Page 51 of The Vanished Bennet Sister

He had received what she offered and returned something better. There was also a total absence of satisfaction in being apologised to.

The comforting feel that descended on Elizabeth was a new sensation. She was not certain what to do with it, except to feel, amidst a morning that had offered very little in the way of solid ground, that she was not facing the situation alone.

"Thank you," she murmured, and meant it with every bit of her heart.

Chapter Twenty-three

Mary

The bedpost was mahogany. This was the first thing Mary had established in the dark, running her free hand over the carved surface because the curtains were drawn, no candle left, and her other senses had compensated accordingly. The cord around her right wrist was linen, tied with a proficiency that communicated a necessary detail about James: that he had tied people up before, and did not expect her restraint to require adjustment.

She had called out at intervals, in a steady, audible and polite voice that went unanswered.

Then she began screaming instead, with as much force as she could muster until her throat burned and her eyes watered.

The footsteps on the stairs had come quickly. Alice walked in and said very pleasantly that the neighbours would be alarmed, and that if Mary continued to make that noise, something would have to be done about it.

Mary had continued until James appeared, this time with a piece of cloth he tied around her mouth. After that, the night had gone more quietly.

The gag was dry against her tongue by the time the morning light seeped through the curtains. Her wrist ached where the cord met her skin. She had not slept a wink and had spent time with the only occupation that remained available: thought.

She was in this situation because her biological mother spent so much time manipulating her in spite of the long distance between them. And then once they were both in London, she had lured Mary to this house.

Whilst she was thrilled to have made a new friend, Alice had become familiar with her innermost thoughts for the purpose of learning about Mary’s nature and her connection to the Bennets.

Would she ever be free from this situation? Mary wondered. She had not informed anyone of her destination before leaving the previous day. Her family had no way of knowing where she had gone or how to find her.

Would she ever see them again?

She thought about her family with a painful pang in her heart. Jane, whose sweetness she had sometimes taken for granted because it was constant. Elizabeth, whose sharpness she had always admired and occasionally envied. Kitty and Lydia, whose noise she had spent years trying to escape and would, she thought now, have given a great deal to hear in the present silence. Her father, whose love of books and ideological theories she shared.

And her mother…

She wondered several times whether the woman she had spent her entire life understanding as her mother was still deserving of that title in the only sense that had ever mattered, and she had turned this question over many times only to arrive each time at the same answer, which was: yes.

Mrs Bennet was the one who wanted her. Who had chosen to keep her, when doing so was necessary.

And Mr Thwaite…her beloved. She longed to lay her eyes on him again, to have him speak and smile at her in the manner he often did…

Yet would she ever get that change again? Even if she could walk along the streets freely once more, that didn't resolve the matter of Miss Bingley endearing herself to Mr Thwaite. It would hurt Mary to see him getting married to someone else. It would shatter her completely.

At that moment, she had an epiphany. Caroline Bingley could acquire all the Buxtehude editions in London. She could appear at every park and soirée, and position herself in Mr Thwaite's vicinity accurately. What she could not do was be the person he had been reading Cowper alongside.

Mary had not understood this before, when Elizabeth had asked whether he seemed to enjoy Miss Bingley's company, and her answer to that had not improved her feelings.

She understood it differently now as reassurance about Caroline Bingley. No matter the attempts she made, the relationship between Mary and Mr Thwaite was so unique that it could not be replicated.

She was still thinking about this when she heard the door.

Alice entered with James behind her, carrying a tray. The curtains were pulled back without ceremony, admitting the full flat light of the morning. The tray held bread, a cup of steaming tea and a small porridge dish. It was a grotesque kind of domesticity.

Mary’s gag was removed by James.

"You should eat," Alice said.

"I am not hungry."

"That was not a request."