Chapter 4

Two days later, as her elder sisters sat happily in the sitting room at Longbourn, attended by Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, Mary slipped out Longbourn’s back door to find a reprieve from her mother’s looks and comments. She waved to John, one of Longbourn’s servants, who was returning to the stables and had turned, probably to see who was following him, alerted to her presence by the crunching of her feet on the cold ground. She rubbed her hands together to warm them a bit and then, determined to make her body produce its own warmth, quickened her steps toward the back field that lay empty save for the remains of plants poking up in rows from the sleeping earth.

This field would take her closest to Rosemoore. She often strolled down its length, frequently imagining doing so on the arm of a particular gentleman. Today, she conjured the same images again and proceeded to have a lovely chat with the imaginary Mr. Hammond. It was no trial to speak with him in reality, but speaking as she was now, when she could control both sides of the conversation, was even more pleasant. At the hedge border of the field, she turned right and continued on for a few more paces before stopping to look off into the distance and think. The hedge beside which she stood was not very tall, and standing just where she was now and looking directly to her left, she could catch a glimpse of Rosemoore in the distance.

She was just beginning to ruminate on the trials that faced the master of that estate, when four horses and riders, barreled across the adjoining field. Each rider lay low on his mount’s neck. The lead rider glanced back toward the others in an attempt to assure himself that he had the lead. Mary watched them for a moment before turning back to her view of Rosemoore and her thoughts of Mr. Hammond.

“Jump it,” Whit shouted to Fred nodding to the hedge to their right. “Three pounds says you can clear it.”

“Four says he cannot,” shouted Wickham.

“You will owe me four pounds, Wickham!” Fred circled his horse to the right, lining the animal up to make an attempt at clearing the hedge.

“He’ll never make it,” Wickham shouted to Whit as Fred sped past them.

“He can, and he will,” Whit countered as Fred’s horse rose into the air, cleared the low hedge and came to an abrupt stop.

Mary saw the horse only a moment before it rose in the air. She had been so caught in her imagination and so certain the horses would stay to their path racing along the adjoining field that she had not expected one of them to approach her. With a startled cry, Mary jumped to the side, but not with any sort of grace. Her ankle rolled, sending her sprawling on the ground. The hedge snagged her bonnet as she fell, yanking it from her head and freeing a hairpin or two so that a portion of her hair fell in waves to her shoulders.

“Blast,” she muttered as she sat up and rotated one wrist and then the other. They hurt but had not sustained any significant damage from catching her on landing. Her gloves, however, were not so fortunate. One had a rip across the palm, and both were covered in soil, as was her skirt, which she flicked quickly to cover her legs.

“Are you injured?” Fred knelt beside her. “I did not see you there.” He took Mary’s arm as she attempted to rise with some grace.

“My glove is ruined.” She winced as she stood. “And my ankle…ooh,” she moaned a bit as she tried putting her weight on it. It was tender but not broken.

Fred wrapped an arm around her waist.

Mary pulled away. “Sir, please.”

“I only wish to help.”

“Then fetch my hat while I straighten my clothing and assess if there are any further injuries.” She gave him a stern look that begged him to comply. It was the look she had used with limited success on Lydia. Thankfully, this handsome young man did not seem so stubborn as her younger sister and complied. Mary brushed dirt from her skirt and took a limping step. Her left hip was nearly as sore as her ankle. “Only a little worse for the wear,” she said as the young gentleman handed her the bonnet. There was a small hole in it from where the branch had caught it, and a piece of lace dangled in the breeze much as her unfastened tresses did. Knowing that without the aid of a mirror and brush, there was no way to restore her hair to its former state, she pulled the remaining pins from her coiffeur and combed it out with her fingers. The bonnet, thankfully, could be made marginally presentable, so she poked the end of a piece of lace into the hole.  Turning the hat this way and that, she surveyed it and, satisfied that it would serve its purpose without looking too hideous, tied it on her head.

“You landed it!” Whit exclaimed as he, Wickham and another officer approached the hedge.

“Collect my winnings,” Fred shot back, a smile spreading across his face.

“A wager?” Mary’s hands rested on her hips. “I was nearly killed because of a wager?”

Fred’s face wore a pained expression as she skewered him with a glare. “I did not see you.”

“A wager?” she said again in disbelief as she shook her head. “Your winnings,” she continued as anger rose within her, “can be used to replace my gloves.” She tipped her head to the side and with brows furrowed scrutinized him. “You are not with the regiment are you?”

He shook his head. “I am home on holidays to visit my brother.”

Ah, her eyes grew wide. That was why he looked so familiar. He was as tall as his brother. However, his frame was more slight, and his eyes were not so much green as brown, though his hair did have a bit of an auburn tinge. “Mr. Alfred Hammond?” she inquired.

His expression was once again pained as he nodded. “If I replace your gloves, you’ll not tell my brother I nearly killed you, will you? He is already a bit put out with me.”

“Hmm.” Her lips pursed. “I can well imagine there is a good reason.” She turned toward the others that had joined them on the opposite side of the hedge. “Lieutenant Wickham,” she greeted. “Captain Denny.” Both men bowed from their seat. Wickham, she noted, looked particularly amused.

“Mr. Whittemore,” said the third gentleman removing his hat and bowing with a flourish. “And you are?”

“Miss Mary Bennet,” she replied. “Mr. Whittemore is a friend of yours?” she asked, turning to Fred.

“Indeed. Whit has joined me on my holidays.”

Mary nodded her head, and her brows flicked upwards quickly. Mr. Hammond had not been expecting his brother, let alone his brother and a friend. Knowing that the school term would not yet be over, Mary suspected that both Mr. Fred Hammond and Mr. Whittemore, the gallant young man with the fine blue coat and wavy blond hair, had been sent home due to poor behaviour. This, in turn, meant that Mr. Whittemore was not so much visiting Rosemoore as he was using it to hide from his father.

“You’ll not tell Nick of this?” Fred inquired again.

“I have not decided,” said Mary firmly.

“It was merely a friendly wager.”

He seemed to sense her opposition to gambling. It was a hideous habit in her mind — a waste of money that often led to ruin. She dipped a shaky curtsey. “I will consider it as I await my new gloves.” She turned to begin the long and painful trek back to the house. With any luck, she would be able to slip in without drawing any notice.

“Allow me to see you home.” Fred took her elbow. “You may ride, and I will walk.”

“I am not dressed for riding, and, much like you, I do not relish the thought of being lectured, which I will be if I return in the company of a gentleman.”

“But you are injured, and my friends can come around the hedge and go with us to vouch that nothing untoward happened.

Mary laughed. “Yes, because returning in the company of four gentlemen, looking as I do, would be much more acceptable.”

Fred whistled to his horse. “Please, allow me to assist you.”

Mary sighed deeply. “Very well.” She stood arms crossed while he brought his horse over. Then, with a good deal of assistance from Fred, she seated herself on the animal.

“This is the second time I have met you unaccompanied,” said Wickham, riding up beside her. “Is it a habit you practice regularly.”

“Seeing as both times I have been nearly killed, I do think it is a habit that will be ending. The good Lord does not need to speak thrice.”

“You were nearly killed before?” Fred looked up at her.

“Yes, two days ago in Meryton.”

Wickham laughed. “Also your doing, Fred, my boy. May I present the lady who narrowly dodged your curricle.”

Fred grimaced. “You won’t tell my brother about that either will you? He’ll never let me get my curricle back even if I do manage to find a way to make the money needed to cover its repairs.”

Mary shook her head. Poor Mr. Hammond to be saddled with such a brother as this! It was as bad, if not worse, than having Lydia for a sister. “If you can find a way to earn the money without laying a bet, I will keep my silence.” She did not like the idea of concealing a matter. However, if, through this bargain, she could assist Mr. Hammond, she would endure the guilt. “You are studying for the law, are you not?”

Fred looked surprised that she would know but agreed that he was.

“My uncle, Mr. Philips, is a solicitor, and he may have some clerking work you could do. His clerk’s mother is ill, and he has gone to visit her.”

“A country solicitor?” Fred scoffed at the idea, which did not please Mary.

“It is your choice.” Though she wished to berate him, Mary kept her tone even. “If a country solicitor does not meet your qualifications, you can find some other form of employment, but know that in four days’ time, if I do not have new gloves, and you do not have an honest way of earning money, I will speak to your brother.”

Fred cursed softly under his breath, but Mary heard it and smiled inwardly.

“Very well. I shall call on you with gloves and my prospects in four days.”

“Good. Now, if you would be so kind as to allow me to hobble the rest of the way to the house, I might avoid some displeasure myself.”

Thankfully, Fred complied and helped her down from his horse.

“Mary!” Elizabeth had caught sight of her and was nearly running towards her from the side garden.

“Blast,” muttered Mary. “My sister Elizabeth,” she explained. Then, casting a glance to Wickham, whose view to the side garden was obscured by a bush, added, “and Mr. Darcy.” It should not have made her feel so delighted to see him blanch, but it did.

“What has happened?” asked Elizabeth, as she reached Mary.

“I fell,” said Mary, “and these gentlemen were kind enough to assist me home.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed as she assessed the group. “Where were you?”

“At the far end of the field, and they were riding on the adjacent land. It was very fortuitous that they were there to assist me.” She tried to keep from wincing at the statement. She was apparently not successful, for her sister’s eyebrows rose, and disbelief shone in her eyes. However, rather than questioning further, Elizabeth wrapped an arm around Mary and moved her forward a few steps toward the house and away from the group of men.

“Mary fell and those gentlemen helped her home,” Elizabeth explained to Darcy with a nod toward the group.

Mary watched Darcy’s face grow hard as his eyes landed on Wickham. “I know Wickham and Denny, but who are these other gentlemen?”

To Mary, it sounded as if the word gentleman was one Darcy used reluctantly. “Mr. Alfred Hammond, Mr. Hammond’s younger brother, and Mr. Whittemore, Mr. Alfred Hammond’s friend.”

“We thank you for your assistance, of course,” said Elizabeth.

“Indeed, we do,” said Darcy. “Of course, you’ll return the way you came. We cannot have four gentlemen on horses parading through the yard. You understand, I am sure?” His voice was harsh and demanding.

“Can we not stop to pay our respects to the other Misses Bennets?” Wickham asked.

Mary was certain from the look on the man’s face that it was only said to goad Darcy.

“If you wish to leave as you came and then approach the house from the drive as is proper, I cannot stop you.”

“Perhaps we will.” Wickham smiled, gave a bow of his head in farewell, and turned his horse to leave.

Mary stood with her sister as the four riders left.

“Now,” said Elizabeth, “you can tell us what actually happened.”

“I am not sure I can since I may have made a promise not to do so,” said Mary sheepishly.

“We can keep a secret,” encouraged Darcy, following them to a bench that stood outside the door to the kitchen.

Mary gratefully sank onto the bench. “You must not say a word for four days.” Darcy and Elizabeth agreed, and Mary shared the entire tale from curricle in Meryton to the horse flying above her at the end of the field.