The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet by Katherine Cowley (the reading list book txt) 📗

Mary agreed. She donned her heavy cloak and wrapped it tightly around herself, trying to cover as much of the dress as possible and putting the hood over her head.

Fanny adjusted the cloak slightly, then shepherded Mary through the halls, once hiding her in a closet so the housekeeper, Mrs. Boughton, did not see her.

Finally, they made it out of the house. Mr. Tubbs stood outside, horse ready. He checked the sidesaddle, paying particular attention to the saddle girth straps that ran underneath the horse, then lifted Mary’s right foot as she sprang upwards with her left leg.

She adjusted her legs on the left side of the horse, noting that this dress revealed more of her ankles than her normal dress did. She tried to pull down the dress a little more, but it did not make any real difference, so she would need to do her best to ignore it.

From Castle Durrington, she turned east towards Worthing, in case anyone from the house watched her departure. After a minute or two, she looked around to make sure no one was on the road, and then turned the horse north into the forest. She went forward, over branches, around logs, between trees, until, looking back, she could no longer see the road. Then she turned west, travelling at a slow pace until she thought she must be far past Castle Durrington, before turning south and rejoining the road.

Now she travelled west on the road, at a slow trot in the direction of Arundel, which Withrow had mentioned. She passed Patching Pond and the village of Ham-pot, which was only a handful of small houses.

After a few more miles she stopped. If the map she had always looked at in the library was correct, the road would split into two paths, which would both lead to Arundel. Since she did not know which road Stanley would be taking, it would be better to stay and wait for him here, because whichever direction he chose, he would pass by.

She contemplated the next part of her plan, which was not much of a plan at all. Lydia had sometimes managed to introduce herself to men without a formal introduction, but Mary did not want to do anything improper, and she could not simply hail a passing rider on a horse and start a lengthy conversation. Based on analysis she had made from Lydia’s accounts, dropping a handkerchief tended to work only about one in four times. Mary needed better odds.

Maybe she could find a reason that she would need a gentleman’s help. She attempted dropping the reins so she could pretend she could not reach them, but since they had a buckle they fell on the back of her horse’s neck and it was easy for her to pick them back up. If she undid the buckle, she could actually lose the reins, but then she might lose control of the horse, and there was no guarantee that she would manage to lose control at the perfect moment, just as the mysterious gentleman approached.

She could fall off the horse and get her foot caught in the slipper stirrup just as she saw the gentleman approaching, but she could not bring herself to do something so idiotic. Finding out what Lady Trafford was up to was not worth risking her neck. She could attempt to get her horse stuck in the mud—if she could find any mud immediately next to the road, but she had promised Fanny she would not get the new dress dirty. She found that despite her father always calling her a silly girl, she could not bring herself to do something genuinely stupid, even if it would provide an excuse to talk to Mr. Stanley.

Maybe she could tangle the horse’s reins in some branches. She dismounted the horse—not in the most graceful manner, but there was no one watching—and twisted the reins into a low-hanging tree branch, which was bare of leaves except for a solitary brown one that hung on with all its might.

Mary stepped back to examine her work. This would fool no one.

She tangled the reins into the branches a little more. This time it looked a little better, but still not convincing, and Dusty pulled herself free. She attempted a third time but gave up. What an ill-conceived idea.

She decided to remount the horse, but then realized that in her entire life, she had never mounted a horse by herself; she had always mounted with a groom or a mounting block. She ran her fingers through Dusty’s mane. While the help of a groom must make it easier, she could surely do it on her own.

She raised her right hand up, gripping it on the saddle’s fixed head. She used both legs to leap up with all her might.

She did not get anywhere near the needed height.

After several more failed attempts she realized that leaping would not do. She lifted her leg and carefully placed it in the single slipper stirrup on the left side of the horse. She gripped the saddle head with her right hand, leaped with her left leg, and pulled herself up onto the saddle, but as she did so her weight pulled the saddle down, off the top of the horse and onto its left flank. She hung there for a second or two, hand still on the saddle head, until she managed to extract her foot from the saddle stirrup.

It took Mary several minutes to fix the saddle and adjust the girth straps. She had to remove her gloves and her hands grew icy cold.

She tried to mount once again using the slipper stirrup, this time putting less weight on her foot, but once again received the same result. After extracting herself, again, and fixing the saddle, again, Mary stood, contemplating the saddle’s design. Men often put a foot into the stirrup of a saddle and mounted, but a man’s saddle had a superior design. The girth straps, along with