Page 140 of Bitterness of Spirit & The Painting

His reflections had increased his curiosity and, despite his prudence, he could not help walking past the houses that could have once held his mother’s secret. He wished for nothing more than a glimpse, perhaps to spot some faces that he might recognise. It would probably be no help, but it could do no harm either.

Due to the changing weather, the beach was almost deserted; he only spotted the odd silhouette. Inside the gardens bordering the beach there were people gathered and their conversations carried on.

His attention was drawn by the sound of the pianoforte again and he now knew that it was Julia, the daughter of his mother’s friend, who was playing. Could he dare call on her? Introduce himself? Intruding upon his musings, the loud and frightened voices of children startled him and he hurried closer to the noise. In the Fitzroys’ garden there was a large tree, and under it were two girls and a boy—all of a very young age—who were shouting to another boy, who was apparently climbing the tree.

“What happened? May I help you?” he asked them, and the children answered in different voices but with the same despair, accompanied by a small dog’s barks.

“Smudge ran up the tree and she might fall down and die and James has climbed up after her but he cannot get her down and George and Annie went to get help! And look, Smudge is there, on that branch!”

Darcy scrutinised the tree, the boy and the kitten, which was meowing fearfully.

“Is your mother not home?”

“She is, Annie went to fetch her,” the boy explained, as he made another move and his foot slipped, which was accompanied by a small, frightened cry.

“James, may I come up and try to help you down?”

“Yes, yes,” the other children cried. Darcy looked around, hoping to see an adult, as he felt uncomfortable imposing on a situation in a stranger’s garden.

Eventually, he abandoned any restraint and in just a few steps, he was up in the tree. He took the boy by the arm and slowly helped him onto the lowest branch so he could jump down. Then, with a little more struggle, he grabbed the kitten too and minutes later he was back on the ground. Around him, the children were cheering and screaming with joy, overwhelming him with thanks, and Darcy answered them with much seriousness, while he could hardly conceal his amusement.

In the midst of the uproar, a lady’s voice interjected with apparent fright.

“What on earth happened here? James, are you hurt? And where is George?”

“George went to call for Mama. James was very brave but he got stuck in the tree and then he slipped but thank God we found a saviour who saved us and Smudge!” the youngest presented the situation breathlessly.

Darcy found himself in front of a woman, and they stared at each other in silence. She was extremely beautiful, with dark hair and dark eyes, her skin was tanned and there was a little frown between her eyebrows as she examined him cautiously.

Nothing about the lady was even vaguely familiar to Darcy. Under the present circumstances, he had no choice left, so he bowed formally and said, “Forgive me for imposing, madam. I heard the children screaming and I thought I might be of some help.”

“There is nothing to apologise for sir, quite the contrary. We are very grateful for your intervention. May I ask to whom I have the pleasure of expressing my gratitude?”

“No gratitude is needed, I assure you. My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

The effect of his words on the lady’s expression was immediate. Puzzlement, surprise, incredulity, wonder.

“Forgive me, sir, this is quite astonishing. Darcy, you said? Are you by any chance related to the Darcys of Pemberley? To Lady Anne Darcy?”

He nodded slightly.

“Lady Anne was my mother.”

The lady’s eyes widened in disbelief and she stepped closer, still staring. She was much shorter than him, so she lifted her face to better see him.

“Are you Will Darcy? Could it be possible?” she enquired, while the children were now silent, watching them curiously.

“I am…”

“Dear Lord! Will Darcy!” she exclaimed, and suddenly embraced him in a gesture that left him stunned and still. Embarrassed and uncertain what to do, he reluctantly returned the embrace, smiling at the children.

Only then did he notice another boy, a little older, holding tightly onto the hand of the last woman he expected to see there: Elizabeth Bennet. She was gazing at him, dumbstruck. Their eyes met and locked in shared amazement, and Darcy slowly withdrew from the unexpected embrace, gently pushing the woman away.

Elizabeth struggled to breathe, distrusting the sight in front of her.

“Miss Bennet…” he murmured in a low voice.

“Mr Darcy…”