Chapter 40
Darcy tried not to resent the size of their party; he tried not to feel guilty about his resentment when that same party consisted mostly of his relatives and Elizabeth’s. But when it meant that he could not sit beside his betrothed in the same carriage, he felt a degree of resentment appropriate.
Looking across from him, he suspected Nick’s thoughts ran along a similar vein. He either sighed or scowled … much like Darcy.
Uncle clucked his tongue at them and chuckled knowingly—irritatingly. “I have been married to the woman I adore for thirty-two years, and you lads are reminding me of my youth, how every minute without her was agony. I pray you are always impatient for your loves.”
Now Darcy felt wretched. He had been so intent on his own misery, he had not considered how Uncle must miss Aunt, who was taking care of their daughters and niece back in London, no doubt worried and impatient herself to hear the news and know that her husband and nephews were unharmed.
Nick smiled, then turned his gaze to Richard. “Speaking of loves, I’ve seen how ye look at that fiery-haired lass. She’s got a level head on her shoulders and a strong mind. Good qualities.”
Richard smiled, a sad twitch of his lips that died before it reached his eyes. “Miss Rothschild is an heiress. I could not rightly pursue her without feeling like a fortune hunter. She deserves better than that.”
Nick looked at him askance. “Are ye a fortune hunter?”
“No. But it is no secret that I would do well to marry into a fortune.”
“So, ye won’t pursue yer suit because she has exactly what ye need?” Nick scratched his head.
“I respect her too much.”
“Ye like her—could love her even—but ye won’t tell her because she happens to be an heiress in possession of a fortune?” Nick shook his head. “Sounds a bit backwards if ye ask me.”
“It is more complicated than that. I would never want her to doubt that my affection stemmed from a sincere heart.”
“Ye’re an honest man. Just tell her. She’ll believe ye,” Nick said with a shrug.
Richard looked to his father and Darcy for support, but Nick’s reasoning was too simple and sound to refute.
If Miss Rothschild trusted him to speak the truth, then why should Richard not allow her the opportunity to form her own opinion?
She did not seem like the kind of woman to be easily swayed by public opinion or give credence to society’s gossip.
Not a woman unafraid to take on the Bow Street Runners and hire detectives when everyone told her that her efforts were futile and a waste of time.
“Give the lady more credit, Richard. She knows her own mind better than you ever shall,” Uncle urged.
Darcy stifled a snort. Had he heeded his uncle’s advice, he never would have presumed to do or say half of the things he now regretted regarding Elizabeth and her family.
“But what about her friends and family? Surely they would advise her to avoid gentlemen of my sort,” Richard said.
“That is pride, and it has no place in a happy home. People talk no matter what you do, but you are constant and therefore have nothing to fear. You shall love the woman you marry more with every passing year. Let them talk about that.”
Where had Uncle and his advice been before Darcy traveled to Hertfordshire? Of course, Darcy had to own, he would have been too proud to pay his uncle any heed.
But that was no longer the case. He had learned his lesson, and Darcy now knew that he would always be learning. Elizabeth was a charming teacher, but she had high expectations. And he would do his best to rise to them.
Nick laced his fingers together and leaned back against the cushions with his eyes closed.
He had no expectations, nor had he—not even once—used his newfound connections to his own advantage.
And just as Darcy hoped Richard would overcome the obstacles holding him back from a young lady who could be the making of him, Darcy was determined not to allow anyone or anything to separate him from Nick. They were brothers. Darcys.
They arrived at the cemetery before the man with the flowers, but they did not have to wait long. At ten after the hour, he appeared, one hand carrying a bunch of violets.
Piling out of the carriage, the ladies and Mr. Bennet holding back a few paces so as not to overwhelm or frighten the poor man, Darcy waited for his uncle to approach, standing near enough to hear but not too close to crowd.
The man nodded, and Uncle gestured for their party to join them by Mrs. Brown’s grave, introducing them as they trickled in.
“This is Mr. Allan,” Uncle said. Lowering his tone, he added, “Please allow me to express my condolences for your loss. You must miss her dearly.”
Mr. Allan removed the dried flowers, replacing them with the fresh violets. He took a deep breath when he straightened, as though tending to the grave brought him immense satisfaction. “I was away for two months, and it broke my heart to know nobody tended to Martha. But my mother needed me.”
“Is she ill?” Alex asked, adding a hastily, “I’m sorry to hear it.”
Mr. Allan took off his cap. “Thank you, Miss. She lived a good life and will need me no more, though I will miss her just as I miss my dear Martha. They leave, and I remain.”
They stood together in respectful silence until Mr. Allan replaced his cap and spoke. “Now, how may I help you? Your Lordship mentioned you had some questions?”
Miss Rothschild spoke softly. “Did your beloved have any friends or family, aside from you?”
“Not that I know of. She was a quiet person who kept to herself.” He sighed, saying more to himself than to anybody, “She saw a great deal too much and kept many secrets.”
Drawing closer to him, her eyes intent on Mr. Allan, Miss Rothschild said, “It is one of those secrets which led us here to you.”
He nodded, eyes downcast. “You one of ‘em?” he asked.
Darcy swallowed his gasp.
“One of the stolen children? Yes, I believe I am,” she answered.
Another nod. “I suggested to Martha that she keep a list of the babes as well as the families they went to.”
“Does such a list exist?” Richard asked, eyes bright.
“Not by Martha’s hand. She resented them, you see.” He looked up, eyes pleading, “How could she not when she was denied everything they took for granted? She had no parents, no kin willing to claim her and give her a home. Everything she gained, she had to fight for tooth and nail.”
Elizabeth’s voice was gentle. “We are not here to defame her character. We only wish to know the truth and restore the stolen children to their rightful places.”
He finally looked up, inspecting their faces one by one.
After several minutes, he said, “I worked at the orphanage. My family couldn’t afford to keep me, and I took on any work I could find nearby.
The orphanage was a horrible place, but that was where I met Martha.
She had all the plans. I had none. She dreamed of escaping and making her own way, certain of her success.
I’d still be working at the orphanage if it weren’t for her.
I almost wish she hadn’t left. ‘Twas her ambition what killed her.”
“She did not die of natural causes?” Uncle asked.
“My Martha was as fit as a fiddle.”
“What do you think happened?” prodded Miss Rothschild.
Mr. Allan hesitated. Whatever his thoughts were, they were contradictory and difficult. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked levelly at Uncle. “Do I have your word as a peer that you will not make known what I will tell you?”
“That is not a promise I can give lightly.”
“All the same, I will have it, or I will remain silent.”
Uncle tucked his chin into his chest and exhaled.
Mr. Allan added, “Martha’s sins were forgiven at her death. There is no reason for her memory to be maligned when there are precious few who remember her.”
“None of us are interested in smearing the name of the departed, but we do seek answers. If these crimes are continuing and your information assists us in bringing the criminals to justice, then I am prepared to give proper credit to you for sharing what you choose.” Uncle paused, securing Mr. Allan’s full attention before he pulled a pouch of coins from his pocket. “And proper remuneration, of course.”
Mr. Allan pocketed the purse eagerly. “I see you are a fair gentleman. I will tell you what I know.” He looked at Darcy, then at Nick. “It started at Pemberley—your family’s estate, I presume?”
Darcy nodded, too breathless to speak.
“Martha wasn’t there, but she was a clever one who put two and two together.
She heard of a midwife who required a young, fit nurse to assist her.
Mrs. Finchley was recommended among the first circles; she had a reputation for never losing a lady.
” He added softly, “They ought to have been more concerned with the babes.”
Darcy held his breath, as though his doing so would make Mr. Allan speak faster.
“She had another nurse at the time—Martha would never have agreed with the scheme, though she contrived to profit from it once it was done—a Mrs. Currey. In her business, it is not uncommon for childless families of a certain class to offer exorbitant sums for an heir. I don’t know the details, but something went wrong, and the deal went sour.
They disposed of the child as they saw fit, and nobody except Mrs. Currey was the wiser.
But it bothered her conscience. She threatened to reveal what Mrs. Finchley had done to the Darcys.
Knowing where the child was, she went to fetch him.
” He rubbed his hands over his forearms.
“But Mrs. Currey never made it, did she?” Miss Rothschild prompted.
He shook his head. “Carriage accident. Mrs. Finchley lost no time replacing her nurse, a position Martha was eager to take, what with the woman’s reputation of assisting fine ladies.
But she was a curious sort, and she soon suspected that not all was right when Mrs. Finchley hired her only after assuring herself that Martha had no family or close friends.
She even warned her against courting, but my work as a messenger never suited me for settling down.
It was just as easy for me to meet Martha wherever she was than for us to make a home.
She only went by Mrs. Brown at her employer’s insistence—made her sound more mature and capable. ”
Elizabeth had been right. Darcy saw no satisfaction on her face, though—just voracious curiosity.
“Martha stole away for a couple of days. She learned about the first nurse and the accident, heard about the basket of blankets concealing a baby. When she met with me, she was more excited than I had ever seen her. She had a plan what would make our dreams a reality. No more riding at all hours in the rain and sleet for me; no more sleepless nights and agonizing days for her.” He looked up sheepishly.
“She made a deal with Mrs. Finchley: her silence for a healthy allowance every month.”
Blackmail. As long as Mrs. Brown was in Mrs. Finchley’s employ, that would have added up to a heavy sum …
and a firm motive. Years she had known, and she had said nothing.
Years where his brother might have been restored to him, would never have been taken by pirates, would not have a price on his head or worry that his life would end at the end of a rope.
Wrapping his arms over his chest, Darcy tried to tamper the bitterness rising within him.
What Mrs. Brown had done was unconscionable.
Elizabeth’s words were sharp. “She blackmailed Mrs. Finchley until the midwife grew tired of paying? You suspect murder?”
“I do. I don’t know how, but I’m certain Mrs. Finchley is the reason Martha died.”
“What of the other snatched babies?” Miss Rothschild asked, her tone urgent, desperate.
Mr. Allan shook his head firmly. “Martha only knew of the one instance. She never would have gotten mixed up in that.”
Darcy was not so certain. And judging by the looks of everyone except Mr. Allan, they were not convinced of Mrs. Brown’s innocence either.
Elizabeth looked like she would spit daggers. Alex twirled her fingers in the ringlets nearest the knife hidden in her hair. Miss Rothschild’s cheeks were as red as her hair.
It was time to depart.
Mr. Bennet, who had been quietly observing the conversation, said, “You have been helpful, sir, and we thank you. Do you have any other observations or suspicions which might assist us regarding the other stolen children?”
“I do not, but I imagine the nurse Mrs. Finchley hired after Martha’s death is either a hard-hearted accomplice in her employer’s evil ways or is eager to be out from under her influence.
You find her, you might get enough proof to send that murderer to—”Mr. Allan cleared his throat—“that place where people like her belong.”
“Do you know her name?” Uncle asked.
“Mrs. Bird.”
Mr. Bennet, being the only one whose voice was not choked with rage, bid their farewells and expressed what gratitude he could.
Another nurse?
On their way back to the carriages, Darcy asked Richard, “Did Mrs. Finchley not mention a third nurse?”
“She had no cause to, but the timing is right. Mrs. Brown died five years ago, and Mrs. Finchley only recently retired. As old as she is, she would require someone young and strong to help her.”
“We must return to London. We do not know where Mrs. Bird might be found, but it is time we paid a call on Mrs. Finchley,” said Uncle, his voice menacing.