Darcy nodded in spite of his suspicions. She had just confessed to manipulating him; he could not help but wonder if he were being manipulated still.
“Yes, Mr. Leach did appear trustworthy,” remarked Darcy. “Given the thirty-year interval since the transaction took place, it would have been difficult for anyone to learn of this matter except from someone with the office of Bandersnatch. I have no doubt that the substance of the matter is correct, but I cannot express equal confidence in all particulars. Perhaps you can provide clarification. What else did Wickham learn from the files he obtained?”
Mrs. Younge hesitated for a moment before she spoke. “Very well, sir, I shall lay it out completely. You will see the documents soon enough, so there is no need to prolong the suspense. It is probably best for all parties that you not be surprised when your brother reveals the documents to you. Surprises have an unfortunate way of hindering reasoning and judgment and getting in the way of a fair outcome.”
“Let us not talk of the outcome for the present,” said Darcy tersely. “Tell me plainly, what remaining cards does Wickham hold?”
“Just two,” answered Mrs. Younge. “In the first document, the mother, Ellen Glennie, forever rescinds all claims on the child in exchange for a pension of one hundred pounds, payable annually for the following twenty years. That was very wise of your father, if you ask me. He made sure she would keep her mouth shut. By the terms of the agreement, if she talked to anyone about what had happened, the pension would be stopped immediately, but the child would remain with the Wickhams. The parents and Mr. Wickham signed the document, as did the witnesses: the elder Bandersnatch and Mr. Leach.”
“Mr. Leach recalled the correct amount of the settlement,” observed Darcy. “What is the other document?”
“The second is a letter that your father wrote to Mr. Wickham shortly after the adoption took place. He thanked and congratulated Mr. Wickham for taking on the joys and responsibilities of raising a son. He also mentioned his need for a new steward, and offered the position to Mr. Wickham. To avoid arousing curiosity about the boy, he suggested that the Wickhams take some months to first establish normal family relations before moving to Pemberley.”
Mrs. Younge took another sip of tea, pausing for effect. “And now we come to the point that may interest you most, Mr. Darcy. In the same letter, your late father made an explicit promise to become the boy’s godfather, thus hoping (how did he put it) ‘to supply, in the role of godfather, the proper nurture and the advantages that the natural father otherwise would be unable to supply.’ So you see, the late Mr. Darcy definitely acknowledged his fatherly responsibility toward George Wickham.”
Darcy winced at her bluntness, but suppressed his desire to contest the issue. He reminded himself that he was there only to gather information; there would be ample time for disputation when he next met Wickham.
“And how, exactly, does the prodigal son hope to profit from this information?” inquired Darcy.
“I was just coming to that, sir. Your father also promised to increase the elder Wickham’s salary by one hundred pounds annually, specifically to alleviate expenses for the boy’s upbringing. He further declared that when the boy attained the age of five and twenty, Miss Glennie’s expired pension and Wickham’s one hundred-pound supplement would be combined into a pension for George Wickham. Unfortunately for George Wickham, both his natural and his adoptive fathers died before he reached that age, and the promise was unfulfilled.”
“Ah! So now I see Wickham’s plan in all its fullness,” exclaimed Darcy. “He intends to apply for an annual pension of hundreds of pounds! So much for Wickham’s avowed satisfaction with fifty pounds.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“It is nothing that concerns you, I am certain!” said Darcy sharply, a little surprised that she knew nothing of Wickham’s reimbursement.
“But Mr. Darcy,” implored Mrs. Younge, “you can hardly blame Mr. Wickham for seeking to secure what is rightfully his. Who could not regard it as his natural birthright, after such an explicitly written promise; and what honest son would nullify such clear testimony of his father’s will?”
Darcy refused to be drawn into an argument with Mrs. Younge. Instead, he sat in silence for a few moments to contemplate developments. Mrs. Younge sipped her tea and assumed a more relaxed posture, feeling secure that her appeal to his sense of justice had been successful.
“Mrs. Younge,” said Darcy, “there appears to be only one person left in this whole business who can identify George Wickham’s true father: Miss Ellen Glennie. Have you determined her whereabouts? Wickham has told me that he is uncertain if she is still alive.”
“Yes, Mr. Wickham must have told you that to heighten your suspense. I began searching for her as soon as I learned her stage name: Holly Doolittle. After visiting one dance hall after another, following one blind close after another, I finally discovered an old friend of hers at the Palladium, and she told me where the mother could be found.”
“Are you at liberty to share her address?” asked Darcy sardonically. “Perhaps we can settle this whole matter before the day’s end.”
“Oh, finding her will be no problem at all, Mr. Darcy, but obtaining the information you seek will be impossible. I am sorry, but Ellen Glennie succumbed to rheumatic fever five years ago, and now lies near the plum tree in the St. James cemetery.”
“Yes, very sorry indeed.…I can see that plainly,” said Darcy and sighed. The person who was his best and last means of establishing the truth was in the grave.
“You can go and see for yourself, Mr. Darcy, if you cannot take my word for it.”
Darcy rose slowly and prepared to take his leave. “I have every intention of verifying your information. As it appears that we have exhausted your supply of facts, we are now both free to resume our happy separate lives. I thank you, Mrs. Younge, for the forthright manner in which you shared your intelligence. I extend to you my earnest wish that you may be doubly successful in extracting from Mr. Wickham what he seeks to extract from me.”
Mrs. Younge curtsied and smiled in appreciation of the delicate articulation of his suppressed rage. “Do you intend to write Mr. Wickham soon and settle this matter, Mr. Darcy?” she asked as he retrieved his walking stick, which he had left by the door.
“Yes, in due time, Mrs. Younge, in due time. But first I wish to interview Holly Doolittle’s friend at the Palladium. Whom should I inquire after?”
“Miss Elsie Callooh, sir, but I’m quite certain that she will be unable to add anything to what I have already told you.”
Darcy nodded good day, and then walked briskly out the door toward his waiting carriage.
Chapter 7—Illumination
Elizabeth’s letter awaited him on the foyer table of the Darcys’ London home. He opened it eagerly.
William, my dear,
Please write soon and tell me that your search has met with every imaginable success. You need not worry about any anxiety on my part, for I have been far too busy collecting barrels of tar and bales of feathers to ensure that when Wickham takes his final leave from Pemberley, he will ride in warm and comfortable luxury.
Your lady in waiting,
Elizabeth
Darcy grinned as he placed the letter on the writing desk. He washed away the grime of the day, dressed in fresh clothes, and sat down to enjoy a solitary dinner of savory lamb and exquisite Bordeaux. Darcy felt sufficiently rejuvenated to reconsider the progress of his investigation. He wrote his beloved wife a detailed description of what he had learned and expressed dismay that an unfavorable resolution seemed to be imminent. He closed by restating his intention to see the matter through, having not yet given up hope of returning to Pemberley with better news a few days hence.
In late afternoon the following day, Darcy went to the Palladium Theater. After several false turns in the cluttered backstage hallways, he finally knocked on the door of Miss Elsie Callooh. A gracious woman of not more than five and f
orty greeted him. Darcy introduced himself and stated the purpose of his call. She expressed surprise at being approached twice within a fortnight to discuss Holly Doolittle, but she was pleased nonetheless. She admitted him to her dressing chamber and removed a pile of costumes from a chair to make accommodation. As there was less than an hour remaining before the next curtain call, she attended to preparations at her dressing table while she conversed. If Darcy felt any discomfort about the impropriety of the situation, her easy manner soon dispelled it. She loved to laugh and tell tales, especially those involving her dear lost friend.
Talking was indeed her forte—she had an amazing capacity for continuous, animated speech with little apparent need for drawing breath. Before Darcy even had the opportunity to inquire, he was treated to her entire early history with Ellen Glennie—their childhood friendship in Edinburgh, their early hardscrabble days in the Scottish theater circuit, and their running off together to London a few years later to escape the disapprobation of their families. He was about to inquire about the birth of Glennie’s son when a calico cat jumped down, unannounced, from the armoire onto Darcy’s shoulder and began swatting at a swaying curl of his hair. Darcy stiffened involuntarily at the shock; upon comprehending the situation, he burst into laughter.
“No, Reddy! No!” scolded Miss Callooh loudly. “Off his head, Red Queen. You do not belong on the gentleman. Come down at once!”
The cat showed no inclination toward obedience, but before the woman could walk over to retrieve her pet, Darcy picked up the cat and placed her on his lap.
“Please forgive Reddy, Mr. Darcy. She’s a good cat, but a bit naughty. Perhaps that’s why we get along so well.”
Darcy pretended not to hear her overture. “Oh, there is no need for concern, ma’am; no harm at all was done.” He stroked the cat gently, soon setting her purring. The lull in the conversation provided just the opening he wanted.
“Miss Callooh, what I desire most to learn are the particulars surrounding the birth of Miss Glennie’s son, Sylvester. What can you tell me about the boy’s father?”
“I can only repeat what I told Mrs. Younge a few weeks ago,” she replied. “Holly entertained many gentlemen in her time, and most of them I have quite forgotten, but him I remember well. He was tall, dark haired, and only a wee bit out of trim, but not more so than your average man of means. Almost every weekend for about six months, the gentleman was her steady companion. He seemed to treat Holly well enough—the model of attention, really, always bringing her flowers and expensive presents; but sometimes he would act strangely silly, rather like a giddy overgrown schoolboy, and that used to annoy us all. Once he joined us after attending A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the theatre down the block, and he brayed for several minutes straight, pretending to be an ass. Everyone found his performance convincing.”
This portrait shocked Darcy and started him wondering. He had never seen his father act in such a ridiculous manner. He muttered to himself in disbelief.
“As for the gentleman’s name,” continued the actress, “I only knew him by his Christian name. Holly always called him Sir Edward.”
Upon hearing his father’s name, Darcy sagged into the chair. His fears had been realized. Surely, there could be little cause for him to further doubt the truth, but he wanted to learn the whole of it.
“Miss Callooh, permit me to ask frankly. Did Miss Doolittle ever express any doubts to you about the paternity of her child? Was she entertaining anyone else while Sir Edward was her escort?”
“No, Mr. Darcy, Holly was a good woman, she was. She entertained only one gentleman friend at a time, and she told me herself that Sir Edward was the father of the boy.”
“How did Sir Edward receive the news?” asked Darcy. “It must have been an unwelcome surprise.”
“Indeed, sir, so it was. As soon as he found out that she was with child, he left straightaway. I never laid eyes on him again after that.”
“He disappeared?” Darcy could not hide his surprise. “But he stood by her and the child at the solicitors and provided for them both.…Did Miss Doolittle ever tell you about what happened at the meeting?”
“No, she never did, but I assumed that Sir Edward was there. She said she badly wanted to tell me about the meeting, but the terms of the settlement demanded her complete silence on the matter. I only knew that she returned without the child, much to her satisfaction, as it was very difficult to care for a baby backstage. She simply said that a kindly couple had agreed to adopt the boy; that is all I know. I never pried for details. But I do know that she must have frightened Sir Edward considerably to make him appear with her at the solicitor’s office.”
Darcy slowly shook his head at the discrepancy between her description of Sir Edward and Mr. Leach’s description of the same man. “How exactly did she manage to frighten him?” he asked.
“Well, sir, Holly was furious to be abandoned in her time of need. After a late performance one night, she passed out while descending some stairs. Sir Edward caught her, but not before she had severely injured her ankle and back, incapacitating her for months. She could never dance after that, so she became an actress instead. Several weeks after she was laid up, she discovered that she was with child. Sir Edward denied all responsibility. She laughed at him and quickly disabused him of that notion. He ran, the coward. After the child was born, Holly was low on funds, not having worked in the previous months. She had pawned all the jewelry given by her gentleman callers, and her friends helped out as best they could, but it was not enough. Holly was too proud to go back to her family for support, and things were turning a bit desperate. She decided to visit the offices of Slithy and Bandersnatch and had them write a letter to the gentleman, requesting a conference. The solicitors managed to convince Sir Edward that it would be in his best interests to live up to his new responsibilities.”
“And so we arrive at the happy meeting where the boy was transferred to his new family,” noted Darcy wearily, “and so it appears that I have reached the end of this promising road.”
After some moments of agitated reflection, he began pacing the floor. He tightened his right hand into a fist and slammed it into his open left hand. “Damn!” he cried. “Damn these circumstances! If only there were some conclusive…some unique artifact of his among Miss Doolittle’s effects that could once and for all prove the gentleman’s identity.”
The startled actress stopped primping by the mirror and turned to view him. They looked at each other in silence. She slowly broke into abroad smile. “That’s it, Mr. Darcy! That’s it!” she cried as she grabbed him in a smothering hug. The close proximity of her feather boa to his nose made it impossible for him to suppress a sneeze.
He recovered quickly. “What is it, Miss Callooh? What have you remembered?”
“His walking stick, Mr. Darcy. His fancy blackthorn walking stick!” she answered excitedly. “When Holly took her tumble, her ankle injury did not at first appear to be as grievous as it actually was. Sir Edward loaned her his walking stick to make it easier for her to hobble around. He never came back to retrieve it; I remember seeing it used as a prop in some of our productions.”
Darcy’s spirits picked up immediately. After trudging through a desert of lost hope, he had finally reached a small oasis. “What did the stick look like? What became of it?” he asked excitedly. “Is it still here?”
“Holly used to keep it right here, in this room. It was ever so exquisitely carved—it had a goose head as a handle.” Elsie began looking about the room; Darcy eagerly joined in the search. “Holly and I shared this room during the last years of her life, and I distinctly remember seeing it…Hmm…I wonder what became of it…I remember! She gave it to Freddie!”
“Freddie?” asked Darcy.
“Frederick Eiesvor-Hil,” she replied. “He was a dilettante who got his jollies by hanging around with the theater crowd. He was smitten with Holly’s great beauty, and acted rather like a puppy. He would wait in the street outsid
e her door, just so he could accompany her to the theater. Holly grew quite annoyed by his unceasing attentions and finally refused to have anything more to do with him. Then Freddie’s mother put her foot down and threatened to cut off his inheritance if he persisted in squandering his life on such a futile endeavor. So he reluctantly kept his distance from Holly, ever the heartbroken bachelor, although he did attend every one of her opening performances. His flame for her never completely died; during her last year of her life, when she took ill, he returned to her side and devoted himself to her care. I recollect seeing him walk with that cane at her funeral.”
“And what became of Freddie?” asked Darcy. “Do you know where I might contact him?”
“No, I don’t have his address, if that’s what you mean; but I do know where you might find him.”
Darcy arched an eyebrow.
“I’ll wager that he visits Holly’s grave at least once a week, the poor lost soul. I’ve seen him there when I’ve had occasion to stop by.”
The Road to Pemberley Page 34
