“Miss Callooh, I cannot thank you enough for your assistance!” exclaimed Darcy, shaking her hand and smiling. But Elsie did not find this parsimonious display of thanks at all acceptable from the handsome young man. She gathered Darcy in another warm embrace.
A brief downpour had turned the streets to an unholy muddy mess, but his carriage eventually navigated the rutted streets to the cemetery. As Darcy alighted from the carriage, sunlight finally punched through the clouds, lending gravestones an instant adornment of sparkling liquid jewelry. Larks and cardinals sang cheerfully as he walked toward the plum tree in the far corner of the yard. He found a man sitting on a stone bench—his trench coat thoroughly soaked—and grasping a solitary rose, along with a fancy walking stick. Darcy introduced himself, splashed away the pooled water from the bench with his hand, and sat beside him. Freddie was eager to make the acquaintance of someone so familiar with his beloved Holly, and listened sympathetically to Darcy’s tale about Holly’s son and his predicament. After nearly an hour and a half, Freddie willingly swapped his cane for Darcy’s inlaid gold-and-ivory walking stick. Darcy departed, sighing with relief. He could now return to Pemberley, satisfied that there could be no further doubt about the identity of Wickham’s father.
Chapter 8—Confrontation
The perfect travel conditions created by cool breezes and overcast skies expedited Darcy’s return to Pemberley. James and Jenny ran to greet him in the entrance hall, eager to discover what wonderful treats their father had brought home for them. Darcy lifted them both in his arms and gave each a kiss, but they squirmed with so much excitement that he quickly had to set them down and retrieve their presents from his travel bag. Although James was happy to receive a new wooden jigsaw puzzle depicting the Tower of London, he became ecstatic when presented with a large bag of chocolate-covered walnuts, raisins, and pecans. He immediately plopped down, cross-legged, on the marble floor. He found a walnut confection, his favorite, and let the delectable chocolate layer slowly melt on his tongue. Meanwhile, Jenny’s eyes opened wide with wonder as Darcy pulled out her new toy, a funny little stuffed warthog. She instantly named it Nelle, kissed and hugged it in delight, and then ran off to introduce Nelle to the other stuffed animals in her room.
Elizabeth and Darcy laughed at their children’s uninhibited displays of pleasure. After taking full advantage of the opportunity for a proper embrace and kisses, they retreated to the study to talk about Darcy’s adventures in London. Elizabeth was both surprised and relieved to hear the latest developments. Eager for a resolution of the matter, Darcy penned a letter to Wickham, announcing the completion of his investigation, and extending an invitation to visit Pemberley at his earliest convenience.
Ten days later Wickham arrived from the North country. The butler admitted him into the library and offered brandy as an antidote to the rigors of his long journey. Wickham gratefully accepted the refreshment and busied himself with a recent edition of the Times. Darcy joined him three quarters of an hour later.
“Mr. Wickham,” said Darcy brightly as he greeted his guest with extended hand. “Please forgive my delay. I had to attend to the needs of another guest in the drawing room.”
Wickham took this unexpected display of good cheer as an encouraging sign. “Mr. Darcy, it is most pleasant to be in your good graces at last.”
Darcy smiled while inviting him to be seated. “Mr. Wickham, I believe that I have fulfilled the terms of our verbal agreement. I have completed my investigation and have written to you, as promised. As you have already forsworn demands for any additional compensation, I can only assume that we both regard this meeting simply as a social call—so we can, as you put it, ‘replace discord with harmony.’”
“Ah, Mr. Darcy. So your investigation led you to the same conclusion that I reached. That is indeed most gratifying to hear.”
“Yes, indeed, Mr. Wickham. I am certain that I now share your full knowledge of our relationship,” Darcy said enigmatically. He enjoyed seeing Wickham’s confident expression briefly dimmed by a twitch of alarm and concern before he could recover with a slight grin.
“It is a wonder, is it not,” said Wickham, “that we grew up together on these very grounds, all the while unaware that we were half brothers.”
“A wonder, indeed,” returned Darcy. “I certainly never knew that such a connection existed. I cannot thank you enough for the pains you took to make me aware of our genealogy. I particularly commend you for the ingenious way that you induced me to follow the path to true knowledge. I cannot imagine a better return for the fifty pounds that I paid for your reimbursement.”
Wickham was unprepared for Darcy’s conciliatory attitude. Expecting only bitterness and spite, his well-rehearsed plan was of no use to him. How was he to work on Darcy now? His silence and vacant look betrayed his confusion.
Darcy leaned back and smiled. “Well, Mr. Wickham, it appears that our reminiscences are concluded. You must excuse me, as I am wanted by my other guest. Perhaps some other day we can reprise old times and hoist a few mugs down at the Lambton Inn. Please relay our family’s best wishes to Mrs. Wickham and the children.”
Darcy’s gambit focused Wickham’s mind wonderfully. “Pardon me, Mr. Darcy, but there still remain a few matters to discuss—”
“You are mistaken, Mr. Wickham. Did you not declare in our most recent meeting that reimbursement for your expenses was all that you sought? Did you not assure me that you would never seek more? I have acknowledged our familial bond and thanked you for your efforts, so I do not know what could be left to discuss.”
“You must surely recall,” countered Wickham, “that I raised the possibility that you might wish to offer some reward once you were reunited with your half brother. Can you be so unfeeling that you deny the bonds of duty toward your brother?”
“Duty, Mr. Wickham? Yes, I find it easy to be unfeeling, for my previous advancements of money on your behalf have paid my duty to you in full.”
“That is scandalous!” cried Wickham. “How can you be callous to me, your elder brother? If not for an accident of birth, our roles could be reversed. Imagine, you could now be imploring me for the same justice that I seek! Had I inherited the vast property and resources of our father, there is no way under heaven that I could live with a clear conscience while denying my brother his due!”
“Rightful due?” replied Darcy, his demeanor calm. “At the risk of sounding cold, Mr. Wickham, I must inform you that no rights of inheritance accrue to an illegitimate son, firstborn or not. As for your heartfelt profession of generosity were our places exchanged, I remain unconvinced and unmoved.”
“Yes, my rightful due,” protested Wickham. “Here, read for yourself how our father planned to provide for my annual pension.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced a letter from the late Mr. Darcy to his adoptive father.
Darcy examined the letter carefully. “Ah yes, Mrs. Younge did mention something about this letter during my meeting with her. Hmm…I see here that my father intended to provide you with a pension of two hundred pounds a year once you attained the age of five and twenty. That much is clear, and the signature certainly is my father’s.”
“Well?” asked Wickham. “You refuse to honor an explicit wish on the part of our father?”
After pretending to study the letter once again, Darcy finally allowed, “No, of course not. I just wanted to review this evidence for myself.” He then calmly walked over to a cabinet, retrieved a document, and presented it to Wickham. “Here you are, Mr. Wickham—the final disposition of my father’s will, which my solicitor has drawn up for this occasion. Please sign both copies and I shall pay the balance of the annuity at once.”
Wickham read the document rapidly, with wonder at first, and then disbelief, and, finally, alarm. “What!” he exclaimed. “This is impossible! Am I to renounce all claims on my rightfully inherited pension for a paltry fifty pounds? I certainly shall not!”
“Not simply for fifty pounds,” corrected Darcy. “
I have made the assumption that you will live to the ripe age of five and seventy. Thus, for fifty years at two hundred pounds per year, the total comes to ten thousand pounds. Naturally, I have deducted the money that I already advanced to you, namely, the three thousand pounds that you received in lieu of a living, and the six thousand nine hundred pounds that I advanced to retire your gaming debts at the time of your marriage to Miss Lydia Bennet. The additional five hundred pounds you received at that time I regard as my wedding present to you and your bride. Having advanced fifty pounds for your expenses, that, sadly, leaves only fifty pounds to be paid from the original ten thousand pounds. If, on the other hand, you reckon that you are shortchanged by my estimate of your longevity, I am perfectly willing to begin payments of two hundred pounds a year once you have lived beyond the nine thousand nine hundred-fifty mark, which I calculate to be three months shy of seventy five years. Which payment plan do you prefer?”
“Neither plan is acceptable!” shouted Wickham. “The money you previously donated had nothing to do with my annuity. You can discharge our father’s obligation only by paying me the full two hundred pounds a year, beginning from my twenty-fifth year. I shall only be content with ten thousand pounds at once.”
Darcy glared at Wickham for several moments and said nothing. Wickham began to squirm, realizing that he played with a weak hand. At length, Darcy dropped his controlled demeanor, walked back to the cabinet, grabbed the blackthorn walking stick, and slammed it hard on the table.
“Let us end this false dance, Mr. Wickham. We both know that we have no common father. This walking stick belonged to your father, not mine!”
Wickham looked at Darcy incredulously.
“Please spare me a display of manufactured surprise,” continued Darcy. “You have lied to me long enough.”
Darcy rang for a servant and within moments one appeared. “You can tell Mrs. Darcy that I am ready now, Thomas.” The servant acknowledged his master with a bow and departed.
“Mr. Wickham, as soon as I learned that this walking stick was given to Holly Doolittle by your father, your scheme was in ruins. I returned that same day to Mr. Bandersnatch and convinced him to disclose his knowledge of Mr. Wickham’s file. Yes, I am certain you are surprised to learn that the cautious Mr. Bandersnatch took the time to copy all the important documents prior to handing them over to you. It seems that you have conveniently neglected to share with me the first letter that my father wrote to the late Mr. Wickham. I am certain that it could not have escaped your attention—my father clearly states that he is acting as a proxy for another gentleman, whose name he is not at liberty to disclose. But this walking stick identifies your true father just as surely as if his name had been included in that letter.”
“I don’t understand, Mr. Darcy. How does this walking stick come into play?”
Darcy explained the circumstances of Holly Doolittle’s fall—how her gentleman friend had donated his walking stick for her assistance, and how that same man had disappeared upon learning that she was with child.
He then handed the walking stick to Wickham.
“Here, see this emblem carved just below the handle? Do you not recognize it from the livery that has often visited Pemberley? And if that is not sufficient, look at the initials carved on the underside of the goose handle.”
“LDB!” exclaimed Wickham, growing pale.
“Yes, LDB. Sir Lewis de Bourgh of Rosings Park,” explained Darcy. “Sir Lewis died several years before my father, leaving his widow, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and daughter, Anne de Bourgh.”
The revelation left Wickham incapable of speech.
“For Sir Lewis to use the name of my father as cover for his own activities was unforgivably duplicitous,” said Darcy. “I met your father many times as I was growing up. When I reached maturity, I could clearly discern that although he retained little affection for his wife, he had lost none of his fear. That was not entirely without reason, for she was quite formidable, but that by no means excuses his cowardly behavior toward your mother. I imagine that when your father found out about Miss Doolittle’s condition, he was terrified that word about the affair might leak back to Lady Catherine, and he tried desperately to distance himself from the situation. Bandersnatch’s letter must have thrown him into a panic, and he probably went running to my father for advice. My generous father most certainly offered to act as Sir Lewis’s proxy.”
Wickham was the picture of confusion. Although he knew from the undisclosed first letter that Mr. Darcy was not his real father, he was unprepared to look upon Sir Lewis de Bourgh in such a capacity. He saw his dream for riches quickly fading, with no time to improvise a different plan.
A disturbance could be heard in the far end of the hall, and Darcy calmly offered a suggestion. “Mr. Wickham, I recommend that you sign this agreement now, take your fifty pounds, and accept my best wishes for a long and happy life. Of course, you are free to take up the matter with Lady Catherine instead, or perhaps with your half sister, Anne. Your desperation for riches may tempt you in that direction, but I advise against it. You are certain to find Lady Catherine even less tractable than I am, and Anne de Bourgh has recently married the Earl of Nottingham, who is renowned for his quick temper and excellent marksmanship. Still, if you think my advice wrong-headed, you have only to wait a moment longer. Lady Catherine has been our guest for this past week, and she comes now to greet you.”
Lady Catherine exploded through the door of the study. “Nephew,” she cried to Darcy, “Elizabeth has informed me of a most revolting circumstance. I am utterly ashamed of you! Whatever possessed you to allow this wretch to pollute Pemberley? This is not to be endured! My only solace is that your dear parents are not alive to witness this degradation!”
Elizabeth, who trailed Darcy’s aunt only slightly, was unsuccessful in hiding her amusement at Wickham’s fear and bewilderment. Lady Catherine turned her attention to Wickham and looked him over disdainfully.
“So here is the infamous scoundrel who has shamed the Bennet family, who has polluted the shades of Pemberley, and who now spends his time in drunken dissipation! Now, what is it that you want of me, Mr. Wickham? Mrs. Darcy informs me that you seek my advice on some matter relating to pensions. That is a foolish thought indeed. Why anyone should wish to squander a pension on an ingrate such as yourself is beyond comprehension. It is most vexing.”
Wickham could only stammer out a reply: “There has b-been a mis-mistake. There is no need for your advice, your ladyship. All uncertainties are resolved.” He looked around the table and added, “Darcy, where is your pen?”
Darcy lifted his pen from its holder and handed it to him. Wickham quickly signed both copies of the agreement, bowed, and bolted with his copy and his fifty pounds. Lady Catherine could only gape in wonder at the laughter of her nephew and niece.
So distressing did Lady Catherine find her encounter with Wickham that she could not collect her composure sufficiently to permit the continuation of her stay. None of Darcy’s entreaties could soften her resolve. Within two hours she was riding in her Barouche box back to the safe and uncontaminated confines of Rosings Park.
“How delicious an irony!” remarked Elizabeth. “Lady Catherine condemns Wickham for his pollution of Pemberley, all the while oblivious that her husband was the source!”
“Indeed,” answered Darcy, grinning. “I cannot imagine a more just and fitting resolution.”
“You are not disappointed, then, that you have lost a half brother?”
“Not at all,” he answered. “I happily pass along that distinction to our cousin Anne. So my half-brother has now been converted to a half-cousin; but as you know very well, my dear, some relations cannot be too far removed!”
“Yes,” said Lizzy smiling, “and whatever direction Wickham’s shadow decides to take, it seems quite certain it will never augment the shades of Rosings Park!”
Darcy laughed as he took her arm and walked toward the dining room. After finishing the
first truly relaxing dinner in over a fortnight, the family strolled leisurely along the path through the manicured gardens and tall grass, finally reaching the pond, where they took turns feeding the ducks and geese.
A View from the Valet
BY NACIE MACKEY
Nacie (Nadine) Mackey was born into a family of five girls, so it seemed natural for her to be drawn to the classic Pride and Prejudice as it involves a family of five daughters in Regency England. Eventually, her interest led her to write two sequels to the novel: A Woman Worthy and Regard and Regulation, both with Lulu Press. Needless to say, she was thrilled to have her short story, an alternative viewpoint of Mr. Darcy’s role, be included in this anthology. Mackey and her husband live in Waverly, Iowa, along with their two cats.
Servants were a major part of Regency England, particularly for the classes described by Austen, but they were largely invisible, both in fiction and in reality, but that did not make them unimportant. Mackey gives some relevancy to Darcy’s valet in “A View from the Valet.”
Part 1
To be employed at an estate such as Pemberley, a well-trained servant was expected to become blind, deaf, and dumb. And, case in point, no matter the unusual behavior of his master, a valet must especially adhere to such inflexible standards.
Having retained the position of valet to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy since that gentleman’s eighteenth birthday, Samuel Preston accepted these responsibilities without question. After all, had not his own father served as valet to the elder Mr. Darcy for nearly forty years?
Through pleasant times and hardships, Preston stood by without apparent judgment. Twice, Mr. Fitzwilliam had fallen violently in love. Twice, his valet remained stoically silent while every manner of oath and curse were uttered within the confines of the young gentleman’s rooms at the conclusion of these same affairs.
Two years following the second of these, Mr. James Darcy passed on, his demise leading to a period of grief for the entire county. A lifetime of treating his family, staff, and tenants with respect and consideration caused his death to remain quite painful for many months.
The Road to Pemberley Page 35