“Yes, Sis?” He turned back.
“Did you know Mary?”
“I not only knew her, I loved her very much. She died when I was twelve. You can’t imagine my shock and pain when I was made to believe she had abandoned her only grandchild. I should have known she would never do such a thing.”
“Was she happy? Did she find peace after the loss of Thomas?”
Ben’s expression lit with remembrance. “She was very happy and, along with our grandmother and mother, spoiled me horribly when I was a little boy. So much so, Dad and Grandfather refused to allow me to be alone with them.”
Catie giggled. “That’s not true!”
“You ask Horace Harold; he’ll tell you the truth of it.”
“I will.” Catie grinned.
Before closing the door, Ben winked at her. “Love you, dearest.”
“Love you too, Ben.”
Catie looked at the diary for several minutes before walking over and removing the panel. Carefully, she placed it back where she had found it.
Chapter 23
Sitting alone in the library at Davenport, Catie spent the morning at her studies. Her return to school had helped. Unlike Pemberley, school held no reminders of Sean. Thoughts of the stables, the pond, the river — even George’s little wooden horse — brought on surges of sadness. Sarah’s consolation and comfort was appreciated by Catie, but as for Sarah’s understanding, Catie knew it was anything but complete. She was sure Sarah in no way grasped the depth of her real emotions: how truly strong her feelings were for Sean — and, she believed, how strong his were for her.
The kiss, which at first had caused her unbearable humiliation, when replayed over and over in her mind brought back a memory of a fleeting moment of being pulled closer to him. It wasn’t her imagination. She had felt it. Sean desired that kiss as much as she did. His smiles and stares, his behavior altogether had inadvertently revealed his growing affection, even to a girl as naïve and inexperienced as Catie.
His sudden departure was difficult for her, but his reason was even harder for her to bear. His urgency to return home, Catie knew, was a ruse to avoid her, not only her but his feelings for her. “Bròd.” His raspy Irish came to her in a whisper . . . she understood. She was born to the manor, the daughter of a wealthy man, while Sean, the son of a horse farmer, struggled to finance his education. That damned Irish pride of his. “Bloody insufferable ass,” she grumbled under her breath as a tear raced down her cheek and dropped onto the page of her textbook.
Realizing that her mind had wandered from her French lesson, Catie packed her satchel to return to her dorm. The late September afternoon was cool and the thought of a brisk autumn pleased her. The day was so lovely and crisp that Catie hurried her pace, hoping to convince Audrey to take a walk with her before dinner.
Entering their shared dorm room, Catie was struck still by her dorm mate’s appearance. It being Saturday, the girls were not expected to be in school uniform, but Audrey Tillman was quite obviously dressed for more than the dining hall at Davenport. Her tight designer jeans and low cut blouse were accentuated by a pair of heels, and her makeup was far beyond Davenport standards.
“Is your father or mother coming to take you out?” Catie asked.
Still brushing powder on her over-made face, Audrey evasively responded, “No.”
“Then why are you dressed like that?” Catie pried.
“I have a date,” Audrey answered nonchalantly as if it were common practice, which of course it was not. Dating was strictly prohibited at Davenport. Leaving campus with anyone other than a parent or guardian was grounds for expulsion.
“A date! Aud, what are you thinking? What if you get caught?”
“I’ll be back before lights out. No one will miss me before then.”
Catie looked at her anxiously, but Audrey seemed resolved to her plan.
“Stop looking at me like that, Darcy! We can’t all be Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Anyway it’s worth the risk. He’s the most wonderful, amazing guy I’ve ever met.” She stared off dreamily for a second. “We were getting to know each other quite well at your garden party until Sean Kelly interrupted us.”
“Sean Kelly!” Catie repeated, astonished.
“Yes,” Audrey replied, adding sarcastically, “You know the two of you would be perfect for each other, you both possess the high moral standards of a clergyman.” She walked past Catie but stopped on her way out to assure her friend. “Don’t worry! I’ll be back in a few hours, and no one will be the wiser.” The heavy oak door closed loudly and echoed as Audrey’s high heels clacked hurriedly down the steps.
The afternoon waned and dusk came quickly. Darkness engulfed the fields and walks of Davenport’s campus as security lights flickered on and windows glowed orange with lamplight. Yet Audrey had still not returned. Catie took one last look out of her window and saw nothing but the empty courtyard. It was chilly out and well past curfew. Thankfully the housemother, Mrs. Jenkins, was later than usual on her rounds, but that didn’t ease Catie’s anxiety.
Eventually, Mrs. Jenkins was heard making her way down the hall, saying good night and talking sweetly to giggling girls. Catie lay reclined on her bed in closed-eyed apprehension of the inevitable.
Her eyes opened at the small rap on the door and she answered softly, “Yes?”
“It’s time for lights out, girls,” Mrs. Jenkins announced as she poked her grandmotherly face inside the room.
“All right, Mrs. Jenkins,” Catie replied, unintentionally glancing at Audrey’s empty bed.
By instinct, Mrs. Jenkins’ eyes traveled to where Catie’s had, and her smile receded. “Where’s Audrey, Catherine?”
“She’s not here,” Catie answered stupidly, realizing she was stating the obvious.
“Do you know where she is?”
“No, Mrs. Jenkins.” Catie shook her head.
Clearly concerned and a bit annoyed at Catie’s apparent lack of cooperation, Mrs. Jenkins came fully into the room. “Catherine Darcy, you must tell me what you know at once!”
Reluctantly, Catie closed the book she was aimlessly flipping through and sat up. Having no real choice, she relayed what little she knew. She had to. Not only was she worried about Audrey, for she should have returned over an hour ago, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell a lie, friend or not.
Mrs. Jenkins took in the information with a growing alarm. “And you’re sure you don’t know where she has gone or with whom?” the woman asked frantically.
Catie shook her head adamantly.
With an expression that seemed to bear anxiety for her own fate as well as Audrey’s, Mrs. Jenkins hurried out of the room, muttering, “I must inform Miss Spencer at once.”
Tossing about her bed most of the night, Catie waited and worried, but Audrey never returned. As she readied for breakfast the next morning, her room filled with curious teenage girls wanting in on the story. Audrey Tillman leaving school to rendezvous with a boy she had met at Pemberley’s garden party was not only a serious breach of Davenport’s rules, but ripe, scandalous gossip as well. Not wanting to betray her friend any further than she had already been forced to do, Catie was vague and claimed to know no more than they.
“You’re holding out, Darcy,” a girl said accusingly.
“Yeah, we all know Audrey tells you everything. Come now . . . tell,” another added.
“Break this up at once!” Mrs. Jenkins’ shrill voice stopped the inquisition, and her clapping hands scattered the senior sixth form students like kindergarteners. The nosy crowd was fast to disperse but lingered in the hallway to listen. “Catherine, Miss Spencer has sent me to summon you to her study.”
“This morning?” Catie asked as a knot formed in her stomach.
“This very minute,” Mrs. Jenkins said simply and left. “To breakfast, girls!” she was heard calling out curtly as her footsteps faded down the long dormitory hall. Mrs. Jenkins was obviously not her usual kind self that morning.
; Sliding on her school blazer, Catie took a quick look in the mirror before the walk across campus. Her shirt was properly tucked and her skirt was straight, so she buttoned her blazer and nervously set out. Though her pace was swift, it certainly wasn’t fast enough to account for the sound of her heart beating in her ears, and she would have given almost anything for a swallow of water as she climbed the steps to Daven Hall, Davenport’s administration building.
Daven Hall was a large Jacobean structure with great mullioned windows. At one time the family seat of the Davenport family, Daven Hall was converted into a school in the 1860’s by Evelyn Davenport. Never married and Anglican in faith, Evelyn was a prudish Victorian woman who wore plain black dresses and never smiled — at least not in any of the multitude of pictures that lined the way to Miss Spencer’s study. Standing tall and angular alongside Davenport’s earliest students, who looked equally as miserable as their headmistress, Miss Davenport’s disapproving eye seemed to follow Catie’s progress. The pictures conjured up memories of Miss Scatcherd flogging Helen Burns with a bundle of twigs at the Lowood School in Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre, making Catie feel as if her veins suddenly had ice water running through them. No, Miss Spencer would never flog a student today, but she was a formidable woman nonetheless.
Since it was Sunday morning, the building was quiet, amplifying the slight sound of Miss Spencer’s small movements behind her large, antique desk. Unnervingly, this quiet also amplified the creak of the door and the sound of Catie’s shoes as they struck the marble floor.
“Miss Darcy?” Miss Spencer called from her office. If she knew the first names of her students they were unaware of it, for she only addressed them formally. Miss Spencer, never being married or having a family, didn’t have the nurturing faculties of women like Mrs. Jenkins.
“Yes, Miss Spencer,” Catie answered and waited to be called in.
“Come in, Miss Darcy.” Catie stepped inside the room and, at Miss Spencer’s instruction, closed the door behind her. She was directed to sit, which she did, legs crossed at her ankles and back straight. Miss Spencer had no aversion to correcting inappropriate posture, causing a squirm of straightening backs whenever she appeared. “I am sure that you are aware of the reason I have called for you this morning.”
“Yes, miss,” Catie replied, her tongue so dry her words scraped the roof of her mouth. She cleared her throat.
“I shall start by telling you that Miss Tillman was recovered last evening and is currently in the custody of her father. I cannot begin to tell you how grieved Mr. Tillman was at his daughter’s conduct, which I might add has only been worsened by Miss Tillman’s refusal to reveal the name of her companion. Mr. Tillman, I understand, is a dear friend of your family.”
Audrey’s all right. Catie gave an inward sigh of relief. “Yes, miss, he is.”
“Then you can understand his desire to know who would take his daughter from school without his permission.”
“Yes, miss.” Catie nodded. “But I’m sorry to say that I don’t know his identity either.”
An indignant, unconvinced expression overtook Miss Spencer’s countenance, highlighting her sharp features even more. “Do not mock my intelligence, Miss Darcy,” she said sternly. “I have been equally privy to the rumors that this young man and Miss Tillman became acquainted at Pemberley a little more than a month ago. You are her closest friend, her dorm mate, and I have no doubt her confidante on matters such as this. Perhaps I can persuade you to convey all you know of this affair by telling you that the young man in question treated your friend quite poorly.”
Catie shifted in her seat as her blood started to warm. She was essentially being accused of lying. “Honor,” her father said, lifting her up to the tall stained glass window in Pemberley’s gallery, allowing her tiny fingers to trace the lead between the brightly colored panes of her family crest. “Being a Darcy is about honor,” he continued. “It’s what has delivered our good name through all these centuries. It is what we have that no one can take from us. It is more valuable than anything in this house. Without honor you have nothing. Whatever you do in life, Catherine Elizabeth, be honorable.” Catie’s teeth connected in an uncomfortable grind as she composed her words carefully. “Miss Spencer, please know that I wasn’t brought up to mock the intelligence of a respectable woman like yourself. Yes, Audrey and I are the closest of friends, but she did not share with me any more than I have already told you. I am not covering for Audrey nor do I condone her actions last evening. If you doubt the truthfulness of what I’m saying, then I will beg you call my brother. He, better than anyone, can speak on my behalf.”
Miss Spencer’s eyes narrowed in contemplation, but she had no intention of tangling with Bennet Darcy. A highly respected man, it was a credit that Ben Darcy entrusted Davenport with his sister’s care and education. The late Margaret Darcy was a graduate of Davenport and served on the school’s governing body until she passed away. In addition, a great many of the school’s alumni and contributors were close friends of the Darcys. No, questioning Catherine Darcy’s honesty without foundation was plainly not an option. It probably would bring a darker cloud over Davenport than Audrey Tillman’s little escapade could ever do.
Clearly, Miss Spencer thought resentfully, young Miss Darcy understands her family’s elevated position and is taking full advantage of it. This did not please the headmistress, but she most certainly understood. Playing the centuries-old game of, “The One with the Most Money Wins,” was part of obtaining and keeping a position like Headmistress of Davenport. Left with no real alternative, she coolly thanked Catie for her cooperation and excused her to the dining hall for breakfast.
Later that morning, after church, Catie walked alone back to the dormitory. She didn’t want company, didn’t want to talk to anyone. When she opened the door to her room, Audrey’s things were gone, her bed and desk as bare as the day they moved in. Expelled, Catie thought as she closed the door behind her. Audrey wasn’t coming back to school.
* * *
On Friday afternoon Ben Darcy drove his black sports car among the stone walls and hedgerows of England’s countryside, ignoring posted speed limits. The car always gave him a sense of invincibility. The 1977 Porsche Carrera was a gift from his father on his twenty-first birthday. That was ten years ago now, but he couldn’t part with it and probably never would.
“She needs to come home this weekend,” Sarah had said to him a few nights ago. “She sounds terribly downcast.” Ben knew Audrey’s expulsion had taken its toll on Catie. He felt sorry for Donald Tillman. Thank God his sister had never been so imprudent. Not that Catie was immune to the charms of such a man . . . any young girl might be. His jaw tightened at the thought of it. Girls their age were inexperienced and vulnerable. He had seen it enough in his younger days. Most men were gentleman, but some most certainly were not.
He settled his sister in the car and tossed her bag in the boot. She could have taken the train, but Ben usually preferred to drive her. The hour-long trip back and forth gave them a chance to be alone. Sometimes they rode in silence with only the hum of the engine between them, and sometimes she talked all the way home. Today she hadn’t uttered a word, just stared silently out of the rain spattered window, leaving Ben with only the dragging wiper blades as company.
“They’re sheep, Catie.” Ben’s voice jarred her from her thoughts.
“What?” Her head turned to him, her eyes as blurry as the window.
“Sheep . . . you’ve been looking at sheep for half an hour.”
“They look sad.”
“It’s raining, Catie, everything looks sad. Do you want to stop? Have a drink?”
“No, I just want to go home.”
When they arrived at Pemberley, Catie ran to see Sarah. It had been a month since she last laid eyes on her, and she was anxious to inspect Sarah’s expanding girth. As Ben watched them hug, a smile creased his mouth. And when Catie cupped Sarah’s round belly and spoke in a sweet singing voice
to the future member of the family, he laughed softly, glad she was home.
“Has she kicked yet?” she asked, ear pressed against the bulge.
“She?” Ben repeated. “That’s not a she.”
“And how do you know, Bennet?” Catie asked.
Shaking her head, Sarah explained, “Your brother has forbidden me to have a daughter.”
The two fell into hysterics at the stupidity of such a ridiculous demand.
“Why would you forbid Sarah a daughter, Ben? Just think — she might be like me. Would that not be grand?”
Sarah laughed even harder at the look of alarm that crossed her husband’s face. “Yes, Bennet,” she asked, her eyes bright with her laughter. “Wouldn’t that be grand?”
The following evening the Darcys were invited to Ardsley Manor for dinner, an invitation they felt imposed by social grace to accept. As Ben drove, Catie rode quietly in the backseat, unable to force Audrey from her thoughts. “That dreadful boy,” Sarah had hissed angrily when they were finally alone and able to talk freely. “He took Audrey to a shabby roadside inn and, after having his expectations of the evening met, put her out almost a mile from the school. Poor girl was discovered walking back on the road to Davenport in a drizzle of rain, cold and soaked.” Sarah shook her head sorrowfully and repeated, “Poor girl.”
Catie shuddered as if cold and soaked herself, and gazed out at the horizon which had gone black, giving her nothing but her own reflection to stare at. Sarah had assured her that according to Mr. Tillman, Audrey was all right, if a tad dispirited. Next term she would be attending a school in Northern England, and Catie could write to her in a few weeks.
Catie was so lost in her distraction that their arrival at the gates of Ardsley went unnoticed. Sarah’s voice startled her. “Catie! Goodness, dear, where were you?”
Catie shrugged. “Daydreaming I guess.” She smiled faintly and got out of the car.
Ardsley Manor wasn’t as grand as Pemberley, but Catie appreciated its more intimate and welcoming size. As they climbed the steps to the entrance, the door was opened and Lawrence and Eleanor Hirst stood ready to greet them. “Halloo, Darcys!” Mr. Hirst welcomed boisterously. His thick, black eyebrows were groomed to a fine point and bobbed with excitement. “Welcome, welcome.”
Echoes of Pemberley Page 27