The Elizabeth Papers (11 page)

“Evie, do you want me to drive you and Milena home? You look done in.”

“Thanks.” She looked up, and he wondered whether that was the shadow of a smile. “I’ll drive. But you come too. You left your car on our street right?”

They drove through the night in silence. Milena insisted on sitting in the back so that Charlie and Evie could talk if they wanted, but somehow it didn’t happen. She changed gears, steered, and indicated like an automaton, and it was only as they parked outside the house that he spoke.

“Thanks. Is it okay if I call tomorrow?”

“I suppose so.”

Chapter 15

April 2, 1821, Pemberley

An almost imperceptible joke played across Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face, and he smiled into his teacup before drinking. His much-anticipated arrival took place an hour ago, and now he is in the drawing room, with all of us hanging on his every word. The girls, I thought, may combust with excitement in the hours before he alighted from his horse and sauntered into the hall. Ann and Emma have not seen him for two years, and this is the first time that he has met either Frances or Beatrice. Frances potters about on the floor, and Beatrice lies in Georgiana’s arms next to me on the chaise. Questions have been fired at our guest from all directions, and he has fielded them creditably. Has he ever seen a cannon ball? Has he brought his uniform to Pemberley, and shall he wear it to church? Does he wish to sit on a rocking horse in the day nursery? Their little faces opened up towards him like flowers.

Cousin Richard himself is quite unchanged from the easy mannered, kind, and agreeable man whom I met at Rosings when I was a girl of not one and twenty. He jumped off his horse after a long and perilous absence and smiled as if he had been to Lambton to post a letter.

“Darcy, Lizzy, where are all these young ladies then? I cannot have people being born into the family and not exposed to my company!”

He kissed my cheek and gave me a brotherly embrace after shaking hands with Fitzwilliam.

“I thought you would have seen enough of battle and may wish for some rest before they are unleashed on you.”

“No, Lizzy. There is never too much battle for me—you should know that. You are looking very well. Darcy is obviously looking after you, as well he should.”

My husband threw a withering look at his cousin who was well used to such banter. “You will have to forgive us, Fitzwilliam, for greeting you without the children. We were not sure whether you could stand their exuberance, and I would not want to tire you out when you have only arrived.”

“You have not lost your humour, Cousin. I’m glad to see that. After spending a week at Rosings with Anne, I shall relish it! I am in need of song, laughter, and conversation—and lots of it. Now, where are those girls? I wish to see my relations. Are they all as beautiful as Lizzy?”

He winked at my husband who only flinched slightly at his manner of referring to me.

“They are,” he replied and led his cousin into the drawing room without further ado. Since that time, Georgiana, Lord Avery, and Archibald have joined us, and altogether we have been a merry party. I notice that my husband favours Archibald with conversation and enquires after his progress at riding. My fingernails dig crescents into the flesh of my palms. I see him smiling upon his nephew when he plays with Anne and Emma on the terrace outside. When Fitzwilliam and Lord Avery stand by the fire and talk, I wonder whether they are speaking of it even as I look upon them. Their heads incline towards each other, and I hear the low mumble of their male voices. I do not know their words. Shall they ever be confided to me? Has my husband suggested to our brother that his living son may take the place of my non-existent one, or shall he leave that proposal for later? Wild ideas flame up in my mind, but I fight against them, determined not to be consumed. Archibald comes in from the terrace and presents himself to me with mud on his hands.

“Aunt Elizabeth, may Anne and I run to the folly?”

“You may, Archibald, but you must also take Emma, for I think she would like to go, would you not?”

I look at my second daughter who frantically gasps her assent. It is agreed, and they are off, storming into the distance, their little bodies twitching up the hill, pastel-coloured shapes against the green relief of the lawn. I stand at the door that gives onto the terrace and watch them go, the sun on my face, a light breeze rustling my skirts. Archibald’s little breeches pound away, and he is easily outstripping the girls in their cotton frocks. I feel the beginnings of resentment and hurt growing inside me. Fitzwilliam appears at my back and says nothing. I bristle at his nearness, but ultimately, I have not his appetite for silence.

“Archibald is a good runner, is he not?”

I feel the faintest touch of his finger against my forearm.

“Not as good as you, Elizabeth.”

My mind flipped to us running together in the woods when we were first married, and my confessing to him that I had, as a girl, run from Longbourn to Meryton for devilment, and none of my family knew. I considered for a moment how we had once been with each other and how things were now, and I wanted to cry out. If he thought he could flirt his way back into my good graces, then he was wrong.

“You flatter me, sir. I would not be up to that now at my age and after bearing four children. I would do myself an injury. No, I think I shall leave the athletics of the household to young Archibald.”

“Nonsense…”

He was about to speak further when a cry went up in praise of Frances’s having taken three consecutive steps, and we were all distracted.

Later, our exhausted children were put to bed, and Archibald climbed wearily into his father’s carriage and, with his nanny for company, went home. It had been decided that the grown-ups would dine at Pemberley and then, as it was a full moon, make a late night progress to Broughton Park where Richard was to stay with Georgiana and Lord Avery. So it was that we found ourselves, as the evening was settling into night, in the small dining room—Fitzwilliam and I at either end of the table, and Georgiana and Richard on one side facing Lord Avery, who seemed to turn his food around on his plate in a melancholy manner. Servants came in and out of the room with platters and dishes and sparkling decanters, and candle light flickered across our faces like quicksilver. Richard’s jokes were so diverting and so numerous that, by the time our puddings were placed before us, I had an ache in my belly and in my cheeks. I caught Fitzwilliam looking at me from his place and wondered whether he was troubled by my easiness with his cousin. He had never become accustomed to our addressing one another as “Richard” and “Lizzy” but I could not overly regret this. For, if it was a discomfort to him to think of my enjoying a friendship with his cousin, then it was equally a discomfort to me to know that our nephew was to be promoted above all of our own children as his heir, simply because he was a boy.

When the meal was at its end, Georgiana and I retired to the drawing room and left the men to their dimly lit port and serious conversation. Her hand slipped over my arm, and she snuggled to my body as we walked down the corridor to our tea.

“Oh, Lizzy, it is just like old times, is it not? I am glad we are alone for I want to play a new piece of music, but it is not yet perfected enough to be presented to the men.”

I smiled at her as we approached the drawing room.

“Well, in that case, I shall look forward to hearing it. But you should not be shy in front of the men for they are none of them great musicians. Certainly, not Fitzwilliam. He sang for me once after a great deal of cajoling on my part, and I must say that I do not plan to push the point again.”

The memory made me smile in spite of my mood.

“Oh, Lizzy, where did you learn to be so diverting?”

“Your brother could make jesters of us all, Georgiana. It is one of his talents.”

She sat down at the piano bench and began to rifle through the music sheets she had fetched with her from Broughton Park. Her fine head, still as blonde as sunshine, tilted towards her lap full of papers. She continued to chatter, and I was glad that she did not look at my face as she spoke.

“…not the only one though. Fitzwilliam is quite the
best
of brothers. I could not hope for a better one. For he has been such a wonderful uncle to Archibald recently. We are so fortunate.”

“Indeed? I mean has he been more than usually attentive?”

I felt a sting in my eye and straightened my body.

“Why yes. Archibald is being quite spoilt. Fitzwilliam has been coming to Broughton Park so frequently. He has some business with Henry. I do not understand, but it requires lots of hours closeted in the study, and heaven knows what they find to talk about. But when he has visited in the last few weeks, he has been so agreeable with Archibald. He has taken him out riding and asked him about his books. And little Archie is becoming most comfortable in his company, for which I am glad. For he is so shy around Henry’s brother, who I must say is rather fearsome with him, but Fitzwilliam has been quite the opposite.”

“Well…I’m glad to hear it…”

“Only this week Fitzwilliam was in Henry’s study for the whole afternoon, and he still found time to discuss the harvest with Archibald,
the harvest, Lizzy!
There are many men who would simply not make the time for a little boy.”

“No indeed…”

“And it is so good for a boy to have attention from an uncle as well as a father—do you not think? I am sure that your sisters are attentive aunts to the girls, more than I. I try to do my best, but I fear that, having grown up with so many sisters, Mrs. Bingley, Mrs. Lander, and Mrs. Braithwaite must be the experts when it comes to being aunts to young ladies. And Mrs. Wickham as well, of course.”

“Well, they are loving aunts, to be sure. But I shall not have you feeling underused, Georgiana. If you are ready, there are all manner of duties to be performed, from walking guide to doll’s house chatelaine.”

I smiled and tried to relax myself. Georgiana, I observed, settled herself down in her usual place next to my own. Marriage and motherhood had hardly aged her, and her tall figure, beautifully dressed, seemed to fold down like a length of starched linen, and she looked about in the anxious manner she always had. She fingered the edge of the chaise arm and beamed at me as I poured the tea with a shaky hand. Nobody could be sweeter, and I know that she says nothing that she does not say in earnest. Even so, knowing that my husband’s frequent recent absences from Pemberley were due to extended visits to Broughton Park—and that he had been favouring his nephew with his attention—was a bitter taste indeed.

“I shall try, Lizzy. Perhaps I should visit more often, and I can be cajoled into whatever nursery game I am required for! Speaking of games, Lizzy, I cannot help but think that my husband and your husband are about some mystery or other.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, Fitzwilliam has been visiting every week! He never used to come so often. Now he seems to be within Henry’s study whenever I look. I say ‘Where is Lord Avery?’ and the answer then comes, ‘He is in his study with Mr. Darcy.’ Regular as clockwork. Whatever can they be about?”

“I cannot say.”

“Oh, Lizzy, if you do not know, then I give up, for you know everything about Fitzwilliam. He is like a drawing for which you already have the outline.”

“I am not sure that he would like to hear himself so described, my dear. And in any case, I do not think that I do know everything about him, for how can anyone know everything about another? It is quite impossible.”

I felt in that moment that I scarcely knew him at all.

We heard the rumble of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s jolly laugh before the door opened, and the men joined us. Wishing to avoid my husband’s conversation, I moved to take my place at the pianoforte, but he followed and moved the bench for me to sit on. The others laughed and chattered and would have been quite unaware of Fitzwilliam’s touch behind me and whisper of my name as I sat at the instrument. I could not bear to look at him and so did not do so. I shuffled forward slightly, freeing the small of my back from the heat of his hand and kept my face from turning to him. I felt rather than saw him stiffen behind me as I began to play. Georgiana, I knew, was a more accomplished performer, but she was enjoying her tea, surrounded by all of her favourite gentlemen, and for myself, I was glad of the solitude. My fingers worked the keys of their own motion, and the sound smashed around me like a portcullis. On the other side, my companions chattered and laughed, but I could not focus on them. Later, Georgiana played while I sang, I hope, merrily. By the time our guests made to leave, the black sky was palely lit by the moon. The great front door was opened, and the chill of the night pecked at our faces as we said goodbye. The Averys and Richard clattered into the waiting carriage, and through the window, I could see the pale sheen of Georgiana’s gown being pulled and straightened for comfort. Fitzwilliam and I stood at the top of the stairs, waving but not touching. As the carriage pulled away and the horses’ hooves beat their path across the gravel, Mr. Darcy surprised me by taking my hand in his. He spoke not but led me back into the house, across the vast echoing floor of the hall, up the stairs, and into my chamber. As he closed the door behind us, he dropped my hand and ran his fingers through his hair.

He turned to face me.

“Elizabeth,” said he, and I knew I could pretend no longer.

Chapter 16

London, 3 September 2014

After weeks of dry heat, it had rained in the night. The ground was damp and the colours all slightly brighter than before. A back-to-school‒September feeling hung in the air. In Bishop’s Park, Evie sat on the bench facing the river and waited. She had asked him to meet her there, and she didn’t give an explanation. For his part, Charlie had been bemused by the suggestion of Bishop’s Park. It is an unprepossessing and oddly shaped patch of grass on the edge of Fulham with an unimpressive bit of the Thames snaking past. There were overflowing litterbins, bedraggled runners, and not much else. It wasn’t an obvious place to meet, but it had been what she wanted. He saw her some time before she heard him coming and thought how tiny she looked sitting in the middle of the ageing park bench. He sat down beside her, looking straight ahead, and there was a moment of silence before she spoke.

“What do you want from me?”

It was a simple and reasonable question but blunt, and he hadn’t rehearsed an answer.

“I want you to listen and try to believe me.”

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back slightly, her fine features luminous on a dull day.

“I don’t see any reason why I should believe anything you say. I don’t think you have ever said a true word to me, have you?”

“I have, but I’ve told you a lot of lies as well.”

“Well then,” she said as if it ended the matter. He didn’t move. “If I do hear you out, it’s not because I trust you. It’s only because I want you out of my life. Once you have said what you’ve got to say, you can go.”

He had not expected her to be welcoming, but the hardness in her voice chilled him. He had to force himself to withstand it—to speak in spite of her frostiness. There was nothing for it but to say it straight.

“I am a private detective, and I find out people’s secrets for money. I’m very good at it, and I have my own business, which has a lot of clients and a lot of work. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I did for a living, but I’m telling you now.”

He glanced towards her, but she was motionless.

“There was a reason I didn’t tell you the truth. Until recently, one of my clients was a woman called Cressida Carter. You don’t know her, but she is your sixth cousin. She is one of the other beneficiaries of the Darcy Trust. There are eleven of you: you and Clemmie, Cressida, Cressida’s mother, a teacher called Jennifer Craig, three women in Australia, an old lady called Violet Fortescue, and her two daughters. You all get money from the trust every year because you are the surviving female descendants of a guy called Fitzwilliam Darcy who, before he died in 1860, set up the trust. The reason that Cressida came to me is that she got wind of a skeleton in the Darcy family cupboard—a very old skeleton. The rumour is that one of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s daughters wasn’t really his daughter. She was the illegitimate love child of his wife, Elizabeth Darcy and somebody else, nobody knows who. Her name was Victoria Darcy. She was born in 1821 and you are her fifth great granddaughter.”

Evie let out a nervous laugh. He had prepared himself for the fact that she may be angry or resentful, but what if she didn’t even believe him? Agitation and irritation were written on her face.

“Can you just stop? Who even are you? I don’t know any of these people. I’ve never heard of them.”

“I know, Evie, but it’s important you know this.”

“How dare you tell me what I need to know?”

The scent of her hair too close to him and the sight of her chest rising and falling as she breathed, not quite calmly, threatened to engulf him, but he fought it. He had to focus his mind if he were to help her.

“Because knowledge is power. Because if you don’t know a fact and somebody else does, it can be used against you. Because if you walk away not knowing this, it will be my fault. Not everyone is like you, Evie. Some people are cold and hard and greedy.”

“And some people are liars. For all I know you are making this up as well… Anyway what does it matter who my fifth great grandmother was or that I’m related to some woman called Cressida who I’ve never heard of? It’s all crazy. You are crazy.”

“This is why it matters. What Cressida Carter is on to is the fact that if all this is true then you and Clemmie are not really descendants of Fitzwilliam Darcy. And if that is true, then she can stop you continuing to get money from the trust.”

“She can’t just stop it. That’s ridiculous. I’ve been getting money from the Darcy Trust since I was eighteen and so has Clemmie. We are entitled to it. If we weren’t, the lawyers would have stopped it.”

“If Cressida Carter can prove that Victoria Darcy was not the daughter of Fitzwilliam Darcy, then she can approach the lawyers, and they will have no choice but to stop it.”

She glared at him disbelievingly, eyes sparking.

“They can’t! They just can’t. Do you know how much I need that money? Do you know how much it costs to care for Clemmie? Between Milena and other caregivers I have to get in and her holidays in specialists centres? I had to borrow to adapt the house and buy the car, and the repayments are massive. I could never pay them if the Darcy Trust wasn’t there. I just couldn’t.”

“I kind of guessed that.”

She looked at him for the first time since he arrived, and there was disdain in her eyes.

“You guessed it, and you still did this to me? You don’t even know me, and you have come into my life and started this…this thing. You sit there going on about all these people that you know about, but it’s a load of shit.”

“Evie…”

“You know everything and nothing. You know all these names and dates, but you don’t know anything about me or the things I live with day after day. You don’t know that Clemmie used to be a normal girl before her poor body was mangled in the car crash that killed our parents—both of them in the same minute, the same moment.”

***

An unfamiliar bell rang in Evie’s mind, and she realised that she had never spoken the words out loud in all of the five long years that had elapsed; she had never actually said it. Quickly, mind racing, she recovered herself.

“You don’t know what things are like for us.”

“I know enough; that’s why I’m sitting here with you.”

“I wanted to tell Milena just so I’d have someone to talk to, but I can’t because she would be so anxious about her job. I want to tell my aunt and uncle, but they’d be worried sick because they could never afford to help me if I lost the Darcy money. My sister, as you know, is currently wired up to the nines in the Chelwest. You have brought this on me, and now you think I should sit here and listen to you. I don’t know how you sleep at night.”

“Evie, I’m not your enemy. I know it feels like it, but I’m not.”

“If you’re not my enemy, then who are you? You said that you were working for this woman.”

“
Was
. I
was
working for her. I told her I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Why the change of heart? Wasn’t she paying you enough? Did you find a job that was even less noble to take up your time? Did you get bored trying to rob a disabled woman of the only income she has? Did you find out that you could get even more money by ruining somebody else’s life?”

“No. I…” There was a moment of brittle silence as he searched around the darkness in his mind. “I realised that you really needed it and…well…I don’t want to work against you. I want to help you.”

She looked away, and her stomach tightened.

“I am not hiring you.”

“I didn’t mean that. Look, I haven’t told you the worst thing yet, but you need to know it. I said I was telling you the truth, and here it is. When I was working for Cressida, I did find something—something important. It was a batch of letters that Fitzwilliam Darcy wrote to his solicitor. The letters suggest very strongly that there was a secret surrounding Victoria. They also talk about some sort of mystery document that Elizabeth Darcy tried and failed to destroy before she died. Putting those two things together, the missing document might reveal the truth about Victoria. Basically, although the letters don’t prove anything, they lend a lot of credence to what Cressida Carter suspects.”

“So…”

“Well, she has those letters, Evie. I sent them to her. So she knows she’s on the right track. When I rang her to say that I wasn’t going to do it anymore, she…well, she didn’t give me any comfort. She said that she wasn’t going to give up. She was going to carry on the search.”

“The search for what?”

“For Elizabeth Darcy’s lost document, whatever it is. The smoking gun. The elusive proof that what she says is true.”

“And if she finds it, I’m screwed, right?”

“She won’t find it. I’m going to find it. I’ve got an idea where to look, and I’m good at finding things. If you don’t trust me to do it on my own, then come with me.”

The suggestion sat in the air between them. Would it take flight or drop to the ground like a stone? For the moment, it hovered, and Evie considered it.

“If you’ll let me, I’ll email you the letters. Read them. See what you think. Then we can talk again. How about that?”

Evie’s mind bombed about like an out of control rollercoaster. Worries fought with fears in the pit of her stomach. She kept seeing Clemmie’s face in the harsh hospital light. If they lost the Darcy money and Evie had passed up the opportunity to save it, she would never forgive herself.

“Okay. Send me the letters. I’m not promising anything. But send them to me.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“Charlie?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you tell me that you were a collector? How could you?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. You made me nervous, and I said a stupid thing. I’ll still buy those two paintings though. I do want them.”

“If they’re for sale…”

“But they are, right? Please let me buy them. Name your price and I’ll pay it.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, standing up.

He took the hint and rose from the bench. Both in their trainers, he towered above her. She stared at the two buttons opened to his chest before looking down at the damp ground.

“Can I give you a lift home?”

“No, thank you. I’d like to walk.”

With that, they said goodbye and parted. He turned on his heel and walked out of the park the way he had come in, Evie watching his long, lean figure shrink into the distance. Once he was out of sight, she stretched and began to run. Strange names and long ago dates swam around in her mind. They meant nothing to her. She was not a history girl. She had never been interested in the past. It was dry and boring and colourless, and it wasn’t her bag. She told herself that
he
was not her bag either. She recalled how she had felt standing so close to him and rejected the thought. Her feet pounded the damp paving slabs, and cool air swept over her sweaty face as she moved through the familiar streets. She wanted to push her body as hard as it would go and increased her speed until her breath hurt in her chest and her muscles screamed out in pain. She wanted to run it out of her, to work herself so much that it would all go away.

When she got home, she took a shower and changed into clean clothes. Their household computer was fitted with voice recognition technology and set on a high desk so that Clemmie could use it from her wheelchair. Evie switched it on and blew on her coffee to cool it. She was not surprised to see that he had emailed her already, attaching a PDF of Mr. Darcy’s letters. She opened it and began to read, mystified afresh by how this had come into her life. Strange, old-fashioned phrases, written centuries earlier by people she knew nothing of, cantered around the page. It seemed too ridiculous to credit that her whole life was about to come crashing down because of this.

Sometime later, Evie and Milena piled into the car and headed to the hospital for visiting hours. Milena could see the anxiety on Evie’s face although she could not possibly have guessed what had caused it.

“Try not to worry, my lovely. They just want to see her stabilised, then she’ll be back home, and we’ll all be as before. It is part of Clemmie’s condition that these things will happen sometimes, but it is manageable.”

“It is manageable as long as we can get her to hospital.”

“I know, but we did in the end, didn’t we? With the help of…well, we managed it. Try not to worry about what might have been. It is a waste of your energy. Come on Evie, onwards and upwards?” She smiled a kind smile and caught Evie’s eye.

“Okay, Mummy Milena. Onwards and upwards. Have you enjoyed the morning?”

“Yes. Well, I would have enjoyed it more if Clemmie were not in hospital, but yes. I met a friend of mine for coffee at Parson’s Green. Did you know that there is a new respite centre opening up near Brighton? My friend is a nurse, and a client of hers is going there for a holiday. Apparently, it’s all mod cons, and there is swimming and all sorts. You know how Clemmie loves the seaside. It might be worth a look. Shall I see if they have a website?”

Evie immediately thought of the cost, and her moment of calm was shattered. She heard his voice in her head:
knowledge is power
. She saw his face, and her hands began to sweat slightly against the steering wheel.

“Yes. Why not? Sounds like it would be right up her street.”

Milena’s confidence had not been misplaced. Clemmie looked well under the circumstances, and the doctors were happy with her progress overnight. They said what they always did: that these kinds of incidents were inevitable, and it was a case of learning to deal with them. It would never be possible for Clemmie to be free of these horrors. They were a part of her life and Evie’s. It was agreed after much discussion that Clemmie would be discharged the next morning provided that she continued to improve. With that happy knowledge, Evie and Milena had kissed her goodbye and headed home to make sure her room was nice and her favourite food was in for dinner.

Evie’s head spun like a wheel on fire and she could not stop it. When she got home, she printed out the letters of Mr. Darcy and looked at them again. They were short, curt, and elliptical, but they said a lot. They spoke of a man who she just knew in her gut was good even though he lived so long ago, so far away. “There are men who, if they knew the full truth, would say I have been a fool.” He had written it. But what did it mean? She didn’t understand, but something about the whole thing touched her like a hand in the darkness. It touched her that a rich and powerful man long ago had thought to protect the interests of his unborn granddaughters and great granddaughters. It touched her that, in his last days, he had been wracked with worry for the recovery of this mystery document his wife had tried and seemingly failed to destroy. It touched her that love could be so strong, that it could cut through pride and money and faithlessness and misfortune.

Later that evening, she helped Milena make Clemmie’s bed. It was a large bed, higher than standard and with a great harness fixed to the ceiling above. It was a monster in many ways, but the sight of it reminded her of her sister sleeping peacefully. A feeling inside Evie reached its zenith and galvanised. Issues that had previously confused her into inaction crystallised, and she was less afraid. She knew that she would not—could not—let her sister down. After Milena had gone downstairs, Evie stood alone for a few moments before she drew the curtains and switched off the lights. In the dark, she took out her phone and texted him.

OK I’m in. Call me and tell me what we are doing.