Chapter 43 #2
Then there was the matter of his nephew and younger son.
Darcy and Fitzwilliam were not fools; their loyalty to the family had limits, and their recent actions suggested they were becoming wary of him.
That wariness could spell disaster. Without their cooperation—or at least their indifference—Matlock’s schemes would continue to unravel, leaving him with no means of salvaging his ambitions or protecting himself from the consequences of his failures.
He knew if either man knew about his involvement in the slave trade, they would publicly break ties with him, not caring about the impact of such an occurrence.
They had obviously helped his wife get away—both a blessing and a curse.
Without Julia at home, at least he did not have to pretend that all was well, and he could be assured of her safety at her father’s house, but with her went any hope of funds from either her or her father.
He sank heavily into a chair, rubbing his temples as his mind raced.
There had to be a way to regain control, a way to turn the situation to his advantage once more.
But for the first time in years, Lord Matlock found himself at a loss.
His plans were crumbling, his allies were few, and his enemies were closing in.
Not a man to admit defeat, he would find a way. He had to.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Matlock straightened, masking his turmoil. “Enter,” he barked.
A footman stepped in, bowing slightly. “A letter has arrived, my lord. Urgent, it seems.”
Matlock waved the man over, snatching the envelope with a gruff nod of dismissal. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter, scanning its contents quickly. His face darkened, the lines around his mouth deepening.
His son’s situation had just grown more dire. The men holding Ashburn were demanding an exorbitant ransom—far beyond what Matlock could readily access. The note made it clear that if payment was not made promptly, Ashburn’s life would be forfeit.
Matlock cursed under his breath, crumpling the letter in his hand.
There was no avoiding it now. He would have to find a way to secure the funds, no matter the cost. Whether it meant selling what little remained of his holdings, further indebting himself to his partners, or even appealing to Darcy—whom he despised having to approach for anything—he would have to act quickly.
THE ROAD HEADED NORTH
On the second day of their journey, Fitzwilliam and Darcy stopped at an inn only a short distance from Matlock to make inquiries.
There they learned about an injured man had been taken to the apothecary’s office nearby.
Someone had discovered him on the road, apparently after a fall from his horse and a severe beating.
The two men followed the directions given to them and found Andrew Fitzwilliam lying in a bed, barely conscious. Though the physician had done his best, it was evident that Ashburn’s injuries were grave, and his chances of survival were slim.
"Who did this to you?" Fitzwilliam demanded, his voice tight with urgency.
Ashburn struggled to respond, each breath laboured. Finally, he whispered, "It was… Father’s business partners."
Fitzwilliam stiffened, confusion evident on his face. "What do you mean by Father’s business partners? What sort of business is he involved in? I thought I knew everything he had a hand in."
A weak, bitter laugh escaped Ashburn's lips, followed by a cough.
"You know little… of Father's dealings. He has always kept most of it hidden… even from me. I only know fragments of the truth." He gestured weakly towards a letter he had been writing. In it, he had explained more. The letter revealed that for years, Matlock’s wealth had relied heavily on the slave trade—exporting people from Africa to America and other parts of the world. Since the Slave Trade Act of 1807, this had become more difficult, and the Napoleonic Wars had made shipping riskier. Matlock had lost several ships recently, deepening his debts. Though he blamed Ashburn’s supposed vices for the financial troubles, the true cause was his failed investments and reliance on illegal trade.
Fitzwilliam’s face darkened as the weight of Ashburn’s written words sank in. "Father is truly involved in slavery? Even now?"
Ashburn gave a weak nod and spoke deliberately. "Yes. Despite publicly supporting it… he continued in secret… and smuggling. He cared more for profit… than principle."
Darcy stood back, stunned by the revelation.
Of all the injustices he despised, slavery ranked among the worst. During his university years, he had aligned himself with abolitionist ideals, though he had hesitated to fully join the movement.
His father had likewise supported the cause, but Darcy, knowing of his father’s illness, had thought it best not to get too involved, especially with Pemberley soon to be his responsibility.
Still, his upbringing had instilled in him a sense of duty to treat all people with dignity. His servants at Darcy House and Pemberley were both well paid and well cared for. To now learn that his uncle, a man he had once respected, was profiting from such a vile practice shook him to his core.
Ashburn’s breathing grew more laboured, each word a struggle. Fitzwilliam leant closer, his hands gripping the bedframe as he tried to catch his brother’s faint words.
“Father… always had plans,” Andrew rasped. “Even when… it meant sacrificing… everything. Do not let him… destroy you too.”
Fitzwilliam’s jaw tightened. “Enough riddles, Andrew. Tell me what you know. Who attacked you?”
Ashburn’s lips quirked faintly in what might have been a bitter smile. “They were hired… to make a point. One of his business partners—angry over the losses. I was a warning.”
Darcy’s stomach churned at the implications. “Do you know their names? Can we find them?”
Ashburn exhaled a shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “It does not matter now,” he murmured. “You will not change him. Protect Matlock—protect what is left of it. But promise me, Richard… do not follow him.”
Fitzwilliam’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Andrew, stay with me. We will take you home. We will fix this.”
Ashburn’s eyes opened briefly, glassy with unshed tears. “No fixing this,” he whispered. “Just… stop him. Do better.”
His breathing slowed further, and his chest rose with one last shallow breath before stilling altogether.
Fitzwilliam stared at his brother’s lifeless face, frozen. Darcy stood behind him, resting his hand on his cousin’s shoulder, unsure what words could possibly suffice. The silence in the room felt heavy.
After a long moment, Fitzwilliam stood abruptly, his expression steely. “We will bring him home. Whatever Father has done, he will answer for it.”
“Richard,” Darcy began cautiously, “if what Andrew said is true, this is not just about your father’s debts. If you go after him directly—”
“Do not try to stop me,” Fitzwilliam snapped. His tone softened almost immediately. “I cannot sit by while the man who raised me profits from human suffering.”
Darcy nodded solemnly. “You will not be alone in this. But we need to be careful. If he has hidden this for so long, there might be others willing to protect his secrets—at any cost. I wonder how much our aunt knew—or was her death entirely about the money he would get upon her death?”
For several moments, neither man spoke, each lost in his thoughts as they tried to make sense of what had just unfolded.
While they had arrived there today seeking answers, they had instead unearthed even more questions.
Darcy doubted that his cousin fully grasped the implications of his brother’s death.
Given the circumstances, it was hardly surprising; Fitzwilliam’s focus was consumed by the immediate challenge of confronting his father.
Sighing, Darcy recognised that the greatest challenge in the coming days would be curbing his cousin’s impulsive tendencies.
Yes, something had to be done about Lord Matlock, but what exactly that would entail was still unclear.
Whatever action was taken, it would need careful consideration—something far more within Darcy’s capabilities than Fitzwilliam’s.
For now, the priority was to return to Pemberley. Decisions needed to be made, notices sent to those who should be informed of Ashburn’s death, and plans carefully laid for what lay ahead.