Chapter 16
“Ludlow!” Darcy exclaimed, almost colliding with the tall, thin man coming out of the library door at Pemberley. He himself had entered the hallway only moments before, after discarding his travel-worn jacket and hat into the hands of servants.
After another fruitless month in London, and several more teasing references in scandal sheets, too vague to provide any clues to their author, it seemed impossible that anything more could be accomplished there.
Darcy had therefore ridden up from London to Derbyshire to search old Pemberley records.
While old Mr Darcy had been a thorough and reliable landowner who filed all the estate’s official documents with his agents and lawyers, they would not have all his private papers. There could still be something in Pemberley’s cabinets that would shed further light on Darcy’s birth.
Even if not absolute and definitive proof of his paternity and legitimacy, he hoped at least for personal reassurance.
Dimly, Darcy admitted to himself that he also needed this activity to distract his mind from the memory of certain conversations and dashed hopes which refused to fade or mellow in the weeks since their delivery.
Perhaps he was deluding himself. Perhaps the true force driving his actions was that conversation. Was he actually acting under Elizabeth Bennet’s influence?
True or false, the rumours are your business, not mine. You should disprove them and clear your name before seeking a wife…
It was good advice, regardless of who had given it. Darcy told himself that he was here to prove something to himself and the world, not to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy was also here to see Georgiana, of course.
Her letters over the last month had been tired and flat, and he suspected she was still unhappy at the interruption of her life in London, particularly her pianoforte tuition.
As well as cheering his sister with this impromptu visit, he hoped to reassure her that the removal to Derbyshire was both necessary and temporary.
A final reason for this visit was a hope that Darcy’s temporary absence might encourage Charles Bingley to return to Hertfordshire and Jane Bennet. In different ways, Elizabeth Bennet’s strong-minded views had made an impression on both men at Rosings.
Darcy had been crushed and humiliated, even more so in being forced to recognise the fairness of her criticisms over time.
Bingley, meanwhile, had returned to London encouraged, with a renewed determination to call on Miss Bennet at her relatives’ home in Cheapside.
This had not produced the desired result, however.
As far as Darcy knew, there had been only one unsuccessful attempt to call, after which Bingley appeared to have given up with surprising ease and fallen into uncharacteristically morose self-reflection, upon which Darcy was unable to break.
But those were musings and problems for another time. In Pemberley’s hallway, Darcy’s older cousin jumped back in surprise before his face flushed and his eyes dropped self-consciously to his own hands.
“But you’re in London!” croaked Ludlow Fitzwilliam.
Darcy blinked, amused by this reaction to what could only really have been a relatively minor shock.
Pemberley was Darcy’s own estate, after all, and he might visit it whenever he wished, with or without consulting his cousin or anyone else.
As Viscount Hexham and heir to the Earl of Matlock, Ludlow might have been expected to have some measure of self-assurance, but this was not so.
He had always been of a more highly strung and nervous disposition than his bluff, uncomplicated younger brother, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.
“No, I am very much at Pemberley, as you see,” Darcy informed his cousin.
“Did you ride over from Matlock this morning? I should have written ahead and saved you a journey if I had thought of it. I assume we have both come to assure ourselves of Georgiana’s safety and well-being. Is she in her music room?”
“I don’t know,” Ludlow admitted. “I was about to look for her, but now that you are here, there is no need for my presence.”
Darcy was about to take issue with this self-deprecating comment and insist that Ludlow stayed for luncheon when the sound of someone discreetly clearing their throat drew his attention.
Turning his head, he saw that Gibbon, the ever-efficient Pemberley butler, had appeared in the hallway with a silver tray of letters.
“You asked for your correspondence, Mr Darcy. It is all here. The most recent and most urgent letters are at the top.”
“Thank you, Gibbon,” Darcy answered with a nod, coming over to sift quickly through the pile, taking up one which had apparently raced ahead of him from London in Mr Moreton’s hand, and another which he recognised immediately, with an inward groan, as being from Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
“Set the rest in my study and I will deal with them after I’ve seen Georgiana. ”
“You are very busy, Darcy, and I should not keep you,” Ludlow remarked. “Might I borrow these maps from the Pemberley library?”
Distracted by the thought of what either of the two letters might contain, Darcy barely glanced at his cousin or the sheaf of papers he held. He might stay or leave as he wished. Darcy could not claim to understand him.
“Take whatever maps you require. It does not look like you would have sought my permission if I had not turned up unexpectedly,” Darcy answered carelessly. He broke the seal on Lady Catherine’s letter, intending only to satisfy himself with a glance at the first page.
Ludlow laughed nervously as though testing whether Darcy’s words were a joke, but received no reaction. Focused on the letter, Darcy was rapidly losing interest in his cousin’s doings.
Aside from the arrangement of visits, his aunt normally only ever wrote to younger members of the family when she wished to express her displeasure over something or someone. Darcy would rather know quickly whether her ire was to be directed at him or someone else.
Dear Fitzwilliam
Some unfortunate rumours have reached my ears at Rosings, and I am writing to you directly with the hope that you can immediately explain or dispel the deeply disturbing allegations that I now find to be circulating around the entire county…
With a sigh, Darcy folded the letter back up and put it into his pocket for later reading.
It seemed to be exactly what he had feared.
It would take some time to devise a suitable response to his aunt, a task better left for after he had spoken to Georgiana.
The only surprise was that it had taken Lady Catherine so long to hear what everyone else had been talking of for months.
As Ludlow was stowing the maps from the library into a leather bag at his shoulder, Darcy finally studied him more closely, noting for the first time that his frame looked even more spare than Darcy remembered. Worse still, his face was pale and worn.
“You seem to have grown thinner since I last saw you, Ludlow. Is Lord Matlock’s cook not feeding the two of you properly?”
“I’ve had a great deal on my mind,” his cousin admitted, fastening his bag, and his vague grey eyes not quite meeting Darcy’s. “The world is not always a pleasant place. Anyway, you are busy. I shall leave you to your correspondence and return to Matlock Castle.”
“Indeed it is not a pleasant place,” Darcy agreed. “Do give my regards to the Earl and tell your father I shall call on him this week. We can talk properly then.”
Ludlow nodded, looking less than enthusiastic at this prospect, though he explained himself in his next words.
“I should warn you that Father is far worse than the last time you saw him, Darcy. He may not recognise you. Sometimes I think he no longer knows me, although he asks for Richard often enough.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Darcy told his cousin. “I suppose there is little the physicians can do for old age.”
“No.”
The two men bowed to one another, and Darcy let his cousin take his leave without pressing him further. Life at Matlock Castle clearly was not easy at the present time.
It was possible, too, that Darcy’s own troubles were also weighing on Ludlow’s mind.
The slowly swelling controversy would perhaps touch his wider relations, and Ludlow might be worried for his aging father as well as himself.
There had been no hint in Ludlow’s letters to Darcy that he took the gossip so personally, but then, the two of them had never been close.
Well, there was little to be done about Ludlow’s sensitivities right now. Darcy put thoughts of his cousin aside and broke the seal on Mr Moreton’s letter. While this missive brought some fresh information, it hardly provided anything that might be classed as real news, or even insight.
Our watchers at the publisher of ‘Mrs Kettering’s London Letters’ report no entrance by persons matching your description, before or after their recent pieces which seemed to refer to your case.
You may be interested to know, however, that the carriage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh was seen there on Tuesday, 4th of May, and the lady herself was witnessed entering and leaving the offices.
So, his aunt had gone to London to try and trace these rumours to their source herself, had she?
That was all Darcy needed. Still, it cheered him to think of the slippery publishers of these scandal sheets on the receiving end of Lady Catherine’s wrath.
Sighing, he slipped Moreton’s letter into his pocket along with the first letter and then bounded up the stairs to find Georgiana.
∞∞∞
“No, neither of us has received any letters from Hertfordshire,” Mrs Annesley confirmed, backing up what Georgiana had just told her brother at the luncheon table an hour later.