Susie Darcy's Tenacious Nature

by Wendy Soliman

  The carriage came to a halt at the entrance portico and Dawlish himself emerged to greet James.

  ‘There you are,’ he said, raising a hand in greeting. ‘I expected you before now.’

  ‘Sorry to disrupt your plans,’ James replied drolly.

  Dawlish snapped his fingers and a footman stepped forward to unload James’s luggage from the trunk of the carriage.

  ‘I have engaged the minimum number of servants,’ Dawlish explained as he led the way into the house. ‘The footman you saw just then, a cook and a maid of all work. Oh, and a man to do the grounds and look after the horses. That will be enough. The house isn’t large and I know you prefer privacy.’

  The maid stepped forward and bobbed a curtsey. She was a pretty little chit, James noticed. Her mouth fell open when she looked up at him and her cheeks bloomed a rosy red. James barely noticed her reaction as he handed her his hat, gloves and coat.

  ‘This is Mr Tyrell, Mary,’ Dawlish said.

  Mary, who had presumably been warned to expect his arrival, nodded but appeared incapable of speech.

  ‘You’ve done it again,’ Dawlish said, chuckling as he led the way upstairs and opened a door that led to the master bedchamber. ‘Whatever would Miss Fleming say?’

  ‘Leave it!’

  Dawlish seemed unaffected by James’s sour mood. ‘Sorry,’ Dawlish said. ‘I know you agreed to this journey in part to get away from your intended. All I’m saying is that if you marry her, every housemaid in your employ will have a face like the back end of a horse. She don’t like no competition for your affections, does that one.’

  ‘I am not contemplating a liaison with a housemaid,’ James replied dismissively.

  ‘I’m sure you ain’t, but the way Mary looked at you just now, I’ll wager she has different ideas.’

  James shook his head, gave the room a brief inspection and nodded his satisfaction. A decent fire burned in the grate and full length windows gave an uninterrupted view over the grounds to the craggy peaks beyond.

  ‘Any news of our mutual friend?’ James asked.

  ‘No, I’ve not made any enquiries as yet. Thought it better not to risk alerting him, always assuming he’s still in the district and he’s the person we’re looking for.’

  James grunted his agreement as he threw off his coat and neckcloth.

  ‘I’ll have water sent up. I expect you’d like a bath. Then we can dine.’

  Dawlish’s father had been a promising artist but died of consumption when Dawlish was still only thirteen. James’s father had taken him under his wing and he and James had become good friends. He acted nowadays as James’s valet, but was also a confidante and James’s most trusted friend. It went without saying that James would dine with Dawlish rather than have him eat in the kitchen with the servants. Dawlish was the only person who knew that James had doubts about marrying Beatrice and expressed his frank opinion that James must be dicked in the nob if he rejected such a flower.

  ‘Glad to get away, I take it,’ Dawlish said, unpacking James’s clothes while James enjoyed his bath in front of the fire.

  ‘Leaving London has its advantages.’ James threw back his head and closed his eyes. ‘What do you make of this area?’

  ‘The locals are hardworking and mind their own business, far as I can tell. Haven’t met any of the gentry as yet, but you can be sure that this house being opened up is the talk of the district. You’ll be invited everywhere but as a single gentleman, you won’t have to return those invitations.’

  ‘Thank the Lord. I shall call upon Darcy tomorrow. While I’m doing that you might want to sample the ale in the local tavern and see what’s being said. I won’t show myself just yet but it will only be a day or two before my identity becomes known now that the servants here are aware of it.’

  Dawlish yawned. ‘If I must,’ he said indolently. ‘The things I do for you.’

  ‘Terribly trying, I know,’ James chuckled.

  After three days of sleeping in indifferent posting inns, James was more than ready to sample the more luxurious accommodation provided at Hillgate House, and retired almost as soon as supper was finished. He slept like a baby and woke feeling refreshed and invigorated. He broke his fast in a leisurely fashion, amused and irritated by Mary’s constant gawping and blushing as she served him.

  An hour later, shaved and suitably attired, he mounted Gladiator, his prized grey gelding sent ahead with Dawlish, and rode the short distance to Pemberley. He let out a slow whistle of appreciation when he eventually neared the end of the winding driveway and the house came into view. Not a house…a mansion, set in expansive parkland and backed by wooded, rocky hills rising to heather moorland. Majestic in the spring sunshine, the towered and turreted house was built around a central courtyard and rose up over three immaculately maintained floors—a multitude of mullioned windows and intricate brickwork attracting his eye.

  James shook his head. Accustomed to dealing with wealthy individuals keen to cultivate his father’s good opinion, he had second thoughts about approaching a man of Darcy’s standing, now that he had seen his property. Such a great man with responsibility for this vast estate was unlikely to have time for his petty concerns.

  ‘What do you think, Gladiator?’ he asked, pausing on a rise in the ground and patting his horse’s neck as he admired the vista before them. ‘Shall we be turned away or will Darcy at least listen to me first?’

  James hadn’t considered the possibility of Darcy declining to receive him. His father had assured him that the master of Pemberley was a down-to-earth chap who would be horrified by what James had to tell him. But his father hadn’t been to Derbyshire or seen the extent of Darcy’s estate for himself, so he was not in a position to know. Father was altogether too trusting and assumed that everyone else shared his willingness to lend a helping hand. But then the pater had earned his fame at an early age and had little first-hand experience of the real world outside his artistic circle.

  Sighing, he pushed Gladiator forward and rode up to the entrance portico. The door opened before he could dismount and a footman ran forward to take Gladiator’s head. He thanked the man, adjusted the tilt of his hat and climbed the steps to the front door. A stately butler stood there, subjecting James to an oblique inspection. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he inclined his head.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Morning.’ James produced a card and handed it to the butler. ‘I believe Mr Darcy is expecting me.’

  ‘If you would be so kind as to step this way, sir, I shall enquire.’

  James surrendered his hat and gloves to a maid and entered the ante-room that the butler indicated. It was sumptuously yet tastefully furnished. James instinctively looked at the paintings adorning the wall before examining the rest of his surroundings. There were two small landscapes, both originals, both well executed, but James didn’t recognise the hand; nor could he interpret the signatures. Before he could examine anything more, the butler returned.

  ‘Mr Darcy will receive you, sir, if you would kindly walk this way.’

  James followed the man through an expansive and rather intimidating grand hall. The sound of his heels on the chequered floor echoed back from the high ceiling two floors above him. He glanced up at a wide gallery spanning it on three sides on the storey above. Before he could properly digest the splendour, he was shown into an even more impressive drawing room. Despite its size and elegant furnishings, it somehow felt intimate and welcoming. The interior of a house could tell a great deal about its owner’s character, and the care with which this particular room had been furnished and ornamented immediately put James at his ease.

  A tall man with dark hair threaded with silver stood to greet him.

  ‘Tyrell,’ he said. ‘Good of you to call.’

  ‘Thank you for taking the time to receive me, Mr Darcy, especially since we are not acquainted.’

  ‘I know your father and admire his work. We are happy to have you in the distri
ct. May I introduce you to my wife?’

  James bowed over the hand of the elegant lady who rose to greet him.

  ‘Welcome to Pemberley, Mr Tyrell,’ she said in a pleasingly melodic voice. ‘We are very glad you could come.’

  She resumed her seat and James took possession of the one she indicated across from hers. Coffee was ordered and Darcy asked after his father as they waited for it to be served.

  ‘He is as busy as ever, sir. Apart from his own work, he has become obsessed of late with helping struggling artists to make a name for themselves. He considers that he was fortunate to be noticed at such a young age and taken up by an influential patron. Had it not been so, well…’ James spread his hands. ‘A lot of talented artists are not so lucky, and it is they whom he is trying his best to help.’

  ‘So my daughter implied,’ Mrs Darcy replied. ‘Something about a Free Society of Artists, I believe she said.’

  James permitted his surprise to show. ‘Miss Darcy is well informed.’

  ‘She takes an interest in the arts, and when I told her we were expecting the pleasure of a visit from you, she mentioned the Free Society and its worthy objectives. She also told me that you are a talented artist in your own right. We saw last summer’s exhibition at the Academy and she noticed some of your work included in it.’ Mrs Darcy sent him an apologetic look. ‘I regret to say that I did not.’

  ‘Please don’t imagine I will take offence, ma’am.’ James offered her a charming smile. ‘I am accustomed to having my efforts overlooked, especially when they are displayed alongside my father’s.’

  ‘In your position I am unsure if I would feel more frustrated or privileged.’

  ‘A little of both, I find.’

  The coffee arrived at that point and Mrs Darcy poured for them all. While they drank it, James and Darcy engaged in conversation about the district generally.

  ‘I assume,’ Mrs Darcy said, ‘that you are here for the peace and quiet. We have both commodities in abundance and I feel sure our vistas will encourage your artistic creativeness.’

  ‘From what little I have seen thus far, I must agree with you. However, that is not my real purpose in coming to Derbyshire and taking such an early opportunity to call upon you.’

  Darcy put his cup aside. ‘I readily confess to being curious,’ he said.

  James took a deep breath and took a moment to formulate his words. ‘The long and the short of it is that someone has abused my father’s desire to help other artists.’ He took a moment to quell the anger he felt whenever he dwelt upon the unpardonable ingratitude of the individual responsible. ‘Someone, very likely one of my father’s students, is forging his work.’

  The Darcys shared a prolonged look. ‘But that is infamous!’ Mrs Darcy gasped.

  ‘Do you have any idea who might be responsible?’ Darcy asked. ‘Presumably someone who lives around these parts, accounting for your presence here.’

  ‘We cannot say for sure which student has stooped so low,’ James replied. ‘So many have passed through the pater’s hands over the years. The forgeries are quite impressive. I have seen one of them. I could tell at once that it had not been painted by my father’s hand, but to the untutored eye it would pass muster.’

  ‘I have heard of such things before. They are passed off by reputable agents as being examples of the artist’s early work,’ Darcy said pensively.

  ‘Precisely so, sir.’ He sighed. ‘Our difficulty in this instance is that no agent is involved. Both of the people we encountered in possession of the forgeries purchased them through friends of friends.’

  ‘Recently?’ Mrs Darcy asked.

  ‘Within the past year.’ He paused. ‘And both of them came by their acquisitions in this part of the world whilst travelling through on the way to Scotland.’

  ‘Chance encounters?’ Darcy rubbed his chin. ‘How could that be?’

  ‘That we cannot say. All we know for a certainty is that both gentlemen were guests of Sir Robert Gaunt when they made their purchases.’

  ‘I know Gaunt,’ Darcy said. ‘He’s a decent man. He dines with us often, and we with him. To the best of my knowledge, he is comfortably situated. He has never given me reason to suppose otherwise and I haven’t heard any rumours of hardship.’ He shook his head. ‘I cannot imagine him involving himself in such an underhand business.’

  ‘No more can I,’ Mrs Darcy added, frowning.

  ‘We think it unlikely that he is,’ James spread his hands. ‘The purchasers of the forgeries did not deal with Sir Robert but with a guest of his who has disappeared and cannot be traced. Either that guest, who went by the name of Bevan, was acting in good faith or had set out to deliberately deceive. Either way, I can hardly accuse Sir Robert of involvement, intentional or otherwise, without definite proof. Besides, neither my father nor I are acquainted with him.’

  ‘Hmm, I see your difficulty.’ Darcy stood and momentarily turned his back on James. ‘Which is why, I would imagine, that your father pointed you in my direction.’

  ‘I understand perfectly if you would prefer not to involve yourself in this rather unsavoury business. We have no idea how long it has been going on…even if it still is, or…well, anything more about it. It is only by chance that we found out about the two forgeries we know of. Perhaps that’s all there are but, in my experience, rogues desperate enough to resort to such measures rarely give up if they think they are on to a good thing.’

  ‘I would imagine that if Sir Robert is an innocent pawn, he would like to be made aware of the fact,’ Mrs Darcy said. ‘If he is not, then your presence here will likely frighten him into stopping what he is doing. His reputation means a great deal to him.’

  ‘I told my father it would be a waste of my time to come up here but I know just how distressed he is by the business so felt I ought to at least try and get to the bottom of it.’ He lifted one shoulder in a gesture of helplessness. ‘Goodness only knows how.’

  Bickering voices echoed from the hallway.

  ‘My children are having a disagreement,’ Mrs Darcy said with a soft smile. ‘That is not so very unusual.’

  The door opened and a chit dressed in sprigged muslin swept through it. ‘It’s all very well for you to say that, Spence, but you don’t—’ She stopped abruptly as James stood. ‘Oh sorry, Mama, I did not realise you had company.’

  ‘Which would not have prevented you from arguing with your brothers even if you had. Mr Tyrell, may I present my sons Spencer and Marcus, and my daughter Susanna.’

  ᴥᴥᴥ

  Susie dipped a curtsey, a little taken aback by the stature of the quite exceptionally handsome gentleman who took her hand and wished her good morning.

  ‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,’ she said.

  Susie’s calm belied her extraordinary reaction to this Adonis’s unexpected appearance at Pemberley. She was furious because she felt heat invade her cheeks. Such a personable rogue was probably accustomed to engendering similar reactions wherever he went and Susie heartily disliked being so predictable. Even so, it was impossible not to admire what she saw, purely from an artistic perspective, naturally. She was surprised that his father hadn’t felt compelled to paint his son’s likeness. Perhaps he already had, since such elegantly compatible features, such a highly developed aura of self-possession, would inspire the most reluctant artist to his best work.

  Mr Tyrell had an angular face with a strong jaw and deep-set eyes a most unusual shade of blue. Those eyes assessed her with cool amusement as she continued to take his measure. His thick eyebrows were shaped into a deceivingly perfect arch that followed the slight curve of his eyes. From his thatch of thick dark hair, his straight nose, his mouth with its full lips and engaging smile—everything was in perfect symmetry. His lips curved slightly, as though he found her elongated study of him both amusing and predictable. She turned away, aware that he would find little in her appearance to excite his admiration. She sat beside her mother on the settee she oc
cupied and left their visitor to converse with Marc and Spence.

  Susie listened with growing interest when Papa explained Mr Tyrell’s reason for coming to Derbyshire. She felt appeased and very grown up not to be excluded from that explanation and wished she could think of an intelligent suggestion to make that would help get to the bottom of it.

  ‘I cannot imagine Sir Robert being involved,’ was all she could think to say.

  ‘What about you, Spence?’ Papa asked, with a significant glance at Susie’s mother. ‘This is just the sort of conundrum you excel at. Any thoughts?’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be able to hide your presence in the area for long,’ Spence replied, addressing his comment to Mr Tyrell. ‘That being the case, I would suggest going on the offensive.’ He turned towards his mother. ‘I think you owe Sir Robert and Lady Gaunt an invitation to dinner,’ he said.

  ‘I was thinking the exact same thing,’ Mama replied, smiling.

  ‘It might be better to invite others too, with the specific purpose of introducing them to Tyrell here,’ Marc suggested. ‘That way, if Sir Robert finds a reason to decline, we shall have cause to suspect his involvement. If he accepts, he will not think he has been singled out for an introduction.’

  ‘And if he does come,’ Papa added, ‘it will give you the ideal opportunity to grill him, Tyrell.’

  ‘I am very grateful to you for the suggestion, sir.’

  ‘Perhaps we should make a few discreet enquiries regarding Sir Robert’s circumstances,’ Spence said. ‘Talking to servants is a reliable way to obtain information. They are always the first to know of any sudden economies being made.’