Echoes of Pemberley

by Cynthia Ingram Hensley

  “Good Heavens, child, you smell like a barn,” Rose fussed and stirred the air with a tea cloth when Catie entered the kitchen.

  Catie sniffed, wrinkled her nose, and headed straight for the sink. “Thank your nephew. He has had me doing everything but mucking stalls these last few days.”

  Rose nodded with understanding. “Oh, he is a hard one, that boy, just like his father. Not a day goes by that my dear sister doesn’t have to work just to keep on equal ground with that man.”

  “Is he cruel to her, Nan?” Catie asked as she turned off the tap and accepted the towel Rose offered.

  “Oh, no.” Rose shook her head. “As a matter of fact, Seamus and Emma Kelly have a passionate love that you will rarely find these days, Catherine.”

  “Really?” Catie’s eyes widened. Sean Kelly had only mentioned his father a couple of times, but from his reports, Seamus Kelly didn’t sound very romantic.

  “Mm-hmm.” Rose nodded. “But the man can be impossible. I have known my poor sister to be driven to take a drink well before lunch time. It will most certainly take a strong woman to stand beside my nephew in life. Kelly men are a fiery, Irish lot and notorious for being difficult to live with.”

  Strong, Catie thought sarcastically. She’d more likely have to be stupid to want to marry Sean Kelly. But she wisely held her tongue on the matter.

  “Now, get out of those filthy clothes and dress for dinner. Your brother’s back and he’ll be in no mood to dine with a mule!” Rose shooed Catie out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

  Bennet Darcy’s trip to London had not been a successful one. He was tense, and his family went about the business of eating quietly. Even Geoffrey and George were subdued. All but slumped in disappointment, Catie felt rather subdued herself. It had been her hope to question Ben immediately on Rosings Park but, seeing the grim expression on her brother’s face, she prudently decided to wait.

  “By the way,” Ben said to Sarah, breaking the droning rhythm of clanging glass and scraping forks. “I purchased that rescued thoroughbred I was telling you about. His health has substantially improved from the abuse and malnutrition he suffered, and he’s ready to be trained. If all goes well, he should make a good horse for Geoffrey in a few more years.” He glanced over at his son while speaking and frowned at the trail of peas the child had made neatly round his potatoes. “Geoffrey, stop playing with your food!” The boy, startled at his father’s voice, quickly disassembled his artistic endeavor.

  “With everything that is going on, do you really need the obligation of training an abused horse?” Sarah replied, a hint of annoyance in her tone.

  “I could use the diversion. And besides, that young nephew of Rose’s is supposed to be some sort of expert with horses. So I thought I would take advantage of his being here. Geoffrey! Stop chasing the peas round your plate, lad. Smash your peas on the back of your fork and then eat them, Son.”

  A look passed between husband and wife, and Catie saw it. Sarah then looked pointedly at her and asked, “Catie, will you be a dear and take the boys up to Mrs. Newell and help her ready them for bed?”

  Catie didn’t appreciate being sent away with a couple of five-year-olds, and furthermore, there was more going on between Ben and Sarah than whether or not he should have bought a horse. She considered arguing the point but, after another glance at Ben, thought better of it.

  “But we haven’t had our dessert, Mummy!” Geoffrey quickly protested and George echoed his brother’s sentiment, “We haven’t had our dessert, Mummy!”

  “I shall have your dessert sent up to you,” Sarah assured them, kind but firm, and gave Catie a dismissive nod that was meant to be obeyed.

  “Yes, Sarah,” she assented softly. “Come then, lads. I’ll tell you a story.”

  Geoffrey and George jumped down happily from their seats and followed their aunt from the room. Once they cleared the door, Catie grabbed the two boys by the collar and pulled them out of sight. “Make a peep and I’ll box your ears!” she hissed menacingly.

  Wide-eyed, Geoffrey clamped a hand over his mouth lest he slip up. George did the same.

  “Forgive me, Bennet.” Catie turned back just in time to hear Sarah speak. “I know you are terribly distressed with this Wesley Howell situation, but you mustn’t take it out on the children.”

  “Howell?” Catie repeated softly as Ben pushed away from the table, crossed the room and closed the door.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he said, turning back to her. “I’ll pop in and speak with the boys before they go to bed.”

  “Do you wish to talk about it?” she asked.

  Shaking his head, he sat back down. “Not tonight, Sarah. There is nothing more to do with Wesley Howell at the moment but wait. Tell me instead what has been going on around here. How are Catie and that Kelly lad getting on?”

  “Well, I have heard her refer to him with a few names that would make you blush. How’s that for getting on?”

  “Do you think I should intervene?”

  “Not unless you can somehow change his appearance.”

  “His appearance?” he questioned.

  “Yes, Ben, certainly you have noticed that he is a rather handsome, young chap.”

  “I’m sorry, Sarah, but I’m rather ill-equipped to judge a handsome chap from one that is not. And forgive me if I’m daft, but what the devil does that have to do with it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible that Catie might be developing a slight schoolgirl crush on our Mr. Kelly.”

  “A crush!” he exclaimed. “But she’s . . . she’s . . . ”

  “She’s sixteen, Bennet!” Sarah filled in for him. “And whether she’s developing a crush or not, no girl that age wants a nice-looking chap for an instructor.”

  Ben rubbed tiredly at his face, murmuring, “I should have insisted on that French tutor instead. The man was seventy-five if he was a day.”

  “Or . . . she could have actually toured France,” Sarah said, as a wary look came over her husband’s face.

  “Toured France?” he repeated.

  “Yes, Ben, Diana Harold telephoned while you were in London. She was most disappointed that Catie wasn’t allowed to join her and Horace on their holiday in the French countryside.” Sarah met his eyes testily. “And I was most disappointed that it was the first I had heard of their invitation.”

  “Do you not remember when they took her to Scotland? Catie became sick with pneumonia, and I had to travel to Edinburgh. God, Sarah, she was in hospital for three days. France is too far away if something were to go wrong. I know I should have told you, but . . . I didn’t want a big to-do over it. I made the decision that she wasn’t going, and that’s that! I shan’t excuse my behavior further.”

  Sarah exhaled a frustrated sigh. “Good Lord, Bennet, Catie could very well become ill right here at Pemberley. You must stop governing her so vigilantly. Now Diana thinks you are keeping Catie from them because of your row with Horace. I told her you would never do such a thing. I hope I’m correct. Catie is their goddaughter.”

  “Horace and I did not have a row; we have only parted in business. He was not only my father’s solicitor but his best friend as well. Our personal lives are still intertwined and always will be.”

  It occurred to Sarah to suggest he ask Horace Harold to look into Wesley Howell’s background, but she pushed the idea out of her mind for now. Horace Harold had known Ben since the day he was born, which unfortunately had been the root of their undoing. Horace still thought of Ben as his father’s son and treated him as such. Ben, on the other hand, wanted — needed really — to step out of his father’s shadow and run Pemberley and his financial investments his own way.

  Not tonight. He was home again and she was glad for it. She smiled at him across the table and asked, “Shall I have our dessert sent up as well, Mr. Darcy?”

  Ben’s shoulders seemed to relax instantly at the invitation, and he lifted his wine glass in acceptance. “That, madam, would be wonderful.”<
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  Chapter 7

  Sunday morning Bennet Darcy followed his usual routine of shaking hands and exchanging small talk with his fellow parishioners at Ashridge’s Church of the Holy Trinity. Like his forefathers, he was the village’s wealthiest resident and much admired by its citizens. Today, however, that admiration was compounded by the announcement that the proceeds from Pemberley’s Annual Garden Party, a yearly charitable event to raise money for local causes, would provide a much needed new roof on the parish school.

  After he and Sarah made their way through the throng of well-wishers, the family sat together in their usual pew at the head of the nave. Attached to the end of the pew box was a brass nameplate engraved Darcys of Pemberley, placed there in the eighteenth century. Reserved pews were no longer a practice of the Church of England, but no one in Ashridge would feel comfortable sitting where the Darcys had sat since the church was built in 1764. Being a rural community, Ashridge’s populace still preferred many of the old English standards and was proud of their little hamlet’s history.

  Once seated, Catie began scanning the church for Audrey Tillman. Since Audrey evenly split her school holidays between divorced parents, she only lived in Ashridge part-time. And when she wasn’t in Ashridge, Audrey might be traveling anywhere in the world with her professional violinist mother. Not only had Audrey seen most of the Continent, she also had visited America and Canada. Catie, who was extremely lacking in adventure of any sort, envied her friend tremendously. Though she did not find Audrey, Catie’s search did bring her attention to Rose and the person sitting beside her — her nephew. Their eyes met, and his face lit with that big stupid smile that he seemed to reserve especially for her. She faintly reflected the sentiment then promptly turned away, feeling the smile grow larger behind her.

  Before the service started, a loud whisper echoed from the back of the church. “Catie, Catie Darcy!” Catie turned to find Audrey sitting two rows behind Rose, and beckoning her impatiently. Sarah softly nodded her approval to Catie’s request to change seats, so she stood and walked back through the church, purposefully not meeting Sean Kelly’s eyes again.

  Audrey was in a tizzy to learn the identity of the young man sitting next to Rose, for handsome young lads were a scarce commodity in Ashridge.

  “The chap, beside Rose?” she whispered eagerly, as Catie sat down. “He was the dreamboat at the Green Man last week. You remember — the one looking at you.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, Aud,” Catie whispered back as the two girls leaned close so they could talk without drawing attention. “But he’s only Rose’s nephew, here for the summer to give riding lessons to the twins and me.”

  “Lucky you!” The girl carefully inspected the back of Sean Kelly’s head as she spoke.

  “Not really,” Catie whispered, even lower now. “He can be a real . . . pain.” It wasn’t the nastiest insult she could think of, but she was in church.

  “Maybe I’ll ask my father for riding lessons then. I could easily put up with a little pain from a man with those good looks,” Audrey said, clearly unconcerned with where she was.

  Not being able to control themselves, the girls giggled a little louder than they should have and received a chiding look from Ben. Among her brother’s many community titles, churchwarden was one he took most seriously. Seeing her brother’s expression, Catie shushed Audrey and opened her prayer book.

  The sermon was long and the children who weren’t squirming had fallen asleep, heavy and limp in their parents’ arms. To close the service, the vicar announced that a special visiting soloist would sing the last hymn and asked Sean Kelly to come forward. Shocked, Audrey looked at Catie and mouthed, “He can sing?” Catie shrugged.

  Necks craned like a herd of curious giraffes as Sean made his way to the front, for visitors to the small parish church were as scarce as handsome young lads. He stood beside the piano and with a slight lead from the pianist, began singing. As his voice lifted and filled the ancient stone church with the old Irish hymn, “Be Thou My Vision,” the squirming children sat still and the congregation listened, mesmerized. Catie Darcy included.

  Afterwards a crowd gathered around Rose’s nephew to comment on his talent, and Catie watched intently as he graciously accepted their praises. Even among strangers, he was completely at ease — so opposite to her cool demeanor.

  “Catie, dear.” Donald Tillman, Audrey’s father, broke her reverie, making Catie wonder whether he had noticed her staring at the young Irishman.

  “Yes?” she answered, turning around. Each year Mr. Tillman’s thinning hair turned grayer and his smile showed a few more wrinkles around his gentle, green eyes. Catie wondered how her own father would have aged.

  “It’s such a nice day. Would you like to join us for a picnic to the Peak District this afternoon?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you, Mr. Tillman. I’d love to come,” she said as she waved Ben and Sarah over. A day away from the house was just what she needed.

  The Darcys used Catie’s summons to politely leave the Bells, a chatty, elderly couple who had farmed for Ben’s grandfather. Inevitably, the Bells would corner Ben and Sarah most Sundays with stories from the “simpler days,” as they called them.

  “Thank God we got away from them,” Ben whispered furtively, clapping Mr. Tillman’s shoulder in welcome. Donald Tillman had been a good friend of the late Mr. Darcy and remained close to Ben and Catie after his death. “I do believe Mr. and Mrs. Bell were going to tell us about the winter of forty-eight again.”

  “The long version,” Sarah added ruefully, waving sweetly back at the elderly couple as they left the church.

  “The Bells could talk the hind legs off a donkey.” Donald Tillman chuckled and shook his head. “The old dears caught me outside the butcher’s the other day, and I thought my sausages would spoil before they’d shut up.”

  Looking past Mr. Tillman, Catie noticed Sean Kelly walking in her direction. Audrey noticed him as well and nudged Catie for an introduction as he drew closer.

  “Good mornin’, Miss Catie,” he said when he reached her, the tune of Ireland heavy in his speech. Having an English mother, Sean Kelly had the ability to soften his accent when he wanted, but Catie had come to prefer his thick, Irish brogue.

  “Good morning,” she replied. “This is my friend, Audrey Tillman; Audrey, Sean Kelly.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sean,” Audrey purred daintily, offering her hand to him with a coy smile that fooled no one. “You have a lovely voice.”

  “Thank you, pleasure meeting you also.” Sean held the proffered hand only briefly before releasing it and turning back to Catie. “How about you, Miss Catie, did you enjoy the hymn?”

  “Oh, yes of course,” Catie said, slightly regretful for not having already complimented him. “I don’t see how anyone could not have enjoyed it.”

  “I’m glad,” he answered softly as his eyes caught hers and held them in an unwavering gaze that was thankfully broken by Audrey’s shrill, excited voice.

  “Oh, Dad, I have a lovely idea! Can Sean join our picnic this afternoon?”

  “Yes, Sean, why don’t you join us?” Mr. Tillman readily satisfied his daughter. “Have you seen our Peak District?”

  “Only in parts, sir, but I haven’t had the chance to do any proper exploring. I’d love to come.”

  Catie’s stomach lurched when Sean accepted. All afternoon with him?

  “Wonderful! We’ll be glad to have you,” Mr. Tillman said. Councilman Tillman was the authority on tourism in Derbyshire and loved showing newcomers the sights. “Though I’m afraid we’ll need another vehicle, what with Mother and the dog coming along.”

  “No worries, sir,” Sean said. “I brought my old Land Rover over on the ferry, and once I’m in more suitable clothes for a picnic, I can collect Miss Catie and meet you.” He quickly looked to his employer lest he overstep his bounds. “That is, if Mr. Darcy has no objections?”

  Ben hesitated, glancing from Sean to his siste
r as Sarah’s talk of schoolgirl crushes and handsome young chaps echoed loudly in his head.

  “I believe that would be fine, Sean,” Sarah broke in. “Bennet, you see no reason why Sean shouldn’t drive Catie to meet the Tillmans?”

  “No, of course not; just please be careful,” Ben conceded as he placed his hands protectively on Catie’s shoulders. “In fact, I’m glad you’re going along. The Peak District can be a dangerous place, and my little sister has a tendency to be a bit risky in her behavior. Understandably, Mr. Tillman may be distracted with his mother, and it will put my mind at ease to know there is another set of eyes on her.”

  As Ben spoke, Catie’s cheeks glowed bright with embarrassment, but she didn’t dare say a word. She detested his mother hen-like nervousness, but refused to give him reason to keep her home. She couldn’t bear the idea of Audrey Tillman and Sean Kelly enjoying an afternoon exploring the Peak District while she sat at Pemberley.

  “Sure, Mr. Darcy,” Sean agreed, astonished by the girl’s sudden meekness. Evidently, he surmised, the cheeky Miss Darcy was not so bold in the presence of her guardian.

  * * *

  Catie was donning the jumper that Rose insisted she wear when she saw Sean Kelly pull onto the gravel court. “I’m off!” she called up the grand staircase and left the house.

  He got out and helped her load the picnic hamper then rushed past her to open the door. “Thanks,” Catie said quietly and slid into the car.

  The Rover had seen better days. A crack ran across the windscreen and the radio hung precariously from a few exposed wires. “Sorry.” Sean caught her inspection and tried to right the radio as best he could. “Me brother fixed it.”

  “Fixed it?” she questioned.

  “Well, at least it plays now.” He smiled self-consciously as he glanced around the tattered interior. “Bit of a rattletrap, eh? But she gets me from here to there well enough. Ready?”