“That is precisely the sort of connexion that the mistress of a great house is expected to discourage! Pray cease embroiling my nephew in matters so far beneath him and concentrate your efforts on properly supporting him.”
Elizabeth ought to have known better than to engage Lady Catherine on the subject. Her pique was up, however, and she was not ready to recede fully. “I shall. And since you promised your nephew that you would do the same, I hope I may prevail upon you to help. I mean to locate the documents Mrs Reynolds has mentioned, and since one of the places that she suggested I look is Lady Anne’s writing desk, it makes sense that your ladyship should accompany me. You will comprehend better than anyone what your sister has written, and which parts of it pertain to the estate.”
She had not truly expected the application to succeed, thus she was not a little surprised to find herself in the Chesterfield room a short while later with Lady Catherine, rifling through the forgotten paperwork of Darcy’s late mother. They were not at it for long before both agreed there was nothing of use to be found. Neither was there anything helpful in the two crates Elizabeth asked James to bring up from the Derwent room that Mrs Reynolds had identified.
“YourMrs Reynoldshas not been as useful as you pleaded after all,” her ladyship said with a note of triumph. “The presumption of thinking she knows this house better than Darcy!”
“She was only trying to help.”
“I cannot understand why you are so intent on defending her when you are fully aware of how abominably she used Darcy.”
Elizabeth gripped the top edge of the crate, her forbearance worn paper-thin. “Pray, were her attempts to ‘save Pemberley’s shades from my pollution’ any less abominable than your ladyship’s? If Darcy and I can forgive you, why should not we forgive her?”
Lady Catherine puffed up with affront. “Because I am Darcy’s aunt, and she is a housekeeper. And you, Mrs Darcy, are at serious risk of destroying the accord we have reached with this preposterous fascination.”
“I am not ‘fascinated’ with Mrs Reynolds, but I am vastly grateful to her. Other than my husband, nobody has done so much to help me make a success of becoming mistress of this house. And my gratitude does not stop there. Whatever your ladyship may think of my youngest sister, and whatever I may think of her husband, their marriage was arranged for the best. Mrs Reynolds saved my sister from ruin at the hands of a man who was brought up onthisestate bythisfamily. Had not she acted as she did, I and all my sisters would have shared in Lydia’s disgrace. I do not know how I am expected to turn a blind eye to such a reprieve.
“And it bears mentioning that, unlikeothers, who attempted to interfere in Darcy’s business in a way that would ensure he never discovered it, Mrs Reynolds told him what she had done. Even though it meant leaving the only home she had known for most of her adult life. It is the reason that Darcy and I were reunited, and there are no words strong enough to convey my gratitude for that.”
Lady Catherine’s lips were thinned almost to extinction with displeasure. “For somebody who professes to like advice so well, it is a wonder that you will not take this from me. You must preserve the distinction of rank to have a hope of success. I urge you to keep some perspective. Mrs Reynolds was aservant.”
“Yes! The servant who nursed your ladyship’s dying sister on her deathbed!”
Elizabeth instantly regretted her outburst when it drained the colour from Lady Catherine’s countenance. With a sigh, she dragged the chair from the writing desk and sat in front of her. “Her correspondence with my aunt shows that Mrs Reynolds cared for Lady Anne through all her miscarriages, through her daughter’s birth, and through her final days. And afterwards, it seems that she wrapped this whole house in cotton wool, doing everything she could from afar to look after Darcy, his father, his sister—and now me.”
“And Pemberley, too, it would seem.”
They both started at the interruption. Elizabeth knew not how long Darcy and his cousin had been stood in the doorway, or how much they had overheard, but she was vastly relieved to see that he no longer seemed angry. On the contrary, he looked happier than he had in some time.
“What is your meaning?” his aunt enquired, reverting to cold austerity.
Darcy came farther into the room, followed by Colonel Fitzwilliam, who began lifting the crates off the table.
“I sent someone to fetch the drawing from Mrs Wickham’s cottage.” The table cleared, Darcy unrolled a sheet of paper onto it, pinning it open with books and pointing at what he had unveiled. “This used to hang on the wall in my father’s study. I remember it being there, though I never looked at it closely, and I certainly never noticed it was gone.”
“What is it?” Lady Catherine asked impatiently.
“One of the original design proposals for Pemberley, dated 1660—five years before this house was built, and drawn by a different architect. It shows a house in the same spot, but with only two wings. And this—” he moved his finger, “—shows the mine.”
“We were not sure at first,” the colonel said. “It could easily be mistaken for a feature of the landscape if one did not know what was underground, but Darcy’s steward agrees that it aligns with what we know is there.”
“So, they knew about it?” Elizabeth asked. “Why, then, did they build over it?”
Darcy shrugged—an uncharacteristically carefree gesture that matched his buoyant mood. “This architect may have resigned before telling anyone what the lines represented. Or been dismissed. Or died. Or been kidnapped.”
“Or your ancestor ran roughshod over his advice not to build there. It is scarcely unheard of for a Darcy to like to have his own way,” the colonel interjected, grinning almost as widely as his cousin. Their joint ebullience was extraordinary—and infectious. Elizabeth found herself smiling with them.
“Or they gambled that the rock was sufficiently sound foundation regardless,” Darcy went on. “Which technically it was, for the house stood for almost a century and a half before a blocked culvert upped the ante.”
Fitzwilliam agreed. “Particularly if they knew this was where the mine ended.”
“Did they know that?” Lady Catherine enquired.
“It seems so. Theentranceis not shown—the mine heads off the page in an easterly direction,” the colonel replied, wiggling his finger over the plan in vaguely the right place.
Darcy took up the explanation, jabbing at the page triumphantly. “But this clearly shows the passageendinghere,beforewhat is the central part of the existing house.”
Elizabeth looked up at him in surprise. “So, the rest of Pemberley is safe?”
