Chapter 26 #2
Mrs. Bennet waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, Mr. Bennet kept it locked away, along with the locket. He said it wasn’t safe, that she wasn’t safe if people knew who she truly was.
Insisted we raise her as our own, never telling a soul.
And I did. Loved her like my own daughter, though, of course, I always knew she was special, my Lizzy.
So different from my other girls—so clever, so refined in her manners despite our modest circumstances. ”
Elizabeth suppressed a wince at this unintentional slight to Jane, whose gentle nature and goodness far surpassed Elizabeth’s often impertinent character.
“And you have kept this secret for twenty years,” Blythewood observed. “What prompted you to reveal it now?”
“Lizzy’s letter, of course. Telling me she’d discovered the truth and needed the locket as proof.” Mrs. Bennet’s chest swelled with importance. “A mother always comes when her child needs her, no matter how trying the journey.”
“I see.” Blythewood’s tone remained neutral, but Elizabeth detected a dose of skepticism. “And you can attest, under oath if necessary, that this child left at your door is indeed the young lady seated before me?”
“Of course I can. Do you think a mother wouldn’t know her own daughter, even if she isn’t born of my body?” Mrs. Bennet’s indignation rose visibly. “I raised her. Fed her. Nursed her through childhood fevers and taught her to be a lady. I know my Lizzy better than anyone.”
“Your devotion is evident, Mrs. Bennet,” Blythewood acknowledged. “However, from a legal perspective, your testimony alone is insufficient to establish Miss Elizabeth’s identity beyond doubt, particularly given your… understandable maternal bias.”
“Insufficient!” Mrs. Bennet looked ready to launch into a tirade, but Elizabeth placed a gentle hand on her arm.
“Mr. Blythewood,” she said calmly, “I understand your skepticism. However, there are additional witnesses who may corroborate aspects of my claim. Several servants at Pemberley have stated that only two bodies were recovered from Rose Cottage after the fire—not three, as officially reported. Mr. Thomas Bennet can testify to receiving me as an infant. Mrs. Martha Wickham claims to have saved me from the fire. The elder Bingleys, Hodge the groom, Molly the cook, Mrs. Winters, and Mrs. Reynolds may all possess knowledge relevant to establishing my identity.”
Georgiana nodded beside her. “I have spoken with several of these witnesses myself, Mr. Blythewood. Their accounts are remarkably consistent on certain points. Mr. Hodge, the groom, can testify to a missing carriage taken by Martha Wickham after the fire.”
Elizabeth maintained a steady gaze despite the mounting pressure behind her temples. “I would like all of this entered into the legal record, along with my formal claim to the Pemberley estate, to be adjudicated after proper investigation of evidence and testimony.”
Blythewood’s expression remained impassive, though something like reluctant respect flickered briefly in his eyes. “You appear to have given this considerable thought, Miss Bennet.”
“Elizabeth Rose Darcy,” she corrected gently but firmly.
“That remains to be legally determined,” he countered.
“I must warn you that without proper legal representation, pursuing such a claim against an established estate like Pemberley would be extraordinarily difficult. The process would likely extend for years, during which time the estate would remain in Mr. Darcy’s possession.
The costs alone would be prohibitive for someone of your… circumstances.”
Elizabeth’s spine stiffened at the thinly veiled threat. “Are you suggesting, Mr. Blythewood, that justice is available only to those with sufficient means to purchase it?”
“I am merely outlining the practical realities of our legal system, Miss Bennet.”
“Then I shall adapt to those realities,” she replied, her voice cool and determined. “But I will not abandon my claim merely because the path is difficult.”
“My brother-in-law, Mr. Philips, is a solicitor in Meryton,” Mrs. Bennet declared. “We will not be deterred by your ill-tempered attempts to defraud Elizabeth Rose Darcy of her rightful heritage.”
Mr. Blythewood blew his whiskers and rose, no doubt to request Mrs. Bennet’s removal when the office door burst open, its hinges rattling. Martha Wickham shoved the hapless clerk aside and charged forward, her face flushed with anger.
“Mr. Blythewood,” she exclaimed, then stopped short as she registered the assembled company. Her gaze darted from Darcy to Elizabeth, then fixed with sudden, vicious recognition on Mrs. Bennet. “You!”
The clerk appeared behind her, wringing his hands in distress. “I’m so sorry, sir. She insisted—I couldn’t stop her—”
“It’s quite all right, Smith,” Blythewood said with resignation. “Please close the door.”
“Mrs. Wickham,” Darcy said coldly. “I believe you received notice regarding the termination of your tenancy at Rose Cottage.”
“I’ve not come about that,” Martha snapped, her attention fixed on Mrs. Bennet. “I’ve come about the theft of property that rightfully belongs to me.”
Mrs. Bennet drew herself up indignantly. “I have never stolen anything in my life. How dare you make such accusations in front of my daughters?”
“That locket.” Martha pointed a trembling finger at the gold trinket still resting on Blythewood’s desk. “I left it with the child when I delivered her to Longbourn. It was meant to be returned to me as proof of her identity when she came of age.”
“Returned to you?” Mrs. Bennet scoffed. “The locket was around my Lizzy’s neck when she arrived, with no instructions whatsoever about returning it to anyone.”
“I placed it there myself!” Martha insisted. “Along with a note explaining everything.”
“A note which is apparently lost in that vast library of my father’s,” Elizabeth observed.
“The note explained everything,” Martha said. “The danger to your life, the murders of your parents.” Her gaze swung to Elizabeth. “I saved you from that fire, child. Risked everything to protect you when your own blood would have seen you dead.”
“I object to your unproven characterization,” Darcy interjected. “If you have specific accusations, provide a signed statement.”
“At significant danger to myself and dear Elizabeth?” Martha retorted. “I think not. My only concern is protecting Elizabeth Rose Darcy.”
“Then perhaps, Mrs. Wickham, we should have your signed testimony,” Mr. Blythewood stated as if the proceedings had as much interest as the accounting of the candle inventory.
“You know I can’t do that, not yet.” Martha darted narrowed eyes at Darcy and Georgiana. “The beneficiaries of the murders are present, and I fear for my life.”
“And yet, Mrs. Wickham, you would provide this testimony if I married your son,” Elizabeth countered. “A curious form of fearing for your life, wouldn’t you say?”
“A mother looks out for her son’s interests,” Martha replied, unrepentant. “George would make you a fine husband—far better than some puffed-up country parson.”
“Marry Wickham?” Lydia gasped from her windowsill perch. “But Lizzy, he’s the handsomest man in the regiment. You would be fortunate indeed.”
“Lydia, please,” Elizabeth interrupted firmly. The last thing she needed was her youngest sister’s romantic notions complicating an already impossible situation.
“This is all highly irregular,” Blythewood interjected. “Mrs. Wickham, your claims directly contradict your testimony after the fire. I have in my files your sworn testimony that John and Rose’s infant daughter, Elizabeth, died in the fire.”
“Ask old Molly, then!” Martha challenged. “Or Mrs. Winters. They were both at Pemberley when it happened. They know the truth about William Darcy and what he did to his own brother.”
A charged silence fell over the room at this direct accusation.
Elizabeth felt rather than saw Darcy stiffen behind her, his presence suddenly radiating a cold, controlled fury.
She resisted the urge to turn toward him, to offer some gesture of support or understanding.
Whatever his father may or may not have done, Darcy deserved the chance to discover the truth without prejudgment.
“Enough!” Blythewood’s voice cut through the tension.
“These are serious allegations that require careful investigation, not emotional outbursts in my office.” He turned to Darcy.
“Mr. Darcy, given the nature of these claims, I recommend we proceed with formal interviews of all potential witnesses, beginning with the Pemberley staff mentioned by Miss Bennet.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “I have no objection. Truth serves the rightful heir, whoever that may prove to be.”
Elizabeth caught the echo of his words from the cemetery, the subtle reminder of his promise to honor the investigation’s outcome. The knot of tension between her shoulders eased fractionally.
“Very well.” Blythewood made a note. “Smith will arrange interviews with the servants. Mrs. Bennet, I will require a formal statement from you regarding the circumstances of Miss Elizabeth’s arrival at Longbourn.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Bennet agreed, straightening her bonnet with a self-important air. “And my brother-in-law, Mr. Philips, is a solicitor himself. You may expect to hear from him regarding Lizzy’s legal representation.”
Blythewood’s expression suggested he was not particularly intimidated by the prospect of dealing with a country solicitor, but he nodded politely. “I shall look forward to our professional correspondence.”
“And what of this?” Martha demanded, gesturing toward the locket. “That is my property, given temporarily into the Bennets’ keeping along with the child.”
“How is it possible,” Darcy asked with a stiff tone, “that a locket bearing the Darcy crest, with miniatures of John and Rose Darcy, could come to your possession, Mrs. Wickham, unless you purloined it?”