Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
THE LETTER
The candle sat on the polished surface of a writing desk, its flame flickering in the evening draft. A quill scratched across the fine paper.
Miss Elizabeth Rose Bennet
The hand hesitated over the surname, flexing its fingers before continuing…
My dear Miss Bennet,
What I am about to reveal will shock you beyond measure, but you must know the truth before it is too late to protect yourself.
You are not Elizabeth Bennet, but Elizabeth Rose Darcy, legitimate daughter of John Darcy and Rose Bennet.
Your father, John, was the eldest son and rightful heir to the Pemberley estate.
Your mother, Rose, was the sister of the man you call father, Thomas Bennet.
Both your parents were murdered at Rose Cottage on the Pemberley estate shortly after your birth in November of 1790, and you were spirited away for your protection.
Under the settlement established by your grandfather, George Darcy, you are the rightful heir to Pemberley and its considerable fortune.
Upon reaching your majority on November 1st, you will have the legal right to claim your inheritance.
However, you must act before your twenty-first birthday, or the inheritance will pass irrevocably to the current occupant.
To prove your claim, you will need three documents: the marriage certificate of John Darcy and Rose Bennet, your baptismal record as Elizabeth Rose Darcy, and a witness statement confirming your identity. These documents exist and can be found, but you must seek them before your birthday arrives.
The danger that claimed your parents’ lives has not passed.
Those responsible for their murders believe you perished in the flames they set to conceal their crime.
Your safety depends upon their continued ignorance of your survival, but as you approach your majority, the risk of discovery—and elimination—grows daily.
You must decide whom to trust with this knowledge. Your life may depend upon choosing wisely, for there are those who would kill again to prevent you from claiming what is rightfully yours.
Time is running short. Your twenty-first birthday approaches, and with it, either your inheritance or your doom.
A Friend of Your Parents.
The hand paused, trembling as the magnitude of twenty years of deception was finally committed to paper. The candle wax dripped steadily as the letter was sealed, bearing no identifying mark.
The direction was written in the same careful script: Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Longbourn, Hertfordshire.
A servant was summoned.
“This letter must reach Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s hands before the week is out. Deliver it directly into her hand or place it where she will find it privately—her writing desk, perhaps, or among her personal correspondence. No other member of the household must know of its existence.”
“Yes,” came the reply, recognizing the gravity in the tone.
“The young lady’s very life may depend upon receiving this warning in time. All Hallows’ Eve approaches, and with it, her moment of destiny.”
The candle guttered as the servant departed, leaving only darkness and the dying embers of a fire that had burned for twenty years, waiting for this moment of revelation.