Death Takes a Holiday at Pemberley

by Kelly Miller

  It was clear Lady Catherine operated under a delusion. She was unwilling to consider the possibility that Elizabeth Darcy was anything other than a horrible and undeserving person. If the woman wished to persist in this ridiculous persecution of an innocent lady, she would do it without Rebecca’s aid.

  When everyone had alighted from the carriage, the impending necessary conversation with Lady Catherine occupied her mind. Various turns of phrase skirted along her imagination as she walked towards the house. Not that her choice of words would make a difference—no matter how she relayed the information, it would be an unpleasant discussion.

  She flinched out of her musing as a shadow fell over her. That handsome blond man, Mr. Graham, gazed at her with raised eyebrows, and the oddest notion came into her head. The way his blue eyes bore into her, it was as though he knew her every thought. She straightened her shoulders and gave him an engaging smile. “Mr. Graham.”

  He inched closer. “Lady Rebecca, I hope I do not intrude upon you, but I could not help but notice you were deep in thought a moment ago. If you have anything you would like to discuss, I am willing to listen.”

  She blinked at him. An initial modicum of indignation at his intrusiveness evaporated when she became captivated by Mr. Graham’s expressive crystalline eyes—eyes so eloquent, they radiated kindness and concern. In truth, it would be a relief to explain herself to someone. Why should it not be to him? A brief glance confirmed that the others were walking up the steps to the manor. “I thank you. I understand now it was a mistake to come here. Lady Catherine offered me a way to save my estate if I helped her avenge a wrong done to her daughter, but I should have realized from the start that her offer was born of wickedness. In any case, no amount of money would convince me to help Lady Catherine now, and I am ashamed I ever agreed to assist her.”

  His face lit up in a captivating smile. “As a close friend of the Darcys, I am relieved to hear this from you. He took her hand and bestowed a kiss upon it. Releasing her hand, he held out his arm. “Permit me to escort you inside.”

  She moved her hand to her throat. A woman could get lost in those eyes. After several shallow breaths, she took his arm, and they walked towards the steps to the house.

  Mr. Graham asked, “What are your plans now?”

  A soft sigh escaped her lips. “I intend to return to town as soon as I can be made ready. I shall put my estate up for sale; I have no other option. It is located in a popular section of Manchester, and I have been told it will sell quickly. With luck, it might bring enough to cover the debts and leave me with a small profit.”

  The blue eyes twinkled at her. “It sounds like a reasonable plan. I hope it works to your satisfaction.”

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, Rebecca and her maid were in the midst of packing her things when a rap sounded upon her door. Instructing her maid to continue her work, she opened the door herself. It was Mr. Graham. She took an involuntary step back and her muscles grew rigid. What could he mean by coming to her room?

  He flashed a playful grin as he handed her a letter. “Pardon my intrusion, Lady Rebecca. I was downstairs a few minutes ago when an express rider came with this letter for you. I assured him I would get it to you straight away.” He nodded towards her maid. “I see you are packing, so I shall bid you farewell and wish you a pleasant journey.” Mr. Graham bowed and withdrew.

  Belatedly finding her voice, Rebecca called out, “Thank you,” to Mr. Graham’s retreating figure. He waved to her in acknowledgement.

  She turned the letter over, and her heart began to thunder—it was from the Bow Street officer she had hired to find the missing steward who had stolen from the estate she inherited. As a surge of excitement rose within her, she tore the missive open and skimmed through it. With a wish to ensure her eyes had not deceived her, she read the letter a second time with more care. It contained a detailed account of the capture of the thieving steward and the recovery of a large portion of the funds he had stolen from the estate over the years—close to four thousand pounds!

  Collapsing into a chair, she giggled as she reread the letter a third time. At her maid’s questioning glance, she grinned and waved the letter. “It is all well; I have received wonderful news. We shall leave for London as soon as we are able. Please continue to pack my belongings.”

  As her maid returned to her task, she released a large breath. In a moment, her fortune had undergone a marked reversal. She had written a note for Lady Catherine with the object of avoiding a confrontation with the woman, but this unexpected good news inspired a change of mind. She took the letter intended for the woman and tossed it into the fireplace. She would go to Lady Catherine; the woman ought to hear from her own lips what she thought of her.

  ***

  Lady Catherine’s face infused with heat as Lady Rebecca made her maddening announcement. By the time the lady had finished speaking, her breath came in furious huffs. When she responded, her voice blared throughout her spacious chamber. “You cannot leave now, not when your assignment is incomplete. We had an agreement! If you leave now, I shall tell everyone I know that you shamelessly threw yourself at my married nephew. Your reputation will be ruined!”

  Lady Rebecca spoke in a cold tone. “Your audacity defies belief! You brought me here under false pretences, claiming your nephew to be unhappy in his marriage to a deceitful shrew of a woman. I arrived here to find the reality is quite the opposite. Mr. Darcy is as content in his marriage as a man can hope to be. His wife is everything charming and kind. She was charitable to me even after I flirted like a wanton with her husband. The only deceitful shrew in this house is you. I hope you realize your mistake before you do something unforgivable.” She spun around and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

  With a shriek of rage, Lady Catherine threw her walking stick to the floor. It landed on the padded rug with an unsatisfying thud. With drooped shoulders and a bowed head, she took slow, laboured steps to the chair nearest the window. There, she collapsed, wringing her hands and swaying back and forth. How had it all gone so wrong? Not only was Lady Rebecca leaving before finishing the job she agreed to do, now Anne was here wishing to forgive Elizabeth and become her friend! How did the woman manage to bedevil everyone around her into overlooking her low upbringing and cunning manipulation of Darcy?

  An idea encroached upon her mind that she had never before entertained—not even for a moment. Was it possible she was wrong? If even Anne wished her to let go of her antipathy towards Elizabeth, did it make any sense to persist in nurturing her grudge against the woman? It seemed the answer was no. Yet the idea of releasing her deeply rooted acrimony towards Mrs. Darcy made her palms clammy and brought a grimace to her face.

  Chapter 10: A Rousing Song

  Elizabeth had freshened up and changed from the picnic when a servant arrived with a note for her.

  September 19

  Dear Mrs. Darcy,

  I wish to offer you my sincere gratitude for the gracious hospitality and care you and your servants have provided me throughout my visit. I am leaving as soon as my maid can collect my belongings.

  I am impelled to express my profound regret that I ever became involved with Lady Catherine on a mission that could at best be called misguided. Due to my dire circumstances and my belief in the falsehoods told to me by that lady concerning the state of your marriage, I had agreed to assist her. I had already decided I would no longer cooperate with Lady Catherine when I received an express relaying welcome news that requires my immediate return to London.

  I know not if we shall meet again, but please know that I shall remember you with admiration and gratitude. I wish all the best for you, your husband, and your family.

  Cordially,

  Lady Rebecca Seymour

  A slow smile spread across her lips. Notwithstanding Lady Rebecca’s evident change of heart, she would bre
athe easier when the woman left Pemberley. While she did not believe the lady posed any real danger to her marriage, she could not help but feel anxious in Lady Rebecca’s presence. If the lady were not such an ideal of beauty and accomplishment, her company would be easier to tolerate.

  A familiar knock on her door roused her from her thoughts. “Come in.”

  Fitzwilliam entered. He leaned in to kiss her. “Is aught amiss?”

  “I should call it good news.” She smiled and handed him the letter.

  He skimmed the letter, set it on the table, and gazed at her. “I am not sorry to see Lady Rebecca go, though it is a shame she is not taking my aunt with her. Of course, now we have Anne here too.” He hesitated, studying her countenance. “I trust you do not mind her presence.”

  His eyes disclosed a flicker of doubt, prompting her to dispense with the teasing reply she otherwise would have given him. “Anne? No. Not in the least. I am glad for the chance to become better acquainted with her. It was a pleasant surprise when she agreed to join us on the picnic and an even larger one when she chose to stroll with my father and Bennet.” She raised an eyebrow. “Bennet seemed quite comfortable with Anne.”

  Fitzwilliam nodded. “Anne appears more hale than I have seen her in twenty years. I am gratified to see such an improvement in her health. Lady Catherine had described her to me as dejected and miserable.”

  Curling her lips into a smirk, she used a light tone. “Mayhap time away from her mother was the perfect medicine for Anne.”

  “There may be truth to that.” At her wide-eyed questioning gaze, he added, “I do not mean that Lady Catherine would set out to make her daughter ill, but my aunt clings to beliefs you and I could not agree with. For instance, I dare say my aunt does not think physical exercise is healthy for ladies.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Lady Catherine may share several beliefs held by my own mother. It is my good fortune that my father opposed my mother’s way of thinking and did not allow her to restrict me from activities of which she disapproved.”

  Fitzwilliam took her hand in his; his thumb rubbed in a circular pattern over the back of her hand. “It is fortunate for me as well. Your childhood experiences allowed you to grow up to become the woman you are today”—he lifted her hand to his mouth and softly kissed the underside of her wrist—“a woman ideally suited to me.”

  ***

  As Richard practised alone in the billiards room, a vague sentiment of unease plagued him. Throughout the picnic, he had taken frequent, furtive glances at Darcy. His cousin had not manifested anything in his outward appearance to indicate distress or unhappiness, yet the suspicion lingered that Darcy hid a dire secret. At the sound of footsteps, he halted, his cue poised for his next strike. His eyes darted to the doorway, and his muscles tensed. It was that dandy—Darcy’s friend from Cambridge. He was a damned odd choice of a friend for Darcy. What could the two of them have in common?

  The blond gentleman entered the room and bowed.

  He made his strike before straightening and returning the bow.

  Mr. Graham approached the table. “Would you care for a game?”

  Retrieving his ball from the pocket, he gave the man a smile. “Of course, why not? Shall we play a short game, just to six?”

  “Yes—an excellent suggestion.” Mr. Graham went to the cues and made his selection. “Go ahead and play first.”

  Richard nodded and made his strike. His eyes surveyed the other man in covert appraisement, a habit that lingered from his military background. “I understand that you and Darcy became good friends at Cambridge.”

  The blond gentleman chalked the end of his cue. “Yes, Darcy and I were good friends, but until my visit, we had not seen each other since university. I have been living in Calabria, and for the past eight years, I have been serving as a spiritual advisor.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “A spiritual advisor? What does that mean?” That is as namby-pamby a title as I have ever heard!

  Mr. Graham leaned to take his turn. “It is commonplace in Italy. People go to spiritual advisors when they have a problem or if they have an important decision to make and cannot decide what to do.”

  Richard laughed—not bothering to conceal its derisive nature. “You mean to say that people came and told you their personal difficulties?”

  Mr. Graham retrieved his ball from the pocket. “Yes. They might have had conflict within their marriages or with their children or neighbours. Many people have asked me whether to pursue a certain career or move to a new location. It is gratifying to provide guidance to others when they need it. One of my first clients comes to mind. When I met this gentleman eight years ago, he was in a desperate state. His wife had threatened to leave him.”

  Walking around the table, Richard moved into position to make his strike, keeping the blond man in his sights. Did Darcy know of his friend’s profession?

  Mr. Graham stepped up to observe him. “My client was reluctant to tell me the crux of the problem, but at length, he explained to me that he could no longer bring himself to perform his marital duties.”

  A jarring, dissonant noise blared as his white ball, hit with sufficient force to send it sailing off the table, landed upon the hardwood floor. Wincing at the sound, he turned away from Mr. Graham. At least the man had the goodness not to laugh at him. With a slouching carriage, he moved to the corner of the room and retrieved the valuable ivory ball from the floor. Turning it over in his hands, he blew out a burst of air. The ball was intact. He shook his head. “That was a humbling display. I cannot believe I did that.”

  With a gracious air, Mr. Graham said, “Mistakes happen to the best of us; I can see you are a skilled player. This was an aberrant occurrence for you. You should take your turn anew.”

  He spoke with finality. “No, no. I insist. You go ahead.”

  “As you wish.” Mr. Graham walked to the table and took his turn.

  An unbearable heat suffused Richard’s face, and he moved his hands over his cheeks. Was his face red? Mr. Graham glanced at him but did not appear to notice anything amiss. Was the man going to finish his story? To be left in suspense was untenable. He affected an easy deportment. “You, ah, were speaking of a married man who came to you for advice.”

  “Oh yes. You might assume the gentleman no longer loved his wife or suffered from a physical ailment, but you would be mistaken. You see, he was very much in love with his wife, but he was terrified of getting her with child. He was afraid of his wife dying from complications during the birth or from childbed fever.”

  Now Richard’s entire body was infused with an insufferable warmth; perspiration beaded on his forehead and his back. What was wrong with him? It was not as though Mr. Graham could see his thoughts. He had to take hold of himself.

  Mr. Graham peered at him. His brow furrowed in an aspect of concern. “Mr. Fitzwilliam, I am afraid you do not appear well. Allow me to get you some refreshment.”

  With no wish to protest, he set his cue stick against the wall and plunged into a nearby chair. “I must admit I am not at my best today.” He tugged at his waistcoat and cravat; everything he wore seemed bent on suffocating him. Accepting a glass of brandy from Mr. Graham, he took several small sips. A portion of his composure made a gradual return.

  Pouring a second glass for himself, Mr. Graham took a seat across from him. “Now, to return to my client, I solved the gentleman’s quandary to his satisfaction, and he is now happy with his life and his marriage—father to four healthy children.”

  With his breaths coming in rapid succession, his eyes widened. “But how did you help the man? How did you ease his fears? You cannot deny that the dangers to women who go through childbirth are very real.”

  The blond man regarded him with a sombre gloom. “I fear you will be sceptical of what I tell you next. I have what you might call a
gift or talent for sensing certain information concerning people and their individual lives. For this particular client, I saw into his future and observed he was to have four healthy children and his wife would live until the end of her seventh decade. Once my client received this information, his fears were assuaged.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he lifted his chin. So that was his game! It was clear the man was a charlatan who took money from poor, naive folk by employing lies and deceit. Every band of gypsies had one like him—a lousy fortune-teller. Darcy must be unaware of this, else he would never have allowed such a man into his home! “I understand. You told your client, an ignorant and superstitious man, what he wished to hear; he believed you, and it helped him. How fortunate it was for you that his wife survived the four births and you were not found out as a liar.”

  Mr. Graham held out his hand. “Would you humour me for a moment and take my hand?”

  He glared at the man’s earnest expression for a moment. Did he aim to demonstrate his so-called gift? Well, it should be good for a laugh. He shrugged and took hold of the proffered hand.

  Mr. Graham closed his eyes, and the muscles in his face tightened; he appeared to be concentrating. “You suffered a grievous injury two years ago by an enemy’s blade in Vitoria, Spain. You were left with a lengthy scar on your chest. I see the countenance of a handsome, raven-haired, green-eyed lady with whom you spent many nights before you left Spain.”

  Richard’s chest heaved with each laboured breath. The man could have learned of his injury from Darcy, but he was certain no one in his family knew of Catalina!

  With his eyes still shut, Mr. Graham continued speaking. “I see three children: two girls, one boy. Your wife will suffer through several miscarriages in her lifetime; it is a sad, but common, occurrence. The good news is that your wife shall have a long and happy life.”

  He pulled his hand back as if it had been in a flame. His jaw tightened and twitched. “I do not appreciate this street fair performance. Do you take me for a fool?”