Chapter 4 #2
When she found Mrs. Reynolds, she explained why she had failed to complete the task assigned to her.
The housekeeper’s lips turned down at hearing what she already knew to be true.
“He was a sweet tempered, kind boy and I can only pray that something or someone can help him get over his current state of mind.”
Elizabeth needed the job and to save all the money she earned. If confronted with her employer’s unsavoury behaviour, she would forbear it as long as necessary to keep her position.
* * *
Darcy growled. Voices outside of the master’s chambers disturbed his desire for silence.
“Thank you for coming, vicar. I did not know to whom I should turn for help. He has barely left his room for weeks,” Mrs. Reynolds said.
“I shall do whatever I can to help.”
“Mr. Darcy?” The housekeeper knocked hard on his door. “Sir, the vicar is here to see you.” Her voice was louder at the last.
“Send him away! I told you I shall not speak to anyone!” His slurred words must have been able to be heard through the door. How could he be any clearer about his request for solitude?
The door flew open, revealing Mr. Martin lit from outside, for the room was dark despite the morning hour. Darcy, sitting on the floor, was aware that to a stranger, his chamber must reek of alcohol and an unwashed man.
“Mrs. Reynolds, pray, bring up lots of strong coffee and some food. Bathing can wait for now.” It seemed Mr. Martin was undeterred. Well, Darcy was not going to put up with it.
“Get out! I am in no mood for your platitudes. Pemberley is a burnt-out ruin and the only thing I did not destroy was the wine cellar.” Darcy snickered. “I plan to empty it myself as quickly as I can.” The vicar gently removed the bottle of brandy Darcy held loosely in his hand.
“I had not heard that you set fire to the manor house. Is this new?”
“Leave me to drink myself into oblivion. It is the only way I can find peace. There is nothing left of what my family built over the last three hundred years. I did nothing to earn my estate but I was charged with its care, and my parents would be so disappointed in me. Nothing remains but ashes. All ashes, ashes.” His voice faded as he repeated the words.
Mr. Martin opened the heavy draperies, and the morning sun poured in.
Darcy covered his eyes to shield them from the bright light.
His guest would have noted his chamber’s disarray.
Darcy had to admit it had been a long time since the room and its occupant had been cleaned.
Dirty clothes were discarded everywhere, bed linens badly needing washing were dangling from the bed, and empty wine bottles sat atop every flat surface.
However, Darcy could not bring himself to care about his living conditions.
“Come in,” Mr. Martin said in response to the housekeeper’s knock. “Please put everything on the desk, and I shall serve Mr. Darcy. Ask his valet to join us in thirty minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” The housekeeper looked at Darcy. Was she thinking he was the mere shell of the man she once knew? She had tears in her eyes as she left the room to find Kenton.
The cleric poured the coffee and handed it to Darcy, who narrowed his eyes as he accepted the cup. “Drink this and another one after that. Maybe then you will be able to think and speak more clearly.”
“Look at me! My face is hideous, and I can barely walk. I have nothing to live for! Even the woman I was being forced to marry will no longer have me, and she is bearing another man’s child. Pemberley is gone.”
“Listen to me carefully. You have everything to live for. First, you have your sister and your family. They love and care for you, which you would know if you had not refused to see them. Secondly, your wounds will heal—the fire was but two months ago. Give yourself time. The pain will lessen each day and your leg will get stronger if you use it to do more than walk within your chamber. Pemberley can be rebuilt and returned to what it once was, maybe better. You have always taken care of your tenants regardless of the success of the harvest and you will do so again. There is no reason you cannot plant new crops in the spring.” A knock interrupted him.
“Come in. Good morning, Kenton. Mr. Darcy needs a bath and clean clothes. I shall ask Mrs. Reynolds to have the maids change his bed linens and collect his dirty garments while he is in the tub. Farewell, for today, sir. I shall return to see you soon.” Darcy growled as Mr. Martin closed the door.
His valet helped him stand and led him to the tub of hot water.
Should he consider Mr. Martin’s advice?
After that conversation, he resisted being drunk beyond reason every day.
Some days were more difficult than others, and he used copious amounts of brandy to succumb to the arms of Morpheus.
During the daytime, the tension would not leave his shoulders, and he still suffered pain from his injuries—when would it end?
Even if he could walk that far, he had no wish to return to the manor house.
It was no use. He could not force himself to bear witness to what remained of his home.
* * *
Lambton’s constable, Jonas Franklin, inspected the wreckage several days after Mr. Martin’s visit, then asked to meet with the master of the estate.
Darcy had no choice but to slowly make his way to the front of the house with assistance and speak with Mr. Franklin.
The man asked after Darcy’s health, then asked where he was currently living.
Darcy wiped his hand over his face—he could not live at Pemberley now, could he?
When apprised of his situation, the constable smiled and replied, “There is a story about that old place, but I shall not bother you with it now.” They both turned to gaze at what remained of the manor house.
“Sir, do you have fire insurance for Pemberley?” Darcy stared at what was left of his family’s home.
It was more devastating than his worst nightmares.
Could it be any worse? “Sir?” In his wool-gathering, he forgot to respond to Mr. Franklin’s question.
“No. Only for my townhouse in London. If a fire started in one of the neighbouring houses in town, it would quickly spread. This house is so big, I always assumed we could contain the fire to a small area. Unfortunately, it appears I was wrong.”
“After my inspection, I found a great deal of evidence that the fire was not an accident but was deliberately set.”
“How did you arrive at that conclusion?” Could such a thing be true?
“A pile of books was found near the library doors, and another heap was set ablaze in one of the other rooms. It was not safe for me to inspect the entire ground floor to determine if there were other areas where fires were started. Not only that, but I also found the doors to the library and the other rooms wide open, which helped the fire spread more rapidly. The blaze swiftly moved through the house, and acting in the middle of the night prevented anyone from noticing the smoke and fire until it was too late. An unintentional fire starts in one place, one more reason I suspect that what happened here was deliberate.”
Darcy’s guilt began to ease. Was the destruction of Pemberley not due to any carelessness on his part? “Who. . .who would have done such a thing?”
“Do you have any enemies? Anyone who holds a grudge against you? I know you are well respected by your servants, and kindly regarded by your tenants. The person who did this would have to bear a great deal of animosity towards you.”
The only person who hated him so much that he would set fire to a house full of sleeping people was George Wickham.
Darcy had not seen him in more than a year.
What was the miscreant up to now? Had he been in Derbyshire as of late?
Was his father’s godson capable of such a heinous crime?
Such depraved indifference to the taking of innocent lives?
He would not mention his suspicions to the constable until he could prove his former friend was responsible.
“No, no one I can think of, but I shall try to recall all my past business dealings and see if any of them ended badly enough for a situation to escalate like this. I have not yet entered the house since the fire, but when I do, I shall go through all the items in my study to see if I can find any clues. I shall let you know if I discover anything.” In truth, he had no need to search through any records.
Only one person could be responsible for the destruction.
When he returned to the cottage, Mrs. Reynolds asked him if he needed anything.
“No, thank you, I am just contemplating what Franklin said.”
“Does he know how the fire started?”
He was lost in his thoughts in regard to the person who caused the blaze. “What? What did you say?”
“I asked if Mr. Franklin knows how the fire started.”
“Oh no, too early to tell.” He would not say that fiend’s name aloud until there was proof Wickham was responsible.
* * *
While Darcy was drinking brandy alone in his chambers later that day, he started when his cousin and closest friend, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, disrupted his quietude with his unexpected arrival.
“My ancestors built Pemberley to be the fine estate it was, but that heritage has been destroyed,” Darcy whinged.
“My dear mother chose all the furniture, and now it is all lost!”
The colonel removed the glass from Darcy’s hand and placed the bottle out of sight.
“Listen to me. The fire was tragic, but none of this is your fault. Thank heavens you escaped with your life, and no one died in the fire. Another good thing came out of it: it ended your engagement to Lady Beatrice. I heard she is almost ready to give Palmerston an heir.” He paused while fingering the edge of his waistcoat.
“We have always been brothers to each other, and as someone who loves you, I must suggest that it is time to get your life back in order. Being drunk all day must cease.”