Mary Bennet and a Sister's Sorrow: Mary of Longbourn #7

“Europa….” Mary said aloud, as a slight worry formed in her stomach. Her husband’s solitary sibling, a beautiful lady who resembled her brother in coloring with auburn hair and green eyes, was not prone to regular letters. Married to a university professor at Cambridge, they had only met once, upon the occasion of Mary and Atlas’ marriage. But of that encounter, Mary had found the woman delightfully blunt in manners, with strong opinions and a sense of self that was admirable. Of Professor Henry Armstrong, no one could find fault. Several years older than his wife, he was a jolly, if not absentminded sort, quite what one expected for an academic. Mary had wished for an opportunity to become better acquainted, but their time had been too brief. However, as she was not one to push, and distance made regular encounters impossible, they remained relations in name only.
Having found the letter, Mrs. Anderville waved it in triumph.
“Here it is! All the way from Norfolk. Sorry about the state it is in, it must have gotten crushed along the way. I do hope nothing unfortunate has happened.”
To this, Mary did not reply, but took the letter along with a collection of newspapers and medical publications also bound for Longbourn. Whatever news it contained, would wait until Atlas returned for the letter was not addressed to her and she would have been quite put out if Atlas had dared to open any correspondence from one of her siblings. It was not any content that she would hide, it was the principle of the matter.
“Thank you, Mrs. Anderville…and you too, Reverend, for a lovely tea, but I really must be getting on home.”
Taking up the bundle, Mary returned to Longbourn, finding the house just as quiet as when she left. But all was not as it should be, for upon placing the post in the library where Atlas would find it, she noticed something awry with the letter from his sister. The seal, of heavy wax, had been broken. While hardly uncommon, especially when a letter traveled a considerable distance, but that was not all. It was obvious that someone had unfolded the missive, prying into the privacy of another before attempting to unsuccessfully refold the letter. Frowning, Mary knew who was at fault for Mrs. Anderville, as postmistress, was second only to Mary’s own mother when it came to gossip. By tomorrow, the contents would be all over town. And as much as Mary hated the idea, it would be foolish to not know her own family’s affairs before others. Sighing, Mary unfolded the letter and began to read. And as she did, her worries were realized. Henry Armstrong was missing, and in desperation, Europa had called upon the only person in her life upon which she could depend without question.