Chapter 5
“Mrs. Reynolds, can you tell me the meaning of all this writing?” Elizabeth was dusting in the drawing room when her attention was drawn to the names on the leaded glass windows.
The housekeeper came up alongside her. “Those engravings are a Darcy family tradition. On their wedding day, when the happy couple leave their breakfast, they honeymoon in this cottage. They drink a toast with special silver goblets and etch their names on the windows. In fact, there is a special etching tool that has been here for almost two hundred years.”
“Mrs. Hopkins told me there are rumours this cottage is enchanted. Do you know anything about that?”
“Maude Darcy, one of the master’s ancestors, was betrothed to a man she hardly knew and could not abide.
Hers was an arranged marriage, and Maude argued with her father about her imposed nuptials all the way to the church.
After the breakfast, as the newly married couple neared the cottage, the bride’s eyes filled with tears.
She not only dreaded the prospect of her wedding night, but also her vow to share this stranger’s life as long as they lived.
They entered the cottage and toasted each other before the bride went upstairs to prepare.
A short time later, Maude’s husband entered the room.
Without warning, she felt as though she was seeing him for the first time.
She now loved him and was overjoyed they were wed.
Several months after the wedding, Maude’s husband died in a shooting accident.
The story goes on to say she would do anything she could to keep alive the love that was to be found in the cottage forevermore.
She was the first to etch her and her husband’s names and the date of their marriage so their love could never be forgotten.
That is why every Darcy who honeymoons here is happy and their love conquers all obstacles. ”
“That is quite a tale. Do you believe the stories of the magic of the cottage to be true?”
“There is no magic to the cottage. It is thought to be enchanted because everyone who has celebrated their wedding night here is said to have found love and enjoyed continued bliss. Mr. Darcy was once betrothed, and the woman he was to marry visited the cottage and insisted she engrave their names with her engagement ring. The master has heard stories about the cottage being a special place since he was a boy. He did not know about the etching tool nor the tradition that only married couples etch their names. I attempted to stop her, but when she tried to scratch the glass, the large stone fell out of the ring.”
“Mr. Darcy was betrothed?”
“His father signed a marriage agreement when he was a boy. Not long after the fire, his intended and her father arrived here, and they released Mr. Darcy from the agreement. I grieve for Mr. Darcy’s injuries and the loss of the house and livelihoods of so many, but I will never regret not seeing Lady Beatrice again.
I have said enough for today, pray return to your duties. ”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for the story.”
* * *
Darcy found the day’s post on his desk in the library of Pembrook Cottage. He leafed through the envelopes. A letter from his cousin Richard Fitzwilliam was among them.
London, 1 September
Darcy,
I shall not annoy you with the details of the ridiculous antics of the latest recruits I have been assigned to train. To say they are trying my patience is an understatement.
More importantly, we have definite proof Wickham was the man who tried to sell your properties and the Darcy jewels.
The Bow Street Runners have not yet located him, but they are getting close.
He could hang for the thefts, but according to the Runners, we may not have any way to prove Wickham set the fire.
After they locate their prey, the Runners will attempt to catch him in the act of selling the stolen property.
I shall keep you apprised of their progress. I pray you are feeling better and continuing to recover from your injuries.
R.F.
Darcy stared at the letter in his hand. His first reaction to the constable’s investigation had been correct after all.
How could a man he had known since he was a boy have sunk so low?
His good father provided Wickham with everything he needed to live a good life.
Was his greed and hunger for revenge so powerful that he preferred murder and robbery over earning a living?
Darcy begged G-d it would not take long for Wickham to be brought to justice.
* * *
After making his way over to Pemberley, Darcy stared at the remains of what was once his home.
His eyes closed tightly as if he could remove the image of the burnt-out shell that way.
Of course it would not work—nothing went his way anymore.
Heartbroken and unable to see himself moving forward with any plans to rebuild, he walked back towards the cottage.
Halfway there, he stopped to catch his breath and leaned on one of the brick columns that stood on either side of the entrance to the garden.
A person was moving among the roses, once his mother’s pride and joy.
How dare they ruin his memories! “You there! What do you think you are doing? This is private property. I can have the constable here within the hour.”
A young woman hesitated before she stepped from behind the burnt bushes. “Sir, there is still life left in these plants. When I cut away the burnt stems, I can see the green growth within. My mother showed me how to prune our garden after a heavy frost or snow.”
“Are you planning to prune the entire garden yourself?” Darcy sneered. Gardeners no longer worked on the estate. Why bother to restore the grounds when there was no house left?
“No sir, only a few bushes a day when I have time. By next spring, it may not be back to its former beauty, but in any case, your rose garden will certainly look much better than today.”
Darcy was tired. He had not been sleeping well and had no desire to speak to anyone.
The burden of guilt hung over him like a dark cloud.
He sat heavily on one of the soot-covered marble benches that dotted the formal gardens and stared at the ground.
With tears in his eyes, he muttered, “My mother designed this rose garden and helped nurture it until it was the most beautiful place you could imagine. From the buds opening in May until the autumn, nothing was comparable to the scent of these flowers. I am thankful my dear parents never saw what happened to their beloved home.”
“Perhaps you can honour your mother by restoring the rose garden to its former beauty. I can only imagine how lovely it once was.”
Darcy looked closer at this presumptuous young woman. “Who are you and why are you here?” Her sparkling eyes were a deep chocolate brown accented with flecks of green and gold. Dark chestnut curls were peeking from her bonnet.
“I am Elizabeth Bennet, a housemaid at the cottage.”
“For how long? I have never seen you before.”
“I have been here almost a month, sir. We have been in the same room on occasion, but you have not noticed me.”
“You must have burnt your face a long time ago. My burns are new.”
As if by instinct her hand touched her right cheek.
She smiled to herself recalling the same question from one of the men who called on her at the Gardiners’ home.
“I was born with this birthmark. In Latin it is called a nevus flammeus, but most people refer to it as a firemark or port wine stain. The midwife assured my mother it would soon disappear, but after six months, there was no change. My parents brought me to several specialists in London; they all agreed there was no treatment and the birthmark could not be removed. My sisters say it looks like a plum but others have said it resembles a map or spilt wine.”
Why was this maid telling him her life story? Should he be interested in his servant’s past? “Where are you from? Your accent is certainly not from around here.”
“I hail from Hertfordshire, sir.”
“My friend was planning to let an estate near a village called Meryton. I was planning to join him but cancelled my trip after the fire. I have no idea if he settled there or not. Are you familiar with the area?”
“I know the property very well. My father’s estate was at Longbourn Village. Your friend must have let Netherfield Park, which is but three miles from my home. . .what was my home.”
“I was surprized hearing a maid speaking Latin. I should have realized you are a gentleman’s daughter. Why are you in service?”
“I have no brothers, and when my father suddenly died in May, his estate was entailed away to a distant cousin. The new heir wasted no time evicting my family from our home.”
“Did your father not put aside money for your care after his death?”
“He was a scholar and cared only for his books. He would go to any lengths necessary to avoid hearing my mother’s complaints.
Mama was given all the money she asked for to spend on fripperies rather than have her disturb his reading.
The business of the estate meant little to him, and due to his neglect of financial matters, it became necessary for me to go into service.
It saddens me to say that he ignored his responsibilities as a master, a husband, and a father.
I realize he did not plan to leave us so suddenly and at such a young age, but I doubt more time would have changed his behaviour. ”
This young woman was certainly forthcoming with her family’s history.
Another master might dismiss her without a character for speaking thus.
Darcy shook his head. Three or four fire-damaged books were stacked nearby on the ground.
“When you finish pruning, are you planning on stealing those books? They have no worth, but they belong to me.” Without thinking, he had spit out the comment.