The architect was due at any moment with a report, having spent the morning inspecting the site with Darcy’s own Principal Colliery Viewer, Mr Regis. If anybody could identify a drift mine, it would be the man responsible for superintending all the others on the estate, and Elizabeth had no doubt the imminent meeting was the chief source of Darcy’s present agitation. The anguish in his voice saddened her deeply, yet she could think of no other way to support him but to help look for that which she was entirely unconvinced existed.
The colonel heaved a great sigh and dropped into a chair. “Had I known, when you sent for me, that you wanted me to do your filing, I might have stayed at Branxcombe.” He pulled out a hip flask, took a swig and offered it to Darcy, who refused. The colonel waggled it at him again, attempting to persuade him, but desisted when someone knocked on the door. At Darcy’s instruction, Mr Jacobs entered, followed by Mr Regis.
“Well? What is the verdict?” Darcy enquired.
Mr Regis cleared his throat. “I am inclined to agree with Mr Jacobs, sir. Looks like a drift mine.”
“How is it possible that nobody knew about it?” Fitzwilliam asked incredulously.
“How is it possible that the vast trench you dug in my lawn did not expose it?” Darcy demanded of the architect.
“Our excavations were not deep enough, Mr Darcy. We dug well below the level of the foundations but stopped when we hit solid limestone. Even when we thought there might be sinkholes, we did not suspect so large a cavity, and we could not have investigated deeper without the use of explosives, which would have done untold damage to the house.”
Mr Regis took up the explanation, pointing at the colonel. “And, in answer to that gentleman’s enquiry, Mr Darcy, it is very easy to see why nobody knew about it. It is old. Much older than the house. Could even be Roman.”
“Roman?”
“Aye, for it has all the hallmarks of the lead mine over at Lower Kympton. ’Tis certainly not modern at any rate—far too irregular, and though it is hard to be sure without climbing all the way down, there look to be scorch marks, which would indicate the use of fire-setting for ore extraction.”
Darcy rubbed his face with both hands and came back up shaking his head. “Where is the entrance to it?”
“Could have been buried more than a thousand years ago. Or if the mine between this point and the entrance has collapsed, could look like nothing more than just another cave by now.”
“But this bit has remained intact until now,” Elizabeth said, frowning. “If it is that ancient, and Pemberley has stood on it for over a century without issue, why has it collapsed now?”
“I believe,” said Mr Jacobs, “it has to do with the blocked culvert that was discovered on the north slope in the summer. Rainwaterwillerode limestone given enough time, but even so, I thought it could not have so great an effect on solid bedrock. But I did not know there was a pre-existing void there. It must have eroded the roof of the mine until the weight of the east wing eventually became too great.”
“Can it be backfilled?”
“Any cavity can be filled, given enough materials, money, and time, Mr Darcy. The question is, how far under the house does the mine extend, and how much of it has been compromised by erosion? If the answer to either of those questions is unfavourable, then the cost may prove prohibitive. Grandchester Abbey down in Somerset had a similar problem—not with a mine, but subsidence, nevertheless. Lord Inbrooke ended up pulling the whole house down and rebuilding on another part of the estate.”
The look on Darcy’s face made Elizabeth heartsick. Colonel Fitzwilliam did not look much better as he watched Darcy, his eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown and pity twisting his mouth askew.
“What do you suggest?” Darcy asked in a strained voice.
“Investigate what is down there. It is all we can do.”
“Is the house safe to live in?”
Mr Jacobs’s shrug gave Elizabeth no comfort. “There are no visible cracks on any other part of the building as there were on the east wing. It warrants careful monitoring, but there is no sign of an imminent problem.”
“I understand you are returning to Sheffield this afternoon, Mr Jacobs. May I presume I can retain your services for the foreseeable future, though?” Darcy asked the architect, who agreed that he could. “In that case, I thank you both. That will be all for today.”
The two men departed, and a pall fell over the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam offered Darcy his flask again, and this time, he took it. “That was not the news you were hoping for, Darcy, I know.”
“It may not be as terrible as they made it sound,” Elizabeth tried. “Remember, Pemberley is far more than just a house.”
“Mayhap, but it is nothing withoutanyhouse,” Darcy replied bitterly.
“Do not jump the gun, old boy,” his cousin interceded. “There is a decent chunk still standing, and your man Jacobs has declared it safe to inhabit.”
“I suppose we shall have to find somewhere more permanent to store everything now. At least then we can get back to living properly in the house that remains. For as long as it does remain.”
Elizabeth wished there were something she could say to alleviate Darcy’s obvious distress, but she would not insult him with more platitudes. The want of sanguinity sat ill with her; she was used to being able to laugh herself out of despondency, but laughing oneself, one’s husband, and one’s entire household out of a literal hole in the ground was quite another.
“I must call on Ferguson,” Darcy said, coming to his feet. “I promised I would tell him what Jacobs discovered.”
Elizabeth offered to join him, to see how Mrs Ferguson was faring, but they had not made it to the hall before Matthis intercepted them with a letter, just arrived for her. She took it eagerly, a rush of anticipation quite outstripping her reason for a moment.
