by Jan Hahn
I picked up the portrait and carried it to the window’s light. “It is of no consequence, but I thank you for bringing it to me before taking it to the Willoughby house.”
“I suppose you must return it,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Do you not agree, Lizzy?”
“What? Oh yes, I suppose you must.”
Mr. Denison crossed the room and stood beside me. “Is Mr. Gardiner in London? If so, would you and he care to accompany me when I call on Sir Linton?”
“Accompany you?” I could not comprehend his meaning.
“Are you not curious as to the girl’s identity and her close resemblance to you? Perhaps she is in residence at the Willoughbys’ house.”
My aunt answered for me, indicating that there could be any manner of explanation. “I have heard it said that everyone has a double somewhere in the world. You may have stumbled upon our Lizzy’s, Mr. Denison.”
“I see. So you are not interested in going with me?”
“I have never been introduced to Sir Linton Willoughby,” I said. “I would feel out of place calling upon him.”
“I have a letter of introduction from my father. He was angry when I told him I had held back the painting, and he insists that I face Sir Linton and return it myself. I shall be glad to introduce you.”
I glanced at my aunt and shrugged. Truly, my shock at the likeness of the girl to myself was such that I knew not what I should do.
“Mr. Denison,” my aunt began, “would you consider leaving the portrait with us tonight so that we might show it to Mr. Gardiner and seek his counsel? If he feels it is appropriate for Lizzy to go with you, I am certain he will lend his presence.”
Andrew Denison agreed to the suggestion, and we made plans to meet the next afternoon.
][
As I have come to expect, my plans for the next day went astray.
Mr. Gardiner awaited Mr. Denison’s arrival in the parlour while I completed my toilette above stairs. Mrs. Gardiner said I looked lovely and squeezed my hand before I walked out the door of my bedchamber.
“I like Mr. Denison, Lizzy,” she said. “And I think he may care for you.”
I raised my eyebrows in question. “Aunt, this is a call of necessity. He must return the painting to its owner, and I am simply curious as to the model. I have not seen any undue interest upon the part of the gentleman toward me.”
“All the same, smile often, dear, when in his company. It is one of your best features.”
I sighed and took my cape and bonnet from the maid on the way to the stairwell. Must my every acquaintance with a gentleman warrant speculations of marriage? I heard the deep rumble of masculine voices from below and hoped I had not kept my uncle and Mr. Denison waiting long. Midway down the stairs, I stopped short. I saw my uncle standing at the foot of the staircase, but Mr. Denison did not stand beside him. I caught my breath at the sight of Mr. Darcy watching my descent.
After greetings were exchanged, my uncle explained that Mr. Darcy would go with us to Sir Linton Willoughby’s house in place of Mr. Denison.
“I do not understand,” I said, my voice somewhat uneasy. “I thought you were in Kent, sir, for Easter.”
“I was, but now that Easter is past, I am here.” His dark eyes searched mine as though he questioned his welcome.
“Mr. Darcy called on Admiral Denison this morning,” Mr. Gardiner said. “And learning that you held the painting belonging to the Willoughbys, he requested and was granted leave to replace young Mr. Denison in this morning’s call.”
“Why would you do that, sir?”
“I am slightly acquainted with Sir Linton, and both the admiral and I thought it would be simpler than Andrew Denison having to obtain an audience with the man through a letter of introduction.”
Mr. Darcy went on to explain that he had met up with the Denisons in Town through a mutual acquaintance at a party the night before. Jane and Mr. Bingley attended the same occasion, and she had told Mr. Darcy that I was in London staying with the Gardiners.
My, Jane has been busy, I thought. First, she tells Mr. Andrew Denison where I am staying and then proceeds to inform Mr. Darcy.
“I do not see that you need to concern yourself in this matter,” I said. “After all, Mr. Denison is the one who kept back the piece of art, and as his father said, is it not his place to return it?”
“Perhaps, but the admiral was only too pleased to have me intervene. Sir Linton is…not an easy man with whom to deal.”
“Of what deal do we speak? I thought we were simply returning the property to its owner.”
“If so, Miss Bennet, then why must you attend?” Mr. Darcy raised one eyebrow and pressed his lips together.
“Because of the subject of the painting, naturally. One would have to be blind not to see the resemblance.”
“Indeed, quite blind. I find the work fascinating and hope to make Sir Linton an offer for its purchase. That is my purpose for travel to Town. Once I heard in Kent from Miss Bingley that the Denisons were in residence here, I hoped to discover what they had done with the painting so that I might further my quest to own the work.”
“I did not know that Caroline Bingley was acquainted with Mr. Denison.”
“Before Easter, they met through mutual acquaintances here in Town.”
“Lizzy,” my uncle added, drawing near so that our words would not be heard by the servants. “I have informed Mr. Darcy that your aunt and I know the truth about your relationship with each other. I think it perfectly natural and fitting that he accompanies us to Sir Linton’s residence.”
The carriage stood waiting at the front door, and my uncle indicated that we should leave. I did not find the ride comfortable, for while I sat beside Mr. Gardiner, Mr. Darcy sat directly across from me, and I felt the burden of his constant gaze. As we drew near the house, he warned us not to expect accommodations customary to those of a baronet.
“The Willoughby fortune is greatly diminished, and they have been forced to retrench several times over,” my uncle added. I was surprised that he knew of their circumstances until he explained that he had transacted business with their steward through the years. “Sir Linton has sold off more than just his family’s land. I have come across their paintings, china, silver, and even draperies often enough. From my limited viewpoint, I would say the gentleman manages his family’s assets poorly.”
“To say the least,” Mr. Darcy added.
I soon discovered the truth of those statements when we entered the house. Although a large, spacious, old townhouse, obviously beautiful at one time, it now reeked of disrepair and neglect. From the shabby livery worn by the servant to the lack of lighting in the hall, the dark, gloomy place possessed an abandoned air. We were shown into a drawing room bereft of furniture save for an old settee, a small table, and two worn and faded chairs. Mr. Gardiner indicated that I should be seated, but I preferred to stand beside him. Mr. Darcy walked to the window and stared at the overgrown garden without.
Some half hour later, our host finally appeared. He was tall and gaunt, both his silver hair and beard in need of a trim. He wore a faded suit of clothing bearing food stains spilled down the front of his waistcoat. A strong smell of spirits announced his coming.
“Gardiner,” he said, “what brings you here?”
My uncle acknowledged him and turned to indicate Mr. Darcy at the window. Sir Linton knit his brows together, squinting at the light streaming in from outside.
“Darcy? What business do you have with me?”
Mr. Darcy advanced toward the man and bowed slightly. “May I introduce Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
For the first time, his eyes fell upon me, and he blinked, seeming almost dazed. “Miss who?” he demanded.
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Gardiner said. “She is my niece.”
I curtseyed, never taking my eyes from the man. It was obvious he did not like what he saw. He neither bowed nor greeted me in any manner.
“State your business,” he said.
“Another painting. Of what use are they? Is this one worth anything, Gardiner?”
“See for yourself,” my uncle replied, as he handed him the wrapped parcel.
Sir Linton grumbled as he clumsily tore off the paper and threw it on the floor. “Do not see why it took all three of you to return my property.”
“Perhaps you will when you examine it,” Mr. Darcy said quietly.
The baronet held it up, blinked his eyes as though he could not focus them, and uttered an oath. “Cannot see what it is in this dim room. Why is no candle lit?”
“There is sufficient light by the window,” Mr. Darcy said, leading him across the length of the room. “Now, sir, do you not find it of interest?”
Sir Linton stretched out his arms full length and held the painting aloft. Consternation crept across his face, and he uttered another oath. “I do not want this rubbish. You have come on a fool’s errand to bring this to me. I will not have it in the house!”
He threw it on the floor and staggered backward. Mr. Darcy immediately retrieved the painting and held it up before him once more.
“Take another look, sir. Does not this painting bear a striking resemblance to one in this room?”
Sir Linton wiped his hand across his mouth in disgust, but recognition dawned in his expression as he eyed the painting and then turned his gaze upon me.
I walked toward him so that he might see my face more clearly. “May I ask, sir, who posed for the work?”
Again, he stared back and forth between the portrait and myself. “I shall tell you who she is. I shall tell you, all right. One who is dead to me and to this family!”
“She may be deceased, but Miss Bennet and I have a great interest in knowing her identity,” Mr. Darcy said.
“You do not need to know, Darcy, and neither does she.”
Sir Linton walked away from the window and slumped down in one of the chairs, but Mr. Darcy followed close behind him.
“I think we do, sir. I will make it worth your while to give us the information.”
His eyes opened wide at the suggestion, and he sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. Not only will I pay to know the identity of the girl, but I should like to buy the painting.”
He clambered to his feet. “How much?”
“More than sufficient, I assure you. First, tell us who she is.”
Sir Linton swore once again, walked to the cold fireplace, and leaned his forehead against the mantel. “The girl was my sister—Elizabeth Willoughby. She is dead. Lost to my family and lost to this world.”
My heart jumped into my throat, and I began to tremble. “How…how did she die, Sir Linton?”
He turned a withering eye upon me, and I trembled even more at the hatred I saw therein. “In childbirth.”
“If you have lost your sister, do you not want her likeness?” Mr. Gardiner asked. “I would think you would treasure it for its memories.”
“I want no memories of her!” Sir Linton began to pace back and forth. “She is dead to me, I tell you. She betrayed her family, and I will not have her image in my house.”
“Pray, sir, will you tell me when she died?” I asked, my voice shaking.
He stopped and turned his fierce glare upon me. “Most likely, you know the date well—the sixth of December 1791. From the looks of you, you could pass for her brat.”
I reached out for my uncle’s arm, and he immediately led me to the settee. Mr. Darcy crossed the room to my side. “Are you ill, Elizabeth?”
I shook my head slightly, but my heart had jumped into my throat, and I felt my head begin to throb. Mr. Gardiner exchanged looks with Mr. Darcy and then returned his attention to Sir Linton.
“The date of your sister’s death is the birth date of my niece. She was born in Derbyshire to a woman named Elizabeth and then taken to a distant county—Hertfordshire—whereupon my brother and sister took her in and raised her as their own. Could that make her your niece as well, sir?”
Sir Linton rose and swore again. “I am not saying it could, and nothing you say will force me to do so. I am saying I want nothing to do with Miss Bennet.” He turned his eyes upon me. “If you think you come here to claim kinship with a noble family, think again. I shall never name you as a Willoughby, and there is no inheritance to share. So forget any thoughts of getting rich off me, girl!”
“Sir!” Mr. Darcy drew himself up and roared with such anger that he may as well have struck the man. “I will not tolerate any further offensive behaviour toward Miss Bennet.”
The baronet seemed taken aback and actually sank back onto his chair.
“Miss Bennet came here seeking knowledge of the girl in the painting. She makes no claims upon your name or your fortune.”
Sir Linton muttered something under his breath and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand once again. Suddenly, he yelled out a man’s name, and when the servant who had admitted us appeared, he barked orders for a bottle of whiskey. Almost immediately, the servant returned with a tarnished brass tray containing a bottle and glass. Before the man could pour the drink, Sir Linton grabbed the glass and bottle from him and ordered the servant from the room. He then filled his glass and downed the contents with no attempt to offer refreshment to his guests.
“I have nothing more to say about Elizabeth Willoughby. She is dead and buried, along with the past. Let it remain that way.”
“But, sir,” I said softly, “will you not tell me something about her? I would be grateful for any information you might share.”
He poured another glass and drained it before raising his eyes toward me. “I have nothing good to say about her. So what would you have me tell you?”
“What was her age when she died?”
“Age? Huh…could not have been more than seventeen. Just a slip of a girl…but wild at heart, always wild.”
“What do you mean, ‘wild’?” I stood and took a step closer so that I might hear him more clearly.
“Always running about the countryside, climbing trees, wading in the streams after she was long past the age for such things. She never cared for parlours or sitting rooms. If she could be out in the glens and dales or even on the moors, she was content. My mother despaired of settling her down—said she was like something untamed. My father did not care and said let her be. He spoilt her—him and my grandmother. You can blame them for petting her and allowing her to come to ruin.”
“Were you there…the night I was born?”
“No! Not any of us were in Derbyshire when it happened. I had moved my mother and two sisters to London before we learned of Elizabeth’s condition. When my father died the year before, I had become head of the family. My grandmother was a stubborn old woman. She refused to leave the county and insisted on remaining behind. Three months later, when my mother discovered that my sister was with child, the plan was to send her to a house in Dorsett so we could avoid questions and gossip, but my grandmother would not have it. She refused to let us hide Elizabeth with strangers and insisted that the girl stay with her. I returned my sister to Bridesgate Manor, and neither my mother, nor my youngest sister, nor I ever saw her again.”
He stared into the bottom of his glass as though he could see the event taking place all over again. When he spoke at last, his voice had lowered to such a degree that I strained to hear him. “My grandmother wrote us about Elizabeth’s death. Not long after that, she died herself.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. Not only was I rejected, but my mother was as well. She had been abandoned with naught but a grandmother to love her.
Suddenly, Sir Linton rose from his chair and thrust his face close to mine. “If you are her child, your birth cursed us! From that day on, our fortunes reversed. I was forced to sell off my land, my holdings, and my belongings because of you! My other sister could not m
ake a suitable match with such a pitiable dowry. My wife left me childless. My mother died a bitter old woman. It is all because of you—you, the secret that brought ruin on our entire house!”
Mr. Darcy stepped between Sir Linton and me. “Mr. Gardiner, please take Elizabeth to the carriage.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks, and it is with difficulty to this day that I even recall my uncle leading me from that terrible house. We waited in the carriage for some time before Mr. Darcy proceeded from the baronet’s house, carrying the portrait.
Immediately upon boarding the carriage, he sat down and leaned forward, taking my hand in his. “Elizabeth, are you well?”
I nodded. Misery possessed me to such a measure that I was unable to speak.
“I can see you are not.”
He stepped outside the coach and directed the driver to hasten back to Mr. Gardiner’s house immediately. After he returned to his seat, my uncle asked him whether Sir Linton had given him any further information. He sighed and looked out the window before answering but one word.
“Yes.”
Chapter Nine
Mr. Darcy did not speak again during the return carriage ride to Gracechurch Street. His silence reigned with such authority that neither my uncle nor I dared question it. My spirits had fallen so low that I no longer had the energy to pose a question. That is not to say my mind was at rest, for it was beset not only with numerous queries but with the pain of humiliation as well.
Why had Sir Linton treated me with such cruelty? And if my birth was hidden, why should the event have caused his family’s fortunes to fail? I could not understand the connection, and yet, he cast the fault and subsequent shame for a noble family’s downfall upon my shoulders. How could that be?
By the time Mr. Darcy’s carriage pulled up in front of Mr. Gardiner’s house, I felt as though I could no longer breathe. I longed to run far from London, out into the countryside, away from houses or people, so that I might fill my lungs with air and conquer the suffocation that threatened me.
As my uncle assisted me down from the conveyance, I caught sight of the park across the street. With only a brief word, I stepped from the walk and darted through the passing carriages. Once safely on the other side, I hurried into the leafy arbour without a backward glance. I cared not whether I behaved unseemly; I could no longer bear the company of others. I needed to walk alone and silence the noises swirling about in my head.
