by Jan Hahn
“Well, she does. You know it as well as I!”
“One must not disrespect an older lady, my dear. She may not be your equal in some matters, but she is an accomplished lady.”
“Yes,” I added, lifting my chin. “It cannot be denied. Miss Bingley does possess a certain air.”
Georgiana began to giggle, and Miss Annesley’s attempts to calm her failed utterly. Her laughter was infectious, and I could not suppress my own amusement. It was obvious that we behaved in an unseemly manner, but it was not long before both older ladies could not refrain from bursting forth in mirth as well. We laughed until we were forced to hold our sides in pain, and Mrs. Gardiner begged us to desist, for she was quite uncomfortable. I wondered whether the shepherd in the field that we passed could actually see our carriage shaking from the hilarity within.
It was good to laugh. It reminded me of growing up in a house filled with five girls. Suddenly, I longed to see all of them once again. I missed Jane in particular, and I knew that my aunt yearned to hold her children. Ireland seemed like the other side of the world from Longbourn. And yet, I did enjoy Georgiana’s company. Sweet and unassuming, she brought joy to my life, and I thought how much I would miss her when we returned to England and resumed our separate lives. For that matter, I would miss her when we separated in Cork.
“Georgiana, has Mr. Darcy told you much of the city to which you travel?” I asked later.
“Wills says Ballymeghan is more of a village than a city. That is the only information I have been told since I learned my grandmother was born there. I wish I had known her, but she died long before I was born. My brother remembers her, but not well. Evidently, she had been in poor health for some years, and she kept to her chambers most of the day.”
“Do you remember this uncle whom you plan to visit?” Mrs. Gardiner asked.
“Oh no. He left Pemberley as a young man and never returned. I do recall visits from Uncle Henry, the one who lived in Bath.”
That statement aroused my interest. “What was he like?”
“Tall and handsome in his uniform and always happy. His beard tickled when he kissed my cheek, and he was forever taking sweets from the kitchen and giving them to me when no one was watching. I thought him absolutely wonderful!”
“I have only seen his portrait at Pemberley, and I agree that he was handsome,” I said. “I did not see much resemblance between Mr. Henry Darcy and your father.”
“They might have looked more alike if Uncle Henry had shaved his beard. I do remember that his eyes were different from Father’s.” She leaned forward and peered closely at me. “In truth, Elizabeth, your eyes are much like my uncle’s. Perhaps it is a family trait that both of you inherited even though you are not closely related.”
I straightened and turned my attention to the window.
“I wonder whether Wills ever determined the exact connection between our family and that of Elizabeth.”
“He has certainly devoted himself to the quest,” Mrs. Annesley said. “He spent countless hours upon the task at Rosings, Eden Park, and especially Bath. Do you share his curiosity, Miss Bennet?”
“I—”
“Lizzy has never been one to shut herself up inside for too long, no matter the pursuit,” my aunt interjected. “Give her a good, long tramp in the woods though, and she considers it a perfect day.”
I breathed out with relief as my aunt’s statement renewed Mrs. Annesley’s discussion of her various ailments occasioned by the last lengthy walk she had attempted.
An expression of disinterestedness settled upon Georgiana’s countenance, and she devoted herself to the passing scenery for a while. We remarked on the many shades of green that coloured the island, but eventually, she grew drowsy, removed her bonnet, and leaned back against the seat. I, too, wearied of the long journey and hoped we would stop soon to spend the night. The carriage rocked on as consistently as the ladies’ conversation. I was left to allow my mind to wander at will. Without fail, it returned to questions of my parentage.
I thought of Henry Darcy and the native similarity we shared. Had Mr. Darcy ever noticed it, and if so, had he shared the news with the admiral’s widow? I wondered what kind of man Peter Darcy would turn out to be and whether my presumptions of his character rang true. The only portrait I had seen of him was with his brothers, and he was but a young child at the time. Mr. Darcy had said he was now ill. Oh, I hoped we did not arrive too late for Peter Darcy to answer his nephew’s questions.
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At length, the carriage pulled into the small village of Cashel, and we clambered out, ready to stretch our limbs from the forced confinement. My uncle informed us that we would spend the night there at an inn. We followed him into the whitewashed, thatched house that bore the name “Fitzgerald’s” above the door. Our lodgings were somewhat simple but clean and tidy. Neither Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner nor I found the accommodations unsuitable, but I wondered how Mr. Darcy and his sister would feel. I doubted that either of them had ever stayed the night in such a humble dwelling.
My aunt wished to lie down before our meal, and Mr. Gardiner sought a drink in the local pub. After making certain that I was not needed, I slipped outdoors for a short walk. The few shops across the street had closed, but I did not need to make a purchase. I simply yearned for exercise, so I strolled several blocks without any destination in mind. Suddenly, I heard someone call my name, and when I turned, I saw Mr. Darcy advancing upon me.
“Elizabeth, where do you go?”
“Nowhere, sir. I am simply taking the air.”
“The sun goes down soon. You must not wander about alone. After all, this is not Hertfordshire. Shall I keep you company?”
I nodded, and he smiled as we fell into step. After discussing my aunt’s health, we remained silent for a block or two. Mr. Darcy then pointed out the Catholic church around the corner, and we watched as the black-robed priest hurried inside. The man had not acknowledged us in any manner.
“Do we trespass, sir? The priest does not appear friendly.”
“He may fear our notice since we are clearly strangers in these parts, and the Papist church is no longer the religion of the ruling class. Besides that, we are English.” He spoke as though we had committed a crime.
“I do not understand. Ireland is now united with England, is it not? Are not both countries under one parliament?”
“They are in name, but this country has little representation in London. Besides, the conflict between our nations goes back centuries, and the Irish people’s struggle continues. I have been told that the place to which we travel, County Cork, is a stronghold of resistance to the English. In fact, it is known as ‘the Rebel County’ with no small amount of pride among the natives.”
“Do you think Mr. Peter Darcy will welcome your visit?”
“Yes. No matter the years past, the difference in religion, politics, or country, we are the same blood, and in Ireland, blood relations trump all else. He is my uncle, and I cannot imagine him refusing to see me.”
“Is he accepted here?”
We had crossed the footpath and begun to retrace our steps back to the inn. “I would surely think so, else why should he stay all this great time?”
I took a deep breath. “If Peter Darcy knows nothing of me or the circumstances surrounding my birth, will you put this search of yours to rest at last?”
He turned and looked directly at me. “I think he does, Elizabeth. I feel in my heart that Uncle Peter will answer my questions.”
“But why?”
“I cannot explain it. Do you recall that I once told you how Bridesgate, the Willoughby house, seemed to call out to me as a boy?”
I nodded. “Even though your father instructed you to stay away from it.”
“Exactly. I have that same feeling about this country and about Peter Darcy. I think he knows the circumstances surrounding your birth.”
“But if he does not, sir, what then?”
We had reached the in
n, and he stopped short before entering. “Do not say that.”
“But you must consider it.”
“No, I must not!” Although he had not raised his voice, his tone was as unyielding as though he had done so. We stared into each other’s eyes until, at last, I turned and walked into the house.
Chapter Fourteen
After spending yet another night in another inn and a long, hard day of travel on country roads, we reached our destination at last. Although not as large as Dublin, Cork was a fine, bustling city, exceedingly more populous than any of the villages we had encountered along the way.
As we drove through the streets to the Imperial Hotel on the South Mall, we admired the sunset reflected off the handsome limestone buildings lining the banks of the River Lee. Seagulls greeted us with their screeching cries as they followed the ferryboats carrying passengers upriver from the town of Cobh to Merchants Quay. The surroundings were rich with sounds and smells from the nearby Grand Parade Market, with its abundance of fresh fish, and the local brewery, famous for its dark stout. The odours penetrated my senses, but I, unlike Mrs. Annesley, did not find them unpleasant.
“Oh, Georgiana, I fear your appetite will suffer if we remain outdoors. Come, we must hurry and escape this dreadful air,” she said.
“It is not so very bad. May we not watch the sun go down?” Her companion would not be dissuaded, however, so the young girl reluctantly followed all of us inside.
Our apartment was the most superior by far since we left Dublin. My uncle’s time would be much occupied by business, including travelling down to Cobh at the mouth of Cork Harbour. Thus, he expended the additional funds necessary to secure our lodgings in the same establishment as that of the Darcys so that my aunt and I would not be left alone during the day.
During the course of our meal together that evening, however, Mr. Darcy announced that he would depart on the morrow for a short visit with the Earl of Killaine at Castelaine and wished to leave Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley in Mr. Gardiner’s care while he was gone. Both gentlemen then insisted that we were not to venture far from the hotel until my uncle returned each evening.
“Oh, Wills, must you go so soon?”
“It is only proper that I call upon the earl as his family and ours have been acquainted for many years. I have written to inform him of our coming, and he has secured a cottage for us in Ballymeghan. I must see that all is in order for our arrival.”
“I do not understand the connection between our family and this Irish earl you call upon. I do not recall hearing of him before.”
“He is the son of our grandfather’s friend from Cambridge. It is due to his father that our grandparents met. If he had not invited James Darcy to visit during that summer, we would not be alive today.”
When she asked where he lived, Mr. Darcy said it was about three miles outside the village of Ballymeghan.
“And is that where you hope to find your uncle?” Mr. Gardiner asked.
He nodded. “My source in Derbyshire corresponds with a priest in Ardfield, which I understand lies but a short distance from there. The priest says that Peter Darcy has made his home in the village. Before I begin my search, Lord Killaine, most likely, can tell me precisely where Uncle Peter dwells.”
“I wish you good luck, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Gardiner said, and my uncle echoed her sentiments.
I felt Mr. Darcy’s eyes upon me. “And you, Elizabeth? Do you not wish me luck?”
I raised my eyes to meet his. “Of course, sir, and even more, I hope that what you find will grant you peace.”
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Three days later, my aunt and I had joined Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley in their parlour after dinner. While attempting to teach me a simpler method by which I might master a difficult embroidery stitch, the older ladies burst into laughter at my pitiful struggles and subsequent display of temper when I succeeded in repeatedly knotting my thread. I made such havoc of it that they were forced to take turns trying to work it loose; however, all their efforts were in vain. At last, Georgiana solved the matter by cutting the thread.
“Elizabeth, you had better begin all over again.”
“I think I should give up,” I said, laughing with the others, “and admit that my fingers were not created for sewing. Look at the bloodstains I have left on this scarf.”
“Perhaps you might dye it a soft rose colour when the task is completed,” Mrs. Annesley offered.
Just then, we heard the outer door open and slam shut. Subsequent rapid footsteps echoed directly into a bedchamber, followed by another slammed door. We looked at each other in wonder.
“Goodness, could that be Wills?”
“If it is, something must be amiss,” Mrs. Annesley said.
“Perhaps we should go,” my aunt said.
Georgiana rose. “No, it is still early. I shall see what is abroad.”
We all prevailed upon her to remain with us and give her brother time to recover from his trip. She had just sat down again and picked up her needlework when, once more, we heard doors slam and the same rapid footsteps departing the apartment.
I looked at Mrs. Gardiner, and we both folded our work and put it away. “I really do believe we should make our departure,” she said. “It has been a lovely evening.”
We made our farewells and returned down the hall to our quarters. My uncle sat snoring in his chair, his book lying open upon his chest. My aunt woke him, and shortly thereafter, they retired to their chamber for the night.
I walked about the room and picked at the daisies in the pitcher upon the table. Looking through a small stack of books lying beside my uncle’s chair, I found nothing that interested me. I spied the full moon through the window and thus pulled the curtain aside. Below in the moonlight, I saw Mr. Darcy pacing back and forth on the footpath outside the hotel. He carried his hat in his hand, and several times, he raked his hand through his hair.
Something is terribly wrong, I feared.
Turning back to the room, I tiptoed near the door of the Gardiners’ room, from which I heard nothing but silence. Quietly, I gathered my shawl around my shoulders and slipped out the door. I made it down the stairs and to the lobby without meeting anyone, but just as I reached the outer door, the alarmed porter asked whether he could assist me. I could think of no reason to account for my actions, for I knew that a single woman would not normally leave the hotel alone at that late hour. So I simply lifted my head, assumed my best imitation of Miss Bingley, and waved him away.
I hurried out the door, whereupon I found Mr. Darcy still madly pacing.
“Elizabeth!”
“I…saw you from the window above.”
“You should not be out here.”
“I must know what ails you, sir. You are obviously angry…upset. What is it?”
“Nothing. Nothing you can make right.”
“What do you mean?”
He made a helpless gesture and hit his hat against the side of his leg.
“Tell me what has happened! Is it your uncle? Are you too late?”
He took my elbow. “Come, I must return you to Mr. Gardiner.”
“He and my aunt have retired. Will you not take but a moment and tell me?”
A man passing by stared at us.
“Not here. Let us cross the street.”
He led me out of sight of the hotel to where we had a clear view of the river. We strolled in silence, the moon glistening on the rippling surface. The water lapped against the pier, and I knew I should have loved being there in that setting if not for the anguish on Mr. Darcy’s face.
We sat down on a bench looking out towards the mouth of the harbour and remained silent for several moments before I spoke. “Did your visit with Lord Killaine not go well? Is that what troubles you?”
“The earl was cordial. He said his father had spoken often of his friendship with my grandfather, and what a scandal it caused when Siobhan MacAnally sailed off to England with James Darcy.”
“Did he seem an
gry?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. His father actually aided their escape. Of course, he was a young man back then. He had no idea how dangerous their decision truly was or what serious consequences it would yield.”
“If the past does not anger Lord Killaine, then what causes your present distress?”
Mr. Darcy rose and stared up at the sky. I stood up and gently touched his arm. “Sir, may I not share your troubles as you have often shared mine?”
When he turned to me, I held my breath at the pain I saw reflected in his eyes. “Elizabeth, I have made this trip in vain. Peter Darcy will not give me the answers I wish for.”
“Why not?”
“Because he cannot.”
“He has died?”
“No.”
“Then why ever not?”
He lowered his head and took a step toward the wharf. I walked with him, refusing to let up. He gave a great sigh.
“I began this search with you for your mother, and once we discovered Elizabeth Willoughby, I should have been content. You seemed to be, while I simply could not.”
“You want to know why.”
“I want more than that.” He turned and faced me. “I want—oh, my dearest girl! I need someone—anyone—to tell me that my father is not your father.”
My heart rose into my throat. I swallowed and looked away then walked back and sank down on the bench.
What had he done? Had he actually spoken the very hope that lived deep inside me—the same dream I attempted to bury daily, but which refused to remain hidden?
I was conscious of his return and that he sat beside me, but I could not face him.
“I know I promised that I would look upon you as my sister, and I intend to keep that promise. But I must be honest and confess that is not my heart’s desire. I want—”
“No, do not say it! You must not say it, sir.” I jumped up to return to the Imperial.
“Wait,” he said, catching my hand. “Wait. Forgive me. You are right. I…do not know what possessed me. It is just that I have received such disappointing news this day.”
