Title- Mary

Author- 4give4get

Rated- T

Disclaimer- I own nothing.

Serena- Hi. Chapter eight.

Thinkoutsidethebun07- Thanks for reviewing so much, I appreciate it more than words can say.

Reven Eid- Thanks for reviewing and telling me your opinion of the story. Most def.

ANABELLE- I do like Mary… most of the time. No one is perfect. But one of the reasons why I like her is because of her asylum experience… if that makes any sense at all. And for your question, well—read to find out.

distorted realities- thanks again for the great review!

Chapter Eight…

Mary had many complaints. Among others, she was disgusting. She had not bathed in… well, too long, lets just leave it at that, shall we? Her skin had an unhealthy gray tint to it, and her hair was matted and tangled. She had lice in her scalp and dirt under her fingernails and creviced into her skin and gown. The gown she wore was the same one she wore when she had left Longbourn—her simple gray one. It was now a darker gray from sleeping in filth for so many weeks.

She smelled plain awful. That's all there was to it. And she was also laying on the ground of a solitary cell and quite possibly dying. Why else was the feeling leaving her arms and legs? Her eyelids fluttered, and her heart began to slow…

No.

I cannot just die here! I cannot die alone in this place! She forced her eyelids back open, and suddenly the feeling was back as her heart returned to normal speed. Later, Mary would always look back on that moment as the one where she had almost died for a few seconds.

And she never knew just how long it was that she lay in that cell. It could have been two days, it could have been four. Either way, hunger gnawed unpleasantly at her stomach, and even worse, thirst parched her throat like nothing she had ever felt before. Her tongue and the inside of her mouth felt as dry as velvet. She could move neither her arms (for her arms were bound by a straightjacket) nor her legs anyhow (for she had no strength to even try.)

She grew so thirsty that she dreamt of fountains of water. She would only awake to find her mouth just as dry as it had been before she had fallen asleep, and then she would run her tongue along the cell floor.

This was it. Mary knew it was quite impossible to live without water. Or perhaps there was hope yet… No. No, there was no hope, thinking otherwise was simply a waste of time and energy. She had a good run—nineteen years. When one thinks on it, nineteen years is a lot longer than many people live to see. Why not consider herself lucky?

And then her heart truly did stop. Mary knew it had too. The feeling was gone in her limbs again, and her eyes fell shut. She could not think. She could do nothing but finally wait for when it would really be over. Each second seemed twice as slow. Did it hurt to die?

Mary heard the doors being flung open. Was it the cell door? Or perhaps the door to the afterlife? She honestly could not tell. She heard voices too. Rough hands grabbed her body.

"Please tell me she ain't dead," a woman's voice moaned in annoyance.

The rough hand felt at her neck, "Dead as a doornail, Nicola, what do ye suppose'n we do wit 'er?" This voice was a man's.

"Well, we can't give 'er to the coroner, now can we?" the woman snapped, "Lettin' a young girl die in the cellar is 'ardly good fer business now, ain't it?"

"I sure do 'ope she ain't got a family to come pokin' 'round 'bout this," the man said gruffly, dropping Mary's limp body back on the ground. She hardly felt it however.

"If they gave a rat's arse, they wouldn't a' sent 'er 'ere, now would they?" was the woman's tart reply, "We just 'ave to get rid o' 'er in secret."

""Ow are ye suppose'n we're goin' to do 'at?" the man wanted to know. Clearly, the woman was the brain behind them both.

"We'll toss 'er in the Thames, why not? Sure, some thrifters migh' pluck 'er back out, but she ain't got nothin' valuable on 'er," Mary now felt the straightjacket being pulled off of her, but still could not find the strength to move or even speak. She was on the boarder of unconsciousness.

Then someone picked her up off of the floor. It must have been the man, Mary realized. She was carried up a flight of stairs and out into the chilly, windy night. The man's arms were hard and muscular and she felt rather uncomfortable in them. She was carried for what seemed to be only a few minutes, but she was never really sure of the exact time it took them both to walk from Haddock's to the bank of the Thames River.

And then Mary was dumped. She felt herself falling, touched only by air for all of about five seconds before she plunged into the coldest water she'd ever touched in her life. It instantly sent her heart back into steady, even beats and caused her to fling her eyelids open.

Indeed, now taking care to note her surroundings, Mary realized that she was bobbing in water up to her chest. Her bare feet touched the muddy bottom. In the dark of night the water looked merely black and murky. She looked up on the bridge from which she must have been tossed and saw it empty—her dumpers must have fled the scene instantly.

Of course, the first thing she did after that was drink the filthy, sewage water. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter, ironically.

Mary noticed two main objects about her situation. One—she was free. According to Haddock's Insane Asylum she was dead and drifting down the Thames. Two—she was stuck in the filthy river, not sure how to climb back out and lost in London without a single penny. Not the most sought-after place to be in, to be sure.

In a clearer mood now that she had drunken some, she decided to walk more downstream and hope that the currents did not become so powerful as to drag her away. As a result, she stayed as close to the edge as possible, where it was shallowest.

She was a good climber. Mary could climb many things from trees to rose-trellises, as the gentle reader likely knows already. So why would an eaten-away-at brick wall be any different? Indeed, the mold had seemed to disintegrate the brick leaving perfect indents for Mary to use during her climb. So she climbed the twelve-foot wall in under thirty seconds and hoisted herself onto the street, soaking wet, but otherwise unharmed. She was cold and shivering and even hungrier than usual, not having seen a bit of food in days.

And then Mary Bennet, the very blood and kin of Elizabeth and Jane Bennet who were currently snug in their beds with clean linen sheets and lavender scented pillows, dreaming innocent dreams, not even aware of the fact that such things as the happenings of Mary's life even existed—Mary Bennet ate her supper out of the garbage. It was a few stale bread crusts, but she licked every crumb off of her fingers. No one on the streets looked twice at her. She was just a dirty, starved, filthy, barefoot girl, roaming the streets of London. She would hardly be the only one.

Mary followed the river until she reached the outskirts of town and finally started down a long country road. She was fairly well fed at the moment and did in fact have the strength to make this walk. She walked as the sun rose, and she found her bearings a little easier. If the sun rises in the east…

What did she intend to do? Return home to Longbourn and hope that Mrs. Bennet wouldn't simply send her straight back to Haddock's? No, Mary knew she would be back in the asylum before she could even blink if she showed her face at Longbourn. No one there wanted her anyhow. Perhaps she could beg her aunt Philips to take her in and perhaps hire her as a housemaid? No, that would not do either. Her aunt despised the very idea of her, and even if she did hire her that was still too close to Mrs. Bennet… Mary thought more intensely as she walked.

The sudden thought hit her that no one wanted her. No one. Perhaps if I showed up at Pemberly, I could persuade Lizzy to lend me enough money to go back to London and find a job as a maid there, she pondered, I do hope she had forgotten about how I ruined her ball by splattering Miss Bingley with cake. It is possible—Lizzy never liked Miss Bingley anyhow.

When she realized that no decision would be made soon, she slept along the roadside. Only two more day's walk to Meryton…

.x.X.x.

And two days later, Mary did arrive in Meryton. The past three days had not been particularly a joy. She had eaten whatever berries and nuts she had found in the wilderness, and drank from puddles and the occasional stream. Each step grew harder and harder and somehow her legs felt so heavy she could hardly lift them. Her neck and back ached and all she wanted to do was collapse on the ground.

But by that time, Meryton was in plain view. How could she stop when she was so close? She continued on, step by step. Mary thought of previous versions of herself walking through those same streets, where she had been so ignorant of real life… As she walked through Meryton, people stared. They had never seen a beggar girl in their part of the county, so they could not help it. Mary hardly cared of that fact. She was far too exhausted and far too hungry and far too everything.

As she began to exit the town and continue on to Longbourn, she considered swearing to never act up again. Well, she thought, I could swear and then fail to keep that promise… No, Mary had always been caught before. She would simply have to mend her ways. As she thought this, her head began to grow fuzzy from her lack of nutrition and she wobbled on her weak legs a bit.

From what little vision she had left, she saw a tall figure running towards her, and catching her before she fell to the ground. Strong arms held her up, and stroked her cheek as her head lolled about.

"Mary Bennet," someone said, "You brave, brave girl."

And then for the first time ever, she passed out for real. Her dreams mixed with reality, for her reality lately had been about as foggy as a dream. Lizzy and Jane threw snowballs at her, but they turned into oven-warm frosted cupcakes as they hit her. Mary yelled for them to stop and they disappeared into a cloud of smoke. Mrs. Bennet put a cup of tea in front of her because suddenly she was sitting in the kitchen at Longbourn.

"Drink up, Mary, but remember—don't go into the woods today."

Suddenly Mary was walking through a wooded area, the ground white with snow, all of the leaves gone from the naked trees.

"Lizzy, come back!" she screamed.

And then suddenly it all faded away like water slipping between cupped hands. Mary was lying in an unfamiliar bed and staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. As Mary sat up, she realized that she was in an unfamiliar room. On the end table beside the bed, sat an empty bowl, stained brown. Mary guessed that it had once contained broth or tea. The spoon was still lying sloppily across it. As Mary swallowed, she tasted a meaty flavor on her tongue and confirmed her broth inference. But where was she?

She kicked the bed covers back to see that she had been bathed as well and was wearing a clean nightgown, slightly large. The scrapes all down her arms and legs and the back of her neck were all washed out and bandaged. Her feet, however, were still a bloody, oozing mess. Why, they look more like bloody stumps! The gentle reader must not be surprised—how could one walk from London to Meryton barefoot and not have the most atrocious-looking feet? Mary swung them both to the ground and stood up, although not altogether without grimacing.

She took a single step, and had to catch herself on the windowsill, for she could not very easily balance on her mangled feet. Then something hit her like swinging fist. As Mary took a deep breath inwards, the air rushed in her nose and down her windpipe to inflate her lungs, and then rushed back out the same way—she realized the air smelled of old-woman-perfume, and… cat. Indeed, this was Mrs. Coleman's house!

As she thought of this notion, the door opened, revealing the young housemaid, Hannah and therefore confirming her assessment on her contemporary whereabouts. The girl seemed to be entering the room with the sole purpose to retrieve the bowl and spoon, but was surprised (although not unpleasantly) to see Mary awake, although awkwardly leaned against the wall. Hannah looked at her in a certain way, and picked up the bowl with the spoon.

"Well, you've just defeated the grim reaper, haven't you?" she said, conversationally.

"You didn't expect me to live?" Mary asked. It was odd seeing an actually well fed, well-groomed person after her experience at Haddock's.

"I expected to have those things amputated," Hannah pointed at her feet, "Rather useless now, do you not think?"

"Not as useful as they were once," Mary agreed, looking at what was left of her feet as well, "But it would be worse to have nothing at all, would it not?"

The young girl shrugged and went for the door, "Stay where you are—not that you look about to walk anywhere with those feet, I'll get Missus."

When she returned with Mrs. Coleman, the older woman did not go into total shock as Mary feared she would. She calmly noted her and bade she take a seat back on the bed, for standing was painful to watch. Mary did as directed.

They met each other's eyes, and for the first few seconds nothing was said. Both knew pretty much the whole story and there certainly was not much to discuss between them. Finally, Mrs. Coleman took a seat in a chair by the window and sighed, clearing her throat for speech.

"Miss Bennet—Mary, I have not informed your mother that you are here," her voice was rather small as always and rather out of breath and strained, "Nor will I. Now, I do not mind taking you in—in fact, I feel it was most assuredly the proper course of action for the situation I was faced with when my nephew brought you back."

"James brought me here?" Mary interrupted the woman in a shocked, shrill voice. Why, of course! Why hadn't she bothered wondering how else she could have possibly ended up in Mrs. Coleman's house? She rubbed her forehead, utterly frustrated. But it would still be another day at least before Mary could think at her maximum level again.

"He did. And he was right to. Hannah bathed you and fixed you up, so do not thank me. She even lent you the nightgown, although it is rather large. But in a few months you should be cured of your sickliness."

I shall get fat, Mary decided, for a few months, anyway. And then I'll loose it and remain normal-sized for the rest of my life. It sounded like a good plan, too.

But the more she thought, the more fuzzy her thoughts became. Her shoulders sagged, her head sagged, as did her eyelids. Mary blinked to sober herself. How long had she slept before, anyhow? It was most likely quite enough for one day.

"How long ago did James bring me here?" Mary asked, swallowing deeply.

"Only yesterday," her hostess replied, standing up from her seat and fixing a wrinkle in the drapes, before approaching the bed, "Mary, you'd best get more rest, you don't look so good yet."

And she was right—there was no point in arguing the fact that Mary was barely coherent. She dropped her head back against the pillow and attempted to pull the covers back around to her chin, but found that her arms were as limp and useless as ribbons. Mrs. Coleman did it for her, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, gently.

"Sleep now," she ordered, and Mary was quite sure she fell asleep before the woman even left the room.

And this time she did not dream. It was a restful, unmolested, heavy type of slumber. When Mary awoke, she had the feeling that she had been asleep for many hours again. Her eyes had crusted over, and she rubbed them until her vision had improved considerably. Her mouth felt thick and her tongue thicker.

Mary pulled her feet out from under the blankets and examined them. She could not say but thought that they might begin to heal themselves. Already they were beginning to resemble a normal foot more. She could even wiggle her single left big toe.

On the chair in which Mrs. Coleman had been formerly sitting, was a simple, rough gown the color of a burlap sack and the entire essential under things she would need. Mary realized with a pang of courtesy that Hannah must have left some of her own clothes there for her. As she put them on, it was the strangest thing to be bathed and donning clean clothes. She even stood there marveling at the thought of such a thing for a minute, at least.

Mrs. Coleman's guest bedroom was on the second floor and going down that flight of stairs was definitely quite a test for Mary considering the current stipulation of that of her feet. But with aid of the stair railing, she did manage to make it to the ground floor of the house without falling, tumbling down the stairs and breaking herself in half at the bottom landing.

That would have been rather unfortunate.

No, Mary lived through Haddock's and she also lived through walking down a flight of stairs—do not get alarmed. Hannah met her at the bottom, as she happened to walk by with a basket of linens and smiled at her.

"Hungry?"

"A little," Truth be told, Mary was absolutely ravenous, but it wasn't so bad after what she was used to.

"There's breakfast in the pot on the oven," that was all she needed to say. Mary did not even wait to see if she was going to add on to that sentence, but stumbled into the direction in which she assumed was the kitchen. Indeed, the layout of Mrs. Coleman's house was not so very complicated and she found it with no trouble.

As promised, there was a large pot of warm oatmeal, which Mary helped herself to. It tasted as she always imagined the sweetest thing in the world would taste like. Even better than filthy sewage water after being deprived of water for three days. She cleaned two bowls of it. But soon, the spoon began to feel heavy in her hand.

"I sure do hope you are not tiring yourself, Miss Bennet," a very familiar voice said, and she looked up to see James Latimer enter the kitchen, rolling down his shirtsleeves.

Mary found herself matching his usual grin, without even thinking about it, "Not at all, Mr. Latimer, but I do thank you for your concern." She let the spoon fall from her limp fingers. It clattered in the empty bowl.

"And how are you feeling on this fine morning?" he pulled up a chair next to hers in which he sat, lowering his face to her level. Mary saw that his blue eyes had not changed one bit since she had last seen them, so long ago.

"Not dead, thanks to you," she responded, looking away, "I owe you my life."

"Mary Bennet," James sighed, shaking his head, "Is that truly how you begin our first conversation after you return?"

"Yes. Why shouldn't I? And, Mr. Latimer?"

"Yes, Miss Bennet?"

"What is today's date? I seem to have lost track."

"Today is September eighth."

"September?" Mary heard her voice shoot through two whole octaves, "Can you be serious?"

"Would I play that sort of trick on a poor, confused, sick girl?" James asked, smiling in his usual mocking way.

"Yes, you absolutely would," Mary informed him, "But it truly is September?"

"Truly," James promised, "Ask my aunt if you do not believe me. Which, of course that does hurt very much—you do not even trust me that much?"

"Alright," Mary breathed deeply after feeling her body go through such emotion, "It is September. Goodness—that means I've been at Hades for more than a month!"

"Hades?" James repeated, utterly confused at her choice of words.

"I mean Haddock's," she quickly corrected herself, "I've been at Haddock's for more than a month."

"And what, pray, is Haddock's?" he asked, which put her into a fine bluster. Would she have to explain everything?

"Haddock's Insane Asylum in London, you know—where I've been for the past month and a half! Or perhaps you haven't noticed!" Mary's voice quivered in anger.

"Don't be ridiculous," James tried to calm her, "Of course I've noticed you were gone, what sort of friend would that make? But do you honestly think I could walk up to the front steps of Longbourn and knock on the door to pleasantly inquire to your mother where she happened to send you, and live to tell the tale?"

"You didn't know what happened to me?" Mary repeated, wondering at how she did not think of this before.

"No," James said again, "Not until now. How could I? And will you grace me with a first-hand account of this Haddock's you speak of?"

"If you wish to hear it," she replied, "But I don't think you need my description—what would you imagine an asylum to be like?"

"Rather horrible," he answered her.

"That's all you need to know," Mary said, "It was rather horrible."

"And how did you escape?"

"I did not. Some idiot thought I was dead and threw me in the river, from which I escaped London and walked here."

"You make such a feat sound exceedingly simple, Miss Bennet."

"I assure you it was nothing of the sort," Mary informed him, "Take one look at either of my feet."

"I have already seen them, do they hurt badly?" James inquired.

"I've seen worse injuries."

And so Mary lived at Mrs. Coleman's for all of about a week. Determined to not become any more of a burden than she was already, she helped Hannah when her strength would allow, but often found she could do nothing more but sit. They were all kind to her. Mrs. Coleman was always pleasant and Hannah, the gentle reader already knows was a very kind, generous girl. James was never anything but his usual, mocking self, but of course, Mary had understood that much about his character as she first met him.

He was even kind himself, a side Mary never knew he had. He helped her walk before her feet completely healed, he would read to her when she found she could no longer hold a book, and other things of the same sort.

Mary felt her strength gradually returning at the same time. She was no longer so close to death, and began quickly putting on more weight, until Hannah's clothes fit her perfectly. She longed to somehow write Kitty or Lydia, but knew not where to address the letter. Was Kitty still at Pemberly? Or had she returned home?

If that was the case, Mary was little more than two miles from her sister! The thought was rather hard to bear. If she sent word to Pemberly or Longbourn, it would likely be fat too suspicious, seeing as Lizzy or Mrs. Bennet might notice from who the letter was written. And then she would be as good as back at Haddock's for good.

I shall figure something out, Mary promised herself. Well, she always had in the past, hadn't she?

End Chapter

Serena- Next chapter less boring. Sorry. Please review.