Detective Mary

Chapter 48

Accustomed to the traffic and hustle and bustle of London, the gray skies and the haze that always hung over the city, Mary felt a little awkward coming home to the clarity and brightness of her home.

It was so quiet, so flat, that even the noise of Lydia's breakfast did not seem so harsh to Mary, who had heard so much of the machinery of the factories.

Alas, the country life was a leisurely, relaxed place to retire to in old age, but Mary was only nineteen.

Just one day back and Mary was already missing London.

Mr. Bennet saw Mary moping at the table and, in a rare instance, did not open his mouth to banter; he simply removed his spectacles, "It's a nice day, and I'm going to go around Meryton."

Lydia didn't think twice, "I'm going too!"

Mary looked up, "Then I'll go shopping too." Going around Meriden was at least better than staying cooped up at home.

Seeing that both of his daughters were going to follow him there, Mr. Bennet thought about it and called the carriage over.

When they arrived at Meryton, Lydia ran to the bonnet store without saying a word, leaving her father and third sister behind.

And Mr. Bennet, who had never cared much for his daughters' state of life, took a rare interest in Mary's trip to London.

Mary had not much time alone with her father, and now that she had a chance, she was not anxious to wander about by herself, so she took him by the arm: "Take a walk, papa?"

"Jane says you still haven't let go of the case while you're in London," said Mr. Bennet, allowing Mary to be pampered, "but is it true?"

"Of course."

Mary was worried about how to mention this to Dad.

When he asked, Mary succinctly relayed to Mr. Bennet the story of how she had assisted Mr. Holmes in London - omitting, of course, her visit to the slums and the scene where one of James Moriarty's henchmen had died on the spot in front of her.

At the end of the story, Mary solemnly concluded, "Now, Mr. Holmes has gone abroad to Europe in order to investigate the case in depth."

Mr. Bennet nodded, and could not tell whether he was interested in it or not, "So it seems that you are of no use."

Mary shook her head, "I do, Dad."

Mr. Bennett: "Oh? Tell me, what else do you have use for?"

Mary: "Mr. Detective instructed me to say that if you get a chance, check out Milton, there might be a clue there."

The words landed on her lips, and Mary couldn't help but feel a little nervous.

Although Mary was now nineteen years old, in the nineteenth century, unmarried squire ladies were still under guardianship until they were financially independent. If Mr. Bennet thought this was too ridiculous, it would be essentially impossible for Mary to leave Longbourn and head to the far north in a dignified manner.

Only Mr. Bennet still had that look on his face, and he was not seen to approve or disapprove.

"Well," nodded his father fervently, "to Milton, ah."

"And what does Daddy mean ......?" Mary asked cautiously.

"It's only Milton in the district, and there's nothing to stop you," said Mr. Bennet; "I wouldn't be surprised if you made up your mind to move to London and rent a house alone for the rest of your life without marrying."

Mary's heart snapped.

In nineteen years, she had never told her father anything about her future plans - in fact, Mary had found Mr. Bennett's character to be truly eccentric when she read the original.

Call him slow-witted, but the man was so well-spoken and responsive that he saw through most of the characters around him; but call him smart, but how could a smart gentleman leave his daughters unattended and watch Lydia get so ridiculous as to run off with a scumbag?

Such a man as the father did not feel anything in the novel, but when he was confronted with him, this always indifferent and as if he knew everything attitude of Mr. Bennet was inexplicably inscrutable to Mary.

It was like now, she even dreamed of moving to London to live alone, but how did her father know?

Seeing Mary freeze, Mr. Bennet winked and was the first to laugh out loud, "What? Did I hit the nail on the head."

Mary snapped back to her senses.

She looked at Mr. Bennett with a complicated expression, "What if ...... you did hit the nail on the head, Dad?"

"Then you'll have to work hard at creating," Mr. Bennet was not at all surprised, "or at least become a famous and rich old girl so that you won't get your beak set on."

"Aren't you surprised?"

"I'm surprised at nothing."

Mr. Bennett looked as if he had heard some joke: "If you don't want to be financially independent, why write a serial? Wouldn't it be better to find a good man to marry."

That's true.

No matter what, a father is a father, and after spending time together, even looking at Mary's usual behavior of being full of unrealistic fantasies and running off to London to submit detective novels, one could guess the general idea.

This makes Mary relax, in the end is the father ah, but ...... wait.

Mary snapped back steeply, "So, then Dad is supporting me?"

Mr. Bennet asked instead of answering, "If I don't support you, won't you try to convince me?"

Of course I would!

At that moment, the stone half hanging in Mary's heart fell vaguely to the ground.

It was all good news these days, and Mr. Holmes' handshake, coupled with her father's initiative in mentioning the matter, were all greatly beneficial to Mary's plans for financial independence.

Though the fact that Mr. Bennet remained neutral did not surprise Mary. In the nineteenth century a father who did not care about anything would have been too much, but Mary had traveled through time and space, and his indifference gave her a great deal of freedom.

"Daddy, you're wonderful!"

So Mary was still very happy to hear that, and she leaned intimately against her father's arm to hold back her pout, "I don't know how to thank you enough!"

"That's easy."

Mr. Bennet was still in the same teasing tone, "Just wait until you're paid up to six thousand pounds for your novel and remember you have a father in Longbourn."

"Dad!"

Mary cried, not to mention the fact that she was surely not going to forget her family, but a fee of six thousand pounds for a novel was a lot of money, wasn't it?

"Why, it is not uncommon to become famous and then neglect one's family," said Mr. Bennet, in a particularly serious voice, "but I have consented to your going to Milton because we have a relative there. But if you really want to go, you will have to wait until Jane is married."

This went without saying.

Right now it's not far from summer, and even with the advanced railroads these days, a round trip plus tracking down clues, that's going to take a lot of time.

Mary was never going to miss Jane and Mr. Bentley's wedding, she'd had her heart set on it for a long time ok!

"Then wait until the wedding is over," Mary promised, "I can't wait, there will be so many guests that that little girl Lydia will be mad for a while."

Mr. Bennet grunted.

He raised an eyebrow and looked ahead, "I think she's pretty crazy even now."

Mary followed Mr. Bennet's gaze and was surprised to see Lydia ...... standing on the street and Wickham, who was talking to her eagerly.

"......" Mary raised an eyebrow.

The day before Mary had been trying to figure out how to start the subject of Wickham, and today he had come to her door, just in time.

Lydia, who was talking with Wickham, held in her hand an extremely beautiful bonnet, which Mary had seen worn by many ladies in London before, and which was the most fashionable style of the day.

She caught a glimpse of Mary coming with her father, and shrank as if she had been caught in the act of doing something bad, and then perceiving that Mary's eyes fell on her new hat, she instantly hid the pretty bonnet behind her back.

Mary: "......"

She lost her voice in laughter, what kind of childish tantrum was this, Lydia was fifteen years old, not five!

And Wickham, seeing Lydia's reaction like this, turned around and raised a wide smile on his handsome and dashing face when he saw Mr. Bennet and Mary.

It had to be said that Lydia wasn't very good in the head, but her aesthetics were one of a kind. Not to mention her exquisite and edgy embroidery, she had no trouble looking at faces. Mr. Wickham was already handsome, and when he changed into the officer's red uniform, he looked even more imposing, and even Mary was dazzled by his impeccable smile.

He strides forward, "Mr. Bennet, Miss Mary."

Mr. Bennet was present that day when Mary and Lydia set the bet, but he didn't brush Wickham off just because of that, "Sir."

Mary was also polite, "It's been a long time, Mr. Wickham."

Wickham's eyes lit up, and he treated Mary with the same eagerness he had treated Lydia, "Indeed it has been a long time, Miss Mary, and I have just heard from Miss Lydia that you have been in London in the meantime?"

"Yes," Mary nodded, "Jane and I went to stay at my aunt and uncle's house for a while ...... But you have not met with Lydia lately at Meryton? Why it is just that I have heard of it."

"Mr. Wickham has fallen in love in your absence."

Mr. Bennet added, not so gently, "He's so deeply in love with Miss King of Meryton that it's reached my ears."

Miss King's rich fortune was known far and wide in Meryton. Long before Mary went to London, she had heard the news that Wickham had turned his head to pursue Miss King, and Mr. Bennet had deliberately said it only to mock Mr. Wickham secretly for chasing after fame and fortune.

But a scumbag is a scumbag, and can't a thick skin be compared to the average person?

Hearing Mr. Bennett's words, a few faint melancholy points emerged in Wickham's handsome face, but he still maintained his smile, "Not anymore, sir."

Lydia couldn't help but stare in surprise at his words, "What happened?"

Wickham shook his head.

"It's no big deal," he said, "Ms. King has decided to move from Meriden and get out of here. And I, being an officer and having to follow the collective life, was never going to leave with her."

The words were richly spoken, yet in reality, I'm afraid, it wasn't because Miss King's guardian sensed Wickham's motives and took her away straight away - it's not as if every guardian let his daughters go free, like Mr. Bennet.

But Mary did not expose him.

For one thing, she had no proof, and for another, Lydia had been grounded for so long that Mary was afraid that if she did anything more drastic, she would not be in a disobedient mood.

People can do anything when they are pushed.

Whether Wickham was scum or not should not have been revealed by Mary, but should have been discovered by Lydia herself.

Therefore Mary met Lydia's nervous gaze, and not only did she not speak out in mockery, but instead exuded a look of concern and spoke out in relief, "I'm so sorry Mr. Wickham, please cheer up."

"I am determined to stay for the sake of my duty," Wickham said brazenly, "and though sorry, I will not fail in my duty. Thank you for your encouragement, Miss Mary."

"Let bygones be bygones, sir," agreed Mary; "it's my sister's wedding to Mr. Bingley in a little while, and there are bound to be a good many people and a good many dances. Just the thing to change the mood."

"I don't think I'm in the mood for dancing." Mr. Wickham laughed bitterly.

Was it.

"Suppose Elizabeth or Lydia is not in the mood for a partner? What a pity," Mary teased, "Mr. Bingley left in such a hurry last time that the promised dance didn't happen, and I think Lydia's been looking forward to it, she'd love to dance with you."

Wickham froze at his words, and then looked at Lydia.

"Really?" He asked.

"How do you know if you don't try to invite?" Mary returned.

Surprise surfaced in the tall young man, who courteously asked Lydia, "Miss Lydia, if you are co-present at the next ball, would you like to dance the first dance of the ball with me?"

Lydia: "Of course I-"

She was halfway through her sentence when she caught a glimpse of the, more than standard, fake smile template plastered on Mary's face.

"......"

The aggravation and loneliness of the last few months came flooding back, and Lydia forgot nothing but Mary's smiling words before she left-she said that when Mr. Wickham fell out of love, he would surely come back to himself.

Now that he had indeed fallen out of love, Mary had been half right. And for months he'd kept his distance politely, only today he'd bumped into having to take the initiative to say hello, and going along with Mary's talk of asking her to dance?

Lydia, who originally wanted to happily agree to Wickham, realized this and her smile immediately froze on her face.