Chapter 16 #2
“Richard, how is it you are not in uniform in the middle of the day?” Anne de Bourgh asked when her cousin entered the drawing room at Matlock House. She immediately blushed as she realised that no one had greeted Richard yet.
In the almost five years she had lived with her aunt and uncle; Anne had gone from strength to strength.
As soon as she was away from her mother’s influence and the quacks she used to employ to see to Anne’s health, she had blossomed and her health had improved to the point that in less than two years, Anne had been as healthy as anyone.
So much so that all of the physicians Uncle Reggie had her see announced that she was able to do anything she chose, including marriage and childbirth.
She did not know if her mother had knowingly kept her sick or just found the most incompetent medical men who would do her bidding. It was either malicious or neglectful, neither of which spoke to Lady Catherine being a good mother.
At least Rosings Park was safe from her mother’s mismanagement.
It had all begun after the incident in Derbyshire, when rather than make her demands, as Anne had believed she would, her mother had retreated as if the four horsemen were chasing her.
The visit had spurred Uncle Reggie to go to the estate to see things for himself.
In his role as executor, he had removed his sister from any position of power, and for some inexplicable reason, Lady Catherine had not objected.
Since then, she lived quietly in the dower house at Snowhaven and was very seldom seen by anyone.
This was to be Anne’s second season. Her mind returned to the present. “Please pardon me; it was not my place to interrogate you.”
“Annie is not wrong. This is the middle of the week, and you are not wearing your scarlet coat. Did they sack you?” Hilldale, who had been visiting his parents and cousin, asked in jest.
“No, Andy, I was not sacked. I did, however, resign from the army and sell my commission,” Fitzwilliam announced.
“Father, as you purchased my commission for me, I will turn the funds over to you…” He stopped when he saw his father raise his hand.
“But, Father, it is only right that it should come back to you.”
“No, Richard. I purchased it for you. It was a gift from me,” Matlock insisted. “Would you insult me by trying to return a gift?”
“If you put it like that, I suppose not,” Fitzwilliam conceded.
“Add it to your investment funds with Gardiner,” Hilldale suggested. “He will make it grow. How much is a captaincy in the Royal Dragoons worth?”
“I sold it for just under three thousand pounds,” Fitzwilliam revealed.
“That is about five hundred pounds more than I paid for it. Perhaps I was too hasty…” Matlock began to jest when a light slap on his forearm from his wife stopped him.
“It is yours, Richard. Your father’s poor attempt at humour notwithstanding,” Lady Matlock said as she beamed. “Now you will never have to go to war. I know you; you would not resign unless you had some occupation, as you have never been one to sit around and do nothing.”
Four pairs of quizzical eyes turned to Fitzwilliam.
“I am going into civil service. While I was serving as liaison at the Navy Board, I spent some time with Mr Hurst, Harry’s father.
He is ill so he has been training me as his replacement.
It is rather interesting work. Who would have ever thought I would join the civil service? ” Fitzwilliam related.
‘No one here!’ Hilldale thought silently.
‘I am sure Richard is not telling us anything close to the truth of his new role,’ Matlock thought.
‘I wonder if it has something to do with the secretive service which helps to protect the Crown?’ Matlock knew better than to express his suspicions aloud.
He had heard about the shadowy organisation by chance one day while meeting with the Lord Chamberlain.
He had been admonished to forget what he had heard and had not thought about it again until this very moment.
When he had some time alone with Richard, he would test his hypothesis.
Even if his second son would not confirm anything, Matlock was positive he would be able to see the truth in his facial expressions.
“Well, I for one could not be happier,” Lady Matlock declared. “Have you informed William and Gigi yet?”
“I will cross the green to Darcy House in short order,” Fitzwilliam replied.
Fitzwilliam did just that and found his cousins at home. They were both as pleased as his parents and brother had been at the news he was no longer in the army.
Lord Matlock did ask some probing questions a few nights later, but to his chagrin, Richard neither said, nor did his face display, anything to confirm Matlock’s suspicions.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
As the days of April passed by, the pressure and pain in Hurst’s chest became almost constant. The pains were growing in intensity, and he had a sense that his time in the mortal world was to be counted in days, not weeks or months.
Unlike he had previously for far too long, he did not try to hide the truth from his beloved wife.
The truth was that unless she had been wilfully blind, Leticia could not miss the signs that her husband’s illness was worsening. His pallor was more grey than anything else, and in the last few days, it took much for Hurst to leave his bed.
“If only I…could go into…the office. I am…sure there is more…I could teach…Fitzwilliam,” Hurst managed. He had to stop every few words to catch his breath. It was the final Thursday in April, and he knew that the time before he went to his final reward was now being measured in minutes and hours.
“Father, you have taught Fitzwilliam everything he needs to know. He has been the acting man in charge this last sennight, and I can tell you that everything is proceeding smoothly,” Harold assured his sire.
Louisa had just left the bedchamber to return their children to the nursery.
Arthur’s understanding was this was just like his gran-papa leaving them for a while, but they would see him soon enough.
He could not grasp the finality of this leaving, and none of the adults wanted to force him to see it yet.
Little Tisha, who was just one month shy of turning one, had begun to take some steps in the last few days and could manage a handful of words.
She had given her grandfather a big, moist kiss as she always did. To her, this was just another day.
Leticia was seated on the bed next to her beloved husband, holding one of his clammy hands in her own warm ones.
As soon as Louisa finished seeing to it that Arthur and Tisha were put to bed, and as one of them always did, had read to them for a while; she returned to the master suite. She sat in the chair at her father-in-law’s bedside, right next to her beloved Harold.
There was no missing how much harder it became for Hurst to draw breath, and as they had promised to do, his children sat next to him to keep him company until he was called home.
Just after midnight, on the penultimate day of April, it became clear that he was fighting to breathe, each one crackling.
“Go to Him,” Leticia told her husband next to his ear after she had kissed his clammy forehead. “You have suffered enough; stop fighting.” She watched as her Ignatius seemed to calm. He looked like he was at peace, and she could swear as she heard the final exhale of breath that he was smiling.
All three sitting with the remains of Ignatius Hurst were crying quietly.
Sir Harold Hurst did not ascribe to the school of thought that crying tears for a loss showed weakness.
He thought it showed strength. He was Hurst now, and a baronet, although as long as he worked with the organisation his father used to run, now being managed and led by Fitzwilliam, he would not use his title.
He pulled his Louisa into a hug, and they watched as their mother hugged the earthly remains of their father.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
It had been his father’s wish that, weather permitting, his body was to be carried back to Winsdale and buried in the new Hurst section in the cemetery attached to the church in Winsbury, the one in Winsdale’s advowson.
It was a cool April so after speaking to his mother and Louisa, Hurst saw no reason not to take his father’s remains to Yorkshire for interment.
The convoy was rather long; it included the Fitzwilliams, Darcys, and royal representation, among others.
Darcy decided he could not help but show his support for Hurst, the way Hurst had after Darcy’s own father had passed away.
He just could not fathom how a man in what, he assumed, was a low-level civil service position warranted the number of people escorting his body back to the Hurst estate.
The equerries for both his Majesty and the Prince of Wales were part of the group for goodness’ sake.
It was beyond his comprehension; however, Darcy knew this was not the time or place to ask any such questions.
With the longer travel days, Winsdale was reached in four days. The interment was held the next day. The church had been filled beyond capacity and the graveside service was even better attended.
Holcomb, Biggs, and Johns had stood close to the Hursts. If anyone had questions about why servants had such a place of honour, they were wise enough not to ask them. After the interment, the men returned to Winsdale to join the ladies, who had remained at the estate.
Now that the funeral was over, Darcy truly looked at the estate.
What he saw shocked him. He had always thought that with Hurst’s indolent and drunken ways that the estate he ran, because his father had spent most of the year in London, would be small and barely profitable.
Instead, he saw a house not much smaller than Pemberley’s, and all the signs pointed to a very profitable and well-run estate.
He had trouble reconciling what he was seeing to what he thought he knew about Hurst.
He also noticed that Bingley and Miss Bingley—the latter thankfully given the plethora of titled men present—were absent. When he asked Richard, all he was told was they were unable to reach the estate at that time.
Darcy was unaware that Hildebrand and John Bingley had been asked by Hurst to keep the knowledge of the death of his father from the siblings, so they would not come and have Miss Bingley cause a scene and make things all about her.
A house in mourning would not have stopped her imposing on men who had no interest in her.