The Road to Pemberley (50 page)

“That was my late father, sir. He died more than twenty years ago, and when Mr. Slithy followed him not two years later, their combined practice passed to me. How may I be of assistance to you?”

“In my letter, I mentioned that you might possess other records pertaining to this transaction between my father and yours. Were you able to locate any?”

“No, Mr. Darcy. I am sorry to report that it was impossible to comply with your request. The matter in question is quite ancient. Records older than ten years are routinely sent to the archives—a warehouse not two streets away. Unfortunately, fourteen years ago a nearby brewery caught fire and destroyed many of the surrounding
buildings, the warehouse included. I am afraid that all records pertaining to the case are irretrievable.”

This news momentarily stunned Darcy.
All records destroyed? Why, then, would Wickham have sent me here? Surely Wickham must have been ignorant of this.

“Tell me, Mr. Bandersnatch, has anyone else come here lately to inquire about these records?”

“Why, no one at all, sir. I was unaware of the existence of the transaction until I read your letter.”

“Neither your father nor Mr. Slithy mentioned this matter?”

“Why would they, sir? I did not join the firm until five years before my father's passing, a full ten years after the transaction took place. The transaction was most likely quite ordinary; it would have been highly unusual for any transaction among thousands to merit discussion so long after it occurred.”

“Thousands of cases?” noted Darcy. “I take it that business was quite a bit more brisk during the days of the founders.”

“That is true, yes. Unfortunately, my health does not permit me to duplicate my father's success.”

“This office had clerks then, I imagine. Are any clerks from that era still living?”

“Now that you mention it, this office had four clerks in the old days. One of them had gone on to his eternal reward in advance of my father. The second clerk left for a better position outside London, but that was before my time, and I have no knowledge of his whereabouts. The third one set sail for the colonies during my apprenticeship. The last one, Mr. Archibald Leach, retired about ten years ago, after the business of this office began to diminish. But I have not heard from him since, and cannot say for certain that he is still alive. But if you allow me a moment, I can consult my records and fetch his most recent address.”

The solicitor disappeared into the back room for a few minutes and returned with a piece of paper. “Here you are, Mr. Darcy. The Vicarage Hotel is his last known residence.”

Darcy shook the man's hand and thanked him for his time. Then he left directly in search of the hotel. Much to his surprise and relief, Darcy learned from the hotel clerk that Mr. Leach, a healthy septuagenarian in full possession of his wits, was still in residence. Although engaged in his daily perambulation of the neighborhood, he was expected to return presently.

Within a quarter hour, a well-dressed Mr. Leach walked in with his dog, Rintintoul, an old hound whose stiff facial expression appeared to perfectly complement the stiffness of its arthritic joints. Darcy greeted the amiable old man and patted his decrepit dog. After acquainting the man with the purpose of his call, Darcy suggested that they retreat to the Bag O'Nails pub next door, where the atmosphere was more conducive to conversation.

After they took possession of a corner table and the barmaid delivered ale and bitters, the conversation quickly turned from pleasantries to business. Darcy introduced the ancient invoice and the baptismal record, and explained the predicament of the destroyed files.

Mr. Leach's countenance brightened as he perused the document carefully. “Yes, I do recall the matter quite well. It was a most unusual case.…Mr. Edward Darcy… I had forgotten your father's name.…My facility for recollecting names was not good to begin with, and it has not improved in my dotage, but I do remember your father, a most generous man.”

“What transaction took place?” asked Darcy. “To what does this ‘transference fee' refer?”

“Yes, that is an odd sort of description.” Leach quaffed more bitters and began his narrative. “Your father first came to our office
for assistance in establishing a trust for a mother and child. I believe he meant to set aside a thousand pounds—a handsome sum, even to this day. Another clerk handled the preliminaries.…I apologize, sir, his name escapes me at the moment. Well, your father and the clerk hit it off—Gregory! Ah yes, that was the clerk's Christian name.… A week later, your father returned to the office with both mother and son to conclude the transaction. I remember the woman very well indeed—as handsome a woman as one is likely to see in three lifetimes. A dancer she was; a most popular dancer.”

“Holly Doolittle was her stage name.”

“Yes, that's it. You have it exactly right, Mr. Darcy. Did your father tell you the story?”

“Not at all. My father kept the matter completely to himself. Please continue.”

“The clerk was quite taken with the baby boy as soon as he saw him. It was obvious to everyone in the room that the mother had no real interest in the boy. She being a dancer and all, the baby was, no doubt, a constant nuisance. Then a remarkable event took place. Gregory told Mr. Darcy that after eight years of marriage, he and his wife had not been able to conceive a child. He offered to adopt the boy on the spot, if the boy's mother were inclined to part with him. Your father was touched by his sincerity and found the proposal agreeable. The mother refused at first, but your father saw the sticking point. He offered to give the trust money to her anyway, but she held out until he doubled the amount. Now, that was a most magnanimous gesture, and that is why the matter sticks out so clearly in my mind. Imagine spending an additional thousand pounds just to be sure that the boy could grow up in a family that wanted him.”

“Yes,” remarked Darcy, “such a display of generosity would have been in character for my late father. But I must be certain of one
thing: to the best of your recollection, did my father ever declare that the son was his?”

“I cannot recall explicitly,” answered the clerk. “All I can offer is my impression that everyone in the office seemed convinced that such was indeed the case.”

“And the mother?” added Darcy. “Do you know what ever became of her?”

“No, I never saw or heard from her again. But as I said, she was a theater girl, and I had no time or taste for the stage back in those days. As for the clerk and the boy, all I know is that three months later I came to work to discover that the clerk had suddenly left the firm for a better position outside the city. No one seemed to know exactly where he had gone or what ever became of him.”

Darcy sighed in resignation. His discovery of the identity of the child was a most disheartening development. Feelings of shock, anger, and bitterness had already run their course. He had first suspected the truth when he saw the date of Sylvester's baptism. He found further confirmation when he learned the Christian name of the clerk, and now at last all the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place. Darcy downed the remainder of his ale.

“Mr. Leach, the clerk's name was Gregory Wickham, was it not? I will wager any amount that he had little affection for the name Sylvester, and so he had the boy rechristened George.”

“Why, yes. Yes!” he cried in sudden recognition. “You have it correct on both counts! How in heaven's name do you happen to know that?”

Darcy then proceeded to tell Mr. Leach of the family steward, Mr. Gregory Wickham. All Darcy had previously known of the man's past was that he had been a law clerk prior to his arrival at Pemberley. Evidently, the late Mr. Darcy's favorable impression of the clerk, his desire to see the boy taken good care of, his wish to
permanently remove the boy's mother from the scene, and his need for a new steward combined to produce a result that was beneficial for all parties. For the first time, it became clear to Darcy what had motivated his father to become godfather to George and to treat the Wickhams so generously. For their part, the Wickhams apparently had agreed to hold the circumstances of George's birth and adoption in perfect secrecy.

Further clarification was needed on one more point: “Mr. Leach, have you told this story to anyone else recently?”

The retired clerk emptied his glass and thought awhile. “Well, sir. I do occasionally like to reminisce about the old days at the office, and naturally the story of the rich man's generosity to the showgirl and the clerk is too interesting not to talk about. But I swear, even if I had been able to recall your father's name, I would never have mentioned it. I have always been a model of discretion.”

Darcy smiled. He then described George Wickham and related how the whole investigation had begun from documents he had provided. “Was ever this man present when you told your story?” asked Darcy.

“No, sir. No such young man ever loitered about with my cronies. I certainly would have remembered the likes of him.”

It appeared that Mr. Leach had exhausted his knowledge on the subject, so Darcy paid the bar tab and slipped a ten-pound note to Mr. Leach, thanking him most heartily for his time and valuable information. As he was about to leave the table, Darcy was struck by another possibility.

“Mr. Leach, have you always maintained residence at the Vicarage?”

“Indeed, I have, sir, for these past ten years at least, excepting a few months ago, when I had to seek temporary lodging for a fortnight whilst the Vicarage was undergoing renovation. Other than that, my residence there has been continuous. Why do you ask?”

“Permit one more impertinent question, please. Your temporary lodgings—did you happen to take room and board next door to the Moon and Sixpence pub on Wardour Street?”

“Mr. Darcy, you continue to astonish me. How did you know?”

“A most unfortunate guess,” said Darcy grimly as he took his leave.

Darcy soon found himself on Wardour Street, knocking loudly on the boardinghouse door. A slightly disheveled woman of middle age greeted him pleasantly.

“You don't have to force your way in this time, Mr. Darcy. Please come in, sir. I've been expecting you.”

“Mrs. Younge, I wish I could say that this is a pleasure.”

Mrs. Younge led Darcy into the modestly appointed middle room, and invited him to sit in the hardback chair by the heavily shaded window. Darcy had no patience for her display of hospitality, so he politely but firmly declined her offer of refreshment. The hostess poured tea for herself, sat down in the chair opposite him, and gazed at him expectantly.

“Mrs. Younge,” he resolutely began, “you can have no doubt about the purpose of my call. I have just met with your former tenant Mr. Leach, who, I surmise, has unfortunately supplied you with information concerning my late father's private dealings. You probably wasted little time in transmitting this knowledge to Mr. Wickham. Madam, I am in no mood for evasion or deception. Despite my wish to minimize my demands upon your time, I am resolved to remain here until you have fully disclosed Wickham's information and intentions.”

“Naturally, Mr. Darcy. I can readily understand what distress you must have suffered upon first learning about your half brother,” she mockingly replied. “Such a shock must be most disagreeable to any man of honor. I promise, however, to do my best to satisfy your curiosity about the peculiar history of both your father and your brother. Where would you wish me to begin?”

“From the inception of the plot,” he answered coldly. “I am hellbent on finding out how Mr. Wickham intends to convince Georgiana and me that we should share our father with him.”

Mrs. Younge smiled sunnily. “He first learned of his true parentage from me, via Mr. Leach, as you have rightly asserted. What a kindly and gregarious man Mr. Leach is! He liked nothing better than to take a place by the evening fire and discuss events of the day or reminisce about old times. About one week after his arrival, he told the intriguing tale of the wealthy gentleman who had dallied with a dance hall girl and sired a son illegitimately. I am certain Mr. Leach has told you the whole story about the boy's adoption by his fellow clerk and the clerk's subsequent disappearance. That unusual story set me to thinking. I knew the elder Wickham for a long time. Every year, he would accompany his family to London for a week's holiday, and they always secured lodgings at my establishment. I knew that prior to becoming Mr. Darcy's steward, Mr. Wickham had clerked for a London solicitor. After Mr. Leach had finished his story, I innocently inquired about the date of the event and other particulars. The proximity of the event to George Wickham's birthday, and Mr. Leach's subsequent mention of the clerk's Christian name, convinced me that the child could be no other than George Wickham. I immediately wrote a letter to Mr. Wickham, telling him of my discovery.”

“That most certainly was months ago,” observed Darcy. “What has Wickham been up to between then and now?”

“Mr. Wickham was on regimental maneuvers when my letter arrived, and he could not depart for London until a fortnight ago. He was most naturally curious about the development, so Wickham went straight to see Mr. Bandersnatch as soon as he came to London.”

“And what degree of success did he achieve?” asked Darcy.

“Wickham discovered that the clerk's name was indeed Gregory Wickham, and he found out about the lost records, too—a most serious blow. Fortunately, he learned that the elder Wickham's records were still intact, as employee records were segregated from client records, and their small volume made archiving them unnecessary. Wickham paid Bandersnatch for the file and obtained his promise to keep the meeting confidential.”