The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2)

by Cynthia Ingram Hensley

  Chapter 10

  “It was July, 1945, when I met your daddy,” Miss Montague said in a faraway, wistful voice. “The War with the Germans was over — at last — and your granddaddy needed cargo ships. Pronto! Poor man had lost almost his whole fleet.”

  “Grandfather Geoffrey had a fleet of ships?” Catie asked interestedly, pulling up a chair next to Miss Montague. “I never knew that.”

  “Actually, his investment company had controlling stock in a fleet of ships, most of which were lying at the bottom of the North Sea with a German torpedo in their hull.” Miss Montague straightened and then stated with certainty, “Geoffrey Darcy would have lost every penny of his investment had Garret Montague not arrived with all the ships he could spare to salvage your grandfather’s shipping company. It’s why I was at Pemberley that summer. After a short stay with our relatives at Challongate Hall, my daddy had to go to Derbyshire to close the deal and brought me and your mother along with him.”

  “Why was my mother in Staffordshire?” asked Catie. “The Baron’s estate is in Northumberland.”

  Miss Montague’s perfectly plucked brows rose in surprise. “How much do you know of the Sumners of Northumberland, Catherine?”

  Catie chuckled softly. “My daddy used to say the Sumners had more Scotch in them than was good for any Englishman—blood and whiskey. He said the Medieval Sumners were nothing but barbaric ne’er-do-wells who built the wealth of Leamount Grange by doing cattle raids over the Scottish boarder. It is legend that on one of those raids, the 3rd Baron brought back a Scottish wench he’d stolen from Clan Ferguson and made her his wife. Daddy swore it was because of that ‘bloody Scot woman’ that I was born with such a streak of stubbornness and a red tint to my fair Norman hair.”

  “Oh, that sounds just like Willie!” Miss Montague exclaimed, laughing herself into another hacking cough.

  “Shall I fetch you a glass of water?” Catie asked.

  “No,” she wheezed and took a lace-boarded handkerchief from her pocket to dab her mouth. “Damnable, cigarettes! Never start, child!”

  Catie waited patiently as the woman cleared her throat then asked, “Was Margaret a guest at Challongate Hall?”

  Taken aback by Catie calling her mother by name, Annabelle looked at Margaret’s daughter then remembered. “That’s right. You never met your mother, did you?”

  Catie swallowed and shook her head. “No, miss.”

  “Please, child, call me Annabelle. I can assure you, your father would’ve approved.”

  Tears prickling at her lashes, Catie nodded. “Will you tell me about her—about Margaret? Did you know my”—she swallowed again to keep her voice from cracking—“my mamma very well?”

  Sighing, Annabelle Montague closed her eyes. “Some of my fondest memories are of that summer at Pemberley with your mamma and papa. We were, the three of us, best of friends by the end of it. So young we were…so young…” she trailed off as she opened her eyes and fixated on the three smiling faces in the black and white photograph. After a moment, she looked again at Catie. It was as if Margaret were sitting right in front of her like a ghost from the past. “You are much like her, you know.”

  “I’ve been told so my whole life. It makes it harder not to have known her I think.”

  Annabelle sat back and folded her small hands on her lap. “Your father was right about the Sumners. Tell me, what is the current relationship between Leamount Grange and Pemberley House?”

  Catie looked down at her own hands then. “We see very little of the baron, my uncle, at Pemberley House.”

  “Ha!” Annabelle Montague laughed. “What a well-trained, English blueblood you are, my dear. I’ll take your evasiveness to mean your mother’s elder brother is still neck-deep in gambling debts.”

  “The baron has lost my brother’s good opinion, but his heir, our cousin Edward, is a good man…a family man who my brother is helping in business.” Catie met the older woman square in the eyes. “It is my brother’s hope that our cousin will one day restore Leamount Grange. The original section of the house is almost as ancient as the barony, and its decline is a disgrace to my brother and me.”

  “The English upper crust will never change—always waiting for a wedding or a funeral to change their prospects.” Again, Annabelle Montague coughed to clear her throat, dabbing the handkerchief at the corner of her mouth. She stared at Catie for a moment as if making up her mind about something then said carefully, “Did you know your mother was a lonely girl, Catherine?”

  “I don’t understand,” said Catie, looking confused.

  “Margaret was at Challongate Hall to meet up with my father and me. We were to escort her to Pemberley for an extended stay until her next school term began. Mrs. Darcy had agreed to have Margaret for the summer as a favor. She and Margaret’s mother—your grandmothers—shared an earlier acquaintance. As girls, they had been dorm mates at the Davenport School.” Miss Montague paused for a moment as William’s daughter sat eagerly on the edge of her seat, hungry for details concerning her mother. Annabelle hesitated, wondering how much she should divulge. She’s not a child, she told herself and so took a breath and continued, “My father explained that when the baron returned from France, his wife, your grandmother, had petitioned for divorce. However, his lordship refused her plea because of Margaret.”

  “Why because of Margaret?” Catie asked curiously.

  “Like I said, you English are always waiting on a wedding or a funeral. I know it may sound ridiculous to your young, modern ears, my girl, but divorced parents would have made making a good match in marriage almost impossible for your mother. The baron refused to grant his wife a divorce until after Margaret was presented at court and had secured a suitable offer.”

  “That doesn’t explain why she was sent to stay at Pemberley.” Catie’s eyes went suddenly wide. “Unless! It was in hopes that she and my father would fall in love.”

  “I’ve no doubt that idea lay at the back of her ladyship’s mind but, like me, Margaret was still two years from coming out.” Miss Montague shook her head. “No. The court wouldn’t grant your grandmother a divorce without the baron’s agreement, but that didn’t mean she had to live with the man. So, out of spite, she began touring Canada and pawned her daughter off on anyone who would care for her. The woman may have been hailed as one of England’s most talented pianists, but she was self-centered and a terrible mother. I’m sorry to tell you that, child, but it doesn’t make it any less true.”

  Catie sat quietly for a minute — absorbing, Annabelle thought—then asked, “Why couldn’t my mother go to her father at Leamount Grange? He was so concerned about her future; surely he must have loved her very much.”

  “I’m sure he did, Catherine, but the man had just returned from war…a dreadful, violent war, only to discover his wife had petitioned the court for divorce. Certainly, he would be in no state to care for a girl of only fifteen.” Catie nodded, looking suddenly more mature than her years. Annabelle reached over and put a hand on the young woman’s knee. “Margaret’s heart was indeed heavy when my father and I first met her. Her country was suffering greatly, her family was dissolving, and she was in the care of strangers. My father felt particularly sorry for the girl. It’s why he was so forthcoming to me about Margaret’s situation. Although I was only myself fifteen, he wanted me to befriend Margaret. It was my Christian duty he told me.”

  Although her eyes glistened with the pain she felt for her mother, Catie mustered a faint smile. “You did befriend my mamma…right, Annabelle?”

  Hearing her name made Annabelle’s breath catch for a long heartbeat. Was this a test…a chance to make amends after all these years? Oh, Margaret! With some difficulty, she pushed aside her thoughts and assured Catie, “Best friends in fact, and when we finally arrived at Pemberley Estate, William became almost instantly as dear to us as we had become to each other. We were strangers, but that didn’t matter because we seemed to need one another. We were each searching fo
r something we couldn’t explain—the way young people invariably do. Children have a way of helping and healing each other. It’s why our memories of childhood always seem so magical. Things are always solved so simply in our young years.”

  “Did Mother fall in love with Daddy right away?” Catie’s expression brightened as she asked the question.

  Annabelle Montague nodded, but another fit of coughing delayed Catie’s answer. “We both fell in love with William Darcy that summer,” she said hoarsely when she had regained her voice. “Willie was the most handsome boy we’d ever set our eyes on. Oh, how I remember him arriving shortly after we did. He came home later than he was expected, speeding up the drive to Pemberley on a motorbike of all things!” Chuckling, Annabelle shook her head. “Your grandmother swooned right into your granddaddy’s arms. Willie seemed to take great pleasure in vexing your poor grandmother to her wits’ end.”

  Catie laughed at the story with obvious affection for her father. “He was a very adventurous lad I’ve been told. Oh, Miss Montague…I mean, Annabelle, I do not think even my brother knows of our parents meeting this way. Please tell me all about your summer at Pemberley!”

  ***

  Still wide awake, Sean looked down on Catie and smiled. She had worn herself out from the excitement of discovering Annabelle Montague had known her parents and practically talked herself to sleep. He credited himself for listening with rapt attention as she went on and on about the summer her mother, father, and Annabelle Montague had spent together at Pemberley so long ago. He reckoned it was the least he could do for her—his poor darling girl. Not until recently did Sean truly understand Catie’s loss. Even in the custody of excellent caregivers, how she must have suffered without her mum and dad. At Norbury, he saw firsthand how desperate those motherless and fatherless children were for affection and attention. It made him realize how truly lucky the wee lass had been. What might have become of Catie had she not had Ben and Sarah and his own Aunt Rose—her Nan? He shuddered to think of Catie so small and alone.

  He knew that Annabelle Montague had given his wife a gift, a chance to know something of her mother. Sean was happy for Catie, even if it did mean they could no longer keep private his wife’s wealth. He knew it was ridiculous of him to have made such a request in the first place, but Catie didn’t always see what Sean saw—like the way Miss Montague looked at him when she and Catie came back to the sunroom. Be damned them all! he thought. After four years, wouldn’t any man grow tired of those bloody looks? Sizing him up, questioning his right to possess a prize such as the daughter of William and Margaret Darcy of Pemberley House.

  A bright flash of lightening made him flinch, and he sat still, counting the way he’d done as a boy until the thunder came. Ten miles away the storm had moved by his estimate. “I’ll never leave you alone, mo chailín,” he promised in a whisper to his sleeping wife, brushing her hair from her face and neck. Maybe it wasn’t every day that the son of an Irish horse farmer married Derbyshire’s wealthiest orphan, but by God, he’d go to his grave loving her and caring for her. Every penny of the Darcy and Montague fortune combined and tripled couldn’t buy the amount of devotion he felt for his wife. “Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Annabelle,” he said as he eased himself off the bed to look out the window. Sighing heavily, he leaned against the frame and looked down on the empty street, wet and shiny under the streetlamp. “Where are you, Gabriel Kelly?” Sean murmured softly.

  For the last two nights, Gabriel had come home late, stumbled up the steps, and fallen into bed. Sean knew he was drinking again. Not long after he arrived in Savannah, Gabriel met up with a few expats who made their living singing pub songs for tourists in a bar on River Street. They also drank…a lot. Sean dreaded confronting Gabriel, but he couldn’t let this go any further. He glanced over at his sleeping wife. He didn’t want to wake her, so he slid off his pajama bottoms and pulled on an old pair of jeans. Quietly, Sean grabbed his shoes and eased out of the room, closing the door as softly as possible.

  Sitting on the bottom step, Sean rubbed the weariness from his face then wriggled his bare feet into his shoes. He thought of his mother and smiled despite his worry. She would have surely scolded him for not putting on socks first. Good old Ma. Sean’s smile faded. “Be sure and keep Gabriel out of trouble, Seany.” How many times had his mother whispered those words into his ear?

  “I’ve tried, Ma,” Sean said quietly to the empty hall. But keeping Gabriel out of trouble had never been easy. Always into mischief at school, always shirking his farm chores, and forever stomping around on their father’s last nerve by opening his mouth when he should’ve kept it shut. Sean closed his eyes and blew out a long, frustrated breath. It was time his brother grew up—start acting like a man and taking on responsibility.

  The door latch moved, and Sean’s eyes flew open. Slurring his words and fumbling with his key, Gabriel sang, “All for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog. All for me beer and tobaaacco.”

  “It’s about bloody time!” Sean hissed as he strode over and pulled open the door.

  Gabriel grinned at him, swaying unsteadily in the yellow porch light. “Well now, I thank ye, Brother.”

  Furious, Sean grabbed Gabriel by the neck and ushered him down the hall and into the kitchen.

  “Christ, Seany!” Gabriel cried out in a loud whisper as his brother slammed him down into a kitchen chair. “Go easy, mate. I’m a wee plastered.”

  “A wee plastered!” Sean blared back, his voice low to keep from waking Catie. “Listen, Gabe.” Sean gave his brother’s shoulders a forceful, censorious shake. “You told me you didn’t have a problem with the booze. Tell me truthful now. Do you have a problem?”

  Gabriel’s heavy-lidded eyes met Sean’s. “And what bloody business is it of yours?”

  Sean shook him again only harder. “It’s my bloody business because we came from the same mother, and I stopped pissing myself before you did!”

  Gabriel grinned lopsidedly. “I’m still pissing meself.” He pointed down. “See.”

  Sean looked down and saw a large wet spot on the front of Gabriel’s trousers. “Damn it, Gabriel,” he breathed angrily and stood contemplating for a moment, his hands still on his brother’s shoulders. “Come on.” With a grunting effort, Sean lifted the heavy, lanky form from the chair. “I’ll help you clean up.”

  “Thanks, Seany, you’re a rare fine mate, you are.” Sounding weepy, Gabriel leaned on Sean and patted him affectionately on the chest.

  “Aye, that I am,” Sean said as they stumbled along together, Gabriel completely unaware that they were heading down the back steps. When they reached the courtyard, Sean deposited his half-conscious brother on the brick pavers and unrolled the garden hose. “Now remember, Gabe, this is going to hurt you much more than it’s going to hurt me,” he announced in a sarcastic tone then blasted the soiled trousers with a quick, cold spray.

  “Jaysus!” Gabriel screamed, adding a slew of loud, indiscernible curses as lights flipped on in several windows around them, and dogs started barking.

  “Pipe down, Gabe! You’re going wake up the whole neighborhood!”

  Stumbling, Gabriel tried to get up. “Sean Kelly, I’m gonna — ”

  Another icy spray smacked Gabriel, this time in the face, and stopped him mid-sentence. “What are you going to do?” Sean asked, stepping closer with the hose.

  Gabriel tried to speak, but the freezing cold water mixed with the warm whiskey made him retch and empty his stomach.

  “What’s goin’ on out here?” Etta jerked open her door. Her eyes wide under the plastic bouffant cap she wore to bed.

  “Just some brotherly guidance, Miss Etta,” Sean told her, smiling over his shoulder. “Go back to bed. We’ll be finished here directly.”

  “Crazy-ass white folk!” Sean heard her grumble as she slammed the door closed.

  “That’s the way, Brother,” Sean said encouragingly as Gabriel heaved again. “Get all of that devil juice out of you. Need ano
ther wee squirt?”

  “No!” Gabriel cried, “Please, Seany, no!”

  “I mean to see you stop drinkin’.” Sean stepped closer, and Gabriel scurried back like a crab. “Do you hear me?”

  “Aye.” Gabriel nodded, more soberly now. “I’ll stop…I swear it to God. Just don’t spray me again.”

  “Fair enough.” Sean lowered the nozzle. “I also want you to go to work with me for the next few days.”

  Gabriel spat and pulled his sleeve across his mouth. “What for?”

  “We’ve a large load of hay being delivered, and I need an extra strong back.” What Sean really needed was to keep a closer eye on his brother, but Gabriel needn’t know that.

  “Bugger your bloody hay!” Gabriel barked back and was promptly showered with another short blast, which brought him quickly to his feet. “Damn it to bloody hell, Sean! Stop!”

  Sean lowered the hose once more. “You’re a guest in my house, Gabriel, so I’ll ask you kindly. Will you go to Norbury with me tomorrow?”

  Wet and angry, Gabriel squared his shoulders and looked spitefully at Sean. “Your house? Ask me…looks more like the Darcy’s roof over your head.”

  Gabriel didn’t realize how badly chosen his words were or how raw they rubbed his brother. Sean slung the hose down and started towards him with a look on his face that made Gabriel stumble back, trampling terracotta pots in his wake. He grabbed a flimsy, round bistro table and hastily put it between them, but Sean knocked it away.

  “Don’t, Seany,” Now backed up against the house, Gabriel pleaded, childlike. Even completely sober, he’d never gotten the better of Sean in a fight. Half-drunk, he didn’t stand a chance. “Sure, I was only actin’ the goat. I’m drunk and don’t know what I’m sayin’.”

  Sean stopped and crossed his arms over the broad chest he’d inherited from their father. “You’ll come with me then?”

  Resentfully, Gabriel swallowed his pride and nodded. “Aye, sure. Just please let me go to bed. I’m so damn cold, my bloody teeth are chattering.”