Detective Mary

Chapter 10

Much to Mary's dismay, young Jeffrey's mother did not know who the stranger who had abetted her son was.

With the housekeeper paying for her care, the woman was much better, and she was sitting on her bed embroidering when Mary entered. When she heard of Mary's and Mr. Holmes' visit, tears fell from her eyes before the person could speak.

"Geoffrey is so young," choked young Geoffrey's mother, "and it is all my fault that I am not well, or he would not have committed do wrong."

"You must take care of your health, ma'am."

Mary did not know what comfort to offer when it came to this, she had only to hand the woman her handkerchief, "Mr. Holmes will find out the culprit who framed little Geoffrey, and have you ever seen the stranger's face?"

"The, the stranger?"

The woman took Mary's handkerchief gratefully, but shook her head, "My son came home that day only to say that some kind man had bought him a drink and pointed him in the right direction."

This was relayed by Mr. Darcy.

Mary turned her head to Mr. Holmes, and the detective, who stood before the bed, remained aloof, as if untouched by the tears of a mother.

"Did you ever see the stranger, or what he wore, or what he looked like, or if he had a peculiar accent, any of these things little Geoffrey said?" The detective asked.

"Yes, yes!"

At Mr. Holmes' question, the woman's expression gave way, and then she spoke eagerly, "Geoffrey said that the good man had a northern accent."

Mary flinched.

It was from the north that Mr. Bentley had moved, so it seemed possible that he might still be someone he had known ...... before or even a friend.

Just beyond that, little Geoffrey's mother didn't really know any other details.

Mary repeatedly promised the distraught woman that Mr. Holmes would uncover the real culprit. After following the detective as he said goodbye to young Geoffrey's mother and returned to the streets of Meryton, Mary sighed heavily.

"Could the Northerner," she said with a grim look, "be a past partner or rival of Mr. Bingley?"

"You think the instigator is someone known to Mr. Bentley."

"I'm not sure, sir," Mary tilted her head sideways, "I don't even see why it was necessary to lay hands on this contract, and what would be the use of stealing it?"

"......"

Mr. Holmes did not answer.

His light-colored eyes remained fixed on Mary's, staring into her eyes. There was a touch of scrutiny and thought in the detective's burning gaze, but no emotion showed.

To be fair, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was not a seemingly easy-going and gentle man - but of course, given that he didn't come up and outright despise his own intelligence and level of intelligence or do anything else shocking, it was already much more subdued than so many of the movies and television productions of the twenty-first century.

But with his deep features, smooth demeanor, and hands and feet with sure composure, he was more or less too sensible, and always looked at others with this scrutinizing gaze, which really didn't seem like a good way to talk.

If other unmarried ladies were stared at by him like this, they would be afraid that they would be uncomfortable and secretly say that this person is rude.

As for Mary, Sherlock Holmes' scrutiny instead galvanized her.

She thought carefully and found the answer in Mr. Holmes' silence.

"It is not that you don't know, you must know, sir," spoke Mary, "but that you can't say-after all, it is the business affairs of the next man, is it not? I suppose it has something to do with the nature of that contract."

Mr. Holmes at last withdrew his scrutinizing gaze.

"This is Mr. Bentley's private business, and I am pledged to his secrecy," he said, "but if I can obtain his permission, I will naturally share with you the clues in my possession."

And so on.

Sherlock Holmes is willing to share clues with her?

Mary's eyes suddenly lit up.

"Really!"

She beamed with joy, "That's wonderful, I was afraid that you might think me inexperienced and uninformed and not want to continue talking to me, sir."

Holmes was not convinced by Mary's statement.

"The truth is as important to the seeker as water is to the fish," he said earnestly, "and just as I would not deprive you of your need for air, Miss Bennet, I would not deprive you of your quest for truth."

"......"

What did she do in her past life to deserve a statement like that from Sherlock Holmes!

Feeling herself overwhelmed with dreamy happiness, Mary clutched her skirts and solemnly accepted the words, "So, then ...... can I see you at Netherfield Hall, sir?"

Holmes nodded, "See you at Nethersfield Manor, Miss."

Mary looked the detective equally straight in the eye, "See you next time, sir."

The conversation ended and the detective politely clicked the brim of his hat and turned to leave.

Mary did not look back until the figure of Sherlock Holmes had completely disappeared into the street.

-What had she just done?

Going after clues with Holmes, who was still willing to share the answers he had in his hands.

Geez!

After really calming down, Mary instantly had the illusion that she had just been dreaming it all.

This illusion lasted until Mary returned to the side of the bonnet store, where Elizabeth, who hadn't stopped Mary, was clearly getting antsy. Seeing Mary come straight back, she hurriedly walked up to her and opened her mouth to reprimand her.

"You've really gone too far, Mary!"

Being the older sister, she first looked her sister up and down to make sure she wasn't hurt, then huffed and reached out to poke Mary in the forehead, "Running off to follow a stranger, what were you thinking? I was planning to call out the red uniforms of the militia corps to find you if you didn't come back!"

"Ouch!"

Mary hastily covered her forehead, and it was only when she saw Elizabeth's concerned and angry face that she more or less regained a sense of reality.

Yes, she had really met Sherlock Holmes! The idol that her heart had longed to see in person, the most powerful detective in all of England, had come airborne to Meriden and appeared before her eyes.

Thinking of this, Mary couldn't help but tickle the corners of her mouth, "Lizzie ......"

Elizabeth: "......"

Seeing Mary in this haunted state, Elizabeth knew something was wrong.

She moved and withdrew her hand from knocking Mary's head, "What's going on?"

Mary: "What?"

Elizabeth: "You run off to follow strangers and look like this, I don't trust you to lose someone."

Still, it's better to be a sister who knows herself.

Mary took a deep breath and lowered her voice, "Do you remember when I said that Mr. Darcy knew a very good detective?"

Elizabeth understood immediately.

"That gentleman is a detective?"

As she recalled the stranger's dress and demeanor, it did seem like a stern and determined man. Only then it seemed that the so-called burglary could be much more complicated than what was clearly a first-time offender on the spur of the moment.

So Elizabeth wrinkled her brow, but said nothing more about it, instead her gaze fell on Mary.

Even though she wasn't much older than Mary, a day older was still a day older, and Elizabeth couldn't help but worry about her sister, who was average looking but full of wit and eccentricity.

"Since Mr. Bingley left the matter in the hands of the detective, let the detective do it," she admonished, "It can't happen again, Mary, and what's the decency of you, a girl, running off to tail a man?!"

Not to mention her reputation, her safety was in question. Fortunately, Mary came and went quickly, otherwise Elizabeth would have been worried sick.

"I know."

Mary rubbed the side of her head, Elizabeth poking really hurt, "Mr. Detective and I have agreed to relay the message to me if Mr. Bentley agrees."

That was more like it.

Elizabeth gave Mary a few more deliberately stern lectures, all of which were muddled by her pouting. The two Bennet sisters had no desire to go shopping, and seeing nothing else to do, they set off from Meryton for Longbourn and home.

When they got home, before they entered the door, they heard Lydia and Catherine, who had gone home first, talking noisily with Mrs. Bennet about the new regiment of militia that had arrived in the neighborhood.

"Captain Carter is such a handsome officer," said Lydia excitedly, taking Mrs. Bennet by the hand; "he is going to London to-morrow, and I must take my chances with him this afternoon."

Mr. Bennet, who sat by, hearing Lydia's childish speech, could not refrain from striking a cold blow, "I can see by the wonder of your talk that you are really two silly girls who could not be more foolish. I used to be a little half-hearted, but now I'm convinced."

Mrs. Bennet was not pleased at this, "How can you talk about your own children like that, dear!"

"Just being honest," Mr. Bennet said, looking over at Mary, who had just entered, "And you, Mary? Rarely do I see you put such a big smile on your face, and is it because of those 'red uniforms' too?"

Of course not!

Before traveling through time and space Mary had scoffed at the uniform complexes of little girlies, she wasn't interested in eight-pack abs, it was men with smart brains that were attractive.

"I met a gentleman in Meriden today who just arrived." She answered truthfully.

"Oh?"

That really piqued Mr. Bennett's interest, "What other gentlemen have come near Longbourn without your mother knowing?"

"A friend invited by Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy," Mary explained, "a Mr. Detective from London to investigate the theft."

"A detective."

Mr. Bennet shook his head back and forth, picking up the book he usually read and sighing, "I would have thought you could have been smarter than two silly girls."

If it were usual, Mary would have to be unconvinced - she couldn't be any worse, but she couldn't be any more ridiculous than Lydia, could she? But today, having met her idol, Mary was in an excellent mood, and she smiled as she changed the subject, "What about Jane? She obviously came back with Catherine and Lydia."

At the mention of her precious eldest daughter, Mrs. Bennet's face bursts into a joyful smile, "I just received a handwritten letter from Miss Bingley, inviting her to be her guest at Netherfield Manor. I see it's going to rain soon, so I told her to walk straight over and stay at Nethersfield Manor tonight only to be able to talk to Mr. Bingley more."

Mary: "......"

Oops!

Just a little more time in Meriden, a few words with Mr. Holmes, and the original plot has already happened.

It hadn't happened sooner, it hadn't happened later, it had happened at this time, it had happened in this plot. Mary turned her head to look out the cloudy window, and a smile froze on her face.

In the novel, it was precisely because of the rain on the way to Netherfield Manor that Jane was sufficiently sick ah.