Legacy of Pemberley (The Pemberley Chronicles; Pride and Prejudice Sequel Series)

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Fitzwilliam was thoughtful. “Did he tell you what particular circumstance led to this present rift? Why, when he has not spoken of this matter in all these years, has he done so today? Something must have happened to cause him to come to you?”

  Caroline was circumspect in her answer. “There was something that drove him to come; it has to do with Rose, but I do believe it concerns someone else as well. He would not say it outright, but there is another person involved, I am sure of it, and I think it may be a man.”

  Her husband seemed quite shocked. “Caroline, you do not mean to say that Rose is engaged in some clandestine affair?”

  “Oh no, if that were the case, I believe Robert would have told me. Rose is pretentious and vain, but I do not believe she would be so stupid as to risk her reputation by becoming involved in an affair. But I am convinced that the present problem concerns someone who has influence over her.”

  “And did he not say anything to you to suggest who this person might be?”

  “No, he did not, but there were hints of it in everything he said. Oh Fitzy, if only there was some way to discover the root of this trouble, something might be done to remedy it.”

  Caroline was desperate to help her brother, even though she had little respect for him. As the eldest in her family, she had always taken her responsibilities towards her siblings seriously, but while she had known the agony of loss through the untimely death of her son Edward and had helped her sister Emily cope with the death of two husbands, Caroline had little experience of the trauma of marital misery. A long and happy marriage to a man who loved her deeply, whose word she had never doubted, ill-qualified her to assist her unhappy brother.

  While her experience in practical matters and sound common sense would certainly have enabled her to advise him on restoring the health of an ailing enterprise, she had little to offer him on the much more painful business of repairing a shattered marriage.

  * * *

  Bidding goodbye to his sister, still in a deeply dejected state, Robert had ridden to the inn at Matlock and taken some alcoholic refreshment before returning home, leaving the main road for a route that traversed the woods. As he emerged from the trees and approached the outskirts of the village, he was pleasantly surprised to see his daughter Miranda ride out of the copse and into the lane ahead of him. Even at that distance, he recognised her riding dress and hat. Calling out to her, he urged his horse forward, and as he caught up with her, she turned and, seeing him, smiled.

  When he had last seen his daughter the night before, her mood of anger and shame had been so deeply etched upon her face that Robert could scarcely recognise the young girl who smiled at him now. There was no trace of the discomposure she had felt so keenly at the Bilsons’ dinner party and afterwards; indeed it might almost be said that she looked quite pleased with herself.

  So deeply sunk was Robert in his own melancholy that apart from being relieved to see Miranda in such good spirits, he made no attempt to discover what had wrought the change in her.

  They rode home together in a companionable silence and found on their arrival at the house that Rose had already left to attend a meeting of her “ladies’ group,” for which relief both father and daughter appeared very grateful. While Miranda had her own reasons for defying her parents, she was also acutely aware of the humiliation that her father often suffered at the hands of her mother and grandparents, and it had made her very angry.

  It was late evening when Robert, hearing the sounds of a carriage coming up the drive, looked out of the window of his bedroom, where he had spent most of the afternoon, and saw his wife alighting at the front entrance.

  As the carriage moved away, he saw also a man dismount and hand the reins of his horse to a groom before following her indoors. While he could not be sure in the fading light, Robert felt certain he knew him and went downstairs to ascertain who the visitor might be.

  On entering the saloon, he was not altogether surprised to discover that it was Wilson Croker. With a glass of sherry in his hand, he stood up and bowed. Rose greeted her husband as if everything was as it should be and informed him that she had met Mr Croker in the village as she was leaving the meeting of her ladies’ group and he had insisted upon escorting her home.

  “Even though I assured him I would be perfectly safe,” she said, and Mr Croker then muttered something about being uneasy with the idea of ladies travelling alone at this hour.

  Robert’s mild surprise increased when Croker informed him that he was intending to call on Mr and Mrs Courtney at Oakleigh Manor on the morrow.

  “Mrs Gardiner has very kindly offered to introduce me, which will be a considerable advantage, and I appreciate it very much indeed,” he said, causing Robert to look askance at his wife, who immediately excused herself and went upstairs, leaving the two men sitting awkwardly alone.

  Robert had no wish to bring up the extraordinary matter of his wife’s offer to introduce Mr Croker to Jude Courtney and his wife, who were after all his relations. He thought there had to be some explanation, but, as usual, was unwilling to risk embarrassment or conflict by asking outright what might be disconcerting questions.

  He offered Croker another drink, took one himself, and relapsed into an uncomfortable silence until Miranda came downstairs, dressed for dinner. On seeing Mr Croker with her father, she seemed somewhat shaken.

  Croker, apparently unperturbed, rose, bowed, kissed her hand, and asked the usual meaningless questions to which Miranda gave some equally inconsequential answers, which puzzled Robert exceedingly. He did not know they knew one another so well. He could not help feeling that there were things happening around him over which he had no control at all. By the time Rose returned, having changed for dinner, Mr Croker was ready to leave, but it took very little persuasion from her to change his mind.

  Robert, who had had a long and arduous day, was more than a little irritated at the prospect of having to endure the company of Croker for a few more hours. But neither his wife nor strangely his daughter appeared at all concerned, and Croker proceeded to entertain them with unlikely stories of his sojourn in the United States, where he had lived as a boy, and in Europe, whither he claimed he fled each year to escape the dreadful English Winter.

  Robert, who had at first found much to admire in Croker, who in looks and demeanour was all that he was not, was beginning to feel increasingly aggravated by his manner, which he found to be disdainful and high-handed. This was not improved by the way in which both Rose and Miranda seemed to hang upon his every word. The more he heard of the improbable adventures of Wilson Croker, the less he liked him, and when after dinner they moved to the drawing room, Robert, claiming to have developed a headache, retired to his room, leaving the ladies to be further diverted by their guest. Judging by their laughter and the lateness of the hour when they finally came upstairs, Mr Croker had had no difficulty entertaining them.

  Before he fell asleep that night, Robert had decided that he would speak with his wife and ask her about her offer to introduce Mr Croker to Jude Courtney and his wife. He would ask for an explanation. What was Croker intending to talk to them about? Did he intend to make them an offer for a part of their property? These were questions to which he needed answers, and he told himself that he was determined to get them.

  * * *

  Unhappily, however, when he went down to breakfast on the morrow, he found himself alone. Mrs Gardiner, the servants told him, had risen very early, breakfasted, and taken the carriage to drive into town. Miss Gardiner had foregone breakfast and ridden out, accompanied by one of the grooms. There being nothing very unusual in any of this—both his wife and his daughter frequently went out without him—Robert shrugged his shoulders and sat down to his meal. When Rose returned around midday, Robert was waiting for her. He was keen to discover what had transpired, but she had very little information for him.

  “All I did was to introduce Mr Croker to Jude Courtney and his wife. They seemed happy enough to meet him, th
ough I must say I thought they could have offered him something more than tea! They went out to look at the property, and when they sat down to talk business, I left,” she said with a degree of nonchalance that shocked him.

  “What business were they going to talk about? Did they say anything about selling any of the land?” Robert asked.

  Rose appeared neither informed nor interested. “I couldn’t say; I didn’t ask. I have no interest in their business or their land. If Mr Croker makes them an offer and they decide to sell a part of their property, surely that is their choice. It is well known that Jude would like to have more cash to improve the farm; perhaps Mr Croker may offer to lend them some money, and they may negotiate a loan,” she suggested, in a voice that made it clear she did not care what arrangements they agreed to.

  Robert was by now deeply disturbed. He knew well that his nephew, Jude, would not be a match for the cunning Croker, whose life’s work consisted of buying and selling at a profit with little regard for the consequences to others. They had heard his tales of deals done, loans given, and foreclosures made, all of which appeared to advantage Croker at the expense of someone else with less wit, money, and influence to pit against him.

  Robert could not help feeling deeply suspicious, not only of Croker’s intentions but also of his own wife’s motives in this matter. Rose had never made any secret of the fact that she had no respect for Jude Courtney and had been seriously affronted by his marriage to Teresa Mancini. While expressing relief at having successfully thwarted a possible misalliance between Jude and Miranda, she had ridiculed mercilessly his subsequent choice of an Italian flower farmer’s daughter to be his wife. Her involvement in this matter could not be a benign one, he thought. Robert needed to know what was afoot and tried again.

  “Did Croker not say anything to you about the sort of proposition he might put to them?” he asked, adding, “Neither of them are very experienced in matters of business. I should feel responsible if they were to be gulled into anything against their interests.”

  This time, she laughed before saying, “This concern of yours is new, Robert. I recall you were quite ready to advise them to sell a portion of their land to Mr Croker, when the matter was first talked of. You had no reservations then; what has brought this on? Could it be you were hoping to obtain some form of benefit for yourself, a commission, perhaps?”

  Robert was outraged as he denied having any such motive. “Certainly not. I was aware that Jude did need money to develop the farm—he told me so himself; my suggestion that Croker may wish to look at their property and make them an offer for some part of the land that lies unused, outside the home farm, was made in the hope that it might suit both parties. Croker seemed genuinely interested, and I thought there was no harm in it. Jude could always refuse to sell. I had no thought of making any money from the deal if it went through. In any event, I did not believe that Croker had made up his mind about the land; when he spoke of it at the Bilsons’ dinner party, he seemed undecided.”

  Rose had a supercilious little smile on her lips as she answered, “Well, he seems to have made his mind up very smartly since then, because he told me last afternoon that he was exceedingly keen to close a deal if possible. He was concerned only that he had not been able to meet the owners socially before making a business proposition. Which is why I offered to introduce him to them. I must confess he was excessively grateful.”

  Robert’s unease increased as she spoke. “My dear, I do hope you will not be held responsible should they be imposed upon in any way. After all, we have only met Croker recently and know very little about him except what he has told us. I should be very cautious about introducing such a person to friends or relations who have not a great deal of knowledge or experience in business matters.”

  Rose was quite indignant. “You are not suggesting, I hope, Robert, that Mr Croker is a person of questionable character? After all, it was you who introduced him to my father as a successful businessman.” There was no doubting her tone, and Robert knew that if anything at all were to go wrong, then he would carry the blame.

  “Of course not, but your father is himself an experienced businessman. I wish you had alerted me to this before you took him to meet Jude Courtney and his wife. They are both quite young and unaccustomed to dealing with men like Croker. I cannot help feeling responsible.”

  Rose was clearly irritated. “Oh, do stop fussing, Robert. I do believe you take far too much upon yourself. Jude and Teresa must surely be able to understand if a proposition is in their own interest. Even if he isn’t very bright, she looks shrewd enough to be able to tell if a deal is sound,” she said and, rising from her chair, swept out of the room. It was her way of declaring a subject closed.

  Robert spent some hours alone, unable to quiet his troubled conscience. No matter how he regarded it, the haste with which Croker had appeared to decide on the business of Oakleigh Manor made him very uneasy indeed. He did not strike one as the kind of man who would enter into a deal in haste. Not unless he was certain that he was going to make a considerable profit, and that was causing Robert some concern.

  Late that afternoon, he left the house and went directly to find Croker, hoping to persuade him to reveal what sort of proposition he had made to the Courtneys and how they had responded to it. He knew the man had rooms at a hotel in Derby, but was also known to stay, when he was in the district, at the Matlock Arms. It was raining when he reached the inn, but on enquiring, Robert discovered that Croker had not been in at all that day.

  Disappointed, he was about to proceed to Derby, when he saw Darcy Gardiner crossing the street to take shelter from the rain and, on an impulse, called out to him. Unlike his elder brother, Edward, whose wife Angela was a confidante of Rose Gardiner, Darcy had had very little contact with his uncle’s family. Because of his special concern for his aunt, Emily, and her son, Jude, and his intimate knowledge of their financial affairs, Darcy had long held Robert and his wife in very low esteem, chiefly on account of what he had deemed to be their greed. Their apparent impatience to get their hands on Oakleigh Manor even before Emily Courtney’s death and the undignified show of annoyance at the reading of her will had all worked against them in Darcy’s eyes. Which is probably why he appeared surprised and not entirely pleased to be hailed by his uncle, who was standing in the rain outside the Matlock Arms.

  However, his natural politeness overcame his aversion and he joined him inside. They sat down to a drink, and Darcy could not help but notice that his uncle appeared so discomposed he could scarcely sit still.

  It took Robert quite some time to bring up the matter of Oakleigh and Mr Croker. Having been told there was important information which Robert wished most urgently to impart to him, Darcy sat waiting impatiently for his uncle to begin.

  Robert fidgeted and sipped his drink and looked nervously around as though he expected someone to walk in and accost him. Darcy began to wonder if his uncle was not quite right in the head, when Robert finally spoke in a hushed voice.

  “Darcy,” he said awkwardly, “I know we haven’t always agreed on everything; indeed, I understand why your parents and the Darcys have behaved rather coldly towards me, and I do not blame you for this. There have been things said and done of which I am not very proud. But this is no time to be trawling over past mistakes. Something has come to my notice that must be stopped, and I need your help to stop it.”

  Darcy was so bewildered he could not believe he was hearing right. He looked closely at his uncle, wondering if he had perhaps been drinking, but there was no sign of it, and the intensity of his voice suggested that he meant what he said, even if Darcy could not make much sense of it.

  “Sir, I am at a loss to understand you, I have not the slightest knowledge of what you speak. What is it you wish to stop and how can I help?” he asked.

  Robert’s reply was even less comprehensible. “It is a matter of the greatest concern, at least it will be quite disastrous, if it cannot be stopped. Let me put it a
nother way: Your cousin Jude Courtney is at risk of making a very serious error of judgment, and unless we can stop him, he will be ruined and quite likely Oakleigh Manor will be lost to the family forever.”

  The reference to Oakleigh Manor immediately alerted Darcy, arousing his suspicions. He was convinced it was another ploy: His uncle Robert and his scheming wife were once again attempting by some ruse to get their hands on Oakleigh Manor! So sceptical did he look that Robert realised Darcy did not believe him. Indeed, unless he told him everything, it was very unlikely that his nephew would agree to help him avert the disaster that Robert was certain was about to overtake young Jude Courtney. It wasn’t easy, because not only was Robert’s credibility uncertain, he was also an extraordinarily inarticulate man, particularly in a crisis. When misfortune loomed, his first instinct had always been to run away, get out of the line of fire, and avoid, as far as possible, any confrontation. It was a philosophy that had never got him out of trouble, yet he had pursued it pertinaciously for most of his life. It had earned him a reputation for weakness and moral cowardice that had saddened his father and almost broken his mother’s heart.

  And his marriage to Rose Fitzwilliam, whose first and last concern was almost always the promotion of her own advantage, had added a degree of selfishness to Robert’s character that had taken him further away from his family, particularly his mother and sisters. As for Darcy Gardiner, he had grown up despising his uncle.

  This time, however, it did seem that the scales had fallen from his eyes, and Robert had determined that he had to face up to the consequences of something he had begun, without considering the inordinate amount of damage it could do to innocent persons like his nephew Jude and his wife. Keen to make a favourable impression upon his business acquaintances and to associate himself with the successful and personable Mr Croker, he had suggested that Jude Courtney might be willing to consider selling some part of his land and had offered to help Croker negotiate with him. That Rose would become involved and pursue the matter had never occurred to him. Now, he was desperate to undo the damage, but had no idea how to go about it.