Chapter Eleven
Mr. Gardiner laid aside his papers of business, leaving them neatly ordered upon his desk, and entered the parlour with a smaller packet of letters in his hand. He handed two to his wife, who opened them at once, and two to Elizabeth, who followed her aunt’s example.
Elizabeth read Jane's letter first. Her sister's affection was evident in every line, yet when she reached the end she found herself lingering over the page. Her mother’s hand followed, brisk and uneven, full of household complaints and schemes of gowns and lace.
Elizabeth smiled once, but folded it with reluctance, uncertain why such familiar lines pressed so heavily upon her spirits.
Madeline, meanwhile, declared her mother's letter to be full of domestic tranquillity, the children in excellent health, and the garden yielding abundantly.
In a separate letter, Amelia wrote of her own household.
Margaret was thriving in her lessons, Frederick protesting against them as usual, and George had lately made a sword of a stick.
Amelia added that all three spoke continually of the approaching visit and counted the days until their cousins should join them at Ashford.
Madeline laughed softly as she set the sheet aside.
“It has been but a week, and yet Amelia writes as though they were parted for a season.”
With their correspondence set aside, Mr. Gardiner turned to the remaining letter, expecting little more than civil greetings. He read a few lines, then looked back at the beginning and read them again.
Elizabeth noticed it at once. “Is something amiss, sir? I thought you brought only family letters.”
“Yes, did you not say it was from Uncle Henry?” asked Madeline.
Mr. Gardiner folded the letter loosely in his hand.
“It is indeed from him. It appears that Aunt Deborah's brother, Lord Ashcombe, is lately dead.
His son, Ambrose, now the new earl, has been reviewing his father's papers and has written to Lord Matlock with a curious discovery. The estate of Trevelyan was not inherited outright, as long supposed, but held in trust.”
Madeline's work fell forgotten into her lap. “A trust? That is strange indeed. Aunt Deborah always understood that her brother inherited Trevelyan outright when her brother-in-law died. And if such a discovery has been made, I am surprised she has not written herself.”
“Perhaps there is little certainty yet,” said Mr. Gardiner. “Lord Matlock says only that his nephew remains in Kent while the papers are examined. He thought it wiser to wait than to send an account which later discoveries might contradict.”
Elizabeth listened with growing interest. “Then if Trevelyan is held in trust, there must be a beneficiary.”
“That is precisely the difficulty,” said Mr. Gardiner. “Lord Matlock does not yet know who it is. He mentions that Mr. Darcy has also been informed, and I confess I should like to know what he makes of it.”
“And whom would you expect?” he asked, turning to his wife. “You know your aunt's family better than either of us.”
Madeline shook her head. “Not so well as that. I met them occasionally, but I was never intimate with that branch of the family. The connections are not numerous, yet I cannot guess who might have been named.”
Before more could be said, the bell rang at the front door, and a moment later the sound of steps in the hall announced their visitor.
The maid appeared to announce Mr. Darcy, and in another moment he entered the parlour. He bowed to Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth before exchanging greetings with Mr. Gardiner.
Madeline set aside her work as the maid returned with the tea tray. “We are glad of your company, cousin,” she said, directing the servant where to place it. “My husband has just shared a letter from Uncle Henry that has occasioned no little speculation.”
“I had a packet from Matlock myself this morning,” said Darcy, taking the chair she indicated. “It is perhaps the same intelligence.”
“Then you know,” said Mr. Gardiner. “The new Lord Ashcombe has discovered that Trevelyan was not conveyed outright to his father, as we had long supposed, but held in trust under the guardianship of his father and our uncle Henry. No word of a beneficiary was given.”
As Madeline poured the tea, Darcy replied, “So it seems. The late Lord Ashcombe declared himself master of Trevelyan, and as no paper was produced, none thought to dispute it.
This letter proves otherwise. “If it was not left outright to Aunt Deborah or to Lord Ashcombe, then one must suppose it was intended for the next generation.”
“But which child could it have been?” Elizabeth asked. “I suppose that is what all now wish to know.”
“Just so,” said Darcy. “He had three nephews and one niece to choose from.”
Madeline handed him his tea. “Then Amelia seems the natural choice. Mr. Trevelyan was devoted to his wife and daughter. Had they survived him, one must suppose the estate would have been theirs.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Gardiner, accepting his cup, “but if Amelia were the beneficiary, Lord Ashcombe would surely have written to her husband rather than to Uncle Henry. That makes it less likely.”
Darcy set down his cup. “And Ashford was already of age when his uncle died. A trust would scarcely have been necessary in his case. Richard is the more probable candidate. He was still young enough that such an arrangement would have been required.”
Elizabeth turned to her aunt. “Richard is Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
“Yes,” said Madeline. “He entered the army very young, as many second sons must. Had Trevelyan been intended for him, that necessity might never have arisen.”
Mr. Gardiner shook his head. “A grave injustice, if true. To put a youth of promise in the path of war, when he might have been master of lands and tenants instead.”
“That would be the hardest part of it,” said Darcy.
“Richard has served with honour, but not without cost. He has known hardship and danger, and borne losses no man ought to endure if they could have been avoided. If this estate was intended for him, and withheld through deceit or negligence, it is difficult to excuse.”
“It is cruel indeed,” said Elizabeth. “To think of his risking life and limb, when safety and duty at home might have been his portion.”
For a moment no one spoke.
At length Mr. Gardiner set down his cup.
“Your concern does you credit, Mr. Darcy. Yet we may all be building upon an uncertain foundation. There may be some link wanting in the chain which only further papers can supply. Until then it is vain to distress ourselves. Besides, this tea was arranged for another purpose.”
“Quite right,” said Darcy. “You refer to the matter of capital.”
Darcy's expression grew grave. He hesitated, then said with measured candour, “I am aware of what is generally supposed of me. Ten thousand a year is sufficient for Pemberley and its obligations, yet it does not explain what I pledged. The truth, sir, is that I have done more than most of my station are willing to avow. I have invested privately, not in town where such ventures are most observed, but in the north, where discretion is easier kept.”
Elizabeth looked up, startled. He met her eyes only briefly before turning back to her uncle.
“My uncle Henry urged me more than once to place my confidence with certain correspondents in London. At the time I was newly master of my estate, cautious of every step, and unwilling to expose my name to the risk of censure. I began instead with a man I knew through a good friend, Mr. Goodwin, who had taken much of an old mercantile concern when its owner retired. It was, I thought, the safer course. The returns have been sound. More than sound.”
Mr. Gardiner’s brow lifted in recognition.
“Ah, I know of Goodwin. I met him when a northern gentleman named Bingley was selling out of trade to fix himself in the landed class. Goodwin took the greater share of his business, though not all of it; I myself bought my first vessel in that season. We spoke only briefly, but I found him shrewd.”
“That accords with my own experience,” said Darcy. “It was Bingley’s son who introduced us. He retains some interest still, though his sisters prefer to forget it. The connection has served me well.”
Madeline replenished his cup.
Mr. Gardiner regarded him steadily. “That is more openness than most would have given me, Mr. Darcy, and I thank you for it. You were wise to move with caution, yet I think you will find in me as much plain dealing as in any man.”
“I do not doubt it,” said Darcy.
“It must be a satisfaction, sir,” said Elizabeth, “to see wealth serve more than splendour. To make it useful for families and trade, as well as for one's own household.”
Darcy turned to her. “It is the only use of fortune worth the name.”
“A principle I have always admired,” said Mr. Gardiner, “though not every gentleman is willing to avow it.”
“Then we are agreed, I think. Prudence, capital, and a fair measure of trust may carry us through. Even the most cautious investors will be reassured.”
“I hope so,” said Darcy. “For myself, I am reassured by the company I keep.”
“Then we may proceed in earnest,” said Mr. Gardiner. “The weeks ahead will not be idle ones. There are designs to review, contracts to approve, and legal instruments to be settled before the autumn trade begins. Six weeks may scarcely suffice.”
“I had intended no more than a short stay in Brinmouth,” said Darcy, “but if there is work of such substance to be done, it would be ill judged to withdraw at once. I have long wished to see this side of the business more closely. It is not often one may observe a venture from its foundation.”
“You will find my husband no sparing tutor in such matters,” said Madeline. “His plans are laid with as much care as his ships.”
“I shall consider myself fortunate to profit by his experience,” replied Darcy.
“Then we shall count you among us for the season, Mr. Darcy. I am glad of it.”