Please Note:

Please be aware you are reading sample chapters only. The full version of this story is no longer available on .

The complete book was published on Amazon and other e-book retail sites in May, 2017; and since some of those sites prohibit authors from offering published works for less (i.e. free) on other sites, I removed the complete story from Fan Fiction in June.

If you'd like to get a taste for my writing, please feel free to read on. I'd love to get your feed-back.

And if you'd like to read the complete book, you'll find it on all e-book retail sites under the title Mary and the Captain. You can also find it in print form on Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.

Thanks for your understanding. I appreciate your interest in reading my story!

Chapter 4

At first Captain Robert Bingley thought himself very fortunate to have come upon an inn just as the evening temperature was beginning to fall; but as he pulled his horse up in the yard of the Bark and Bull, he found himself wondering which would be the worse fate: to ride on in the cold night—even though he knew himself to be hopelessly lost—or spend the night in such an unattractive and dismal-looking place as the Bark and Bull.

A sudden gust of cold wind blew through the yard. His horse, Ibis, reacted with a small movement of her feet and a slight flick of her tail; yet her movements told Robert all he needed to know. His horse was tired—and so was Robert. He'd been riding for hours, anxious to reach Netherfield and spend Christmas Eve with his family and Helena. But Fate had not treated him kindly that day. Last minute regimental duties had caused him to start his journey much later than planned; then, in his haste to make up for lost time, he had taken a wrong turn somewhere on the road, and his instincts had deserted him when he tried to right his course. Now he was in the middle of heaven-knew-where with darkness falling and the cold December temperature beginning to drop.

He looked over the ramshackle inn with distaste. It would be a simple matter to merely ask for directions and continue on until he found a more comfortable looking inn; but then he thought of Ibis. Ibis had carried him through two campaigns and eight battles, never once shying from danger, always finding the strength to push on when other officers' mounts were too exhausted to carry their rider another step. He owed his life to Ibis, and if she wanted rest, he would gladly give it to her.

He patted her neck with his gloved hand, and Ibis exhaled a deep, fluttering breath through her nostrils.

"All right," he said, "we'll stay here. You deserve a good dinner and a night's rest in a warm stable."

He tossed the reins to a waiting ostler and slid down from the saddle.

"See that she gets a good brushing after her dinner, will you?' he said as he strode toward the door of the inn.

He entered the public room to find it empty except for a boy who was busy stoking the fire in the great hearth. Robert couldn't tell how old he was, but the boy's age mattered not. He was simply one of those urchins that often hung about such places, ready to hold a horse or carry a valise for a penny.

Robert drew off his gloves, though the room seemed only a trifle warmer than the fast-darkening December night, and deposited them on the table, all the while watching the boy.

"If you throw some of those smaller pieces on the fire, it will burn bright more quickly," he said, in a pleasant tone.

The boy almost jumped. He looked up, his eyes wide and startled, and he stared at Robert a moment; then he carefully set aside the heavy log he had been about to add to the fire and selected a smaller piece of wood instead. With great care he tucked some twigs around the fresh log and watched the meager fire flare up in a bright spurt of light and heat.

Robert smiled slightly as he swept his hat from his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the boy was still crouched close to the fire, warming himself. He didn't mind; he could tell the boy's clothes were too ragged to provide much warmth, so if the lad wanted to huddle beside the heat of the fire for a few minutes, he'd make no objection.

He was placing his hat on the table beside his gloves, when the muffled sound of "Ooomph!" caused him to turn about.

He took in the situation in a flash. A man was standing over the boy, having obviously just kicked the child away from the hearth. Now he leaned over him in a menacing pose.

"Haven't I told you not to let that fire go down? Well, haven't I?" the man demanded angrily. Then he turned toward Robert and bowed, his expression softening into an obsequious smile. "Welcome, me lord. Pay no mind to the stupid boy—he'll do better at keeping the fire burnin' for you, I'll see to that."

Robert instantly felt a lump of loathing rise in his throat. "Have you a room?" he asked, coldly.

"Of course, me lord. I've a fine room for you, me lord. Shall I take you up?"

"In a moment. I could use a hot drink, first. It's devilish cold outside, you know."

"I've got a nice hot punch for your lordship. I'll get it meself."

When he was alone again with the urchin, Robert unbuttoned his great coat, revealing his riding attire underneath, and said, genially, "Between you and me, I'm not a lord, but I daresay it doesn't hurt to let him think so, eh?"

The boy was about to leave the room, but at this he turned about, his expression an odd mixture of fear and understanding.

Robert shrugged out of his coat and threw it over the back of a nearby chair. "Well, you've done a fine job of coaxing some life into the fire. I feel warmer already." It was only a slight exaggeration, but he moved closer to the hearth and made a great show of holding his hands out toward the dancing flames. "I hope that 'fine room' the landlord has allotted me has a good fire in it. You'll see to it for me, won't you?"

The boy kept his eyes trained on the floor, and answered in a low voice, "Yes, sir." Then he darted from the room.

The hot punch the innkeeper served him a few minutes later had no resemblance whatsoever to any punch Robert had ever tasted before. He suspected its chief ingredients were rum and some other alcohol the innkeeper brewed in a tub behind the stables; and he could detect no hint of Madeira or citrus in the few sips he took. But it was hot, and before long he began to feel the warming effects of the drink.

By the time the landlord served Robert his dinner he was in a more charitable mood. He was also hungry, and he was certain he could do justice to any meal the landlord might place before him. He sat down at the wooden table close to the window and removed the covers from the dishes. There was a bowl of some kind of soup with a layer of grease on top, bread with a hard crust spread with an oily substance that was probably meant to pass for butter, a half of a chicken, warm applesauce, and a pudding that had not set properly. Robert blanched as he surveyed the unappetizing dishes. He pushed every dish away except the plate of chicken and the bowl of applesauce.

He took a small, wary bite of the chicken and looked idly out the window. The boy he had seen before was outside, walking across the yard, his breath leaving small wisps of frozen moisture in his wake. Robert frowned. The child was wearing no gloves or hat, no muffler about his throat to keep the cold away. He was wearing breeches and torn stockings and a jacket worn thin at the elbows from wear; and when he walked Robert could clearly see that the sole of one of the boy's shoes was loose, for it flapped with every step.

"He must be freezing out there," he murmured, as the boy disappeared around the corner of the stable. The boy reappeared a few minutes later with a load of wood in his arms. Robert watched him with interest; not because of what the boy was doing, but how he was doing it. He carried the armload of small logs as if his task were a great secret, is if he were smuggling gold bricks instead of fuel for a fire.

When the boy disappeared again from his line of sight, there was nothing outside the window to hold his attention, so Robert concentrated on choking down the rest of the dry chicken. Next he took up his spoon and the bowl of warm applesauce and moved over to a chair by the fire, where he soon placed the empty bowl on the stone hearth.

He had but one more task to perform for the night. He donned his coat, hat and gloves, and made his way out into the cold night. In the stable he found the ostler brushing Ibis, as he had requested, and doing a reasonable job of it. Next he inspected the feed trough and decided that Ibis had probably enjoyed a better dinner than he had. Ibis gave a soft nicker of recognition, and Robert went to her, resting his chin for a moment against Ibis' long nose.

"I know, girl," he murmured, "but it's just for one night. We'll be on our way early tomorrow, mark my words."

Robert returned to the inn, stopping downstairs just long enough to light a taper to carry up to his bedchamber. At the top of the narrow stairs he came upon a scene that was by now a little too familiar to him.

The boy who had tended the fire in the public room was on the floor, the landlord standing over him with his fists clenched. Even in the dim light afforded by his candle, Robert could see the boy's lip was bleeding.

"What is this?" he demanded in a tone that made the landlord's aggression evaporate.

He turned to Robert and said, in his toad-eating voice, "Why, nothin' to worry your lordship."

"On the contrary, it worries me a great deal whenever I see someone who has done me a service forced to the ground like a dog. I'll ask again: What is going on here?"

"Him? He's never done a service for nobody. Why, I just caught him stealing."

"Stealing what?"

"Firewood, me lord. I've got a strict allotment of wood I use for each chamber, see, for economy sake, and this boy defied my rules and carried off more than allowed."

"Did he?" Robert stepped past the man and flung open the door to his bed chamber. Inside the fireplace blazed with a bright fire, and on the hearth was a neat stack of wood waiting to be added to the fire as needed through the night. "Is that the missing wood?"

"Oh. Well, he never said what he done with it. I only know he took it."

"For me. He took it for me," Robert said, wishing it were within his power to teach the repellant landlord a lesson he would never forget. "I asked the boy to see that I had a hearty fire in my room because when I was up here earlier I saw that someone had lit an insultingly pitiful fire that wouldn't burn a bandbox."

The landlord paled. "Well, now, how was I to know that was his purpose for stealing the wood?"

"Did you ask him?"

"Now, why should I, I'd like to know?" the landlord said, in a tone that was becoming churlish. "He's a thief and—"

During their exchange Robert had removed his gloves and unbuttoned his great coat. Now he reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and extracted the first coin his fingers touched. He tossed it to the landlord.

"Here! That should cover the cost of the extra firewood I requested."

"Thank you, me lord. Why, that's most generous of you. Most generous, I must say!"

Robert's lip began to curl and he fought against it. "I can be very generous when I wish to be. If you want me to grease your fist again, you'll ensure I never see you again until I leave in the morning and pay my reckoning. Do you understand?"

The landlord frowned. "But who will attend to your—"

"Anyone but you."

"But who will serve your—"

"Anyone but you," Robert said again, with emphasis. He could tell by the landlord's expression he was weighing his options: in the end, the lure of earning a healthy gratuity overcame any objections the landlord might have had to having his place usurped.

"Very well, me lord. The boy can look after your needs."

"Very ably, I am certain. Oh, and innkeeper," Robert said, halting the man's steps when he would have made a retreat. "If you strike or kick or harm this child again, in any way, you will answer to me. Do you understand?"

The landlord looked startled, then his eyes narrowed slightly. "Here, now, I won't be threatened by nobody in me own house."

"You mistake. I didn't threaten you. I simply explained to you the consequences should you choose to act in a way that offends my sensibilities. I trust we understand each other. Good-night, innkeeper."

The landlord's expression twisted into something dark, causing to Robert to say, in a rather genial tone, "Tut-tut! Remember the gratuity I promised! Now, do be sensible and say good-night."

The reminder of another promised coin mollified that man a great deal. He bit back the harsh words that hovered on the tip of his tongue, and, without another word, turned and stomped down the stairs.

Robert looked down at the boy, who hadn't moved an inch since he had first come upon him. "Are you badly hurt? That lip will swell if you don't apply a cold compress right away." As soon as he said the words he realized how inane they were. This boy looked as though he had little comfort in his life, and he sincerely doubted that there was a kind person to whom the boy could turn to tend his injury. "Come, now, on your feet," he said, encouragingly. "Let me see your pluck!"

He stepped back to give the boy room, and was rewarded by the sight of the lad scrambling quickly to his feet. He would have scampered off had not Robert moved to block his path to the stair.

"Not so fast, young man. I want to be certain you heard what I said just now. I'll allow no one—neither father nor stranger—to strike you or any other child while I am in this house. Do you understand me?"

The boy kept silent and looked down at the floor.

"I think you do. I've seen enough of brutes and tyrants in this world, and I won't sanction one here—not while I am under this roof." He watched the boy thoughtfully for a moment, and said in a softer tone, "If that man lays a hand on you in anger, I want you to tell me. Will you do it?"

The boy stood perfectly still for a long moment, but after some consideration, he gave his head a slight nod.

"Very well. Off with you now. I am leaving at first light tomorrow and I need my sleep." He moved closer to the wall to allow the boy to rush past him with a surprising speed; and Robert didn't see him again until the first light of Christmas morning.

Robert was dressed and downstairs by the time the sun peaked over the horizon. He had slept well, despite a lumpy bed, and now he was eager to be on his way. His first thought when he awoke that Christmas morning was of Helena—lovely Helena—waiting for him at Netherfield. He imagined she was wondering what had become of him, for he had pledged to be with her no later than Christmas Eve, and the fact that he had been unable to keep that promise weighed heavily with him. He had much to tell her, much to explain. And much to ask.

In the public room he rang the bell. Within minutes the boy came in bearing a tray laden with dishes. He watched as the boy arranged the plates and bowls on the table near the window, and his sharp gaze took in the boy's appearance in a glance. He saw no fresh bruises or other signs of mistreatment. There was that cut on the boy's lip, which had healed somewhat overnight, though it still appeared a bit swollen. But it was when the boy lifted the covers from the dishes of toast and eggs and bacon, drew a deep breath, and actually trembled that Robert gave him a good, steady look.

Ye gods, is the boy hungry?

Robert sat down at the table in front of the food. "You must tell the landlord for me that he serves a good breakfast, but the truth is, I could never eat so much so early in the day. Here, be a decent sort and eat this bread for me, won't you?" He singled out a thick slab of bread with a hard crust, the very same variety that had been served to him the night before, and pushed it across the table.

The boy stared at it a moment, swallowed, and slowly shook his head.

"I must beg you to reconsider, young man. You'd be doing me the greatest of favors. You see, I can never eat all this, and I hate the notion that such good food will be simply thrown away, or worse, fed to the livestock. Be a good lad and help me! I'd do the same for you."

The boy inched forward and took the bread.

"Now, there is one more service you can do for me, if you are willing." He waited expectantly, then asked, "Are you willing?"

The boy nodded, his mouth full of bread.

"Very well. I'll confess to you that I made a wrong turn somewhere on my way from here to there. In other words, I'm hopelessly lost. Are you familiar with the roads? Perhaps you can tell me where I went wrong. At the very least you can tell me if I'm in Hertfordshire. Am I?"

The boy nodded as he chewed his bread.

"Then I'm not doing as badly as I thought. Do you know a town called Meryton?"

Another nod from the boy.

"Even better. I'm on my way to my brother's for Christmas, and I thought I knew the way. My brother is the master of Netherfield Park, near Meryton. Do you know it?"

The boy nodded again.

"How far out of my way did I go, do you think?"

The boy muttered something.

"I beg your pardon, young man. I didn't hear you."

The boy swallowed the last of his bread and said in a voice loud enough to be heard, "Netherfield is but six miles or so, sir."

"Is it? Then I didn't make too big a muddle of it. Can I rely on you to set me on the right road this morning?"

The boy nodded.

"Thank you, um—Here now, I can't keep talking to you this way without knowing what I am to call you."

"Daniel." At last he dared look Robert in the eye for the briefest of moments. "My name is Daniel, sir."

"I'm Captain Bingley. Very well, Daniel, I'll trust you to get me off in the right direction this Christmas morning. I'm anxious to see my brother and sister. They're hosting a small house party, and there is one guest in particular—her name is Helena and—" He stopped short, realizing that he had been prating on unnecessarily. "Well, suffice it to say I shall be happy to get to Netherfield. Christmas with family, that's what's important to me." He was feeling in high spirits and was talking a good deal more than he would have if his mood hadn't been so festive and his anticipation of seeing his beloved Helena weren't so keen. "What about you?" he asked. "Will you have Christmas with your mother and father?"

"Yes, sir. When I get to heaven."

Startled, Robert's eyes flew to his face. "Oh!" was all he could manage to say. Then his expression softened and his blue eyes searched the boy's features. "You mean to tell me the landlord is not your father?"

The boy shook his head.

"Then, how did you ever come to live—? Never mind. So your mother and father are gone, are they? I'm sorry for you, truly I am." He pushed the plate of inexpertly cured bacon across the table so it would be within the boy's reach. "Here, you can eat this, too. Share it with the ostler, if you'd like."

Daniel hesitated only a moment, then he picked up the plate and ran from the room. Seconds later, Robert looked out the window to see Daniel run across the yard with the treasure, the sole of one shoe flapping crazily with each step, and disappear inside the stable.

Though he was hungry, Robert abandoned the rest of the unappetizing meal. A half hour later he was ready to leave. He paid his reckoning with the landlord, along with the promised gratuity, and stepped out into the cold but bright sunshine. The ostler led Ibis over to the mounting block and Robert took the reins.

"Whoa!" he said, as Ibis danced and curveted as soon as he made a move to slip his booted foot into the stirrup. "None of your nonsense this morning, you imp. Stand still, can't you, until I'm mounted?"

The horse answered with two mincing steps sideways, causing Robert to take two inelegant hops of his own before he could get both of his feet firmly back on the ground.

In an instant, Daniel was there at the horse's head, catching the bridle up with a firm grip.

"Thank you, Daniel," Robert said, swinging himself up into the saddle. "Now, tell me: which way?"

The boy pointed toward the north. "That way, sir, until you reach the dog's leg and stay to your right. Right again and you'll be on the road that will take you straight to Meryton. Netherfield Park is just beyond."

Robert smiled at him, and leaned down to shake hands. Daniel reached up, and, to his astonishment, came away with a half crown in his hand.

"Don't show that to a soul," Robert said, quietly so the ostler wouldn't hear. "Hide it, and at your first opportunity, buy yourself a pair of shoes and a good coat. Oh, and a hot meal. Be sure you get a hot meal. Will you do that for me?"

Daniel looked up at him, his brown eyes wide and suspiciously moist. "I'd do anything for you, sir."

Robert straightened and waved him away from the horse's head. "Keep a brave heart and do your father proud, even though he's no longer here. A happy Christmas to you, Daniel!"

Then he turned Ibis about and galloped out of the yard, north toward Netherfield and Helena Paget.

Daniel's directions proved as true for Robert as the North Star. In little more than an hour he reached Meryton, which appeared to be a charming place, but he was of no mind to linger there. He pressed on, and soon had his first glimpse of Netherfield. How much more welcoming was the large, stately house than was that tumble-down inn where he had been forced to spend the night; and inside that house was his family and dear, sweet Helena. With this thought he urged Ibis to quicken her pace, and soon he was mounting the front steps of the house. The great doors opened magically at his approach, and he entered the bright, warm hall to find a footman ready to relieve him of his coat and hat.

It was early; the family was still abed, and Robert petitioned the footman to say nothing of his arrival.

"I am in no looks to meet my brother or his guests," he said. "Give me the opportunity to make myself presentable before you announce me, please."

The footman showed Robert to a large comfortable bed chamber, where he was relieved to see his luggage had arrived before him. He called for a bath, hoping to scrub off all reminders of the dirty little inn, with its greasy dishes and unkempt rooms. A mere thirty minutes later he was immaculately groomed, fashionably dressed, and ready to do justice to a hearty breakfast.

From his previous stays at the Bingley's London townhouse, he knew his sister-in-law's breakfast table would be filled with all good things. He could practically smell the savory aroma of well-seasoned eggs, sweet-cured ham, jellies, creams, and breads as he made his way down the stairs.

A footman directed him to the family dining-room. He threw open the door and entered, then came up short. He had anticipated an empty dining-room at that hour of the morning; instead, he found himself looking into the surprised expression of a dowdily-dressed young woman, who was already seated at the table.

Thank you for reading these sample chapters of Christmas at Netherfield.

This novel was my first attempt at writing a Jane Austen inspired story. Your suggestions and encouragement inspired me to keep writing. I finished the story only because of you!

If you enjoyed these sample chapters and would like to read more, please visit your favorite e-book retailer and search for Mary and the Captain (this story's new title). You can also find it in print on Amazon and on Barnes and Noble.

I'm working on a second JAFF story now; and I will, of course, post finished chapters here, so please stayed tuned.

My sincere thanks and best wishes to all of you!