Echoes of Pemberley (27 page)

George observed closely as Daddy snuggled Geoffrey into his crisp shirt that always smelled like Rose. George liked that smell, the same smell as his sheets with the
D
embroidered on them. Each night he would trace the letter with his fingertips as he drifted off to sleep.

Geoffrey went to his seat, and George carefully mimicked everything he had just observed. “Good morning, Daddy.”

* * *

Awake earlier than usual, Catie sat in her window seat and watched the sun rise over the hills. She smiled, appreciating the sun more than usual. There was a tingle inside of her — not nervous like butterflies, but happy. She had almost forgotten she could feel so happy.

The smell of bacon drifted up through the house, reminding her that she had only picked at last night’s supper. She dressed quickly, frowning at the sight of her ankles peeking from below her cuffs, and hurried down to breakfast.

“Good morning!” she sang merrily as she crossed the room and took her seat. “How is everyone this morning? Sleep well?” When she only got odd looks in return, Catie looked at Ben and Sarah. “What?”

“You are rather chipper for so early in the morning, Catherine,” Ben said, somewhat bewildered. The previous evening she had retired to her room, hardly speaking to anyone.

“It’s such a beautiful day, Bennet.” Catie smiled. “How could one not be chipper?”

Ben looked at her suspiciously and raised a brow at Sarah before retreating behind his morning paper.

“Sarah, are you terribly busy today?” Catie asked as she buttered a muffin.

“No, not terribly busy, dear. Why?”

“I’m afraid I must go shopping. All of my trousers are starting to ride up over my ankles. I can’t imagine what they are doing to my laundry.”

Sarah smiled. “Catie, no one is doing anything to your laundry. I believe you are just experiencing a little growth spurt. It’s normal. I had my last significant spurt of growth at your age as well.”

There was a chuckle from behind the newspaper.

“And what’s so funny?” Sarah asked her husband.

Ben drew back the corner of the paper, grinning. “I was just wondering, Sarah. Should I report this new development in stature to the old biddy, or shall you?”

Sarah looked back at him blandly, clearly not feeling the comment needed a response. Ben thought it best to go back behind his paper.

Confused, Catie shook her head and didn’t ask.

George smiled and with great emphasis repeated, “Old
biddy!”

The paper dropped, and Sarah’s teacup returned to its saucer. “George,” she said gently. “That is not a word of your father’s I want you to repeat.”

“
My
word!” Ben protested. “It certainly wasn’t
my
— ”

“Bennet!” Sarah cut him off. “The important thing here is that George not repeat impolite language.”

“Impolite, indeed,” he agreed, glancing at George. “You know, Sarah, I’m glad he is talking more. But why is it he only repeats words he shouldn’t?”

“Yes,” Catie chimed in. “I’ve notice the same thing. And I think he does it on purpose!”

“Catherine!” Sarah exclaimed, as George’s face instantly scrunched into a mean look, which he directed at his aunt.

“Well, it’s true,” Catie argued, glaring spitefully back at her nephew.

George moved his hand to his pocket and felt the little wooden horse,
Misneach
— courage. “I do
not
!” he bellowed across the table at Catie, shocked at his own voice.

Sarah gasped as George’s eyes traveled warily from his mother, to his aunt, and then to his father. Then he picked up his spoon and casually resumed eating his cereal.

“George Darcy, look at me.” Ben leaned forward.

Putting his hand back over the little horse again, George cautiously lifted his eyes back to meet his father’s. The two sat for several seconds in a locked, revealing gaze, making George feel completely exposed, as if all of his secrets were opened up like a window with the curtains flung back for all the world to see. Daddy would know he could talk, but maybe it was time Daddy knew.

“George, my boy,” Ben finally spoke. “It sounds as though the women are going shopping this morning. I believe that is our cue as men to go fishing. What do you say to that?”

George gave a slight, hesitant nod.

“Right. Hurry then, Son, and finish your breakfast before it gets cold,” Ben urged softly. Then glancing around the table, he added, “Let us all finish our breakfast.”

* * *

Sitting at her piano later that afternoon, Catie sighed. Her first piano lesson was at the age of four — so small she had to be lifted to the bench. The massive instrument spread out before her, but she wasn’t intimidated. It was like coming to a place you have never been before but knowing you belonged. She possessed a musical ear, a gift she shared with her mother and kept hidden like the little locket, always out of sight and close to her heart.

Mariah Jennings was the star pianist at Davenport School. Whenever a pianist was needed to play for a theatrical production or concert, Mariah Jennings was called on to perform. Catie Darcy could play circles around Mariah if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to. Instead of flaunting her talent, she used it to torment clueless piano teachers or impress the ones she happened to like.

She didn’t need to practice, but practice she must, for the ghosts that dwelled within her brother at times seemed to haunt her as well. Sighing once more, she opened her music and began playing the first movement of Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata
, which matched her brooding mood.

After only a few minutes, she stopped and looked around the empty music room with a wicked grin. Then she started again, purposefully skipping notes and rearranging bars to lessen the tedium. When she tired of that, she took one particular measure and played it backwards over and over again until Rose had endured enough.

When Rose came to the door, Catie stopped playing and asked, “Did you need something, Nan?” Her voice was as innocent as her expression.

“Enough!” Rose said, bringing her hand to her throat and giving the air in front of it a hard slice.

“Sorry, Nan. Try as I might, I just couldn’t make Beethoven proud.” Smirking, Catie closed the piano.

Rose narrowed her eyes and pointed a condemning finger, murmuring as she walked out, “I changed your nappies, Catie Darcy, and you’ve not fooled me for an instant.”

* * *

Outside the stables, Catie noticed Sean was already mounted up and holding Chloe’s reins. “So I’ve improved in my gallop so much I am again enjoying the luxury of stable hands, I see,” she said smugly.

“Hardly.” He grinned, eyes as bright as his face. “It was getting late, so I saddled your horse for you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you, by the way,” Catie replied as she stepped up on the mounting block. “Sorry I’m late. I was practicing my piano.”

“You play?”

“Yes,” she grunted as she adjusted her stirrups.

“Do you play well?”

Sitting back up, she smiled. “Oh, I’m not one for bragging. You must ask your aunt; she was privileged enough to partake of my talents this afternoon.”

“All right, I will.” Sean’s eyebrows, as coal black as his hair, rose in question. “So, Catie Darcy, where
are
we going?”

“Follow me.” She urged Chloe into a strong, even gait as Sean followed, smiling proudly at her skilled, easy canter. Catie Darcy was petite, but by no means was she frail. She descended from a long line of hale and hearty Darcys, and Sean saw from the beginning that hers was a physique that could master her mount and become one with the horse.

They skirted around Pemberley to a hidden lea between the dwelling and the hills that rose up behind it. Sean took notice of an old, stone chapel attached to the more ancient right wing of the manor. Probably original to the house, he surmised.

“I was christened there!” Catie called over to him as they rode past stained glass windows, gleaming in the sunlight. “So were the twins and my brother!”

Once they had passed the chapel, Catie pulled Chloe to a stop. “Sarah thinks Ben should let it out — you know, for weddings and such. But he won’t hear of it. It’s only used for family christenings now.” She dismounted and motioned for him to follow. “Come on.”

Rising from the ground before them were two stone pillars supporting an elaborate arch adorned with a gilded letter
D
. Attached to the pillars was a wrought iron gate, the only entrance to a flowing iron fence with sharply pointed pales, defending the graves they surrounded. Sean waited as Catie unlatched the gate and pushed it open. The hinges complained loudly and eerily as if warning the dead of their visitors.

Once inside the cemetery, Sean realized the graves were perched high on a knoll overlooking a small glen that was filled with bracken and mournful looking weeping willows. “A lovely view for eternity,” he said stupidly. He was nervous but didn’t know why.

She nodded back to him in agreement as they continued walking, minding graves with their step.

The age of the cemetery was evident not only by the seventeenth century dates on some of the grave markers, but by the moss and lichen that with time had crept up the stone pillars and discolored the stone.

Catie sat down on a newer concrete bench facing her parents and slid to one side, inviting him to join her. Sean sat down.

“My father,” Catie said, giving a nod in the direction of the headstone directly in front of them.

“And your mother?” he asked, pointing to Margaret Darcy’s name alongside William’s.

“Yes.” Catie nodded. “I didn’t know her though . . . she died only minutes after giving birth to me.”

“Sixth of November, that’s your birthday?” She nodded again. “I’m sorry, Catie. It must be difficult for you without her.” A wave of sympathy rushed through Sean as he glanced sideways at her. The bold girl who sat next to him suddenly appeared helpless and alone here amongst the dead.
Thank God Aunt Rose was here for her
, he thought, fighting the urge to take her into his arms and comfort her.

She shrugged. “Not as difficult as losing my dad.”

“How did he die?”

“In a plane crash. He had just received his pilot’s license. I believe it was only his second or third solo flight.” She sighed and looked at him, smiling. “My daddy was always seeking adventure.”

“Is your brother much like him?” Sean asked.

“Yes . . . and no. In some ways he’s exactly like him, but Bennet is
not
adventurous. He is more, you know . . . more . . . conventional. The most adventure he seeks is on horseback.” She stood and walked over to brush a stray leaf from her parents’ tombstone. “My brother’s life is Pemberley, this house, this land. You know, he was born here in a room just down the hall from mine. And one day he will be buried here.” She gestured to a vacant spot beside her parents that would one day hold her brother’s remains. “He likes that — his roots, his ancestry — all of it seems to mean as much to him as we do.”

“Oh, I see. It’s you then.” Sean leaned back on the bench and stared up through the trees. The position Catie usually assumed when visiting her father.

“What is me?” She stepped back close to him.

“You . . . Catie . . . you are like him, not your brother. You inherited your father’s adventurous spirit.”

“Yes, I guess you could say that.” She picked up a stick and tossed it through the fence. “Daddy and I
were
kindred souls in that manner. Sometimes I think that frightens my brother. You know . . . afraid I might fly off in an airplane one day and never come back. Sometimes I think he hates Daddy for that . . . for his adventurous spirit . . . for dying.”

Nudging his feet aside, Catie settled back on the bench so close their thighs were pressed tightly against each other. She had a sudden need to be close to him.

Hoping to lighten the sorrow he sensed, Sean knocked his shoulder into hers. “And yet, Catie Darcy, none of this tells me why you don’t like to gallop.”

“Oh, yeah . . . I fell off of a horse.”

“Oh, no!” He shook his head laughing. “You aren’t getting off that easy. I want the
whole
story.”

“All right, I’ll tell you.” She stood up again and looked down at him. “It was only a month or so after Daddy died. Ben was not himself, mourning probably, but he looked so angry, so . . .
troubled
, like he could kill someone. He closed Pemberley up like a fortress, even posted a guard at the lodge. As you can imagine, the story of two wealthy orphans was quite the juice.” She had been pacing as she spoke but stopped now to smile awkwardly at him. Sean nodded, so she continued, “Well, for some reason, something to do I guess, Ben decided to focus more strongly on my riding. He had given me the odd lesson here and there but nothing serious.” Catie stopped again and looked at her father’s headstone. Seeing a shudder run through her, Sean got up and took her hand.