A Peculiar Connection (36 page)

At length, however, we reluctantly drew apart so that he might share news of what he had learned while in London and Kent. He bade me be seated at the library table, where he had placed a packet containing the missing pages from his father’s journals.

“Where and how did you find these?” I asked.

“As planned, I called upon my barristers. They were acquainted with my quest for information about your birth, for I had engaged them to begin the search on the same day last year that Lady Catherine produced the note my father had written to Sir Lewis. For most of these past months, their efforts have been in vain. However, while we were in Ireland, Mr. Barnesdale called upon his grandfather, who had been my father’s attorney for many years. He retired to the country, and he is quite aged, but he remains interested in his grandson’s cases. When Mr. Barnesdale began to discuss his fruitless labours on my behalf, the old gentleman produced this packet of papers.”

“But why should they be in his possession?”

“My father had given them to him for safekeeping years ago. His orders had been to secure them in a place where no one else would find them. He had been told to relinquish them to no one other than my father’s brothers or me. Unfortunately, when he departed the firm, the elder Mr. Barnesdale neglected to instruct his grandson to call upon him if there were any inquiries regarding George Darcy. Consequently, the pages from my father’s diaries had been locked away in the old man’s personal safe within his house for years, their existence known only to him. Just think: had he not lived to such an advanced age, I might never have found them.”

William opened the packet and began placing page after page before me. They began, as we had suspected, in June of the year in which I was born. Sir Linton Willoughby had returned his sister to Bridesgate once he learned that she was with child. Since that knowledge had destroyed his plans to annul the marriage and marry his sister to Lord Haversham, his temper had flared out of control. He stormed into Pemberley, demanding that George Darcy inform him as to Peter’s whereabouts. That was the first time George learned that his brother had secretly married Elizabeth Willoughby and that she was to bear his child. He was also shocked to discover that Peter’s influence had persuaded Elizabeth to convert to Catholicism.

Over and over, I read of the anguish George endured because of his brother. He spent an extravagant amount of that year searching for Peter and dealing with Sir Linton’s rage over the matter. George offered to take Elizabeth into his family, promising that she and her child would always have a home at Pemberley, but Willoughby refused. He was obdurate that no one ever learned that his sister’s husband had deserted her or that she had embraced the Catholic religion. He would not tolerate Papist connections tarnishing his reputation or deflecting his ambitions.

Once Sir Linton saw that Peter Darcy was not returning and was perhaps dead, he determined to rid his family of any evidence that Peter and Elizabeth’s union had existed. He threatened the vicar of the local church with the loss of his living if he or his family ever revealed that a wedding had taken place, for he would not brook the scandal caused by talk that his sister was with child and deserted by her husband. He would rather send her out of the country. Willoughby stood over the vicar, forcing him to expunge the record of their marriage from the church annals. At first, the clergyman balked, but when Sir Linton saw that there were no other entries on the page, he tore out the page himself.

Neither George nor Sir Linton possessed knowledge that Peter and Elizabeth had also married in a Catholic ceremony, for no one existed to bear record to the fact. Unfortunately, Father Ayden, who had married the couple, was killed in an accident not long after Peter disappeared and before George returned to Pemberley from Town.

Willoughby made certain his grandmother kept his sister locked in her chamber at Bridesgate during her entire confinement, refusing her leave to see anyone. All of George’s efforts to speak with Elizabeth were denied, and Willoughby told him that, if he did not keep silent about the matter, he should fear for the safety of his family.

William picked up one of the pages and began to read aloud.

11 September 1791

Normally, I would disregard Sir Linton’s threats, but Fitzwilliam is young and freely roams the woods between Bridesgate and Pemberley, although I have instructed him to stay away from the Willoughby house. The baronet’s rage is not only beyond reason; it is demented. So far, I have kept Anne unaware of this wretched dilemma, but I shall be forced to tell her and curtail both her and Fitzwilliam’s activities if I do not go along with Willoughby’s demands. I fear for Anne’s health. She is so delicate that the least distress puts her in bed and the doctor must be fetched.

What am I to do? And why, oh why, did Peter desert his young wife?

“The man dared to threaten my mother!” William said, balling his hand into a fist. “Here is another entry little more than a month later.”

22 October 1791

I called upon Willoughby during my trip to Town. He remains unbending in his stubborn, insupportable mood. He refuses to claim the child if it lives, and he vows that it shall not be reared at Pemberley. He insists that, once delivered, his sister and her child must take up residence at a cottage he has secured in an obscure village in Scotland, far from either Derbyshire or London. I fear Willoughby plans to cast his sister from the family, for Lady Margaret says they have no relations in that country. She said it was all she could do to insist that her granddaughter be allowed to remain at Bridesgate until her confinement is over. If Sir Linton had done as he originally planned, he would have banished the girl to Scotland upon first knowledge that she was with child.

I shall do whatever I can for Peter’s poor wife, but oh, how I wish my brother would return!

“Elizabeth, what if you had been born in Scotland? I should never have known you!”

The torment in William’s eyes caused me to rise from my chair. I held out my arms, and he stepped into them, allowing me to comfort him for no little time.

When we returned to the writings, I picked up a page.

28 November 1791

Lewis has been here ten days. Once again, Catherine has learned of his misdeeds—this time with an actress in Town. I have written to her, attempting to intervene, but, thus far, she refuses to relent.

“So now we know why your father prevailed upon Lady Catherine’s husband for assistance. He truly could call in the favours he had performed for Sir Lewis.”

“As a lad, I wondered why my uncle oft times visited Pemberley or our house in London without Aunt Catherine,” William said, a bemused expression upon his face.

I cut my eyes at him. “Shall you have an actress in Town after we are married?”

“Only if you take to the stage,” he answered, bending over to kiss me. He pulled out a chair and seated himself beside me. “Let us continue.”

7 December 1791

Peter’s child was born last night—a girl—apparently healthy. She has her mother’s colouring, but I can see my brother’s imprint upon her face. Elizabeth Willoughby died an hour after giving birth. Poor girl! I suspect that despair robbed her of the will to live. Her brother should be shot!

Lady Margaret summoned me right after the birth. Her daughter and grandson remain in Town unaware that it has taken place. She pleaded with me to take the babe before Sir Linton comes and sends her to Scotland. I have sent the child to Rosings with Wickham and Sarah, as I trust them both without question. I pray that Lewis can find a suitable home for her, and that he keeps news of the birth from Catherine so that she never tells my dearest Anne.

What a sad ending to this tale! I fear I shall suffer guilt the rest of my days for the part I have played. If only I could find Peter, but I fear he must be dead, for he is not the kind of man who would leave his wife and child.

William laid the journal entry down and sat back in his chair, his face troubled. “I thought my father a stronger man than that. If he had possessed more courage, you might have enjoyed a much altered life.”

“At least he kept me in England. That must have required a great deal of fortitude to resist Sir Linton’s certain anger when he became privy to your father’s interference.”

“Why could he not have stood up to Sir Linton and insisted upon rearing you at Pemberley?”

“You must not judge him harshly. He had your mother and you to think of before all else. It was a difficult situation, and your father had great responsibilities, but he did what he thought best.”

He gazed into my eyes. “You are generous with my father, and yet you cling to a grudge against the man who nurtured you.”

I swallowed and turned away. “That is different. Papá should have told me long ago.”

“Still, he, too, did what he thought best, did he not?”

Unease settled upon me, and I did not like the feeling.
Had I treated Papá less than fairly when he did so much for me?
I rose and freshened my cup of tea. I determined not to think on the matter, for I found it painful. I poured another cup for William and changed the subject.

“Shall you ever learn why your father removed those pages from his journals?”

“Barnesdale provided the answer. He said that, the year before he died, Father summoned the elder Barnesdale to Pemberley. My father had been told by the physician to put his affairs in order because he did not have long to live. Father trusted the senior Mr. Barnesdale more than any other attorney as he had retained him since inheriting Pemberley as a young man. He was the one whom Father had instructed to send support for your care all those years. Together, they went through my father’s papers, and the barrister suggested that Father either dispose of anything that linked him to Peter’s child or allow Mr. Barnesdale to provide safekeeping for the evidence. My father gave him correspondence from Henry and Sir Lewis before recalling that he had written about the birth in his journals. A thorough inspection of the volumes from the year 1791 onward caused him to remove the pages from the diaries. In doing so, he also decided to take out anything he had written about Peter becoming a priest.”

“But why did Mr. Darcy not destroy his writings?”

“The elder Mr. Barnesdale stated that was Father’s original intent, but something caused him to reconsider. He said perhaps he had been in error to keep all of it hidden all those years, and that someday someone might need to know the truth. The attorney thought his client referred to Peter Darcy, thinking he might eventually return to Pemberley.”

I reached out and took William’s hand. “Who would have thought your father’s information essential for his son to know?”

He brought my hand to his lips. “Strange how life comes about.”

“Did you call upon Sir Linton while in Town?”

He frowned and looked away. “I did. He refused to see me, but when I told the servant that I would not leave the premises until his master granted me an audience, Willoughby eventually consented.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“I shall say only this: Sir Linton knows precisely what I think of him. He has been told that not only do you and I know the truth, but Peter Darcy does as well. He knows that, but for the unbelievable forbearance my uncle urged me to consider, I should have called him out then and there—and I should have prevailed. And finally, he knows that he shall never prevent his sister from seeing you whenever and wherever she chooses, or he will have me to contend with, and mercy on my part shall no longer exist.”

“Excellent!” I clapped my hands together. “I wish I could have witnessed that meeting.”

“I would not have had you there, for the language used would not have been fitting in the presence of a lady. Indeed, Elizabeth, I do not ever want you to see that man again.”

He had risen by that time and crossed the room to the window. “I see that your sister has left her chamber, for she walks in the garden with Bingley.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I suppose we should join them, for we have spent a long time in seclusion.”

I walked over to the window. “Not before you tell me what happened at Kent. Jane and Charles appear content in their stroll.”

William slipped his arms around my waist. “What a determined little thing you are, for you must have it all.”

I smiled as he nuzzled my neck. “Do not attempt to distract me. I wish to hear everything, and then, let that be an end to all things unpleasant, for we have a wedding to plan.”

“Very well, if you insist.”

He took my hand and led me back to the sofa facing the fireplace. There, he described his meeting with his aunt and all that he had learned.

As we had gleaned from George Darcy’s journal, Lady Catherine had long been aware of her husband’s attraction to other women. Shortly after I was born, she learned from the servants that he had taken a baby out of Kent, and she assumed it was his child. Like many wives, she preferred to know as little as possible about her husband’s indiscretions. But, on Sir Lewis’s deathbed, when he began confessing his sins, she brought up the baby and insisted he tell the truth, fearing that he was financially maintaining the child.

Sir Lewis told Lady Catherine that the baby was the daughter of Peter Darcy and his wife, Elizabeth Willoughby, that Peter, as she already knew, had disappeared, and that Elizabeth was dead. He told her of Sir Linton’s demands, and since George thought Peter had either died or deserted his young wife for some unknown reason, he had sent the babe to Sir Lewis to secure a proper home, agreeing to furnish her support. George had sworn him to secrecy, so Sir Lewis took the child to Hertfordshire where he told Mr. Fawcett the child was simply the natural daughter of a gentleman from the North Country.

“When my aunt called at Longbourn, she knew very well who your parents were,” William said. “And she knew that you were legitimate. Sifting through Sir Lewis’s papers last year, she came upon the note my father wrote when he had you transported to Kent. She deduced that you were that baby, and all she had to do was travel to Hertfordshire and confirm it with Mr. Fawcett. Then, she used the ambiguity of my father’s letter for her own purposes.”