Chapter 40 #2
Wickham was not waiting to see whether a dead man failed to appear.
He was racing to bury him on paper before Darcy could interfere.
Let the heir be declared drowned with an earl’s word behind it, and any man who rose afterward to claim the name of Fitzwilliam Darcy would not be an heir claiming his own; he would be an impostor disputing a settled fact.
And all the while, Wickham had not the faintest notion that the will about to be read would never once connect his name to Pemberley.
Elizabeth's chin lifted fractionally. She watched Wrayburn intently.
Lord Matlock spoke again. “Mr. Wrayburn, the estate cannot remain in limbo. As acting administrator, surely you must see the necessity of resolving this matter in a timely fashion.”
“The estate is managing adequately under my stewardship, my lord.”
“Adequately is not sufficient. We require permanent resolution.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Wrayburn,” said the other solicitor, “the evidence my client has collected is substantial. Furthermore, the family is in agreement—”
“I am not in agreement,” interjected Lady Catherine.
“A petition to declare Mr. Darcy deceased could be filed within days,” Wickham finished.
“How dare you presume to speak for this family, you—you insignificant son of a servant!”
“Mama,” Anne said calmly.
“Calm down, Cathy, before you suffer an apoplexy,” Lord Matlock boomed.
“Do not call me that,” she hissed back.
“Lady Catherine,” Wickham used her preferred title. “I understand your distress, but we must be practical, and—”
“Practical?! You want my nephew declared dead so you can steal his inheritance when we all know it should go to my Anne.”
“Mama, I have no interest beyond Rosings. Uncle Darcy would never name me in his will to inherit. Richard is most likely to be named.”
Darcy watched Elizabeth. She did not move or even blink, but her knuckles were as white as her skirts and her father’s face.
A sharp rap against wood cut through the chaos.
“Ladies and gentleman, order!” Wrayburn declared with judge-like authority.
The room settled, although Darcy heard Lady Catherine mumbling.
“Lord Matlock,” began Wrayburn, “you present compelling evidence. Mr. Wickham, your solicitor makes valid points.” He paused, and Darcy sensed Wickham’s exultation.
“However, before we proceed, I must be absolutely certain of the facts as you present them and as the evidence supports.”
“Forgive me, sir,” the other solicitor said, “but what more do you require? We have testimony, documentation, and physical evidence.”
“Indeed, you have been most thorough. The passenger list, a sailor’s testimony.
The Darcy heir’s ring.” Wrayburn paused, letting the moment stretch.
Even Darcy, who knew what Wrayburn planned to say, was anxious.
Waiting until the room was in complete silence, Wrayburn held up the ring.
“You are certain this was recovered from the wreckage of the Britannia?”
“The rower found it caught in the mud with the tide,” Wickham said. “I compensated him generously and presented it to the river police at once. Before I spoke to anyone.”
“Before you spoke to the reporter from The Times?”
“Of course.”
“You stand by that?”
“I do.”
Wrayburn opened the satchel beside him and withdrew a sheaf of papers, sorting through them with a frown of concentration intended to try their patience.
Finally, he extracted a single document.
“I have here a sworn statement from a Mr. Abraham Cole, jeweler and licensed appraiser, of 14 Cheapside. He states that on the tenth of September, 1801—shortly after Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy departed England—a young man matching your description, Mr. Wickham, presented this ring to him for valuation.” He set the document on the desk.
“He recorded the transaction in his ledger on that date. He has produced the original ledger.” Another document joined the first. “I ask you again, Mr. Wickham: how did you come to be in possession of this ring ten years before you claim a rower found it in the wreckage of a ship?”
The silence in the room was absolute.
“The man is mistaken.” Wickham’s confidence sounded forced now.
“He recorded the exchange in his ledger,” Wrayburn repeated. “With the date.”
“Memories are unreliable. Ledgers can be—”
“The ledger has been examined and verified.” Wrayburn set his hands flat on the desk.
“I will also note that the rower whom you claim found this ring and brought it directly to you—a fortunate coincidence, that he knew precisely where to find you—has not, when approached by my investigator, been able to produce any consistent account of the discovery.”
Wickham said nothing, merely stood gaping. Lord Matlock had not spoken in some time. Elizabeth watched Wrayburn closer. She was clever. As if sensing Darcy’s thoughts, she looked about the room, searching for answers. For the truth. For him. Darcy touched the space in the bookshelf separating them.
“Sit down, Mr. Wickham,” Wrayburn said, in the tone of a man who does not repeat himself. Wickham sat.
“I have one further witness.” Wrayburn nodded toward the door, which Richard obligingly opened. John Reynolds entered and took his place beside the desk. “Mr. Reynolds, you came to my office some weeks ago with information pertaining to the whereabouts of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“I did, sir.”
“And what did you tell me?”
“That I had met with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy in person at my office at Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”
More gasps and a clap.
Wrayburn held up his hand, silencing the room. “You saw Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy in person?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anyone here who can verify your claim?”
“Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam was present at this meeting.”
“Richard.” Lady Matlock's voice was very controlled. “You knew about this?”
“I did,” Richard said.
“If Darcy was in England—if he was alive—” Lord Matlock spoke in a cold, level tone. Only the slight tremor in his voice belied his great anger. “You should have told us.”
“I should have told the people who, until ten minutes ago, were actively petitioning to have him declared dead?” Richard met his father's gaze without flinching.
Lord Matlock opened his mouth, but no words were forthcoming.
“Forgive me, Father,” Richard continued, “but without the loyalties on which my cousin ought to have been able to depend, I wished to allow Darcy a chance at happiness. That I actively took a role in promoting this deception is a small price for my conscience to pay. Although, I might point out that, given the reactions present, I see how the deception revealed the true characters of those who claimed him as a relation and intimate friend. Of this, I cannot take full credit. You have done most of the work yourselves.” Richard held his head high and widened his stance.
“I will accept whatever judgment you wish to pass on that decision. But I will not pretend that I regret it.”
“Thank you, Colonel. I am certain the family will have more questions for you later, but I have one more inquiry of Mr. Reynolds,” Wrayburn said. “When was this meeting with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
“Six weeks ago, on the eighth of October.”
Lady Catherine said, “That is before the shipwreck. Wickham is a liar, and you, brother, have been taken for a worse fool than I had believed possible.”
“It cannot be! You are mistaken.” Wickham exclaimed.
Reynolds shot back. “I grew up at Pemberley, the same as you, Wickham. I would recognize Darcy anywhere.”
“Do not compare your upbringing here to mine. I was raised to be a gentleman. A Darcy.” Wickham's voice had shed its last pretense of composure.
Wrayburn set his hand on the desk. “Ladies and gentlemen—”
“Where is he?” Wickham was on his feet, and the man who emerged from behind the easy manners and the careful charm was someone Darcy had always known was there, lurking in the dark.
“If he is alive, then let him show himself. Or has he sent his solicitor and his cousin to do what he has never been able to do himself? Is he a coward as well as a liar?” He turned to the room with the wild confidence of a man who has nothing left to lose by going further.
“He abandoned this estate. He abandoned his family and his duty and every obligation that fell to him—”
Darcy had heard enough. The majority of his family would be happy if he disappeared and never returned, but Elizabeth deserved to know the truth. All of it. He would give his inheritance for her heart and feel that he had made the better deal.
Pulling the lever back, the hinges on the false bookshelf creaked as the door opened into the library.