Epilogue
They were a loud and merry group that gathered at Pemberley that year; indeed, when they were all together, even the largest dining table could scarcely contain them all.
There were scores of Bingleys and Courtenays and Darcys, along with Ellises and du Champs since the marriages of their daughters.
The grandchildren ran mad in the Grand Hall—Elizabeth would often scold them for knocking things about but Darcy never quite had the heart to do so.
If a broken statue was the price paid for youthful merriment, so be it.
He had long ago decided he would much rather be remembered as the amiable grandfather than the grandfather with the excellent art.
In any case, his grandchildren adored him and he would not have it otherwise.
He was never more happy than he was in these wonderful times when Pemberley’s halls bustled with laughter and noise.
When the ladies withdrew after dinner, Darcy sat with his three sons: Henry, or Lord Courtenay; Thomas Darcy, his heir, and Colonel Edward Darcy. Fine distinguished men, all of them and as dear to one another as any brothers could be.
“I have a bit of interesting news,” said Henry. “You will all remember the old cipher?”
“The one which concerned the fortune at Warrington?”
“Yes,” Henry said. “I brought it out recently for James.” James was Henry’s eldest and only son. At only ten years of age, he had shown a remarkable aptitude for mathematics and his parents were always seeking little puzzles and codes to divert him.
“Did he find the fortune?” asked Thomas with a laugh. The fortune which had caused so much trouble to their parents was spoken of often, in the manner of myths and legends.
“He did not,” replied Henry. “However, he found a mistake made by our mother and grandfather Bennet when they deciphered it.”
“Pray do not suggest she made a mistake,” Darcy advised. “Call it an alternate solution if you must but not a mistake.”
His advice caused the gentlemen to chuckle; their mother was much beloved but rarely inclined to admit she made mistakes.
“In any case,” said Henry, “it would seem that there is most certainly a hidden fortune.”
For a moment, everyone ceased moving. Darcy had begun to raise a glass to his lips but stopped halfway there. His jaw dropped, and he lowered the drink with a thump on the table. “Can that be so?”
“My son did not find it—but I did.” Henry lowered his eyes, shaking his head. “I can hardly credit it myself.”
“How much?” Edward was, as always, just slightly too bold, but in this case Darcy did not mind. He was, himself, mad to know.
When Henry named the sum, he did so quietly and the gentlemen around the table immediately gasped and then doubted the veracity of what they had heard. “How could that be!” “From the purses of simple market folk? No, I cannot credit it!”
“The money is there,” Henry replied mildly. “It cannot be denied. My guess is that Lord Strange must have secured a bit of his own coin there as well.”
“He did raise quite a lot of money for his troops,” Darcy acknowledged. As Lord Strange had become the Earl of Derby back then, it had always been a bit of history that interested him. “He did not, perhaps, spend it all.”
“Warrington was dear to him,” Henry added. “They protected him as best they could. I think my father and uncle must have suspected his lordship’s money was in there too, else they should not have been so keen to go after it.”
“Well, good for Warrington then,” said Thomas. “And good for James. It will be to his benefit after all.”
“No,” said Henry. “No, I do not think it shall after all.”
The gentlemen looked at him with varying degrees of surprise marking their faces. Henry grinned and in that grin Darcy saw the little boy who had once sat at his feet and played, who had been so good natured his life long, and he knew some proud moment was about to transpire.
“That money came from the town,” he explained. “Whether from their labours or their loyalty, it was theirs and though they are long gone now, I would like the descendants to obtain some benefit from it.”
As his brothers and father looked on, Henry said, “I shall establish a school with a large library for the children in the town to learn to read and write. All of them, such as are able, shall be able to come and learn and the tutors shall be employed by Warrington—none of the families will need to part with a farthing for it.”
“A capital idea,” said Darcy. “I have always said that I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library.”
“You have indeed, sir,” Henry replied with a smile.
And so it was that the legacy in Warrington Castle was used to establish the Bennet School in Lancashire where generations of children thenceforth, from the highest to the low, could learn to read and write and, eventually, learn mathematics and science.