Chapter 20
The house was named Heathmere and adjoined a common on one side and tenant farms on the other. In size it was modest, more akin to Longbourn than Pemberley, and a minute’s drive took them from the lodge to the forecourt, where a servant ran to fetch the housekeeper.
A slender, stately woman of middle age received them politely, but warily. ‘Mrs Haines. The master, I’m afraid, is out, although he is expected later this afternoon.’
‘He would be Mr Leighton?’ Darcy said.
‘He would, sir. You know the family?’
Elizabeth stepped forward. ‘My father did, years ago. They went to Italy together, before Mr and Mrs Leighton were married.’
‘Indeed! Well, you must come in and take refreshment. The mistress is presently resting, but I will inform her of your visit. What name should I give?’
Elizabeth hesitated, and Darcy quickly said, ‘Fitzwilliam Darcy.’ He extended an arm. ‘My sister, Georgiana, and a friend …’ He let his voice trail off.
They were shown to a salon furnished in French style, and offered wine and small pastries. The trip had gone off without incident, and provided an opportunity for Elizabeth to explain her interest to Georgiana—leaving out any mention of Sylvie de Montmorency’s baby, or the riddle of the fanciulla.
A lady entered, dark-haired, with delicate features and a touch of rouge on pale cheeks. She looked fortyish, but had retained a slender figure, highlighted by a perfectly fitting dress in the latest fashion.
They rose, bowed, and the lady sat on the edge of a divan. ‘Welcome.’ She looked at Georgiana, then Elizabeth. ‘I understand that one of you …’
Elizabeth raised a finger. ‘My father went to university with your husband, and later, I believe, knew you as well. Perhaps you recall his name. Thomas Bennet.’
‘Mon dieu!’ Sylvie Leighton’s English had only the hint of an accent, but in her shock she reverted to French. ‘Excuse me. And you are …’
‘Miss Bennet. Elizabeth.’
‘And your father …’
‘In good health, still residing in Hertfordshire.’
‘I remember. A kind man, most amusing on occasion.’ She glanced at Darcy. ‘And yourself, sir?’
Darcy introduced himself again while Elizabeth studied Sylvie’s reaction—wary, but interested—and especially her appearance. Could this woman conceivably have been her mother? Surely not. There was no likeness.
‘What a pity Henry is not here!’ Sylvie turned back to Elizabeth. ‘We stayed in Florence, you see, after our wedding, but eventually the war came to Italy too, and we sailed to England with our boys.’
Elizabeth flinched—no mention of a girl. ‘A dangerous journey perhaps.’
‘We chose our time carefully.’ Sylvie sighed. ‘Many in my family were less fortunate. My father, my brother Leon, murdered by those devils. The ladies escaped however, to Florence, and my other brother Claude reached England.’
‘Father mentioned him.’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘And your family? They have thrived, I hope?’
‘I have four sisters, all well …’ Elizabeth decided not to elaborate. ‘May I ask about another family my father mentioned? Do you recall the Pavans?’
Sylvie looked thoughtful, again on her guard. ‘We knew them, of course. When your father and I were in Venice.’
‘You never heard from them again?’
A long pause, then Sylvie sighed. ‘The gentlemen, no. I met Francesco Pavan’s daughter by chance a few years ago, at a London exhibition.’
Elizabeth tried to conceal her excitement at this news, and said matter-of-factly, ‘Concetta?’
Sylvie nodded. ‘She came originally in 1806, to persuade her brother Mario to return to Italy and reclaim what was left of the family’s assets. Her husband had died the year before, having managed the family business after Francesco died. We talked a little of old times.’
‘My father said you were friends.’
‘Concetta was kind to me after I was forced to flee from Paris. Life draws people together sometimes. But circumstances can change and push them apart …’ A shrug. ‘We had a civil conversation at the exhibition. It was enough.’
Elizabeth sensed a disagreement, perhaps over the fate of Sylvie’s baby daughter. ‘I know what you mean. It is so good of you, Mrs Leighton, to confide in us. Was Signora Basso, Concetta, well when you met her? I suppose she was still mourning her husband.’
‘Hmm.’ A twitch of the nose. ‘In good health, yes.’
‘Did you speak with Mario at the exhibition?’
‘He had already left for Venice.’
‘Concetta followed later?’
‘No, they stayed.’
‘They?’
‘Concetta and her daughter.’
This time Elizabeth failed to hide her shock. ‘Concetta had a daughter?’
‘Excuse me, I should have said. Her name was Simona. A charming girl, très jolie.’ Sylvie looked at Georgiana.
‘Miss Darcy’s age or a little older, but dark-haired.
You see, while in London Concetta became engaged to a professor who frequented galleries and museums. I suppose they are living in Cambridge now. ’
‘Do you recall his name?’
Sylvie squinted. ‘War—something. Warrington maybe. He taught classics. Rome. Greece.’
Darcy sat up abruptly. ‘Professor Wharton?’
Sylvie clapped her hands. ‘Exactement! You know him?’
‘I attended his lectures.’ Darcy looked at Elizabeth. ‘It would have been eight years ago. He was in his forties and appeared a confirmed bachelor.’
‘Alors!’ Sylvie spread her arms. ‘The circle is complete.’
They waited awhile, strolling in the grounds in case Henry Leighton returned. When an opportunity presented itself, Elizabeth let Sylvie and Georgiana get ahead, and fell into a hushed conference with Darcy.
‘At last we are closing in on the truth,’ she said, trying to control her excitement.
‘In what regard?’
‘The baby!’ She spoke so softly that the words were almost a mime. ‘Concetta could not have children. This Simona could not possibly be hers.’
‘You mean …’
‘Concetta was shocked that Sylvie would give her little daughter away. She must have gone to the foundling hospital after Leighton and Sylvie left for Florence, and offered to adopt the baby herself.’
‘She would need her husband’s assent.’
‘Why would Signor Basso object? My father witnessed his disappointment in Concetta, so he must have wanted children. Adoption was not ideal: still, this was no ordinary foundling, but a baron’s granddaughter.’
Darcy slowed down, allowing Sylvie and Georgiana to get further ahead. ‘I wonder if this possibility has occurred to Mrs Leighton.’
‘Did you notice how she didn’t mention Simona at first? Only Concetta. Then, by accident, she used a plural. They stayed in England. No wonder she has made no effort to revive the friendship. What a shock to meet a young lady who might be her own child.’
‘She was complimentary. Charming. Très jolie.’
‘Just like Sylvie herself.’
Darcy fell silent, then said with a smile, ‘It would please me to see my old teacher again …’