Chapter 12 #2
How had his life come to this? For years, he had sought the perfect position as a parson of the Church of England and finally had enticed Lady Catherine de Bourgh into giving him a valuable living here in Kent.
It was the ideal situation for a man of his interests; he was well regarded in the community, and respected as a favorite of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
One major benefit of his station was that he easily seduced several attractive lower class women, all of whom were convinced to keep quiet when he informed them that he did not, in fact, have any intention of marrying.
After all, as he pointed out to his various lovers, who would believe their claims that he had bedded them?
He was the parson of Hunsford, a noble son of the Church and a loyal subordinate to Lady Catherine of Rosings herself!
And then, the catastrophe occurred. Lady Catherine was deposed of her position as the mistress of Rosings and her only daughter, Anne de Bourgh, took her place. With shocking abruptness, his placid and pleasant existence at Hunsford had come to an end.
Miss Anne de Bourgh was a frail woman, but she had shown surprising strength of character these last months, ever since it developed that she had legally inherited Rosings a few years previously.
Mr. Gabriel Ware took another sip of rum as he cursed the idiot lawyer who had drawn up the false codicil.
According to a young servant girl, who had overheard it from the housekeeper, who was speaking to Lady Catherine’s personal maid, who had overheard Lady Catherine shrieking about it, the codicil’s false signature was badly forged, and there was some kind of foolish mistake regarding the Prince Regent.
Ware was two and thirty years of age. He was handsome, pleasing, and in appearance and manners quite the gentleman.
It had been easy enough to flatter and manipulate Lady Catherine; regrettably, he spent little time endearing himself to her daughter since he believed – inaccurately as it turned out – that Lady Catherine would continue to rule Rosings until the day she died.
Anne de Bourgh was so thin, so weak, so quiet, that he paid her little attention, choosing instead to focus his brilliant smile and gentle speech on the older lady.
But no, Miss de Bourgh had returned from a trip to Pemberley with fire in her eyes and a giant of a solicitor at her side.
This man, the loathsome Mr. Alexander Martyn, had shown himself an enemy to Gabriel Ware from the very beginning.
There was suddenly a great deal of oversight over the parish and the tithes, whereas previously Gabriel had easily skimmed off some extra monies for his own personal use.
And then, only a week ago, the final blow fell.
Mr. Ware was summoned to Rosings and informed by Anne de Bourgh herself, with the detestable Martyn at her side, that he was dismissed from his position as parson.
When Ware protested that such a thing was impossible, Mr. Martyn told him that his bishop himself, informed of the illegality of his appointment, had agreed with his removal.
Ware allowed himself to beg Miss de Bourgh for mercy and requested her compassion, claiming that his expulsion was unrighteous and cruel, whereupon Martyn produced a sheaf of papers and handed it over with one meaty hand.
To Ware’s horrified indignation, the papers were a report by an investigator of his own rather checkered past. There were records of previous thefts and seductions, of his own brush with the law some seven years ago. How dare this vapid, skinny female order an investigation of his private affairs!?
Gabriel Ware took another long sip of rum and stared outside ruminatively.
His life was in ruins now; his bishop would no doubt warn others of his past, and he would never find another decent living!
Furthermore, he was in debt to a number of tradesmen, and he had no source of income at his disposal now that he was being thrown from Hunsford on the morrow.
And that was another thing – to only give him a week to leave Hunsford? How dare she?
Again, his eyes drifted to the mighty mansion standing on rising ground. It was yet an hour before dinner, and according to one of his lovers at Rosings, a parlor maid, Miss de Bourgh always spent the two hours before the evening meal in the library reading boring books on estate management.
Ware grimaced and rose to his feet, his mind a spinning pinwheel of righteous fury.
He would show the wench that she could not destroy his life without reaping repercussions – she would regret it and soon.
He knew his way around the manor and knew the quickest way to the library.
Miss de Bourgh was not a married woman yet; if he compromised her, she would have no choice but to accept his hand in marriage or be ruined.
If the former, Rosings would be his. If the latter, well, he did not much care if he ended up in jail, or even hanged, if Anne de Bourgh’s life was destroyed.
Not that it would come to that; the gentry were notorious for not wishing any scandal to attach to their names.
He slammed his cup onto the desk, causing the remaining liquid to slosh onto the wooden surface, and strode out the door.
/
Express letter to Pemberley
March 22nd, 1818
Dear Darcy,
Something of a most dreadful nature has occurred! But I do not wish to alarm you unduly; I am unharmed.
Yesterday evening, Mr. Gabriel Ware, my former parson, attacked me in the library at Rosings.
It is obvious that his desire was to take my virtue, but my dear Mr. Martyn was alerted by a maid who saw Ware sneaking in through the back entrance.
Mr. Martyn ran into the library and pulled Ware off of me before any harm was done.
Ware had a knife on him and stabbed Alexander in the arm, whereupon my noble defender broke the man’s neck.
I must beg you to come here as quickly as possible.
The death was not intentional but Lady Catherine has accused Alexander of murder, and the local magistrates are in the habit of treating her with far more awe and respect than she deserves.
Mr. Martyn is not locked up yet, but the situation is volatile.
I must beg you to come as quickly as possible, Darcy.
I feel the need for family support at this time.
I asked Alexander to marry me. I realize that is hardly the standard way of things, but we have grown very close through the months as we have worked together, and I entirely adore his little daughter, Cassandra.
Alexander is the son of a gentleman but a poor man, and it was obvious through our subtle conversations on the matter that he did not consider himself worthy of wedding the heiress of Rosings.
My own reputation is certainly damaged by what has occurred, though again, I was not harmed in any way.
Please come, Darcy!
Your loving cousin,
Anne