“And where did you live on the diggings?” asked Rachel.
“In a tent; everyone lived in tents. There was nowhere else to live.”
Caroline found it difficult to imagine the distinguished-looking man seated at her dinner table living in a tent in rough clothes and boots, digging in the alluvial mud of the goldfields, and said so.
“I assure you, Mrs Fitzwilliam, I was a sight to behold. You would not have had me anywhere near your house if you saw me then, but it was twenty years ago and I was young, fit, and looking for adventure and gold. I did not object to a little mud!”
“Was that why you left England and went to Australia?” she asked.
“Not entirely. There was much talk then of war, and I was determined that I was not going to be pushed into the army and sent off to kill my fellow human beings. I had also met a man who had returned from New South Wales who was going back some months later and invited me to join him, and not having anything better to do, I decided to do just that.”
“And where is he now?”
“Oh, he is a very successful politician in the colony of Victoria,” he replied, and Caroline laughed and said, “Am I right in believing that he was one of your prospecting partners?”
Mr Faulkner confessed that he was and added, “And a brave man he was, too—but I fear I am boring you with all this talk of gold digging, let that be a story for another day, eh?” Then turning to Rachel, he said, “Miss Rachel, your mama tells me you play both the pianoforte and the harp. I am a great admirer of the instrument, but I had not heard a lady play upon the harp for twenty years until I returned to England and heard my sister Anna. Will you not let me hear you play?”
Rachel blushed and protested that she did not play half as well as Anna Bingley, when Caroline said, “Of course she will; Rachel loves her music, and I am sure she will be happy to oblige you after dinner. Will you not, my dear?”
Rachel looked at her mother’s face and, turning to their guest, said, “Yes, of course, if you wish.”
Daniel Faulkner said nothing would give him greater pleasure, and so it was that the rest of the evening was spent in the pleasantest way and no more was said of the history of the colony of Victoria or the deceitful Mr Fraser.
By the time Daniel Faulkner left them later that evening, both Caroline and her daughter had changed their opinions of him; and it may be assumed that he too had begun to form a different view of the two ladies he had hitherto regarded chiefly as pleasant but casual acquaintances.
With the discovery of Adam Fraser’s perfidious conduct and Caroline’s determination to expose it, their association had deepened already, yet, as he travelled back to Camden Park, he was thinking not only of the gravity of the meeting he was to have with Mr Darcy on the morrow, but also of Caroline and Rachel. His mind turned to the enjoyable hours he had just spent in their company and the fact that he now considered them to be two of the most interesting and intelligent women he had met in many years.
He had learnt from his sister Anna that Caroline Fitzwilliam was a most remarkable woman, who had worked tirelessly to help her late husband pursue a number of political and social causes, but he had not expected that she would be as independent and personable as he found her to be, nor as handsome.
Her daughter Rachel had a gentle charm that he had found quite engaging. It was difficult to comprehend that a lady with her looks, talent, and intelligence was unwed, indeed had not even been spoken for. During their conversations at dinner and watching her play the harp afterwards, Daniel had caught himself thinking that she was one of the most pleasing young women he had encountered since returning to England.
She was slim and small in stature, with delicate hands. He had noted that the colours and styles of formal mourning did not suit her small figure as well as they did her mother. Yet, when she had sat at her harp, having divested herself of the dark tunic-like over-garment, revealing a soft, white blouse and flowing black silk skirt, she had seemed to look younger—gentle and utterly appealing. It was the image of Rachel he carried with him as he returned to Camden Park.
* * *
Caroline could not sleep. She lay awake for almost an hour after retiring to bed, her mind full of disturbing thoughts and images, which troubled her intensely. She was glad to have transferred some of her concerns to Mr Darcy; now he could worry about Georgiana and Virginia. They were his sister and niece after all, and she was confident he could prevail upon them to regard Mr Fraser with more caution.
But she was far more uneasy about young Rosie Higgins. She would have to send for her mother and ask her if Rosie was walking out with a posh young fellow lately returned from the colonies, and if she was, it would be her unpleasant duty to tell Rosie’s mother the truth about the blackguard, destroying her hopes and no doubt breaking poor little Rosie’s heart. It was not something Caroline, with her romantic disposition, could look forward to with any satisfaction.
On one matter, however, she was feeling considerably happier. Her initial opinion of Daniel Faulkner, as the young man who had gone to Australia to make his fortune on the goldfields, had not been entirely favourable. She had been inclined to think him somewhat feckless and inconsiderate for disappearing to the other side of the earth for twenty years, making only occasional contact with his family. But in the last few days, she had come to know a very different person: a man of sound principles, a most commendable concern for others, and a deep affection for his family. She was happy to admit that she could no longer regard him as she did before.
Meanwhile, Rachel had suffered none of the difficulties that had kept her mother awake. Since she’d had no preconceived notions of Mr Faulkner’s character, it had been quite easy for her to decide that he was a very agreeable gentleman indeed, and having decided it, she had fallen into a deep and restful sleep, from which she was awakened only by a persistent bird calling outside her window.
Caroline had risen early and sent a message to Rosie’s mother, Mrs Higgins. Unwilling to involve Rachel in this distressing episode, she sent her on an errand of mercy to the house of one of their former tenants. Mrs Binns, whose husband had died a year ago, had moved to live with her son and daughter-in-law in the village.
Recently, Caroline had heard that she had been unwell and had visited her to find the woman very unhappy, mainly because she felt she was becoming a burden upon her son and his wife. Caroline had tried to comfort her, to no avail, but having consulted the parish priest, she had decided to send a hamper of food to the family.
Finding Rachel in a buoyant mood at breakfast, she took the opportunity to send her into the village with the large basket for Mrs Binns. She was sure its contents would make her feel a whole lot better and ensure that her daughter-in-law did not feel at all put upon.
“Tell her I would have come myself, but something very important needed attending to, and I shall drop in and see her through the week,” she said and added, “You will spend a little time with her, will you not, my love?”
“I will, Mama,” said Rachel, who went quite cheerfully. She enjoyed her little excursions into the village, and the weather that morning was quite perfect for a walk of no more than two miles. The servant, Jack, who accompanied her, carrying the basket, seemed to tire more quickly than she did, and they stopped awhile just outside the inn to let him rest. He sat down on a bench, and Rachel, reminding him to keep a close watch on the basket, crossed the road to the post office to buy some writing paper and stamps.
She was not gone long, and as she was coming out, she saw quite clearly, descending the steps of the inn, none other than Mr Adam Fraser. It appeared to her that he had probably stayed there overnight. Swiftly she stepped back into the shop and waited until he had walked several yards up the street before crossing the road to rejoin Jack and urge him to hurry as they proceeded down the side street where Mrs Binn’s son had his house and joinery business.
Rachel was now certain that Mr Fraser had been the man she had seen two days ago in the w
oods; he was wearing the same jacket that he had been wearing on that day. Quite clearly, he had not gone to Scotland.
Much as she wished to spend more time with poor Mrs Binns, who was so overjoyed by the arrival of the hamper of food that she seemed completely and immediately restored to health, Rachel wanted nothing more than to hurry back home and tell her mother what she had seen. Having despatched the servant, to whom cook had entrusted some other errands, she sat with the Binns family for a few more minutes and partook of a cup of tea, while listening to their words of appreciation, promising to repeat them exactly to her mother; then with their gratitude ringing in her ears, she left to return home.
Unwilling to risk a chance encounter with Mr Fraser, for she had not met him since the dinner party at Camden House and much water had flowed under the bridge since then, Rachel elected to take a more circuitous route home, through the churchyard and across the common.
As she came past the little church that had been closed for several weeks, since the rector had been taken ill, she saw to her surprise that the front door was open and coming out was Mr Daniel Faulkner. At that very moment, he looked across, saw her, and came swiftly down the steps to meet her.
“Miss Rachel, how very nice to see you again, but might one ask what you are doing here in the churchyard all alone? Is your mother here, too?”
Rachel coloured and stammered something about visiting Mrs Binns and wanting to take a shortcut across the common.
“Have you finished your business in the village, then?” he asked and, when she said she had, offered to walk back to the farm with her.
She would have liked to have asked what he was doing at the old church but was afraid it would sound like prying, so she said, “How is the rector? Is he quite recovered, then?” The complete confusion reflected upon his countenance left her in no doubt that he had certainly not been at the church to visit the rector. She explained, “I am sorry, I thought you were at the church to see the rector, Mr Hughes. He has been away for some weeks; Mama said he was very ill. When I saw you, I thought he was back and you were visiting him.”
“No, no,” he said quickly, “I did not know the rector was ill. I happened to hear from Richard Gardiner that this is a very old church, going back many centuries, and I wanted to take a look inside. The caretaker opened it up for me, which was kind of him, considering I had disturbed him at breakfast,” he said lightly, and they laughed together as they walked through the churchyard.
“Are you interested in churches?” she asked, mainly for something to say.
He nodded and responded that the architectural styles were fascinating.
“Are there many churches in Australia?” she asked and he laughed again and said, “No, not many, especially not old buildings like this one, which I must admit is a very well-preserved edifice.”
Then changing the direction of the conversation, he asked, “Does your family attend church here?” and she replied that they did not.
“Mama prefers the church on the other side of town closer to the village of Lambton. It was where she and Papa were married,” she explained.
His voice was gentle when he said, “You must miss your father a great deal. Richard and Cassy have told me he was a most remarkable man.”
“He was,” she said softly, “and always full of fun, and yes, we do miss him very much, Mama and I.”
The wide brim of her hat hid her face from him, but he could tell from her voice that she was upset and probably tearful. He apologised, “I am sorry; I should not have spoken of him; I have upset you.”
“No, indeed, you have not; I do not mind speaking of my father. I miss him, but I am happy to speak of him and tell people about him. Mama does not like to speak of him before strangers; it makes her cry. She was very young when they married, and they were very happy together,” she said quietly.
“I completely sympathise with your mama’s feelings, and I regret that I did not know Colonel Fitzwilliam. I have heard many excellent reports of him. I know it is a high price to pay for a happy marriage, but then, who would want it otherwise?”
His voice was very low, and she recalled immediately that he had been married too, many years ago, and his young wife had died only a few years later, leaving a son.
Rachel fell silent; she did not feel ready to continue this conversation. She had neither the emotional resilience nor the life experience to comprehend and support his grief, and sought desperately for another subject, but Daniel Faulkner appeared not to flinch as he went on, “I too have known a similar, grievous loss. It was a long time ago, almost fifteen years, but the years do not make it any less painful.”
Rachel said gently, “I know; Mama did tell me, when we first met you; I am very sorry.”
“Thank you, Rachel,” he said, and as they reached the edge of the common, he gave her his hand and helped her across the muddy ditch that lay in their path, and she noticed that he had called her Rachel, for the first time.
The presence on the common of a small boy with a flock of geese gave Rachel the chance she had looked for to change the mood of their conversation. Calling out to Oliver, the son of one of the tenants on the property, she greeted him and asked after his mother and sisters. The boy came to her and they stood talking for a few minutes more, while Rachel gave him some sweets she carried in her pocket.
Watching her, Daniel was both amused and touched by the ease with which she chatted with the boy, and when she rejoined him to resume their walk, he asked, “How old is Oliver?”
“He would probably be nine or maybe ten years old, I think,” she replied.
“And does the boy not go to school?”
“No, he did go to Sunday school for a few years, but there is no school in this village for boys of his age. Many of them are working on farms and in the foundries… but Oliver and his sisters come to me twice a week and learn to read and write a little,” she explained.
Daniel looked delighted. “Do they? That is wonderful, and how well do they do?” he asked.
“Quite well, I think. Oliver is not as proficient at writing as his sisters are, but they are all reading very satisfactorily. We are in the middle of Robinson Crusoe. Mama is very pleased; she and Becky Tate fought a long battle with the council to get a building for a library, so she is very happy when the children learn to read.”
“I can well believe that she would be,” said Daniel. “It is a real blessing and you are giving them a great gift by teaching them to read, Miss Rachel. I must congratulate you.”
She blushed at his praise, but he could not see her face, as she said, “You do not have to call me Miss Rachel; no one else does; just Rachel would do.”
“In which case, perhaps just Daniel should do also,” he said, and she protested, “I could not.”
“Why not?” he demanded to know.
“It would not be seemly, why, you are…”
“Because I am so much older, eh?”
“No, I did not mean to say that at all,” she said firmly.
“Then what did you mean to say?” He was persistent, determined to know.
“I don’t know… but it’s not because you are older…”
“Well, if it is unseemly that you should call me Daniel, perhaps I should go back to calling you Miss Rachel,” he said in a disconsolate sort of voice, which made her say, “Oh, all right then, but only if you agree that when we are in company, it will have to be Mr Faulkner. Agreed?”
He nodded and smiled. “Agreed.” They looked at one another and laughed, and it was clear to both that in the compromise they had just reached lay the germ of something new in their relationship, although neither sought to say anything more about it.
They had reached the lane leading to the farm. She stopped to pick some flowers, and he helped her over the stile into the meadow behind the house.
As they made their way to the front porch, Rachel thought she had not spent a pleasanter hour in a long while.
Caroline saw them approac
hing and came out to invite Daniel in for tea. “I am sure you must be hungry enough after that long walk to take tea with us, Mr Faulkner,” she said, and when he thanked her and followed her into the parlour, she added, “Rachel, my dear, before you go upstairs, would you tell Alice to bring us some tea and cake?”
As Rachel left the room, Caroline spoke in a very quiet voice, “I have seen Mrs Higgins, Rosie’s mother, this morning.”
Daniel Faulkner leaned forward, dreading what he was sure he was about to hear.
“I have quizzed her about Rosie and asked if she has been walking out with a man recently arrived from London. She was quite adamant that she was not. So if Rachel was right and it was indeed Rosie and Mr Fraser she saw the other day in the woods, then the girl is seeing him secretly, unbeknownst to her parents,” she explained.
“Which does not augur well at all for Rosie,” said Daniel gravely, “because it means Fraser wishes to keep his association with her a secret.”
“So he can betray her and get away with it, because no one will know,” said Caroline. “Well, I have told Mrs Higgins everything I know about him and warned her to ensure that Rosie knows too.” Turning to face him, she added, “The man’s a blackguard and ought be exposed.”
Daniel, feeling wretched indeed, said, “I knew he was shallow and reckless, but I had no idea he could be as bad as this. If I had, I should never have introduced him to my family and their friends. I think I must owe you all an apology.”
“Do not blame yourself, Mr Faulkner; you could not have known that he intended to behave like this in England. He is clearly a man without any scruples, nor any concern for his own reputation. I hope for his own sake he has not made any trouble for young Rosie Higgins, for if he has, her father will surely kill him.”
Legacy of Pemberley (The Pemberley Chronicles; Pride and Prejudice Sequel Series) Page 23
