Imperative: Volume 1, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (130 page)

“We are just clearing up breakfast, madam, and with you and Mr. Darcy eating out tonight; dinner won’t be a big fuss.”

“You still have to feed the rest of the staff.”

“Oh we get by on simple fare when you and the master are not at home.”  She said seriously.  “I have a budget and I stick to it.” 

“I appreciate that; please let me know if you need more.”  Setting down her pen, Elizabeth turned and picked up a sheaf of papers.  “These are favourite recipes that I copied down from the cook at Longbourn.  I would like you to incorporate them from time to time into our meals.  This one in particular is a pudding my father favours and we always had at Christmas.  I understand that Mr. Darcy is usually in Town for the festive season, so it is likely that we will be here next year if we are not entertaining at Pemberley.”

“Oh!”  Mrs. Hutchins smiled and took the recipes.  Relief suffused her face; she was on familiar ground now.  “Of course, madam.  I will be glad to give these a try.”  She nodded and clucked as she read them over.  “Nutmeg!  Why, I never!” 

“A little goes a long way.”

“I agree.  Rather prefer mace myself.”  The cook looked up with a smile and finally took in Elizabeth’s face.  “Oh Mrs. Darcy, does it hurt?”

Elizabeth touched the bruises.  “No, not at all, and they are nearly gone, are they not?”

She hesitated and nodded, “Yes madam.  I have not seen the master, but from what the girls have said . . .”

“Well, I just fell to the ground. 
He
fell over a cliff, and was thoroughly battered.”  Her eyes brightened and her voice caught.  “I nearly lost him.”

Mrs. Hutchins reached for her hand and pulled back.  “But you didn’t, Mrs. Darcy!  He is a little worse for wear, but I heard that he was in the ballroom this morning with a sword in hand, doing some fancy stretches.  He wouldn’t be doing that if he wasn’t feeling fit!”

“I know, and I am grateful for it, but you do not know how whisper close he came to . . .” Elizabeth drew a deep breath.  “I will
not
cry.”  She said determinedly. 

“It’s all right to cry for someone you care so deeply about, madam.  Heaven knows I’ve been crying buckets over a man I never knew.  That colonel . . . oh he upset me something awful.”  She shook her head while Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes.  “But Parker and Judy talked about how hurt you and the master were, and what you two did to save each other; and I just started thinking about what I thought I had with Mr. Christmas.  It wasn’t romantic at all.  Flattered, I was.  He was a charmer.  It crossed my mind that he was interested in everything but me, and there I went talking on and on, answering his questions.”

“What questions did he ask?  You surely would have noticed if it was intrusive.”  Elizabeth sniffed and clutched her handkerchief.

“Oh, it wasn’t!  He asked all sorts of things about me, but it was curious how he would pop in odd questions here and there that would start us off in another direction.  Now that I have been thinking about him, he was particularly curious about Miss Darcy.  She is such a sweet thing, although I have to say, she was giving her poor brother a hard time before leaving for her summer by the sea.”

“A hard time?”

“Well, everyone heard her, moping and wailing that he was sending her off because he didn’t want to be bothered with her.  Silly girl, if she couldn’t see how hard the master was trying to keep her happy . . . and then him resigned to find a wife . . .” Her hand went to her mouth.  “I am sorry, madam!”

“Well, he did find a wife, did he not?”   Elizabeth smiled.

“Yes, yes he did!”   Mrs. Hutchins laughed.  “And we are all grateful for his choice, madam.”

“Thank you, but Mrs. Hutchins, I should be a widow now if it were not for the grace of God.  And Mr. Christmas was the one who was standing on Pemberley’s drive and screamed at our carriage, and startled the horses.  Why was he there?  You are the only one who might shed some light on this for us.  Think!”

Her eyes widened.  “I have never been to Pemberley, madam.  I could not tell him a thing about it.”

“But he asked?”

“Once, I just said that Mr. Parker described it as beautiful, as did the coachmen . . . Oh, poor Henry!”

“Yes, Henry died because of Mr. Christmas.”  Elizabeth nodded, nudging her along. 

“Mr. Wickham!”  The cook cried.

Starting, Elizabeth stared.  “Mr. Wickham?”

“I just now thought of it.  The only ones besides the family I knew who had been to Pemberley were Mr. Parker, the coachmen, and Mr. Wickham.  He fancied himself family but we all knew he was just a servant who had good fortune smiling on him.  Poor Mr. Darcy, the master’s father, the money he poured into that wastrel!”  She shook her head.  “We all heard about him getting a living left to him and demanding money in return!  Poor master, just back from Pemberley and burying his Father and having to go to court and there was that fool with his hand out, wanting his money!  And of course Mr. Darcy had to put him off because he officially didn’t have the estate yet, a judge had to make it so . . . Oh I do not know, it was such an uproar when Mr. Darcy died.  Lord Matlock and the lawyer were here; and oh dear, the judge was green, he was so sick, I thought he might die, too!” 

Elizabeth tried to absorb all that the cook was saying and still direct her back to the subject.  “What does this have to do with Mr. Christmas?”

Mrs. Hutchins blinked.  “Oh.  He asked about Mr. Wickham.” 

“When?”

“Right around the time that you married, madam.  I think that it was the last time that he visited.  He said he had been hearing things about him and was curious if they were true.”  Her brow creased.  “Come to think of it, I never asked how he knew him.”

“I wish that you had.”  Elizabeth said softly. 

“Pardon, madam?” 

“It is nothing.”  Straightening, Elizabeth held her eye.  “If you think of anything else regarding Mr. Christmas, anything that strikes you as odd, I want to know about it.  Do you understand?  This is very important to me.  I almost lost my husband and I will not rest until I find out why.  There was some malevolent force about Mr. Christmas and I will do anything that is necessary to protect Mr. Darcy from harm.  It is not your fault that this happened, but you can be such an enormous help to us if you can give us clues to solving this puzzle.”

“Yes, madam!”  Mrs. Hutchins said fervently.  “I will madam!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hutchins.  I am grateful for your loyalty.”  Elizabeth smiled and nodded as the woman stood and with new purpose left the room.   Staring out of the window, Elizabeth watched as the stray flurries began to come down in a steady snow shower.   “Well, now that is an unexpected connection, Mr. Christmas and Mr. Wickham.  I wonder if
that
was a partnership gone awry . . . and what did Georgiana have to do with all of this?” 

WHILE ELIZABETH TOOK ON Mrs. Hutchins, Darcy, sore from his exercise, but pleasantly so, settled in at his desk and spread out the three wrinkled sheets covered with his father’s musings.  He had already taken the time to remove and look behind all of the other drawers, and did find a few long forgotten curiosities, including an alphabet scratched out in his childish hand, but nothing more of real significance.  “Now.  What is all of this?”   

The first page was covered with a sketch, sets of letters with lines drawn from them leading to new sets of letters.  Some of the lines were lightly scratched out, some of the letters had question marks by them and some were circled or underlined heavily, as if Mr. Darcy had been staring at them and thinking hard while his hand acted on the intensity of his musings. 

The second page was covered with random notes, seemingly crammed into every available space and every which way, reminding Darcy of a page that he would have before him while speaking to his steward.  It was as if his father had been in conversation with someone and was noting important reminders of things that he wished to consider when he was alone. 

The third page was not so cryptic.  It was clearly Mr. Darcy trying out the wording for the new entailment.  One paragraph was circled and those words Darcy recognized well.  His gaze wandered up the page, curious to see what other ideas his father had considered and rejected, but in the end they were not all so different.  Setting that page aside, he returned to the first. 

“A family tree, perhaps?”  His brow creased and nodding, he mouthed out the names as he traced his finger over the lines.  “Yes . . . so what is this . . .?”  Naturally his gaze went first to his initials.  He felt a lump in his throat and his hand went to rub over his chest when he saw before him the proof that his father at the very least
did
consider, even wanted, his union with Anne.  “Lord, help me.”  He whispered, aghast.  “How could I have resisted?  Rosings and Pemberley joined, of course it would be too spectacular to deny.”  Following the line demarking their marriage, he realized what his father had, that children were unlikely.  Darcy shook his head.  “You would leave me to marry her, knowing that she would not give me an heir, solely to join the estates?  I thought that I knew you better, Father.  Were you so mercenary, too?  You always said that she was so much weaker than Mother, but that does not mean I would be a widower.” 

He looked up to the Pemberley landscape, thinking of the pride his father had taken in it, the care in teaching his son all about the history of the estate and his ancestors.  “Georgiana knows so little of this; it would have all been lost . . .” 

His attention returned to another line drawn from his name and crossed out, the one leading to Cathy.  “She was rejected, why I wonder?  She is healthy enough . . .  But then what would she bring besides a dowry?  She would be no different from any other heiress . . . Perhaps he suspected that Matlock was in trouble.  Of course, yes, he would know.  I wonder if Uncle ever approached him for help, it was early days then, not nearly what it has become.”

Thoughts of his uncle reminded him that his father was not entirely convinced of demanding his union with Anne.  “He was going to speak to me about it the day that he died.  What would I have said?  Was I like Samuel then and too much in awe of him to say no?”  He wondered.  “Why would he not speak to me about this before preparing the entailment?  Why prepare for me to carry on the estate so thoroughly and yet purposely anticipate my not having a viable heir?  There is something missing here.”

Again his finger traced over the lines.  “My goodness . . . he actually did consider Georgiana and Samuel!  But . . . it is rejected . . . why?  Why consider him in the first place?  Well, I suppose if you are considering me with the female cousins he would think of Samuel, but . . . he is hardly what Father could have expected for Georgiana.  Albert, yes, but he is too old, but someone of his ilk.  Yes, that makes sense, I suppose that was idle musing there . . . but what is this under Uncle’s name?”  Sighing, Darcy shook his head at the series of lines drawn emphatically beneath Harding Darcy’s initials.  “I wish that I understood.”

At last he set the map of his thankfully unfulfilled fate aside and turned to the notes jotted on the last page.  “What does this tell me?” 

Some of the notes were fairly obvious; information about Darcy and how he had to be of age to break the entailment, some details of the process to be followed . . .   Darcy turned the page.  “Harding.”  His brow creased and he stared.  “Is that . . . five crosses?”  On another part of the page there was a precise list.  “Inheritance, unstable, King George?”  His head spun.  “What on earth was he considering here?”  Thinking of his monarch his eyes widened.  “King George is certainly incapacitated, that is why Prinny has taken on the duties . . . his son taking over for him . . .” Darcy blew out his cheeks and looked down the list again.  “Samuel.”  The name was written by itself, but more significantly, there were a series of question marks there, followed by
Is the son better than the father?

“Ohhh, I see.”  Sitting back in his chair, he closed his eyes.  “Father was not just anticipating my marriage to Anne and producing no children, but he was also cutting out his brother from ever inheriting should I die.  He was not sure if Samuel could take over in his father’s stead should he be too ill.”  Darcy’s eyes opened and he looked at the family tree.  “And he would not consider Georgiana with Samuel in case there was some inherent madness?  Good God, Father.  What did your mother plant in your head about Uncle?  What did Grandfather tell you of him?  Every illness, every time he was subjected to that horrific drug, you saw madness . . . And then,” Darcy looked at the five crosses drawn next to his uncle’s name, “he lost his children.  And truly went mad.  Lord, what he must have felt when you told him the entailment was to be broken.  He knew; surely he had to know, that it was done because of him.”

Sympathy and anger warred in Darcy’s breast.  He could understand his father’s desire to protect Pemberley, after all, only days ago he had railed to the Bennet family about being prepared should the head of the family die.  Was his father doing anything less here?  “No, but if your delivery was anything to the unchecked way that I once spoke . . . I can imagine that Uncle was utterly devastated.  I apologize, Uncle.”