignorance.”

“Except,” said Owen thoughtfully, “why are they on a bridle-path? A bridle-path through wild and desolate country? Surely this is not the main route from York to Stockport? They look like Roman Catholics and may be trying to avoid several kinds of odium and petty persecution-the kind of thing that happens to Gypsies. The friar said they camped and begged for alms, which likens them to Gypsies.”

“But no one could mistake them for Gypsies, Owen, and they’re little children-boys, I hazard a guess. One very small fellow must have had a bee inside his cowl, and dropped it long enough for his companion to shoo the bee. A boy, and tonsured. People in rural fastnesses tend to be kind-’tis in cities that the quality of mercy is shoddy,” Charlie said. “I shall ask my father to make enquiries about them. As an MP, he must know the location of all orphanages.”

“They’re not Romans, Charlie,” Angus said, splitting hairs. “Monastic orders don’t sell a remedy for impotence, and most of the boxes on the cart were full of that. It also answers why the old man can sell his Children of Jesus wares as far afield from York as Stockport. ’Twould seem to me that his remedy works, else he’d not concentrate upon it.” He grunted. “Children of Jesus! One of the very many Christian sects that afflict northern England, do you think, Charlie?”

“I do, though the prize for the most perspicacious question must go to Owen-what are they doing on this bridle-path?”

Once the three riders were out of sight, Father Dominus again halted his progress.

“Brother Jerome!” he called.

Lifting his skirts, Jerome came at a run, leaving Ignatius to mind the cart.

“Yes, Father?”

“You were right, Jerome. I should not have brought the boys out into daylight, no matter how deserted our route.”

“No, Father, not wrong, just mistaken,” said the only literate Child of Jesus, who took care to be obsequious in all his dealings with the old man. “They have been naughty, they needed a special punishment, and what better than a day in the light of Lucifer? It is besides the shortest way to the shops.”

“Have they been punished enough?”

“Given that we have encountered Mr. Charles Darcy, I would say so, Father. Ignatius and I can take the hand cart on by ourselves once the boys are back in the Northern Caves. They may not like living there as much as they have the Southern Caves, but today’s ordeal will reconcile them,” said Jerome, at his oiliest.

“Brother Ignatius!” Father Dominus called.

“Yes, Father?”

“Jerome and I are going to take the boys back to the Northern Caves now. You will remain at this end of the