Mary entered Meryton, nodding to people as she passed. She held her arms tight against her body. She felt vulnerable, walking here, without Kitty or someone else to accompany her. Instead of people’s eyes turning to her sisters or her mother, they turned to her, and she was not accustomed to their focused attention.
Down the road she spotted an elegant carriage, brown with an ornamental mahogany trim. There was a man behind the carriage, unlatching one of the cases that was attached to it.
The carriage was parked in front of a shop. Out of the shop exited Lady Trafford and Mr. Withrow. How peculiar. They had specifically stated that they would not be in Meryton today.
Mary was not prepared for another conversation with Lady Trafford, so she paused at a nearby shop, pretending to consider the hats on display. It was the sort of action Lydia took when she saw someone she did not want to meet. She shifted her head slightly so she could see the man tampering with the back of the carriage. He removed something from the case and put it in his pocket. His build and his height looked familiar, though not his clothes. Unable to stop herself, she abandoned the display of hats and took a few steps closer. The man’s face turned to the side, and she recognized him as the man who had been in Longbourn the day before, the one who attempted to steal the mourning rings.
Distress filled her entire body. With the angle the carriage was parked, as they exited the shop and entered the carriage, Lady Trafford and her nephew must not be able to see the man. Because of his quality clothing, the townspeople must believe he was working for Lady Trafford instead of stealing from her.
He had almost managed to steal the mourning rings, and, as unusual as Lady Trafford was, Mary would not let him rob the woman. Like the mourning rings, she could solve this problem herself.
“Thief!” she cried. “It is a thief!”
The thief looked at her with a ferocity she found frightening.
Some of the townsfolk also turned to her, but a few headed towards the man and started shouting. The thief took off at a run.
She pointed again. “That man is a thief!”
Mr. Withrow jumped out of the carriage. “You rascal!” he shouted at the thief, and then ran after him at a great speed. Several other men followed but were quickly outpaced by the thief and Withrow. The thief turned down a side street and soon they were both out of sight.
The townsfolk surrounded both Mary and the carriage. There were cries of, “Miss Bennet, are you all right?” and endless questions which blurred together as they pounded into Mary’s head. She could not say a thing as the people pressed closer and closer to her. The only time she liked the attention of large groups of people was when she performed on the pianoforte or demonstrated another accomplishment, but that was a planned, practiced, and controlled situation. She felt small under the people’s stares.
Lady Trafford exited the carriage. She spoke loudly and with such poise that the crowd instantly quieted. “Thank you, everyone, for your concern. Miss Bennet has performed a great service for me today, and now you may all go back to your business.” She gestured for Mary to follow her into the carriage.
Mary obeyed her without question. She would rather be in a carriage with Lady Trafford than surrounded by the people of Meryton. There would be talk of this incident, and people wondering why she was not at home during the funeral. She should have walked in a different direction or stayed back at the house.
Mary’s hands shook from the second encounter with the thief, and she wondered that Lady Trafford could be so composed. She climbed into the carriage, stooping awkwardly as she considered the available seating. She could sit at Lady Trafford’s side, but it would be rather cramped with the woman’s full skirts, so she sat in the middle of the seat opposite. She could not still her hands, so she tucked them under her legs. The theft yesterday had been discreet, but today was very public. It was a touch too much excitement for her. Lady Trafford watched Mary, but thankfully did not say anything, which gave Mary a moment to compose herself.
Mr. Withrow climbed into the carriage. His face was sweaty, and he was out of breath. “I chased him all the way to the edge of the village, but then I lost him.” Withrow lowered himself onto the same seat as Mary. She shifted farther down the seat to put some distance between them.
Mary smoothed out her dress. This morning, she had put on a new, black dress. It was of quality material, but a plain design, which Mary always preferred, and in her opinion was more appropriate for mourning than the more stylish gowns of her sisters.
“Did you know that man?” asked Lady Trafford.
“No,” said Mary. “But yesterday he tried to steal all of the mourning rings.”
“How dreadful!” Lady Trafford said. “The audacity of such an act.” She rubbed her pearl necklace with her fingers. “Are you certain it was the same individual?”
“I would not make such an accusation if I were not certain,” said Mary. “It is essential to never judge in haste, lest that judgment come back upon you.”
“That is wise,” said Mr. Withrow. “How could you tell it was the thief?” He asked the same way he had last night when he was questioning her, as if her answers were the most important thing in the world.
“I have a skill for remembering faces.”
“Well, Miss Bennet, I find
