Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
E lizabeth was seated at the rosewood desk in Anne’s tower, bathed in dappled pink sunlight streaming in through the window. The air seemed to sparkle about her as if infused with magic, and the breeze was redolent with flowers. Before her was a crystal vase of pink and white anemones, absolutely overflowing with verdant beauty.
Yet despite the peaceful atmosphere, Elizabeth could not help feeling unaccountably sad. Anemone, she knew, was a bloom that symbolised early death. Said to be the creation of Aphrodite upon the demise of her beloved Adonis, they were a tribute to those loved and lost too soon.
Feeling a presence at her back, she turned to find Anne standing in the centre of the room under the glittering pattern cast by the window. A tear glistened as it traced down her cheek, yet she was smiling. She was also waving farewell.
“Must we part ways?” Elizabeth asked, her voice warbling with emotion that threatened to overwhelm her composure at any moment. “I feel as if I have just come to know you.”
Anne lowered her hand and nodded, her countenance soft and solemn.
“I wish I had known you better in life. You would have been most welcome to stay with us at Pemberley and escape from this awful place.”
With a hand placed above where her heart used to beat, Anne offered her a sad smile. I would have liked that , her expression seemed to say.
“Shall I ever see you again?”
A nod and a widening of her smile— Yes .
“Good.” Elizabeth choked on the word before collecting herself. She was emphatic in saying, “I promise to visit often. You will be fondly remembered by all of us.”
Anne opened her mouth and, with visible effort, managed to softly reply in a voice reminiscent of a spring breeze. “Thank you.”
She then vanished, dissolving into a golden shimmer that faded into sunlight.
When Elizabeth woke, she was already cradled in her husband’s arms, a tearful, blubbering wretch. Darcy held her to his chest, hushing and rocking her as she released her grief. Within her, the baby moved about as if offering comfort as well.
At length, the gentle thudding of Darcy’s heart lulled Elizabeth into calmness and a greater sense of tranquillity. Anne had died more than a fortnight ago now, but for the first time she felt that her cousin-by-marriage was truly gone. Much as that saddened her, she could at least be content in the knowledge that Anne was at peace, no longer subject to the cruelty and neglect of her mother, or the pains of her inflicted illness.
And they would meet again, Elizabeth consoled herself. She would return to Rosings Park with her children every spring and tell them of Anne, show them her tower, and pick anemones in her memory. She felt Anne would like that. Perhaps she would make herself known now and again with the sweet chime of a distant bell, a salutation from beyond the veil.
Meanwhile, with new life growing inside her and a husband who loved her, Elizabeth would pursue her own earthly happiness. It was all anyone could do to honour those who had gone before them.
It was the first day of spring that Lady Catherine de Bourgh was laid to rest. She was interred in the family vault with Sir Lewis and Anne, which had not especially suited the feelings of those who were aware of the totality of her sins. Fitzwilliam, in particular, had advocated for his late aunt to receive the same treatment as all criminals and be denied a proper burial in consecrated ground, whereas Lord Matlock had insisted that there was no just cause to wilfully damage the family reputation out of pointless spite. It served no rational purpose to injure themselves in such a way, and so her ladyship had received far better than she deserved.
In deference to Anne’s memory, however, Fitzwilliam—the newly anointed master of Rosings Park—had insisted that her ceremony be small and privately attended. One might have expected Collins, whose devotion to Lady Catherine had far exceeded what was sensible, to object, but he was much too enamoured of his new patron to contradict the colonel’s directly stated wishes. He had even been convinced to keep the eulogy to what was prescribed by the Church of England only and to add no embellishments to the ceremony, though it had seemed to pain him to restrain himself on that score.
While Fitzwilliam and Lord Matlock had remained behind to squabble over the funeral arrangements, their dispute delaying the ceremony by several days, Darcy had provided whatever support he could via correspondence. Once he was assured—per the collective opinions of a midwife and two lauded physicians—that Elizabeth had suffered no lasting harm from her ordeal at Rosings, he had returned to Kent merely for the satisfaction of seeing his wicked aunt securely interred; he would sleep better at night having witnessed it for himself.
During their walk back to the manor house, with the church bells clanging behind them, Darcy bemoaned, “Finally, it is done. I shall be glad to return to Elizabeth this evening. Will you be riding with me, or do you still have some business here?”
“I shall come with you, for my most pressing business is in London,” Fitzwilliam replied, his countenance weary. “I still need to sell my commission, but first I must see a solicitor and have my will written up. My father insisted on seeing it done immediately, and I find I cannot fault him for it.”
Darcy glanced back to where Lord Matlock and Viscount Marbury were strolling at a more leisurely pace several yards behind. “Yes, one can understand his reasoning. It is better to know where to look for such things. I recommend the services of Mr Pickering and will introduce you to him if you like.”
“I should like that very much, thank you.”
“Speaking of such matters, has Mrs Jenkinson received her bequest from Anne’s will yet?”
“Not yet, which is another reason for my impending journey to London. I shall see to it that the dear lady receives every penny that is due to her, though I should prefer to give her more. What with all she has done for Anne throughout the years, to say nothing of the way her service ended, she deserves it.”
“Fear not, I have gifted her a trifle of my own as thanks for her devotion.”
“A trifle, you say?” queried Fitzwilliam, intrigued. “What sort of trifle?”
“A small cottage—nothing much.”
The colonel guffawed. “A cottage is more than a mere trifle, Darce.”
“It is what Anne would have wanted,” Darcy countered, somewhat defensively. “Besides, I could not countenance the thought that she must live with Mrs Younge for the rest of her days.” He shuddered at the very notion. Mrs Jenkinson was nothing like her nefarious younger sister and ought not to be subjected to the impurities of Edward Street.
“Well, I thank you for your largesse regardless.” Fitzwilliam emitted a sigh. “The poor dear loved Anne like her own. It was a heartbreaking business to inform her that our cousin had died. No one had told her prior to my arriving on her doorstep. I can say with all honesty that her grief was sincere—exactly what one might have expected from her actual mother.”
Darcy shook his head. Treated abominably by her own mother, mourned by a servant. Poor Anne.
Melancholy silence stretched between them. At length, Fitzwilliam cleared his throat and introduced a more cheerful subject. “How is Elizabeth? I know it is torturing you to be away from her.”
“She was well when I saw her yesterday, and she proclaimed herself still well in the letter I received this morning. We shall both see for ourselves soon enough. By the bye, I mean to leave for town immediately after breakfast, so I hope you are ready to depart by then.”
Once the roads had been dry enough to safely travel upon after Lady Catherine’s sudden death, Darcy had bundled Elizabeth into their coach and carried his wife away from Rosings Park in a state of utmost relief. They had travelled directly to the Bingleys’ town house—Georgiana had been staying there during her brother and sister’s sojourn—where they had been greeted first with pleasant surprise then abject horror once their macabre tale had been told.
Feeling that his wife would benefit greatly from the gentle care of their sisters, Darcy had left her at Bingley’s house when he travelled to Rosings for Lady Catherine’s funeral, intending to spend only a single night in the cursed place. Now that this business was accomplished, he was eager to return to London, collect Elizabeth and Georgiana, and retreat to the newly reopened Darcy House for a few weeks of the Season. He would have preferred to travel to Pemberley but felt it wise to be closer at hand for Fitzwilliam’s sake as he navigated his new responsibilities and the necessary legalities. They would stay until after Easter before at last making their way back to Derbyshire for Elizabeth’s confinement.
Fitzwilliam saluted him, albeit sarcastically. “I might be a landowner now, but I am still a soldier at heart. I can always be ready to travel at a moment’s notice.”
“Excellent. Do you mean to stay with us or your father in town?”
“If it is no trouble, I should very much prefer to stay at Darcy House. I cannot abide any more advice from my old pater on the subject of what needs to be done at Rosings. He believes that all my problems will be solved if I marry a woman with a hefty dowry.”
After some hesitation, Darcy conceded, “There is something in that, you know. An infusion of funds can only help.”
Snorting, Fitzwilliam retorted, “I am sure that is exactly what Sir Lewis thought as well. Look how it turned out for him.”
Darcy winced. “Well, when you put it like that…”
“I would much rather marry after I have made the estate solvent again, not before. A heavy purse cannot replace the love and loyalty that you have with Elizabeth, and if I should ever enter the state myself, I shall settle for nothing less. I desire a bride with more principle than blunt, one who is sweet and yet courageous at the same time. Someone whom I can care for and who will care for me in return. All the money in all the banks of England cannot purchase me that.”
Fitzwilliam was quietly thoughtful for a short period, and Darcy could not help but wonder whether he was thinking of Catherine Bennet. He would not presume to ask, however, and waited for his cousin to resume speaking in his own time.
He did so with a beleaguered sigh. “It is such a vast, complicated undertaking that I hardly know where to begin, only that there is not enough money for all the necessary repairs and improvements. I do not know what Anne was thinking in leaving it to me.”
“She was thinking that you are deserving and capable,” said Darcy, slapping his cousin on the back. “More than that, she knew I would assist you in any way possible. Come, stay at Darcy House, and I shall do my utmost to help you sort it all out.”
“I shall not take your money. You have a growing family to think of.”
“I sincerely doubt that my household will be adversely affected by offering you a loan, but let us see what needs to be done first before we speak in any specific terms. I am as familiar with Rosings’s finances as anyone, and while there is not much capital left, there is at least a small sum that Lady Catherine did not squander. If you invest it wisely…”
The topic of investments carried them the rest of the way to the house, and after partaking of a light breakfast, Darcy and Fitzwilliam mounted their steeds and adjourned to London, where Elizabeth awaited their arrival.