The Road to Pemberley (52 page)

Darcy slowly shook his head at the discrepancy between her description of Sir Edward and Mr. Leach's description of the same man. “How exactly did she manage to frighten him?” he asked.

“Well, sir, Holly was furious to be abandoned in her time of need. After a late performance one night, she passed out while descending some stairs. Sir Edward caught her, but not before she had severely injured her ankle and back, incapacitating her for months. She could never dance after that, so she became an actress instead. Several weeks after she was laid up, she discovered that she was with child. Sir Edward denied all responsibility. She laughed at him and quickly disabused him of that notion. He ran, the coward. After the child was born, Holly was low on funds, not having worked in the previous months. She had pawned all the jewelry given by her gentleman callers, and her friends helped out as best they could, but it was not enough. Holly was too proud to go back to her family for support, and things were turning a bit desperate. She decided to visit the offices of Slithy and Bandersnatch and had them write a letter to the gentleman, requesting a conference. The solicitors
managed to convince Sir Edward that it would be in his best interests to live up to his new responsibilities.”

“And so we arrive at the happy meeting where the boy was transferred to his new family,” noted Darcy wearily, “and so it appears that I have reached the end of this promising road.”

After some moments of agitated reflection, he began pacing the floor. He tightened his right hand into a fist and slammed it into his open left hand. “Damn!” he cried. “Damn these circumstances! If only there were some conclusive…some unique artifact of his among Miss Doolittle's effects that could once and for all prove the gentleman's identity.”

The startled actress stopped primping by the mirror and turned to view him. They looked at each other in silence. She slowly broke into abroad smile. “That's it, Mr. Darcy! That's it!” she cried as she grabbed him in a smothering hug. The close proximity of her feather boa to his nose made it impossible for him to suppress a sneeze.

He recovered quickly. “What is it, Miss Callooh? What have you remembered?”

“His walking stick, Mr. Darcy. His fancy blackthorn walking stick!” she answered excitedly. “When Holly took her tumble, her ankle injury did not at first appear to be as grievous as it actually was. Sir Edward loaned her his walking stick to make it easier for her to hobble around. He never came back to retrieve it; I remember seeing it used as a prop in some of our productions.”

Darcy's spirits picked up immediately. After trudging through a desert of lost hope, he had finally reached a small oasis. “What did the stick look like? What became of it?” he asked excitedly. “Is it still here?”

“Holly used to keep it right here, in this room. It was ever so exquisitely carved—it had a goose head as a handle.” Elsie began looking about the room; Darcy eagerly joined in the search. “Holly
and I shared this room during the last years of her life, and I distinctly remember seeing it…Hmm…I wonder what became of it…I remember! She gave it to Freddie!”

“Freddie?” asked Darcy.

“Frederick Eiesvor-Hil,” she replied. “He was a dilettante who got his jollies by hanging around with the theater crowd. He was smitten with Holly's great beauty, and acted rather like a puppy. He would wait in the street outside her door, just so he could accompany her to the theater. Holly grew quite annoyed by his unceasing attentions and finally refused to have anything more to do with him. Then Freddie's mother put her foot down and threatened to cut off his inheritance if he persisted in squandering his life on such a futile endeavor. So he reluctantly kept his distance from Holly, ever the heartbroken bachelor, although he did attend every one of her opening performances. His flame for her never completely died; during her last year of her life, when she took ill, he returned to her side and devoted himself to her care. I recollect seeing him walk with that cane at her funeral.”

“And what became of Freddie?” asked Darcy. “Do you know where I might contact him?”

“No, I don't have his address, if that's what you mean; but I do know where you might find him.”

Darcy arched an eyebrow.

“I'll wager that he visits Holly's grave at least once a week, the poor lost soul. I've seen him there when I've had occasion to stop by.”

“Miss Callooh, I cannot thank you enough for your assistance!” exclaimed Darcy, shaking her hand and smiling. But Elsie did not find this parsimonious display of thanks at all acceptable from the handsome young man. She gathered Darcy in another warm embrace.

A brief downpour had turned the streets to an unholy muddy mess, but his carriage eventually navigated the rutted streets to the cemetery. As Darcy alighted from the carriage, sunlight finally punched through the clouds, lending gravestones an instant adornment of sparkling liquid jewelry. Larks and cardinals sang cheerfully as he walked toward the plum tree in the far corner of the yard. He found a man sitting on a stone bench—his trench coat thoroughly soaked—and grasping a solitary rose, along with a fancy walking stick. Darcy introduced himself, splashed away the pooled water from the bench with his hand, and sat beside him. Freddie was eager to make the acquaintance of someone so familiar with his beloved Holly, and listened sympathetically to Darcy's tale about Holly's son and his predicament. After nearly an hour and a half, Freddie willingly swapped his cane for Darcy's inlaid gold-and-ivory walking stick. Darcy departed, sighing with relief. He could now return to Pemberley, satisfied that there could be no further doubt about the identity of Wickham's father.

The perfect travel conditions created by cool breezes and overcast skies expedited Darcy's return to Pemberley. James and Jenny ran to greet him in the entrance hall, eager to discover what wonderful treats their father had brought home for them. Darcy lifted them both in his arms and gave each a kiss, but they squirmed with so much excitement that he quickly had to set them down and retrieve their presents from his travel bag. Although James was happy to receive a new wooden jigsaw puzzle depicting the Tower of London, he became ecstatic when presented with a large bag of chocolate-covered walnuts, raisins, and pecans. He immediately plopped
down, cross-legged, on the marble floor. He found a walnut confection, his favorite, and let the delectable chocolate layer slowly melt on his tongue. Meanwhile, Jenny's eyes opened wide with wonder as Darcy pulled out her new toy, a funny little stuffed warthog. She instantly named it Nelle, kissed and hugged it in delight, and then ran off to introduce Nelle to the other stuffed animals in her room.

Elizabeth and Darcy laughed at their children's uninhibited displays of pleasure. After taking full advantage of the opportunity for a proper embrace and kisses, they retreated to the study to talk about Darcy's adventures in London. Elizabeth was both surprised and relieved to hear the latest developments. Eager for a resolution of the matter, Darcy penned a letter to Wickham, announcing the completion of his investigation, and extending an invitation to visit Pemberley at his earliest convenience.

Ten days later Wickham arrived from the North country. The butler admitted him into the library and offered brandy as an antidote to the rigors of his long journey. Wickham gratefully accepted the refreshment and busied himself with a recent edition of the
Times
. Darcy joined him three quarters of an hour later.

“Mr. Wickham,” said Darcy brightly as he greeted his guest with extended hand. “Please forgive my delay. I had to attend to the needs of another guest in the drawing room.”

Wickham took this unexpected display of good cheer as an encouraging sign. “Mr. Darcy, it is most pleasant to be in your good graces at last.”

Darcy smiled while inviting him to be seated. “Mr. Wickham, I believe that I have fulfilled the terms of our verbal agreement. I have completed my investigation and have written to you, as promised. As you have already forsworn demands for any additional compensation, I can only assume that we both regard this meeting
simply as a social call—so we can, as you put it, ‘replace discord with harmony.'”

“Ah, Mr. Darcy. So your investigation led you to the same conclusion that I reached. That is indeed most gratifying to hear.”

“Yes, indeed, Mr. Wickham. I am certain that I now share your full knowledge of our relationship,” Darcy said enigmatically. He enjoyed seeing Wickham's confident expression briefly dimmed by a twitch of alarm and concern before he could recover with a slight grin.

“It is a wonder, is it not,” said Wickham, “that we grew up together on these very grounds, all the while unaware that we were half brothers.”

“A wonder, indeed,” returned Darcy. “I certainly never knew that such a connection existed. I cannot thank you enough for the pains you took to make me aware of our genealogy. I particularly commend you for the ingenious way that you induced me to follow the path to true knowledge. I cannot imagine a better return for the fifty pounds that I paid for your reimbursement.”

Wickham was unprepared for Darcy's conciliatory attitude. Expecting only bitterness and spite, his well-rehearsed plan was of no use to him. How was he to work on Darcy now? His silence and vacant look betrayed his confusion.

Darcy leaned back and smiled. “Well, Mr. Wickham, it appears that our reminiscences are concluded. You must excuse me, as I am wanted by my other guest. Perhaps some other day we can reprise old times and hoist a few mugs down at the Lambton Inn. Please relay our family's best wishes to Mrs. Wickham and the children.”

Darcy's gambit focused Wickham's mind wonderfully. “Pardon me, Mr. Darcy, but there still remain a few matters to discuss—”

“You are mistaken, Mr. Wickham. Did you not declare in our most recent meeting that reimbursement for your expenses was all
that you sought? Did you not assure me that you would never seek more? I have acknowledged our familial bond and thanked you for your efforts, so I do not know what could be left to discuss.”

“You must surely recall,” countered Wickham, “that I raised the possibility that you might wish to offer some reward once you were reunited with your half brother. Can you be so unfeeling that you deny the bonds of duty toward your brother?”

“Duty, Mr. Wickham? Yes, I find it easy to be unfeeling, for my previous advancements of money on your behalf have paid my duty to you in full.”

“That is scandalous!” cried Wickham. “How can you be callous to me, your elder brother? If not for an accident of birth, our roles could be reversed. Imagine, you could now be imploring me for the same justice that I seek! Had I inherited the vast property and resources of our father, there is no way under heaven that I could live with a clear conscience while denying my brother his due!”

“Rightful due?” replied Darcy, his demeanor calm. “At the risk of sounding cold, Mr. Wickham, I must inform you that no rights of inheritance accrue to an illegitimate son, firstborn or not. As for your heartfelt profession of generosity were our places exchanged, I remain unconvinced and unmoved.”

“Yes, my rightful due,” protested Wickham. “Here, read for yourself how our father planned to provide for my annual pension.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced a letter from the late Mr. Darcy to his adoptive father.

Darcy examined the letter carefully. “Ah yes, Mrs. Younge did mention something about this letter during my meeting with her. Hmm…I see here that my father intended to provide you with a pension of two hundred pounds a year once you attained the age of five and twenty. That much is clear, and the signature certainly is my father's.”

“Well?” asked Wickham. “You refuse to honor an explicit wish on the part of our father?”

After pretending to study the letter once again, Darcy finally allowed, “No, of course not. I just wanted to review this evidence for myself.” He then calmly walked over to a cabinet, retrieved a document, and presented it to Wickham. “Here you are, Mr. Wickham—the final disposition of my father's will, which my solicitor has drawn up for this occasion. Please sign both copies and I shall pay the balance of the annuity at once.”

Wickham read the document rapidly, with wonder at first, and then disbelief, and, finally, alarm. “What!” he exclaimed. “This is impossible! Am I to renounce all claims on my rightfully inherited pension for a paltry fifty pounds? I certainly shall not!”

“Not simply for fifty pounds,” corrected Darcy. “I have made the assumption that you will live to the ripe age of five and seventy. Thus, for fifty years at two hundred pounds per year, the total comes to ten thousand pounds. Naturally, I have deducted the money that I already advanced to you, namely, the three thousand pounds that you received in lieu of a living, and the six thousand nine hundred pounds that I advanced to retire your gaming debts at the time of your marriage to Miss Lydia Bennet. The additional five hundred pounds you received at that time I regard as my wedding present to you and your bride. Having advanced fifty pounds for your expenses, that, sadly, leaves only fifty pounds to be paid from the original ten thousand pounds. If, on the other hand, you reckon that you are shortchanged by my estimate of your longevity, I am perfectly willing to begin payments of two hundred pounds a year once you have lived beyond the nine thousand nine hundred-fifty mark, which I calculate to be three months shy of seventy five years. Which payment plan do you prefer?”

“Neither plan is acceptable!” shouted Wickham. “The money you previously donated had nothing to do with my annuity. You can discharge our father's obligation only by paying me the full two hundred pounds a year, beginning from my twenty-fifth year. I shall only be content with ten thousand pounds at once.”