Chapter 16 #4
“Is Lord Hexham home?” inquired Darcy, reflecting to himself that if Ludlow had been managing the estate, he had not been doing it well.
Or perhaps he simply could not cope. He felt a moment of guilt for adding to his cousin’s burden with Georgiana’s guardianship, but realistically there were no other men in the family Darcy could have turned to.
It had seemed better for Georgiana to be in the care of a relative rather than a lawyer.
“Lord Hexham is away,” Arthurs told him. “He is often out, Mr Darcy. I think it distresses him too much to see his father like this.”
Darcy glanced at the earl, who seemed to have forgotten his guest entirely. He had crouched down to examine the ground, apparently fascinated by a worm that had emerged from the earth.
A clock somewhere struck eleven, and Arthurs checked his pocket watch.
“It is time for tea, Your Lordship. If you will come inside with Mr Darcy, I shall have Maisie bring a tray to the drawing room.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Lord Matlock took Darcy’s arm, whether he recognised him or not.
“Tea and crumpets,” the old man insisted, now more interested in refreshment than before. “You must have them bring crumpets, Arthurs.”
“I shall see what Mrs Stephens has in the kitchens,” agreed the manservant diplomatically and walked ahead of them back into the house.
“Can you tell me of Mr George Darcy?” Darcy asked his uncle as he helped him up the garden steps on his unsteady legs, noticing as he did so that the stones were badly in need of repair. “I believe you knew him well.”
“Of course I did,” the earl laughed gaily. “George Darcy is married to my own dear sister, Anne. She’s much younger than I am, of course.”
Inside the house now, Darcy led the old man to the drawing room and opened its creaking and unevenly hung door.
“Of course,” Darcy agreed solemnly, having neither the heart nor the inclination to remind the old man that both George and Anne Darcy had been dead for some years. “Do you remember their wedding?”
“How could I forget that wedding?!” the old man chuckled, although Darcy had no idea what the joke might be. “How keen they were to marry quickly, and no wonder…”
It was a lightly spoken and incomplete remark, and yet it struck Darcy with the force of a thrown stone.
“No wonder?” he attempted to prompt his uncle. “Why were they so keen to marry quickly? Can you remember, Lord Matlock?”
“It had to be done… Crumpets!” exclaimed the old man, rubbing his hands as the maid who had opened the front door came into the room with a large tray of tea and crumpets.
“You were in luck, Your Lordship. Mrs Stephens had just baked a fresh batch,” remarked the young woman bearing the tray. “Mr Arthurs will be back to light the fire presently. Billy is out at the market and will bring back sausages for your dinner, I hope.”
Darcy was struck by the informality with which the servants now seemed to treat their master, but there was no insolence in their manner.
Thrown together in such a small household, and with his uncle’s health as it was, likely it was natural that normal social boundaries should begin to break down, especially if Ludlow had withdrawn as Arthurs had described.
For half an hour, Darcy tried unsuccessfully to return Lord Matlock to his interrupted train of thought while Arthurs assisted the old man with buttering and eating crumpets. His role in the household now was certainly more nursemaid than valet.
The comment about the hasty marriage had been tantalising and Darcy did not know what he dared to make of it.
It seemed incredible to imagine that the keenness his uncle referenced came from the fact that his parents’ union had already secretly produced a child.
How could such a thing have been kept under wraps, inside or outside the family?
Unless the whole family had conspired together, it was impossible. The idea of Lady Catherine de Bourgh taking part in such a plot on behalf of her sister was scarcely less credible than that of two such virtuous figures as Darcy’s parents conceiving a child out of wedlock.
No, Darcy could not believe it.
Ludlow appeared in the drawing room shortly before noon, his face even more grave and nervous than Darcy had seen it during their short encounter at Pemberley the previous week. When Darcy announced the end of his visit, his cousin walked him back to the front door.
“That young man looks a great deal like George Darcy, I thought, Arthurs…” the earl’s voice said behind them, causing Ludlow to sigh deeply as he closed the door.
“I’m very sorry to see Lord Matlock’s health in such a state,” Darcy told his cousin. “You must let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“There is nothing to be done,” Ludlow answered dispiritedly. “We keep him as comfortably as we can here, but it is too much to hope for any improvement.”
Signs of disorder and disrepair now catching his eye everywhere, Darcy frowned.
“Ludlow, there is no remedy for your father, but might not something be done for the house and garden? I could not help but notice its present state of disrepair. If I can advise you, you have only to let me know.”
His cousin looked away, red-faced, and Darcy supposed he was angry at this perceived intrusion.
The subject had to be broached, however, and it was best done by a blood relative.
Matlock Castle could not be allowed to fall down around the aged earl’s ears.
The earl was a rich man. Repairs were presumably only a matter of organisation.
“I should have warned you how shabby Matlock Castle had grown,” Ludlow said eventually, turning back to Darcy with an expression that was more guilty than angry.
“My father cannot bear any change now and will not have workmen on the estate. Only familiar servants will do for him, too. Any alteration from his routine throws him into a fit of distress.”
It was a plausible explanation, if not one that Darcy would have accepted himself.
“Surely, for your father’s own good, you must still take some of the worst problems in hand,” Darcy protested. “Broken steps and stuck doors are dangerous as well as inconvenient.”
“He will not have it,” Ludlow insisted in a fretful voice.
“It is different for you, Darcy. You are your own man, with your own estate. I am only the heir. I have what little cash the bank will allow me, but not full control of the estate’s assets.
For any significant money, I must wheedle my father into agreeing to things he does not understand. ”
Ludlow was right. Darcy did not understand, but it was not his house and not his father.
He wondered briefly why Richard had not done something before his departure, but if Lord Matlock’s health had materially worsened in the last six months, likely Colonel Fitzwilliam had not known the true extent of the problem.
From start to finish, Darcy’s visit to Matlock Castle left him more troubled than when he arrived, and he rode back to Pemberley slowly, aiming to miss luncheon.
This afternoon, he would ask Georgiana to play to him and then consider writing again to Lady Catherine.
For now, Darcy wanted only peace, quiet, and no further surprises.
It was unfortunate, therefore, that after stabling his horse, he spotted a neat, fast-walking young female figure hurrying along a path away from the house.
Darcy’s mind told him that it was likely a local friend of Georgiana or Mrs Annesley and shrank from the unwanted company.
His heart, however, skipped a beat and urged him to walk fast enough to intercept the woman before she reached a waiting carriage.
Her face, when she spotted him, was as astonished and embarrassed as his own felt.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”