If she hadn’t looked closely a moment ago, Mary might have mistaken that tall bread thief for someone too poor to survive!
Now, ha!
The man looked up, still spitting out bread as he glanced her way. Could she really not tell? Just from the clothes on his back alone, they had to be worth several pounds, not to mention those shoes on his feet, made from who-knew-what kind of fine leather!
A man like that certainly wouldn’t think much of bread from a roadside bakery, spitting it out on the ground was the best proof of that.
So why would a wealthy man do something like this? He wasn’t bad-looking either, tall and broad-shouldered. Even with most of his face hidden by that beard, he wasn’t unattractive, so why would he try to shake her down for money?
“How much for the bread?” Whatever the man was thinking, Mary just wanted to get going. Rather than waste time here, she’d rather spend a few pence and be done with it.
“Two pence.” Seeing that someone was actually willing to pay, the plump baker changed his tone at once, waiting only to collect his money.
Mary counted out two pence and handed them over.
“Let’s go.” The carriage could finally move on.
But they hadn’t gone far before Mary noticed something was off. The tall man was following right behind, as if he’d fixed his attention on her!
She wasn’t even that pretty, why follow her? Fortunately, after a while, the man was nowhere to be seen. Otherwise, Mary really wouldn’t have known what to do.
Longbourn, and even Meryton, were relatively safe places. In all these years, she’d never thought about leaving.
Every year, she got by well enough on her 200 acres, growing wheat and potatoes, raising pigs and chickens, and making soap. There was no need to go chasing after things the way Mr. Richman did, throwing himself headlong into London.
Six years of striving there, and besides losing all the savings he’d built up, what had he actually accomplished? Nothing!
Mary would rather pay her taxes in full than spread herself too thin, the risk was simply too great. Even setting aside outside risks, the drag Mr. Richman put on things was already hard enough to bear.
Six years ago, when Mary was twelve, the household’s 200 acres had already reached this same scale and this same level of income. Was it that she didn’t want to earn more? No, it was so that Mr. Richman would lose less!
When he’d first opened the private bank, it needed investment, and Mary could understand that. But needing to sink money into it year after year, that just wasn’t right.
And yet Mr. Richman, who’d already worked at Baring’s Bank for over a decade, wouldn’t listen to reason, throwing himself wholly into that bank. Nearly all of the household’s 800 pounds a year ended up poured into that bottomless pit.
In the end, Mary simply gave up trying. So be it.
After all, the money for costs was in her hands anyway, everything else could go however it went.
Because there was never any surplus in her hands, no one bothered coming after her.
Everyone in Longbourn, and indeed all of Meryton, knew that Mr. Richman had run his bank for six years, and lost money for six years straight!
Why did everyone know? Because the people of Meryton loved putting their money into Mr. Richman’s bank, the interest he offered was high! They also liked going to Richman’s Private Bank for loans, since the rates there were low.
He had plenty of clients, in principle, that should have been a great start.
And yet, sigh.
In short, the man was suited to being someone’s employee, not a business owner. Who knew how many more years it would take before Mr. Richman finally woke up to that.
Until he did, Mary supposed she’d just keep the household at its 800-pound annual income. In a few days she’d need to send bread and eggs to the church again, so the church would look out for her a little, and the neighbors would be willing to help if anything came up.
Mr. and Mrs. Richman were rarely in Longbourn, so Mary, on her own, always needed something to rely on.
What she relied on was food and soap. Fortunately, Longbourn didn’t have too many people, so she could still afford to give each household its share.
That meant she’d be seeing the Bennet family again. She wondered whether the fiancés of those two engaged young ladies would show up. Would Lydia bring her husband to church?
Thinking of all this, Mary had no mind left to dwell on what had happened before. She was already back in Longbourn now, perhaps it had all just been a coincidence.
Sunday was overcast, but it didn’t rain.
Mary brought the bread she’d baked, fresh eggs, and unstamped soap to the church. She certainly couldn’t carry all of it alone, so Betsy and Molly came along too. The farmhands John and Tom each carried a sack of flour, all headed the same way.
“Oh, Mary, good girl, you’ve come, come right in.” The resident vicar spotted the group approaching from a distance and came out early to greet them.
Although he’d been posted here, his days here were far from dull. Besides the lively Bennet family, Longbourn also had this shrewd Richman daughter!
That foolish Mr. Collins had actually married Sir Lucas’s twenty-seven-year-old daughter?! Oh, if it had been up to him, he would have picked eighteen-year-old Mary Richman without a second thought!
Watching over the past half year or so, he’d come to know exactly how good this Miss Richman was at making money. From soap alone she earned over 200 pounds, that alone matched his own annual income! And that was after taxes, with a little more effort, earning 300 pounds wouldn’t be out of the question.
“Vicar, thank you for coming to preach to us every week.” Mary had the goods set down, right at the entrance. This was the charity donation area of the little Longbourn church, where everyone left what they’d brought. After today’s sermon, the vicar would distribute it all.
“It’s my duty, good girl, go on in and take a seat.” The vicar touched each item in turn, the flour, the bread, the eggs, and pressed a finger against the milky soap, nodding with satisfaction.
Fine goods indeed, selling for six pence a bar in London, and Miss Richman gave away two dozen at a time! And it wasn’t just for one week, he’d been here for over half a year now, and every single week the soap kept coming!
Mary and the others took their seats toward the back-middle of the small church, where their spots were more or less fixed. The front rows belonged to the gentry Bennet family and Sir Lucas’s family, if all those gentlemen showed up today, there certainly wouldn’t be room for everyone.
So it was only right to move further back.
Before long, the sound of a lively crowd drew near.
Mary knew, it was the main cast arriving. Like everyone else, she turned to look out of curiosity. Sure enough, Mrs. Bennet was reservedly making introductions to everyone!
“Yes, yes, this is Jane’s fiancé, Charles Bingley, and this is Lizzy’s fiancé, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Oh, and this is George Wickham, Lydia’s husband!”
Just last year she’d had five unmarried daughters, a year later, the youngest was married, and the eldest two were about to be. Mrs. Bennet’s mood couldn’t have been better. Her nerves didn’t even trouble her anymore, she spent her days simply looking forward to the two upcoming weddings.
At this, Mr. Bennet went straight over to sit with Sir Lucas.
With the two of them no longer blocking her view, Mary could see the newcomers much better. Mr. Darcy really did live up to being the original tall, rich, and handsome type [1]the ideal male archetype (gāo fù shuài, 高富帥) – Slang, an internet-slang term literally meaning “tall, rich, handsome,” used to describe a man who checks every box of the … Continue reading jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3180454_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3180454_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });, aside from a somewhat cold expression, he certainly fit the bill. Mr. Bingley, by comparison, was like a little ball of sunshine.
Mr. Wickham was handsome enough too, but he was the pretty-boy type [2]a good-looking man who lives off his looks rather than his own wealth or effort (xiǎo bái liǎn, 小白臉) – Slang, literally “little white face,” a term for a handsome man kept … Continue reading jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3180454_1_2').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3180454_1_2', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });, and Lydia, only sixteen, was clearly no wealthy heiress.
Jane, meanwhile, looked even softer than before, glowing from within. She’d been beautiful even before, but always carrying a hint of melancholy. Now, with her wedding drawing near, it was clear Mr. Bingley had given her a great deal of security.
As for Elizabeth, well, she was busy looking around at everything.
“Hi!” Mary, caught in the act, gave a little wave, not minding at all that she’d been spotted.
Elizabeth might not have Jane’s flawless looks, but Mr. Darcy hadn’t fallen for her face anyway. So it didn’t matter, it was enough that she looked happy now.
While Mary looked at people, Elizabeth was introducing her to someone at her side.
“Look, that’s the other Mary of our Longbourn.”
Following his fiancée’s gaze, Fitzwilliam Darcy saw a smiling face. Of course, that smile was meant for the future Mrs. Darcy, and that was fine.
This Mary was about the same age as the Bennets’ Mary. She hadn’t attended last year’s ball at Netherfield, but you could tell she was well-mannered, at the very least, she knew what was appropriate to look at and what wasn’t. On that point alone, she was already far better than most of Longbourn.
“Should we invite her to the wedding?” If it were this girl, Mr. Darcy would be willing to cover her travel costs both ways.
“Oh, you know Mother would love to invite the whole of Longbourn if she could.” Elizabeth, though, only hoped for a small and intimate wedding.
Seeing everyone settled, Mary straightened her own posture as well.
After that, the vicar began his usual weekly sermon. Even though Mary didn’t believe a word of it, she could still make the expected remarks afterward, after hearing it enough times, that came naturally.
The sermon ended, and everyone prayed together.
On the way out, everyone took a token item from the donations, thanked the vicar once more, and headed home in turn.
“Mary, come with us to the wedding in Derbyshire next month.” Mary Bennet hadn’t left with her family, instead, she’d waited specifically for someone.
She was no match for Jane, no match for Elizabeth, but surely she couldn’t be beaten by Mary Richman too? Both eighteen, both with equally plain faces, but at least she had a gentleman father with a 2,000-pound annual income! And soon, she’d have two brothers-in-law bringing in 10,000 and 5,000 pounds a year respectively!
And she herself had read nearly every book a girl her age was expected to read, and she could play the piano too!
What did Mary Richman have? A father who was a failing banker, a mother who could no longer bear children, and a family estate of only 200 acres! She’d never even seen Richman wear a nice dress, let alone any jewelry!
In a few months, she’d meet plenty of wealthy people at the two weddings. They’d appreciate her talents, not just her looks.
She’d marry a good husband too, without a doubt!
“Thank you. If the bride and groom invite me, I’ll come.” A trip there wouldn’t hurt, who knew, maybe she’d stumble across a spare “Mr. Bingley.” Compared to the wealthy Mr. Darcy, Mary preferred the little ball of sunshine.
“Then it’s settled.” Mary Bennet, having achieved her goal, quickly caught up with her family. Before leaving, she didn’t forget to take a bar of the milk soap.
On October 10th, Mary carried down from the third floor 960 bars of soap that had already saponified and been stamped with the shop’s mark, and set off for Meryton.
Each bar was about four ounces (≈113g), adding up to 240 pounds in total, about the weight of two Marys. Along with herself, the light carriage could still just about fit it all.
The tenth of the month was the agreed-upon time, she had to deliver it on schedule.
Of course, she also had to bring the account book, the trade would need to happen with the tax officer present as witness.
In fact, the whole process was straightforward: one tray of 48, and all ten trays looking the same would do. When they met, neither merchant had much to say, they knew each other well by now, just a quick check on the soap’s quality. If there was no issue, the trade could go ahead directly.
As for the tax officer, his job was simply to record the quantity and amount for both transactions, so there’d be no mistakes when it came time to collect taxes.
The Richman family always paid their taxes punctually and never dodged a payment, so the tax officer had no worries on that front.
In September, once the wheat had been harvested, all the taxes due had already been paid in full. Besides the 250 bushels of wheat handed over in kind, she’d also paid 75 pounds in tax on the soap and potato sales, plus 10 pounds in window tax. With that, the previous year’s tax obligations for the Richman household were entirely settled.
“Thank you, sir.” Once the tax officer had finished signing, Mary handed over several bundled wooden soap boxes.
“Only right.” The tax officer accepted them, pleased that today hadn’t been wasted. He closed his tax ledger and picked up the string of soap boxes, ready to leave.
“Wait. Bring that over, let me see it.” An elegant carriage bearing a family crest pulled up in front of the tax officer, blocking his way.
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