Darcy felt compassion for the man, who had always been so much in control. “Mr. Erickson is an expert in receipts, promissory notes, and the like. His investigation revealed that, all this while, some fifteen years since Sir Lewis died, the interest and rent from the properties has been accumulating. Chaffers is to be applauded, for he took only a modest fee and invested the remainder, mostly at the four percents.”
“There is money? Why did Catherine not use it?”
“She was so ashamed, both of her infection and Sir Lewis’ being a brothel keeper, that she disassociated herself completely from his dealings. She will not recognise the debt, a delusion of hers, perchance. But she was obliged to pay the interest, lest Rosings be foreclosed. The fortune she spent on the drapes and chimney pieces was monies she found in an account after Sir Lewis had died. Since then, there has been no contact between her and the estate trustees. All correspondence is ignored; burnt, no doubt.
“I took the liberty, for it is within my authority, to pay out the mortgages. Some monies remained, now deposited with Mastermans to Anne’s account. Perhaps, sir, you could write to her and explain the situation. In addition to being mistress of Rosings, she owns several very valuable properties in St. James’s. I daresay she could sell them or perhaps collect the rents. Ownership, as we know, is well hidden by Asquith, Badeley and Chaffers. Have no fear that any of this will be revealed. Both White and Erickson can be trusted; though, if Anne or you could additionally reward them for a service very well done, it would not be remiss.”
“Darcy, a bottle of the Bordeaux. As you said, it cannot last forever, and we both have much to celebrate. I am indebted to you, much indebted.” That was all the thanks he would ever receive. But it was enough.
The earl stood. “Now, let us join the ladies, for I wish to better acquaint myself with your lovely wife.”
Chapter 50
Longbourn, July 1, 1814
“Mrs. Bennet, there’s a particularly diverting article in the Times,” said her husband, looking up from the newspaper, “with some connection to us, I believe.”
“And what’s that, Mr. Bennet? You know I take no interest in gossip from Town.”
“You recall we owe our occupation of the manor to Mr. Darcy, which gentleman contacted your brother Phillips and showed him the entail was broken, and that my cousin, Mr. Collins, by quitting the place, had forfeited his rights as the heir presumptive.”
“Of course, we knew him first in court at St. Albans. ‘Twas Lizzie and me.” Tears glistened in her eyes. Oh, how was her dear daughter? They had not heard from her for over eighteen months. But, she told herself, the passage of letters to and from New South Wales had proved most erratic, with some lost altogether. She could but pray for her.
“A very handsome man, and he was exceptionally kind to us with our moving to the dower house and gaining income from the estate. Phillips tells me that was his doing; that the judge was responsible for forcing Lizzie to flee.”
“Yes, my dear, we’ve had you recount that history many times. I, too, feel the absence of Elizabeth very much. But let me tell you what the paper reports; I believe you’ll find it most entertaining.”
All of the family were seated in the morning parlour, the younger girls dressing bonnets, Mary reading, and Jane embroidering a motif onto a handkerchief. None teased her that the initials,CB, did not stand forCatherine Bennet,butanother who had captured her heart.
“Mr. Darcy has been elevated to Marquess, no less! Apparently, the title was lost, or some such, and the Lord Chancellor’s office had sought it out, verified the patent was still extant, and our Mr. Darcy is nowLord Darcy. But that’s not all. ‘Tis only a year past that he returned from New South Wales, where he was lieutenant governor and judge-advocate. Didn’t our Lizzie write she was acquainted with a Mr. Darcy? Perhaps the same man, as it’s an unusual name.
“To continue. He had married there, in Sydney, but returned as his elder brother had died, and he then became heir to Pemberley, a large estate in Derbyshire worth over ten thousand a year.”
“Heaven forbid! What a sum—you said he’s married. What pin-money his wife will have, what jewels and carriages!”
“Indeed, ma’am, but let me finish the story. Shortly thereafter, sadly, his father passed, and he’s now master of the estate. His wife followed him some months later, having settled their affairs in the colony. While he journeyed via the Horn, she travelled by way of India, thence to the Cape. But a great storm overtook the vessel, which was flung onto the African coast.”
“Oh my,” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, “did any survive?”
“The vessel re-floated, and they made good their escape from the rocks upon which it had struck. But Lady Darcy and another, a young girl of but eight years, were washed overboard, presumed lost.”
The attention of the whole family was now engaged.
“So he’s a widower.” Lydia, the youngest daughter, laughed. “Perhaps he’ll marry me. I do wish to be a marchioness; then you would need to address me asLady Lydia!”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, my dear, for his lady survives. She walked some three hundred miles along the coast; thence she came to Cape Town. All the time, she was surrounded bysavages with naught for company but the young girl and a dog, calledBumper—an odd appellation.”
The name stirred a memory for Jane, who had, some time past, read a letter addressed to their Aunt Gardiner from Lizzie. Could it be? Her hand went to her mouth—oh, Lizzie had written of being hostess at Government House when Governor Macquarie had gone away. And Mr. Darcy was lieutenant governor there, who would certainly act for the governor when he was absent. But why hadn’t she told them of her marriage, if that were the case? Yet, letters all the time went astray…
“Please, Papa,” she said, with some passion, “how is the lady? Is she returned to England?”
“Yes, indeed, and with Lord Darcy’s son, born in Africa on her journey down the wild east coast. Remarkably, she birthed the babe unattended. Unusual for a gentlewoman, she was also midwife to the 73rd Regiment in Sydney. What strength of will she must have to survive such—as the report says, a most remarkable woman. And, ‘tis said, a great beauty, with the noblesse of a marchioness born to that rank—a very fine lady indeed.”
Both Jane and her mother looked at each other, tears welling in their eyes. They knew of only one midwife of that regiment.
“Mama,” exclaimed Kitty, who happened to glance out of the window, “there’s a woman walking to the house. Very finely dressed but there’s no carriage. Whoever can she be?”
Mrs. Bennet peered out the window, which was rather dusty and lent only a poor view. She saw the lady come closer, striding quickly towards the manor. She held a small child in her arms. That walk, so familiar; a curl of chestnut hair escaping from beneath her hat, framing a beautiful countenance spread with a smile—bright enough to challenge the sun—directed towards her destination.
