by Beau North
“One moment.”
Muffled noises in his ear and then there was Maggie, sounded slightly rattled.
“Ben, is that you?”
“Hey, Mags, it’s me. Did I call at a bad time?”
A short laugh on the other end. “Is there any other kind? We’re getting started in planning the holiday season for the estate. We’ve opened part of the house to public tours now so there are a lot of moving parts, as you can imagine.”
Ben couldn’t imagine anything of the sort. He could have fit two or three of his own house inside the Pemberley estate comfortably. Still, what the Fitzwilliam home lacked in grandeur, it made up for in history.
“Well, I won’t take up too much of your time, then, but I wanted to let you know that I’m thinking of writing a book…about Dad.”
“Oh, Ben, what a lovely idea! Uncle Richard was such a card.”
“That he was. But you know it’s inevitable that any book about Dad is going to feature Uncle Will as well.”
“I see.” Her voice had gone from warm to all business in a flash. “What would you need from us?”
“Well, I found all these letters. Some are from your father, a few from your mom.”
Silence on the other line. He waited, remembering how carefully Maggie thought over everything.
“You have letters from my parents?” she asked in a breathless voice.
“A few so far. I haven’t read through them all yet.”
“Do you think…do you think I could see them?”
Ben felt his throat constrict with emotion. Of course she’d want to see them. They were her parents. She loved them.
“I’ll have some color copies made for you, but I’d be happy to show them to you in person. I was hoping to ask if I could come down there anyway. Dad was there on and off for most of ’48 as it was. It would help me, you know, get inside his head.”
“And I guess you’ll want to see his letters to Mom.”
He was only half paying attention, thinking about Keisha again. “Oh? Do you have some?”
Another deep silence on the other line. “Ben. Are you telling me you don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?”
“Your dad. My mom. They were…you know…involved once.”
The room seemed to tilt, as if the Earth had just been thrown slightly off balance.
“Was she…was she Slim?”
Maggie laughed. “Didn’t you know? It was before she met Dad, actually. She told me once. I don’t think she meant to. You know she was in and out there in the end with all the drugs they had her on. I think she thought she was talking to one of her sisters.”
Ben’s pulse began to race. The book, only a whisper of an idea a minute ago, came roaring to life in his head. Not just a biography, but a tale of family ties tangled by unrequited love.
“Maggie, are you sure?”
There was a glint of amusement in her voice when she answered. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”
May 21, 2002
Baltimore Private Airfield
Baltimore, Maryland
“Are you nervous?” Ben looked over at Keisha, who was rattling the ice in her cocktail glass. The soft mustard-colored blouse she wore made her eyes look amber in the artificial cabin light.
“About what? Flying or meeting your family?”
“Either. Both.”
“Yes.” She put her glass down delicately, as if it were Waterford crystal and not plain old glass.
“I’ve never flown on a private plane before,” she muttered, looking out the window. Outside, Baltimore wore the full colors of spring.
“It’s not a private plane. It’s a chartered flight,” he said, taking her hand in his. He loved the feeling of her long fingers: the tips slightly calloused, the palms pinker than the rest of her hand. His thumb massaged the tops of her knuckles.
“It’s still more than I could afford. I’ve only ever flown twice.”
“It’s more than most people could afford, unless your last name happens to be Darcy. I’ll have to think of a way to thank cousin Maggie for footing the bill.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Only twice? Really?”
The span of his career had demanded extensive travel, and none of it had been with this degree of luxury. He still remembered riding across the border from Laos into Cambodia in a Jeep with no seats, sitting on his pack and holding on for dear life, terrified that at any moment they were going to tip into the Mekong River.
“Once when I went to Vegas for a bachelorette party and when I went to Cleveland for a big law enforcement conference. I guess I’m just a homebody at heart.”
He smiled at her, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it.
“Nothing wrong with that. Hell, after all the travel I’ve put myself through, it sounds wonderful. But I’m glad you could get the time off to come with me.”
She gave him a sly smile. “Well. I’m caught up in your family soap opera now. I need to know more. You can’t just leave me hanging.”
“I only hope whatever we find doesn’t scare you away.”
Her fingers wound into his. She looked into his eyes, her brown to his blue. “I think it’s a little late for that.”
Heat, like good whiskey, radiated through him. Looking into Keisha’s eyes, he didn’t even feel takeoff. He was already flying.
“Ben! Oh my god!”
Ben laughed at his cousin’s greeting as she flew into his arms, all six feet of her. He hugged her back. He hadn’t seen Maggie Darcy since his father’s funeral.
“Every time I see you, you look more like Uncle Richard!”
Ben grinned down at her. Maggie Darcy had her father’s height and mother’s features, except for her hair, which was a lovely silvery gray that shone in the afternoon sunlight.
“Maggie, I want you to meet someone very special to me. This is Keisha Barnes.”
Maggie looked curiously from Keisha to Ben, and Ben had the mortifying realization that he’d forgotten to tell his cousin about his breakup with Fiona.
Keisha held out a hand. Maggie smiled and shook it in her own. “Nice to meet you, Ms Darcy,” Keisha said.
Maggie laughed. “Please, call me Maggie. Delighted to meet you. I’m just over here”―she swiveled her head toward a black Range Rover parked a few hundred feet away before looking back to Keisha. “You’re riding up front with me. I’m a brat, and I always get my way. One of the advantages of being a Darcy.”
“Along with having your own airport,” Keisha said with a nervous laugh.
“Oh not the whole airport, just this one bit. It beats baggage claim, right?”
“You’re driving?” Ben asked dubiously, taking Keisha’s bag and loading it into the back of the Range Rover.
“Hey, I was only seventeen when I wrecked the Jag,” Maggie said, her tone light. To Keisha, she said, “Watch out for him. He never forgets anything.”
Keisha nodded silently. Worry crept in through the cracks of his earlier happiness. She knew his family had money, but he now wished he’d spent more time preparing her for how much.
“How is Tom these days? Is he around at all?”
Maggie’s eyes tightened. She made a fuss of getting her keys into the ignition before answering.
“Oh, you know Tom. He loves the bohemian life. He was in New York last I heard. I’m surprised the two of you weren’t in touch.”
Ben filed that reaction away for later study. He leaned forward and put a reassuring hand on Keisha’s shoulder. She patted it absently, watching the passing scenery.
“Have you been to North Carolina before?” Maggie asked.
“A few times,” Keisha answered. “Mostly to visit family in Charlotte.”
“Fun town. Speaking of Charlotte, how is your mom, Benny?”
“She’s doing better. You know she broke her hip last year. She and Anne are thinking it might be time to finally move into a retirement home.”
“They don’t want to live with you?”
Maggie seemed surprised. Ben shook his head. He had called his mother, a few days after his arrival in Annapolis, to ask that very question.
“It was never home to either of them, really. I offered to move back into the house at Gramercy Park when things…well, you know. Last year.”
Nobody needed clarification. What started out as a perfectly ordinary Tuesday morning changed the world completely. Ben pushed the thought out of his head and focused instead on the beautiful backdrop of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
“It’s beautiful here,” Keisha said appreciatively.
Maggie smiled. “It is.”
Less than a half hour later they were rolling past the enormous stone lions that marked the entrance. The drive began to zig and zag. Maggie slowed, not because of the switchback road, but to give Keisha a chance to see the canopy of forest, the little creek running through where they played as children.
“You’re showing off,” Ben said.
“It’s my right to.” Maggie grinned back at him. And then, after what felt like miles, there it was: the mellow stone façade as stately and unchanged as it had ever been. He heard Keisha’s breath catch in the front seat when the house came into view. The brass fixtures had a deeper patina than he remembered, but otherwise Pemberley was just as he remembered. There wasn’t the same gut-punch feeling of coming home as he’d felt standing outside of Fitzwilliam House, but there was a feeling he couldn’t quite name. As they pulled around to the drive leading to the private entrance, he felt it again, that same frisson of time and memory.
“I have the room your dad used to stay in cleaned and ready for you.” Maggie hesitated a moment. “Keisha, will you want your own room or—”
“No need.” Keisha attempted a smile. His eyes sought hers with silent thanks.
“Thanks for all of this, Maggie, really.”
Maggie’s face grew serious. “Don’t thank me yet, Ben. You haven’t read the letters.”
Elizabeth Darcy had been considerably more organized with her correspondence than Ben’s father had been. All were neatly arranged in one of those old carryalls women would take on trips back in the old days. It was a small, sturdy case with a handle and the locking closures that would snap open when the locks were moved. The letters EBD were monogrammed on the front. Ben’s fingers traced the letters, curious about this family he was named after. He’d heard the stories growing up: his mother’s youth in South Carolina; growing up under the thumb of a domineering mother and a weak-willed father; the boisterous, crowded Longbourn farmhouse serving as an oasis of happiness. He remembered Elizabeth Darcy but had never met Elizabeth Bennet. He snapped open the lid and opened the case.
The case was lined in faded gray silk. A small mirror in the underside of the lid showed his mirror image. He recognized the hungry gleam in his own eyes, the reflection of the zeal for a new story, when the narrative paths seemed to stretch out like highways on a road map. Inside the case were stacks of letters tied into bundles with different colored ribbons. Letters from Jane Bingley were tied with a black satin ribbon, a dried white rose tucked under the bow. Letters from Ben’s mother were tied with a grosgrain ribbon, the color of buttercups. Will Darcy’s stack of letters was smaller than the others, but they were tied in green velvet. These Ben put aside. The largest amount by far was from Ben’s father, nearly ten stacks, all tied off in faded blue linen that seemed to be torn from the same worn cloth.
“So many,” Ben said with wonder. Some weren’t letters but notes, with no postmark and no date, stuffed hastily into envelopes. “Is this all of them?”
Maggie was touching the bundle tied in green velvet. Letters from her father to her mother.
“As far as I know. They corresponded a lot, especially after Korea.”
She plucked up the bundle tied in yellow and released the bow, flipping through it until she found one particular envelope. It was thin, having only a single sheet of paper.
“I sort of looked through these after you called,” Maggie admitted sheepishly. “This one was…well, kind of mystifying.”
“You know, I haven’t told her what I’m doing yet,” Ben said, looking at the familiar swoops of his mother’s neat cursive. “She might take issue with me reading that.”
“Suit yourself,” Maggie said. Ben reached out and took it before she could put it with the others.
Feeling like a voyeur, he took out the slip of notepaper. It was a short note, not dated. The postmark stamped on the front read 1954.
Lizzie,
Thanks again for everything last week. A small part of me wondered if you’d resent me for being relieved that the bastard was dead. He might have been my husband, but he was also your cousin. I feel like this incredible weight has been lifted off me. There are so many things I’ve been too afraid to do until now.
Our visit was too short. Please come up and visit us, and bring Maggie. We’ll storm Bloomies like the uncouth country bumpkins we secretly are.
All my love,
Char
Ben frowned at the note. He looked up to see Keisha and Maggie watching him, one curious, one concerned.
“Husband?”
Keisha wasted no time in taking the letter from his outstretched hand, her eyes moving as she scanned it. She handed it back to him.
“You didn’t know?”
He shook his head, numb. He looked up at Maggie. “Did you know about this?”
“Not until I read that letter. I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I guess I’m adding a trip back to New York to my itinerary.”
“Or we could do a records search,” Keisha said, going into cop mode.
“You think I should do a background check on my mother?”
“It’s not the worst idea,” Maggie said, nodding. “Charlotte would never need to know.”
“Absolutely not,” Ben snapped. “I want to hear it from her.”
Keisha put her hands up. “Okay, just a thought.”
Ben looked down at the stacks of letters. “Funny. When I got here all I could think about was Dad. Now I can’t stop thinking about my mom.”
Maggie fingered the blue ribbon on one of the bundles. “These might change your mind again. There’s some pretty heavy stuff in here.”
“We should start scanning these, and the envelopes,” Keisha said, her fingertips not quite touching the rough blue linen. “We can print off the scanned copies so the originals don’t get damaged. I brought some gloves with me too, not latex gloves but cotton ones. It keeps the oil in your fingers from damaging the paper.” She looked up at Maggie. “What will you do with them after?”
Maggie sighed. “I suppose they should go in the Darcy Archive. If the book does well, we could display some of them, at least the ones that happen around major events. There’s one from your dad in there he wrote the day Kennedy was assassinated. There’s stuff about Korea, and him founding DAVA.”
Keisha’s eyes widened. “DAVA? The colonel founded the Disabled American Veterans Association?”
Ben nodded. “Him, and a few others. I still serve on the board but just as a voting member.”
Maggie’s fingers flitted to his shoulder for the briefest of touches, unsure of what was appropriate. “He was a good man.”
“Okay.” Keisha ignored them, focusing on the stacks of paper. “I’ll start with yellow, I guess?”
“There’s a scanner in my office. I can show you the way.”
Ben reached out and took Keisha’s hand. “Hey. You don’t have to do all this. I didn’t bring you along to work for me.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was amazing how the deep brown of her eyes could be warm or cool depending on her mood.
“Are you kidding? I don’t care about that. I want to scan them so I can be the first to read them all.”
He kissed her palm and let her go, giving a little wave as she followed Maggie out the door. They were smiling and chatting, but Ben couldn’t shake the uneasiness he felt.
And he was overdue for a talk with his mother.
Keisha was in bed, reading printed scans of the letters when he came in.
“Hey, baby,” he said, bending down to kiss her. She pulled back, giving him A Look.
“Baby? Was that something we decided on? I’m not sure I want to be infantilized.”
He laughed and settled for pecking her on the cheek. “Anything titillating?”
“Well. Most of these are ‘thanks for the recipe’ or ‘here’s an anecdote about this person or that.’ It’s all pretty normal stuff…but then, I got to these.” She picked up a thin stack of pages bound with a clip and began to read the top letter out loud:
“The wind coming off of the bay is cold, a promise of what’s to come, and I can’t help but think of the sweltering heat of Charleston: how it felt like sex, all humidity, and ocean smells. I think of that birthmark of yours, the one shaped like a strawberry that I liked to nip with my teeth. You know the one.”
Ben sat in silent shock for a moment. “My father wrote that?”
“It surprises you?”
“Just a bit. It’s…well, it’s pretty good.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I guess you come by it naturally.”
He sat next to her on the bed, taking her hand.
“Is everything all right? You’ve been a little tense since…”
“Since I found out your family was basically the Rockefellers?”
He waved her off. “Hardly. The Darcys are, I guess, but I’m not.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Her shoulders drew together, tight with tension. “You could have…I don’t know, prepared me for this. This isn’t my world.”
“You think it’s mine?”
She looked up at him, her eyes inscrutable. “How much did you and Maggie have to drink?”
He shrugged. “Why does it matter?”
“Because—”
“You don’t have to police me, Officer Barnes. I’m an adult, and I’m not driving anywhere. I think you’re overreacting.”
