“The parish registers are quite complete,” he assured them, leading them to a side room where leather-bound volumes lined the shelves. “Marriages since 1730 are in this volume, and baptisms in these three.”
With trembling fingers, Elizabeth turned the pages of the marriage register, scanning the elegant script for her parents’ names. And there it was—John Henry Darcy and Rose Elizabeth Bennet,married on the twelfth of October, 1787. She traced the entry with her fingertip, a tangible connection to the parents she had never known.
The baptismal record proved equally revealing—Elizabeth Rose Darcy, daughter of John and Rose Darcy, baptized January 3rd, 1791. Her birth date was recorded as November 1st, 1790.
“November first,” Elizabeth murmured. “So that is my true birthday.”
“Yes,” Martha confirmed. “You came into the world as the first frost touched the gardens at Pemberley.”
Seeing her name inscribed in the rector’s careful script was like opening a window to heaven. Proof, in official records, that not only did she exist, but that she was the legitimate daughter of John and Rose Darcy.
“Might I have copies made?” she asked, her voice unsteady with emotion.
“Certainly, my dear lady. Family records should be preserved.” Mr. Hanley arranged for his clerk to prepare certified copies, which Elizabeth accepted gratefully.
“Such beautiful handwriting,” Martha observed, examining the documents. “These will serve your purposes admirably.”
“Thank you, Reverend Hanley,” Elizabeth said as he handed her the documents. “These are invaluable to my research.”
“Always pleased to assist the family,” he replied with a slight bow. “The Darcys have been generous patrons of St. Michael’s for generations.”
The Darcys. Elizabeth suppressed a shiver at hearing herself inadvertently included in that illustrious lineage. Someday soon, she hoped, the connection would be acknowledged openly.
As they settled back into the carriage for the return journey to Rose Cottage, Elizabeth carefully placed the precious documents in her reticule. The parish records confirmed her parentage and birth, but they were only part of the proof she needed.
“Mrs. Wickham,” she ventured, “would you be willing toprovide a signed statement confirming that you rescued me as an infant and delivered me to Longbourn? Such testimony from the person who saved me would be invaluable to establishing my claim.”
Martha’s expression changed, a sudden wariness entering her eyes. “That depends. Do you have the locket?”
“The locket?” Elizabeth repeated, confused.
“Rose’s locket,” Martha said sharply. “The gold pendant with the miniatures inside—one of Rose, one of John. I placed it around your neck before taking you to Longbourn.”
Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “I’ve never seen such a locket. Mr. Bennet never showed it to me.”
Martha’s lips thinned. “How convenient. Perhaps you’re not who you claim to be after all.”
“But the parish records?—”
“Prove that Elizabeth Rose Darcy was born, not that you are her.” Martha’s voice had taken on a calculating edge that set Elizabeth’s nerves on edge. “I cannot risk my neck to provide a statement until I am certain. We also need to see the settlement documents and confirm that your name appears.”
“Mr. Blythewood said only Darcy heirs can view those documents,” Elizabeth reminded her, frustration mounting.
Martha’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Perhaps Mr. Darcy himself could be convinced to request a review with his solicitor. A pretty young woman like yourself… men can be quite susceptible to feminine charms when skillfully deployed.”
Elizabeth stared at Martha, appalled by the suggestion. “You expect me to manipulate Mr. Darcy into revealing information that would ultimately dispossess him?”
“I expect you to use every advantage at your disposal,” Martha replied coolly. “After all, what do you have to lose? You’re already deceiving him about your identity.”
Elizabeth fell silent, her mind whirling with confusion. Martha had been so helpful, so seemingly eager to assist—but now sheappeared to be withholding crucial testimony until certain conditions were met. Conditions Elizabeth wasn’t sure she understood.
“I have little money at present,” Elizabeth said carefully, “but once my inheritance is secured, I would be most generous to those who helped me claim what is rightfully mine.”
Martha waved a dismissive hand. “Money is the least of my concerns. First, we must establish beyond doubt that you are Elizabeth Rose Darcy. Then, we must determine who murdered your parents. I have no intention of stepping forward only to find myself in the line of fire.”
Elizabeth studied the older woman, noting the calculation in her eyes. Martha was playing some deeper game, holding back crucial information and support for reasons that remained unclear.
“I thought you said William Darcy was behind the murders,” Elizabeth reminded.
