Page 32 of The Cheapside Runners
Aside from the obvious quality of her earrings, the subtle rouge, and the hint that her eyes were too dark to be entirely natural, the woman looked like she spent her life as a washerwoman or milkmaid but decided young ladies were easier to abuse then cows.
The governess spoke in a low, throaty, threatening, almost masculine voice, with a noticeable accent that went along with her Mediterranean appearance, though none of the students could tell a Spanish accent from Italian, and half of them would not even recognise French.
“I am your tutor, Mrs Black. For the next fortnight,my word is law!Your guardians have paid handsomely for your attendance, and all of you have signed a pledge to do your best. I expect nothing less—in fact, I expect your utmost,” she stated emphatically, then stared the, down threateningly.
“If, at any time, you refuse to cooperate, or even not to do your best in my opinion, you can quit. However, be aware that you are committed for the full fortnight. If you leave the course, you will be placed in a room half the size of the one you slept in and remain there on bread and water until the course is over. At that time, you will bequietlyreturned to your guardian, bound and gagged if necessary, and you will deal with whatever consequences your guardian chooses to impose. Is that understood?”
Everyone nodded in shocked half-agreement. Mary thought the only consequence for the Bennet ladies for failure would be to miss out on the bribes, but suspected some of the other ladies might have been threatened with the lash in addition to being enticed by the lure. It even seemed possible some of them might be motivated entirely by fear, as not everyone bribed theirchildren (or sisters) into complaisance. She supposed she would never know.
She, of course, agreed wholeheartedly with the strictures, but she could not help but wonder how long it would take her dunderheaded sisters to realise how thin was the ice they were skating on. Mrs Black seemed like the sort of woman who had lots of punishments available at need, and little compunction about dishing them out.
The woman continued relentlessly. “Remember you are anonymous for exceptionally good reasons, even among yourselves. For the next fortnight, you are Miss Green,” she said, pointing to Lydia. Then she continued around the group, “Miss Yellow, Miss Red, Miss Blue, Miss White Miss Violet—” and continued around the circle. A servant pinned a small ribbon on each collar, just enough to help them keep track of their aliases, but not noticeable enough to raise eyebrows.
Mrs Black had been giving more and more instructions, while reiterating the fact that they pledged to give it their all—probably for the Lydias of the world, where no amount of repetition was sufficient.
13.The Lesson Plan
After the stern lecture, Mrs Black led the ladies into the lane to find two dilapidated looking carriages with piebald nags attached. She divided the ladies and set off. Mary was in another carriage from their tutor, which gave her a good chance to observe Miss White, though she was not likely to talk to her, as conversation was discouraged.
Miss White was an interesting looking girl, probably about Lydia or Kitty’s age. She was womanly and fairly handsome, but seemed to vacillate between nervousness, boredom, and what looked like annoyance. She seemed even more distressed by their choice of clothing, and sneered at the quality of the coach, so Mary guessed she was higher born than the Bennets. Perhaps, she was one whose guardian actually paid the big fee. She thought it might be interesting to throw her in a room with Lydia and see who emerged alive after a day.
Her companions were Miss Blue (Jane), Miss Violet (Alicia Weatherby), and Miss Yellow (Kitty), but they kept their knowledge of each other to themselves. Mary supposed she might get to know the younger Miss Alicia better when they returned home. She did not have all that many friends, and one more would not be amiss. They would certainly have something in common after this.
They travelled for what seemed like hours, but since nobody was allowed a watch, she had no way of knowing.
Toward the end of the journey, she noticed they were entering an area full of soldiers. Their uniforms looked slightly different from the militia’s in Meryton, at least for the tiny bit of attention Mary had paid the men. She did not know if that meant these were regulars, or just a different company.
They debarked into what seemed like the most crowded town any of them had ever seen. Without moving a muscle, one couldsee houses, stables, ale houses, tents, stores, washerwomen, cooking fires, blacksmiths, soldiers, chimney sweeps, drunks, vagrants, children, dogs, merchants, carts, beggars, officers, enlisted, horses, and some women whose business they did not wish to know about.
Mrs Black led them off into the melee at a brisk pace. Mary was slightly frightened when two rough looking men followed them until she worked out that they were probably her own guards.
They continued along for about a half mile, brushing close and even bumping into all sorts of people that they had never known even existed, let alone expected to encounter. Mary suspected she had walked by more people in that half mile than existed in the whole town of Meryton by at least double.
They were triply horrified when dirty beggar children darted in quick as lightning, grasping for the reticules they did not carry, and begging with open hands for alms they also lacked. She supposed that explained their dress, at least partially. Even her worst morning dress might have gotten her robbed, and she suspected Miss White’s worst might get her killed.
Occasionally, one of the urchins would get a bit too fresh and Mrs Black would cuff him on the side of the head, which most of the other ladies found somewhere between frightening and impressive. The woman moved like lightning but seemed to deliver just the precise amount of force necessary, leaving most of the ladies wondering if her former occupation might have been a barmaid in a tavern at a navy port. She certainly had the build and reflexes for it.
Eventually, they arrived at a nondescript, wooden house, well past a decade overdue for paint, and Mrs Black led them in directly after knocking a few times.
They entered a crowded little room that seemed to be something like a sitting room except there was a cook stovein the back… or at least, most of the ladies presumed it was, having never seen one. There were two or three children running around the room, and another in a cradle, not a shoe between the lot, and one who just stared unnervingly at the ladies. They were all encouraged to stack themselves like cordwood in the door, as the parlour had nowhere near enough room to house all, or even half of them, in anything even vaguely approaching comfort.
Mrs Black made the introductions. “Mrs Mason, well met.”
“Mrs Black, you are very welcome,” the haggard looking woman said.
Mary thought the woman’s appearance must be the result of decades of hard living, as she looked the sort of tired that no amount of rest could improve. Her hands and face were far more wrinkled than Mrs Bennet’s, but she spoke calmly and forcefully. The children mostly seemed to have enough sense to not annoy her when she had guests, but the room looked as tired as the lady did. The matron shooed all but the baby out the door to make a tiny bit of room, but she obviously could not offer seats to any of her visitors because there were but two chairs in the room.
“I suppose your little flock would like my story,” she asked.
“If you would be so kind,” Mrs Black intoned.
The woman started her tale, and the ladies listened intently. They had promised their best effort, and besides that, none of them had the vaguest idea where they were, how to get back to civilisation, or more importantly, how short Mrs Black’s temper was.
Mary was amused that Miss Bingley thought Merytonwas a savage wilderness, but that lady probably did not even know places like this existed in the whole world, let alone a few miles from her oh-so-fashionable Mayfair townhouse.
Mrs Mason was a good storyteller—Mary would give her that. She looked old and tired, but she could turn a phrase far betterthan her condition in life suggested, which made Mary wonder about her background. She was certainly literate, and spoke like a gentlewoman, but there was no evidence of even a Bible in the house, let alone any literature.
“As you can see,” she continued, “I am quite well situated now that my Jacob has made colonel. We did not live anywhere near this flush before his promotion.”
