Mary Bennet and the Longbourn Tutor Page 9

  “Miss Mary, I have heard tell of your prowess on the pianoforte. You simply must play for us,” he insisted.

  Mary froze at the request. She had not practiced for nearly two months. There simply had not been time between her new studies and the responsibility of Longbourn. Ever since the marriages of her sisters, it seemed that Mrs. Bennet had been all too happy to hand over the management of the household, preferring to spend her time visiting between the grand estates of her daughters. Besides, in all honesty, Mary had to admit that she possessed no talent for the instrument. The last time she played, her frustration resulted in damage to the antiquated piece, damage that had yet to be repaired.

  “Unfortunately, our pianoforte needs professional attention. I fear that I broke a number of the strings recently,” she excused with a bit of relief.

  It would have been a terrible assault upon everyone’s ears. Fortunately, Mary had a more interesting diversion planned.

  “As you know, the weather has been unusually fine and we have been blessed with clear skies. Papa’s telescope is assembled on the balcony, shall we give it a look? I have been informed by Mr. Darcy of your particular skill. Do you remember him from University?”

  Taken by surprise, Everfield attempted to recover his shock. Indeed, he was acquainted with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, but not as a schoolmate. He recalled peering through the elaborate wrought iron gates at the lane that wound its way to the grandest house in Derbyshire. As the son of a scrubwoman, he was hardly fit for invitations as a guest. Once, he had spied the younger Darcy riding about the grounds. Oh how he had envied everything he saw! Such a life! While he had used the letter of reference from the very same man to acquire his post as tutor, he was not aware of any connection to the Bennets. A small trickle of sweat ran down his back at the possibility of being caught.

  “Yes, but it was some years ago. My memories of Pemberley are some of the fondest,” he said truthfully.

  “It is unfortunate that you were indisposed when he was here recently. He and I even stopped at your lodgings, but you were not there,” Atlas added with a touch of curiosity. Where exactly did a man professing to be ill wander off to?

  “Ah... yes… I fear it was necessary for me to remain close to the facilities for a time.” He explained, much to the embarrassment of Kitty and Mrs. Bennet who colored deeply at the mention of personal body functions so casually.

  “Indeed… it happens to us all.” Assured Mary as she rose to the open doors and gazed up at the night sky.

  “Atlas, look! I believe I can see some of the meteor shower you mentioned.”

  Soon joined by the others, including her parents, they all peered into the darkness for a few minutes, as more falling stars shot across the sky. In the rear of the group, Mr. Everfield, in a deliberate act, bumped heavily into the tripod holding the telescope, sending it crashing to the flagstones.

  “I am deeply sorry for my clumsiness, sir,” he apologized profusely, thinking that he would be saved.

  “No worry, that old thing would survive a cannon ball. The Girls have dropped it more times than I can count.” Mr. Bennet replied as Atlas replaced the heavy tube of lenses back on its base.

  “See, it is perfectly fine, awaiting your expertise,” Atlas added.

  “Yes, yes… that is a relief. Just allow me a moment to adjust the lenses properly.” He said as he fumbled with the array of knobs. Unfortunately, the delicate instrument could not be properly focused with any level of accuracy through the gloves he wore. As it was dark, Everfield took the risk of exposure and removed the offending items. He had been forced to wear them constantly to hide the heavy callouses on his hands that defined him as a laborer and not a gentleman. When he had taken the clothes of the real Grayson Everfield, the dead man’s gloves had not fit, at they had been two different sizes. The left hand was far smaller than the right. Now, only the stolen signet ring glinted in the moonlight as he squinted through the eyepiece in frustration. After a few minutes, he managed to see an object through the telescope and gestured for the ladies to have a look.

  One after another, each of the Bennet ladies peered through the telescope at what each deemed to be a different celestial being.

  “I see moon… it has spots of a sort,” Kitty squealed.

  “It’s not the moon, it is clearly another planet… perhaps Mars,” insisted Mrs. Bennet.

  “I am not sure exactly what I see… an unusual star?” asked Mary before stepping back to allow Atlas his turn.

  Atlas Sutton squinted through the eyepiece for only a second before re-adjusting the knobs. His experience with a microscope allowed for a more accurate assessment.

  “It appears that Mr. Everfield is playing a great joke on the ladies… What you have been observing is an owl, not any sort of astronomical entity.”

  “I fear that I have been found out,” Everfield acknowledged with a bow as the Bennets laughed at their own folly.

  While Mary appreciated the entertainment, she had hoped for some serious study that evening, and tried to hide her disappointment. A chill wind had begun to blow, ending their stargazing as they were forced indoors once again. As it was, the evening was growing late and she had much to do the next day. Kitty too, was stifling a yawn as the gentlemen took leave.

  “Shall I see you tomorrow at our regular time?” Mary asked as Everfield joined Atlas in his curricle for the journey back to Meryton.

  “But of course, I am quite recovered.”

  “And you Dr. Sutton? Shall we be seeing you again soon?” added Mrs. Bennet from her observation post directly behind Mary.

  “I fear that my next two days will be spent tending the miners in ____shire. I have been long overdue there, but rest assured that I look forward to any invitation from Longbourn” he replied with true remorse.

  “Oh doctors and their duties… I suppose you must, but I expect you back in my dining room by Saturday young man!”

  Atlas nodded his acceptance and winked at Mary before giving his reins a snap to send the horse into motion. Indeed, he would happily answer that summons.

  Returning inside, Mary ignored the happy babble of her mother and sister. While she was pleased with the company of the evening, something about Mr. Everfield had left her feeling unsettled. Why had he deliberately tricked them with the telescope? What other sort of tricks was he playing? Mary planned to find out. She hated being made to look the fool. It was bad enough that her mother did it on a regular basis, much to the continual embarrassment of the entire family. If that man was up to something, she’d send him packing immediately.

  ~Seventeen~

  The next morning, before her tutor arrived, Mary decided to change her plans for the day. It had been a long time since she went riding and for some unexplained reason, felt the need to feel the wind in her face at great speed. Unfortunately, Longbourn only possessed four horses. Two were the great matched stallions that pulled the carriage, quite unfit for a lady. The others, while gentle in nature, would hardly satisfy her need to run. Given her only reasonable options, she asked for Bess and Ellie to be saddled. It was at the mounting block, dressed in her riding habit that Grayson Everfield found his student.

  “Good morning Miss Bennet! Not interested in mathematics this morning?” he asked politely as he eyed the docile mares.

  “I should like to take advantage of the fine day while it lasts. Besides, there is an ancient ruin nearby that is of architectural interest. Perhaps you can explain to me how it was built to last nearly a thousand years?”

  “That sounds most agreeable,” he replied as Mrs. Hill brought out a small basket.

  “It is some miles away, we shall need to take luncheon there,” Mary explained as she strapped the basket to the back of her saddle. Not waiting for further comment, Mary mounted her horse without assistance and began to ride away.

  Shaking his head in disbelief at the abrupt change in plans, Everfield was soon astride and cantering to reach her. While he had not dressed for r
iding, he had to admit that it was far better than spending the day in a stuffy schoolroom. Unfortunately, the excursion would not allow him to acquire any further items to sell, but perhaps he might be able to assess more of the surrounding area. Eventually, he would deplete Longbourn and be forced to look elsewhere for the needed funds.

  They rode silently for some minutes before Mary resumed conversation, pointing out various historical landmarks. She was more the teacher today than he, but Everfield did not interrupt as they passed a number of sizeable residences. Mary, in her innocence, provided a general background of each family.

  “The far one is Evanston Hall, the home of my godfather, Sir Philip Evans,” Mary informed her companion as they passed a well-groomed drive that was lined with blooming shrubbery. In the distance, marble columns supported a three story manse in the neo classical design that had become so popular.

  “Is it a new construction?” he queried politely.

  “Yes, the original structure went back nearly three centuries, but was nearly destroyed by fire a few years ago. I cannot say that I care for the elaborate nature of the new house, but Sir Philip seems to favor it. Perhaps we might stop in on our return.”

  Everfield’s imagination was working rapidly at the thought. The structure certainly suggested a level of society that compared with that of Pemberley. Surely there would be an item or two that he might easily purloin during the stopover. Nodding his agreement, he eased his own horse behind that of Mary’s as she took a narrow side path off the main road. They had been riding for nearly an hour by now and must be nearing the site of the ruins. Expecting a dilapidated shell of a tower and foundations, he was pleasantly surprised when they rounded a wooded corner and exposed the considerable remains of what had once been an imposing medieval fortress. Despite years of neglect and being exposed to the elements, most of the main structure was intact. A large central keep with exterior stair that wound its way upwards to a crumbled parapet stood amidst a number of small outbuildings surrounded by thick outer walls. Narrow windows punctuated the stone facade, blind holes, empty of glass stared up at the sky as if waiting for the divine to intervene. Stopping inside the great gaping portcullis, Mary dismounted and strode to a doorway set in the base of the keep, leaving Everfield to manage the horses.

  Slightly irritated at suddenly being relegated to the role of groom, he tied the reigns in a careless knot, looping them over a twisted shrub that grew haphazardly from one side of the entry. Following her inside, he discovered the reason for her interest. The main hall, somewhat sheltered from nature, had retained much of its grandness. Thick beams transected the open ceiling in a circular pattern common to that of an Ancient Norse lodge. It was quite out of place in this part of England, so far from the coast. Despite its condition, the keep’s location between two towns, yet off the main road was ideal. The structure would make an excellent place to hide, should he need to leave Meryton quickly.

  “What do you make of it? I have been here many times, but it never loses its fascination. There have been stories and legends about Norsemen traveling up the inland rivers, but no actual proof.”

  “I cannot say that one roof structure is enough evidence, perhaps it was copied?”

  “There is also the runes.”

  “Runes?”

  “Over here.” She commanded and led him to a smaller room off the main hall. It was some sort of library. The books were long gone, but deep carved stone recesses, lined with rotting wood, lined three walls. They were just the size to accommodate a considerable collection. The single barren wall was covered from ceiling to floor with the stick like carved runic letters. Its story long lost to time. He ran his fingers over the indentations, brushing layers of dirt to the floor. Why had she brought him here? Surely she bore no interest in ancient Norse?

  “When Mr. Darcy was here, he mentioned that you had studied ancient languages at University. He told us a delightful story about how you would take lecture notes in Breton and Norse. I have often wondered what must have been so important to be worthy of recording it here in such a fashion.”

  Mary knew she was lying, but her mind had played out a number of scenarios since the evening of the telescope. Mr. Grayson Everfield was hiding something. Today, her suspicions had only been heightened. Darcy had told them that Mr. Everfield was terrified of horses and that he had been injured significantly. Yet, Mary had noticed no reluctance to riding out today. Although, she had to acknowledge that Longbourn’s mares were exceptionally docile. Now, as she looked at her tutor’s hands there was yet another discrepancy. With the absence of his regular gloves, Mr. Everfield’s bare hands bore no evidence of any sort of injury. In contrast, they appeared exceptionally strong and accustomed to physical labor. Mary could see the thick calluses that could only have been acquired through years of hard work, hardly a regular occupation for a tutor. While she considered the possibility of hard times between posts, Everfield’s references, one from Darcy included, attested to his having spent the past six years with the same respectable family. Surely, he had not been expected to perform manual labor in addition to his teaching?

  Seeing her inquisitive eyes upon him, the imposter, ever used to quickly thinking his way out of situations, peered intently up at the mass of carving.

  “I am not familiar with this particular dialect,” he acknowledged as if deep in concentration, but traced a finger along a specific area nearly a foot over Mary’s head.

  “It appears to be some sort of record of marriage, a love story,” he said in an attempt to appeal to what he believed were Mary’s feminine wishes.

  Frowning, Mary squinted at the ancient script. She had deliberately chosen this location. Having spent much of her younger years trying to escape the noise that was made by her sisters, she had found an old book in her father’s library filled with poetry. One side of the page had verses in runes and Old English, the other side bore the modern translation. It was a copy of the old Beowulf story, the section describing the dragon and eventual death. She could recite it from memory, having read it so often. Now, having caught her tutor in yet another lie, her patience had grown a bit thin, as had the weather. Not replying to his false translation of the carving, Mary looked up a the skeletal remains of the ceiling timbers just as a few wayward drops of rain began to fall. The dark splotches, as they stained the ancient stones, sent a shiver down her spine. The memory of another encounter in the rain, one that left her quite ill, came flooding back unexpectedly. This was hardly a place in which she wanted to be stranded, especially with a person whom she was beginning to dislike. The last time, it had been with Atlas and a far more pleasant situation, despite the chill she had taken. Turning away from the stranger, for she could no longer think of him as Grayson Everfield, Mary returned to the open inner bailey and untied the reins to her horse as he followed in her wake.

  “I suggest we make for Evanston Hall before we are drenched. Perhaps they will offer hospitality until it passes.”

  “As you see fit, Miss Bennet,” he replied and hoisted her into the saddle as if she were a feather.

  Mary’s eyes did not miss the ease in which he so readily swung onto his own horse, or the heavily calloused hands, once again exposed as she had placed her foot to be lifted to her seat. Who was this man?

  ~Eighteen~

  Just before the heavens opened up into a torrential downpour, Mary and her tutor cantered into the covered carriage area of Evanston Hall.

  “A near escape indeed Miss Mary!” called the cordial voice of Mrs. Wennings, Sir Philip’s housekeeper.

  Mary smiled and nodded before sliding unassisted to the flagstones and greeting the elderly woman with a hug. Sylvie Wennings had been in charge of Evanston Hall for nearly thirty years, having come with Lady Juliette upon her marriage to Sir Philip. Now, despite the death of her mistress years ago, Mrs. Wennings stayed on, as her devotion to the confirmed widower rendered her more of substitute mother than servant to all who resided there.

  Usher
ing her employer’s goddaughter inside, she nearly forgot the man standing beside the horses as a young boy appeared to take the reins.

  “And who might your companion be?” the housekeeper inquired with a raised eyebrow. It was rare to see Mary accompanied by any young man, especially one this handsome. Although, if the local gossip served accurate, Mary had been garnering the attentions of Meryton’s young doctor as well.

  “Mrs. Sylvie Wennings, may I present Mr. Grayson Everfield… my tutor.”

  “Tutor? What’s this about?”

  “Oh I am just correcting some deficiencies in my education.”

  “Deficiencies my foot! You young ladies will be wanting to go off to university next. Hardly proper, if I do say so.”

  The tutor simply stood staring. While had grown rather accustomed to Mary Bennet’s unusual ways, it was odd to see one so familiar with those not of her social status. Miss Bennet was far more comfortable with those who dwelled far below that of the gentry. Bowing at the introduction, but remaining silent, he followed the women into the small personal parlor set for the housekeeper.

  “Is Sir Philip at home?” Mary asked innocently.

  “No, I am afraid not. He’s gone to Meryton about that nasty business with the unknown man they found in the woods.”

  Sighing with relief, that she would not have to give an account of the investigation to Sir Philip, Mary relaxed and accepted the offer of tea. Gesturing to an adjacent chair, Mary settled back comfortably, but her tutor remained standing.

  “Excuse me Miss Bennet, Mrs. Wennings, but might I beg the use of your facilities?” he asked awkwardly.

  “Yes, of course,” replied the housekeeper and rose to direct him, leaving Mary alone for a few moments. She hoped the storm would pass quickly, but from the loud claps of thunder that resounded every few minutes, Mary feared they might be stranded for a while. Closing her eyes for a moment, she did not notice the return of Mrs. Wennings, bearing a laden tea tray.