Preserving Pemberley

by Carrie Mollenkopf

  ~15~

  Several hours later, the Darcys bid their guests a good evening and for all appearances, were planning on taking to their own beds, but had agreed to meet in the cellar room near midnight. It had been an excellent dinner, spent in good company. With this being the first meeting for Elizabeth and Jane Trevithick, the women took an instant liking to one another. Promises had been made and future invitation’s issued for tea at Pemberley and the cottage now occupied by the Trevithick clan. For a clan they were, with three children of varying ages, and one more expected in a few months, the cottage was filled to the brim. Formerly used as a dower house, and then a retirement for higher servants, it was an excellent choice for the engineer and his family. The acquaintance, despite their difference in station, allowed Elizabeth a kindred spirit as an outsider in the realms of mechanical things. Marrying beneath her, Jane Trevithick was a contrast to her husband. Of delicate stature and form, her head came only half past his elbow, but that was where the doll like resemblance ended. When she spoke, it was with the force of a storm at sea. A characteristic necessary when one married a man inclined to dangerous work.

  “Oh, I do find Richard’s inventions fascinating, but much prefer life at home. A life filled with work is necessary, but a person needs a place of serenity, away from such things.”

  “I agree completely. There should be a separation between work and home, even if it is the cellars.”

  To this, they had both laughed and found enjoyment in being able to speak freely about secrets. However, it was not so easy for Elizabeth to separate herself from the construction, nor did she wish to. In the beginning, she had felt rather useless, but now, with each of her drawings taking on life, the finished product was as much of her own as it was the others. Soon, they would be ready to test it out on the road. She wondered how secrecy would be maintained. The steam engine was not exactly what one would consider quiet, and it tended to make an odd chugging noise as if it were breathing. But what it lacked in serenity, it made up for in appearance and she was proud of her efforts. Having repurposed much of the original carriage seating, Elizabeth had sewn velvet draperies and padded the exposed metal skeleton, even going so far as to create an accommodation for luggage. If this contraption was to be of practical use, it must be able to transport more than just casual riders. Tonight, Richard Trevithick had something special which he had wished to discuss, but it had to wait until the family was alone. During the entire dinner, Elizabeth had noticed a smile of satisfaction, mixed with a touch of anxiety as he withheld his secret. It had made most of the company eager to be done. Fortunately, or perhaps because of them, Sir Malcolm did not remain in the sitting room long after dinner. The effort had exhausted him and within an hour, his eyes had begun to droop. Seeing her charge in this state, Nurse Malloy had ordered him to bed.

  “Good night everyone. I feel quite like my old self…but my watchdog will not allow me to stay up.”

  Afterwards, there was an awkward silence, one that bespoke volumes to end the evening. Taking her cue, Mrs. Trevithick patted her husband’s arm.

  “I believe the children will become anxious my dear,” she said honestly, but knew her husband would return later through the cellar door. It was a routine long practiced and readily believable.

  “Well then, I shall just pop in to say good night to father and then seek my own bed. I have to be in London tomorrow afternoon.” Henry added as he rose.

  “Oh? I had rather hoped…” Georgiana lied, pretending an interest that could not be met.

  “Perhaps when I return? Maybe another stroll in the gardens?”

  This time Georgiana reddened, but nodded her agreement. The last time she went into the gardens with Henry Wainright, he had tried to kiss her. Only the timely arrival of one of the gardeners had saved her from assault, but it was not to be helped at the moment. They needed Henry to be retired for the evening and must be patient.

  Finally, some two hours later, they met in the library. It was not safe to proceed below until the household was assuredly asleep. Of this, they had to thank Edwin Stokes. The footman did not take his front watch before then, nodding that all was secure. Now, as they met Trevithick, already waiting below, the engineer was nearly bursting with excitement.

  “There is to be a race…. With others of our mindset. It is to take place in three months’ time. The winner will be awarded a grant of money to develop steam driven carriages for His Majesty’s Army. There will be many notable persons invited to spectate. If we are a success, it will mean significant funds in addition to the prize should we win. Imagine what an opportunity!”

  “Can we be ready in time? As of yet, it has not been road tested.” Darcy asked with reserve.

  “I believe so, but it may mean extra hours.”

  Elizabeth and Georgiana, eagerly agreed. To be able to officially observe their work in action, and see its reception was an excellent prospect. This conversation so stirred the excitement of those present, that they did not hear the sounds of someone approaching beyond the garden entry. The heavy fall of boots, crunching on gravel that surrounded the curtain of shrubs was obliterated by their chatter. No one inside knew that their words had been overheard by an unwelcome guest. Henry Wainright, unable to sleep as he pondered not only his actions against his father, but also his feelings for Georgiana Darcy, stepped out for a late-night cigar. After only walking a short distance, he was suddenly frozen in his steps as the clear peals of laughter reached his ears. This time he recognized the voices, it was the Darcys and their commoner dinner guest. Pleased that he had not imagined voices that night in the library, Henry was irritated that he had not been included, but sent off to bed like a child. Looking upwards from where he stood, a single lamp burned, outlining the glass cabinets filled with books. No human form moved inside, but the voices continued, louder as he neared the flowering bushes surrounding the foundation. Where were they and what was so important? He vowed to find out.

  ~16~

  Working until nearly dawn, everyone eagerly sought much needed sleep, but rest was not to be had, for a disturbance of a most serious nature would keep the Darcys and their household in a state for the next few days. Choosing to indulge in breakfast before retiring, Elizabeth and Darcy laughed at the odd nature of the hours they kept.

  “It is as if breakfast is a midnight snack and luncheon our true first meal. It is a wonder that Mrs. Reynolds does not think us ready for the madhouse,” Elizabeth said as she buttered a slice of toast.

  “Oh, I suspect she is used to it. Besides, the food does not go to waste. Years ago, my father devised a special warming dish. What used to be fueled by small candles, is now an oil reservoir. Not only does it last longer, but it is far safer and less mess. Many a meal has been ruined by the distractions of invention.”

  Elizabeth pondered this as she looked at the buffet with new interest, seeing the tiny blue flames that kept the dishes from spoiling. She was beginning to take the innovations utilized at Pemberley as the norm. It was a most unusual family into which she had married, but that also gave her some cause for concern. Henry Wainright’s obvious interest in Georgiana, however unreciprocated, had given Elizabeth reason to consider the young woman’s future. It was obvious that Darcy still viewed her as a half child, but at nearly eighteen, the rest of the world did not. While it might be overstepping her boundaries, it was necessary that her husband did not become complacent in regards to his sister.

  “Fitzwilliam… I have a rather delicate question to pose.”

  Darcy eyed his wife curiously. Only in complete privacy, did she use his given name, and her tone was very serious. Being married only half a year, it was still early to expect a pregnancy, but it would fill him with elation. Putting down his teacup, he gave her his full attention.

  “You can ask me anything… surely you know that.”

  “Of course, but it is about Georgiana…”

  “Oh? Has she done something?” he replied with slight disappointment.
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  “No, not at all. If anything, I find her more endearing than ever.”

  “She is a sweet child.”

  “That is the issue… she is not a child. Have you made any plans to bring her out into society? I know that she has attended a few social functions, but not any where she could meet people her age.”

  “What is the hurry? She is a bit shy and cautious since…well, you know what happened with Wickham.”

  “I do, but that was nearly five years ago. Georgiana is far more discerning now, not one to be fooled by false affections. She sees right through Henry Wainright. Do you not want her to marry?”

  “Of course, I do, if that is what she wants.”

  “Well, she won’t find anyone if she never leaves home. That, and her advanced education may put off suitors.”

  “What do you mean? Any man would cherish a well-spoken wife. Who wants stupid children?”

  Elizabeth repressed a flinch as she thought of her own sisters. No amount of education would make Lydia and Kitty any less foolish, but it had not stopped men from noticing them. And Jane, sweet and beautiful, needed nothing more than her loving disposition to capture Charles Bingley. Alternatively, when Mary tried to demonstrate her limited knowledge, it was often met with irritated contempt. There was more to an education than book learning. One had to know how to live in society. Pemberley and Fitzwilliam, despite the best of intentions, had cloistered Georgiana Darcy far too much.

  “I am afraid that you are an exception to the rule. Georgiana needs a person who appreciates her intelligence, not one that is intimidated by it. Nor should she be forced to pretend ignorance.”

  “I would never want that for her. Once our current project is complete, we shall entertain more, inviting the right sort of people.”

  “Promise me?” Elizabeth insisted.

  Before Darcy could reply, a sharp knock on the morning room door announced the breathless arrival of a quaking housemaid. Tears ran freely down her cheeks and she stammered to give the message with which she was charged.

  “Sir! Madam! Please come quickly! It is Sir Malcolm… he’s… he’s…”

  “Millie, calm down. Surely hysterics are not warranted?” Elizabeth said soothingly, but it was of no use. The maid was beyond sense as she tried to reply. A round of fresh tears obliterated whatever was the matter, but the effect was complete. Abandoning their breakfast, Elizabeth and Darcy hastily made their way to Sir Malcolm’s bedchamber. There, a solemn Mrs. Reynolds, accompanied by Nurse Malloy, attempted to revive the old man. With a pasty grey complexion, he lay motionless against his pillows, unresponsive to their ministrations. Noticing the arrival of her employer, the Pemberley housekeeper stepped into the hall and closed the door.

  “I believe he has taken a serious turn. Nurse Malloy is doing all she can, but fears it will be of no use.”

  “But he seemed so well last night,” Elizabeth said.

  “It is often the case with such illnesses… a second spring, so to speak. Unfortunately, there is also this.”

  The housekeeper produced a small silver object from the pocket of her apron and handed it to Darcy. Unscrewing the cap, he sniffed it, knowing that it would contain spirits. The familiar odor wafted upwards, causing Darcy to frown. Using the tip of his finger, he sampled the liquid before resealing the flask.

  “Brandy… but also something else… bitter… I cannot place a name. Have you sent someone for the doctor?”

  “Not yet, I wanted your opinion first.”

  “Good, send Edwin Stokes… and have him fetch the magistrate as well. Sir Malcolm may have been poisoned, but I want confirmation. Keep everyone away from this area, I don’t want gossip spreading. Find that maid... Millie, and give her a quiet occupation that can be done alone.”

  By the time Dr. Abernathy and Constable Rupert Fenwick arrived, Sir Malcolm had yet to regain his senses. Although breathing, it was shallow and irregular, as if his heart was toying with death. Taking the flask himself, the doctor confirmed Darcy’s suspicions.

  “Brandy laced with Laudanum. Wherever did he get this?”

  “He did not have it when I put him to bed last night! Of that I will swear! Not a drop of spirits has touched his lips on my watch.” Nurse Malloy insisted.

  “No one is blaming you, even nurses must sleep sometime. Your reputation is above reproach and that is more than can be said about Sir Malcolm,” Darcy confirmed.

  “Was he known to be a drinker?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Not so much now, but in his younger years… there was none to out drink Malcolm Wainright. I would not have put it past him to have hidden it somewhere,” Constable Fenwick added. There had been more than one occasion upon which he had been called due to the drunken antics of Sir Malcolm Wainright, but each time the old man had managed to escape punishment. To Fenwick, an easy death by overindulgence was more than the man deserved.

  “However, he got it, the damage is done. Such a combination in a man of his years and health is extremely dangerous. Has Henry been informed? I thought he was staying at Pemberley?” Dr. Abernathy asked as he packed up his medical bag. There was no need for him to remain, his talents were for the living, not the dying. If Sir Malcolm had wanted to die, he had done an excellent job. Nodding in agreement with the doctor, the constable also prepared to return to Lambton.

  “I cannot say for sure that anything criminal has occurred. From the man’s history, it is likely that what we have is an accident. If something arises to suggest otherwise, please call again.”

  Darcy and Elizabeth, filled with relief, yet trepidation that the ordeal was just beginning, said goodbye to the men as they rode away. However rational the explanation, something seemed wrong in its simplicity, and where was Henry Wainright?

  ~17~

  As predicted by the doctor, Sir Malcolm did not survive. Over the next hours, his breathing slowly diminished until it stopped completely. During this time, each of the Darcys took turns sitting in vigil so their guest might not die unattended. Nurse Malloy, her normal stoic temperament shaken by the events, needed constant reminder that the condition of her patient was of his own doing.

  “I shall see to an excellent reference,” Darcy promised after the last breath had been taken and death was confirmed.

  “Thank you, sir. Shall I stay until he is readied for burial?”

  Darcy immediately nodded, the last time a death had occurred at Pemberley, it had been that of his father. As a young man, inexperienced in such matters, the arrangements had been completed by his Aunt Catherine. Now, as he was once again faced with such a situation, he had to admit to complete ignorance for the matter.

  “Go off with you now. Allow we ladies to see to Sir Malcolm. There is much to be done, but first, send someone for the doctor again. A certificate must be filed,” Elizabeth ordered as she placed two farthings on the old man’s eyes and tucked the counterpane firmly about his thin body. Death was a familiar face at Longbourn and each of the Bennet sisters had been well instructed as to the necessities involved, it was part of what made an accomplished wife. While she could not play the pianoforte but passably, and her formal education was limited, Elizabeth knew what to do when life ended. As immediate family of the deceased were often unfit to make decisions, a calm mind was of utmost importance. Seeing her confidence, Darcy nodded and bade Georgiana to follow. However, Elizabeth gently insisted the younger woman remain.

  “Georgiana… it is our place to see to Sir Malcolm’s final rest. I require your assistance.”

  Her tone, although soft and comforting, was not one to be denied and Georgiana did as she was told, but not before sending a beseeching look to her brother. However, no aid would come from that quarter, as Darcy ignored her.

  “If there is anything you require, please send a servant. Until I hear from you, I leave him in your capable hands.”

  Once alone, Elizabeth and Nurse Malloy undressed and bathed the body, redressing him in new small clothes, while Georgiana averted her eyes.
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  “Have you pen and paper? We should make a list of things needing done.”

  Eager to do anything that did not require touching the dead, Georgiana quickly found the items and sat posed to write.

  “Send for his best suit of clothes, Contact the minister at Lambton… he will arrange for the grave… unless Camberly has its own family cemetery… we will need to look into that. Have a coffin built, notify all appropriate family... I don’t know if Sir Malcolm had any relatives of close association. It may take some time for them to arrive. At least the weather has not been overly warm or ice shall have to be brought. Let’s see… today is Monday, burial should be no later than Friday or things will become unpleasant. Anyone who needs lodging may stay at Pemberley, and a cold luncheon afterwards. That should about do it. The headstone needs waiting until after the ground settles, but make a note to order that as well.”

  Georgiana, writing furiously, also tried to think of anything else. She hated to appear ignorant, but this was something in which no one had ever schooled her. How could she have managed this alone? The answer was painfully obvious. There was much that she did not know, important things. Poking her lip with the pen, she timidly voiced a suggestion.

  “What about the speech… you know, when someone stands up and says all sorts of pleasant things about the person? Sometimes they tell jokes.”

  To this Elizabeth gave a small chuckle. Some funerals were indeed filled with laughter, more of a celebration of life than a sorrowful passing.

  “It is called a eulogy… and I don’t know. Perhaps your brother will take that honor… or suggest someone. It is usually not a family member. Speaking of family, where the devil is Henry?”