The Second Mrs Darcy (23 page)

“Yes.”

“I wonder if he is married, he did not mention a wife. I shall find out easily enough.”

“Why are you interested?” said Octavia with a flash of suspicion; surely Lady Susan wasn't turning matchmaker, that would be quite out of character.

“Not for you, he would not do for you. But did you see the way Sophronia looked at him? Sophronia knows a vigorous man when she sees one, that's clear. Good heavens, though, a banker, quite out of her world.”

Octavia was laughing. “You build a great deal upon a look.”

“I am right, you will see. I have an unerring instinct for such matters. Lord, if it came to anything, what would Sholto say? My goodness, we may be in for some fun!”

Octavia was taken aback by Lady Susan's words. “There is no reason for them to become further acquainted.”

“There is every reason. He has already found out where she spends Christmas. I'll wager my new silk stockings that he remembers a friend or relation in Hertfordshire. We haven't seen the last of Mr. Forsyte. Is his brother like him?”

“Not in appearance, no. Nor does he have, what shall I call it, the masculine energy of this Mr. Forsyte. I fancy they are alike in intellect and strength of character, however.”

“Good heavens, Mr. Wilkinson,” said Octavia, who hadn't expected a visit from her lawyer, and was taken aback by his grave looks.

“Come into the library,” she said. “You will be surprised, I dare say, that I have a library, but it is quite my favourite room; in the evening, with the curtains drawn and a good fire in the hearth, I love to sit here and read.”

She was talking almost at random, simply to fill the space with words, for she could see that Mr. Wilkinson had something important to say, and by the look of him, it wasn't good news.

“Mrs. Darcy, I have come myself to— Upon my word, I hardly know how to begin.”

“Pray, take a seat,” said Octavia, sitting down herself on a seat near the fire.

Mr. Wilkinson did not sit, but stood before the window, his impassive countenance stirred by something approaching emotion.

“Are you acquainted with one Lieutenant Gresham?”

“Why, yes. He was a fellow officer of my husband, indeed, Lieutenant Gresham was with him when he died. He accompanied him on that fateful expedition; like Captain Darcy, he was a keen naturalist.”

“Ah, well, that at least is true. Now, as to the exact date of your husband's tragic death, was that solely based on the word of Lieutenant Gresham?”

Octavia looked at him uncomprehendingly. “What do you mean? What are you saying?” Her heart was thumping and her throat was dry; what had happened to make Mr. Wilkinson look like this?

“To put it in a nutshell, the late Captain Darcy's cousin and heir, Mr. Warren, has made a claim on the estate of your great-aunt, Mrs. Worthington.”

“George Warren?” Octavia felt nothing but relief. “There is some mistake, Mr. Warren has nothing to do with my family, with the Worthingtons, nothing at all.”

“I mentioned when you first came to my office that it was fortunate that your husband predeceased Mrs. Worthington. Otherwise it might be possible that your inheritance would form part of his estate. And that is precisely what Mr. Warren is maintaining.”

Octavia frowned, trying to make sense of what Mr. Wilkinson was saying. “How can he, when Captain Darcy died before my aunt?”

“Ah, that is where the situation has changed. Lieutenant Gresham is back in England, and he has now sworn an affidavit saying that Captain Darcy died not on the fifteenth of April, but ten days later, on the twenty-fifth of April.”

Octavia's mind was in a whirl. “On the twenty-fifth?”

“Mrs. Worthington died on the twenty-first of April.”

“Even so, how can he claim my great-aunt's estate? It was left to me, and he has no connection with the family, none whatsoever.”

“In law, a wife can hold no property, no assets of any kind. It belongs to her husband. If your husband were still alive when your great-aunt died, it is possible that your inheritance should form part of his estate.”

“Why does Lieutenant Gresham come forward now with this change of date?”

“I will be blunt. He says that you paid him to say that your husband died on April fifteenth.”

“And why should I do any such thing?”

“In order to inherit.”

“But I had no idea that I had a great-aunt, let alone that I was her
heir! I had no notion that she had ever existed, until the lawyer in Calcutta told me, and how, therefore, was I supposed to know when she died?”

“Can you prove it?”

Octavia stared at the lawyer. How could you prove that you didn't know something?

“This is a serious business, Mrs. Darcy. Firstly, the whole of your inheritance is at stake. Secondly, to have bribed Lieutenant Gresham would make you liable for a criminal charge—”

“A criminal charge? You cannot be serious.”

“Mrs. Darcy, the situation is one of the utmost seriousness.”

This was a scheme devised by George Warren; it must be. He had found his inheritance paltry in comparison to her huge fortune, and so had worked out this way of depriving her of it. The audacity of his plan took her breath away. She knew the truth, but who would believe her? Did Mr. Wilkinson believe her?

She took a deep breath. “Lieutenant Gresham arrived in Calcutta with the news of my husband's death. He was clear as to the date, he never, at any time, revised the date he gave me, and told others. Indeed, a memorial plaque was put up to my husband in the cathedral, and there it was, April the fifteenth.”

“That is no proof of anything. He says he very much regrets taking the bribe from you, and now that he is back in England he is eager to right the wrong.”

“Very convenient for Mr. Warren.”

“He claims never to have met Mr. Warren. He ascertained who the lawyers were who handled your husband's affairs, and says that he went straight to them to make a clean breast of it.”

Octavia's eyes were alight with anger. “It is all a monstrous farrago of lies,” she cried. “Don't you see that Mr. Warren has put him up to this? Mr. Warren is the man handing out bribes, not me!”

“I am inclined to agree with you,” said Mr. Wilkinson. “Mr. Warren does not have a good reputation; however, his father sits in the Lords, he has what one might call a position in society, he denies having ever had any contact with Lieutenant Gresham, says the first he
knew about the matter was when his lawyers were in touch with him.”

“Dear God, what am I to do?” An old feeling of helplessness threatened to overcome her, but she pushed it away; this was not a time for any weakness. “What will happen?”

“Mr. Warren is inclined to be generous. For your acknowledging his entitlement to the inheritance, he offers to grant you a handsome annuity.”

“He offers me a small portion of what is rightfully mine, and calls it generous! I think not.”

“Then he will take the matter to law, and I am afraid that will be a slow and expensive business.”

Octavia was thinking. “I wonder if Lieutenant Gresham's story can be challenged by anyone in India? It will have to be more than his word in such a case as this.”

“I hope so, for if that is what it comes to, the word of a naval officer of good standing will count for a good deal.”

“Whereas I am nothing but a scheming widow,” Octavia said bitterly.

“I shall send to India for information, and at once,” said the lawyer. “It cannot be quick, however, for even with the overland route, we are talking many weeks. And meanwhile—”

“Meanwhile?”

“Mr. Warren's lawyers will make it impossible for you to continue to enjoy the use of your inheritance.”

“What do you mean?”

“Control of your fortune passes into the hands of the lawyers. You will be allowed a small income, perhaps, but otherwise—”

“Otherwise?”

Her house, her new life, her income, her plans, all in ruins, all because of a lie, a falsehood, that might be upheld by the slow processes of an indifferent justice.

Justice indeed.

“I will fight this every inch of the way, Mr. Wilkinson.”

He allowed himself a thin smile. “You are right to do so. If you
want my personal opinion, I think you have the right of it, and Mr. Warren is at the bottom of this. However, I most strongly advise you never to say so, for Mr. Warren is of a litigious disposition, and you might find yourself facing an additional charge of slander. Leave it to others to blacken his name; I think you will find that they will do so, he is not greatly liked, from what I hear.”

After he had gone, Octavia sat in the library, staring into the fire, unable to face Lady Susan and the inevitable questions.

As it turned out, she had no need to tell Lady Susan; another visitor had braved the fog, and brought this exciting piece of gossip with him.

“Snipe Woodhead was here,” Lady Susan said. “Coming with the news and wanting to weasel his way into my confidence. He said that George Warren, that despicable man, has laid claim to your fortune, and also that you will be had up on a charge of bribery and corruption and false pretences and heaven knows what else.”

“Witchcraft, I shouldn't be surprised,” said Octavia. “Dear God, Susan, what am I to do? I shall be virtually penniless, we can't stay in this house, it seems—”

Lady Susan took it all very calmly. “I am quite used to reversal of fortune, you know, and let us trust that this will only be a temporary one. Why must we leave this house?”

“Because I shall have no money to pay the servants' wages, to keep up the house. And as for expenses I have already incurred, but have not had the bills for, I don't know what will happen about those.”

Octavia, tears stinging her eyes, hardly took notice of what Lady Susan was saying. Alice came, smelling salts were wafted under her nose, making her eyes run, but clearing her head.

“Susan, where are you going?”

For Lady Susan was directing the butler to have the carriage brought round.

“I am going to pay a call on Caroline Warren. She is the only person who has any influence on that dreadful son of hers. No, I will not be able to convince her that she should persuade him to withdraw the
case, she will be cock a hoop at the prospect of George getting his hands on such an immense fortune. But I shall make her put pressure on him to moderate his lawyers' demands, so that at least you may keep this roof over your head. Our heads, as it happens.”

“Will she listen to you?”

“I know things about Mr. Warren's private life that she and he would much prefer were not made public. Don't fret, it isn't honourable or ladylike, but it will be effective. In a prize-fight, you know, the gloves must come off!”

It was Sophronia who brought Lord Rutherford's attention to Octavia's plight. He had been out of town, visiting Rutherford Castle before going on to stay with friends in Scotland. He had returned to London in a gloomy mood, which wasn't at all lightened by a note from Lady Langton demanding his company that evening, and decided instead to drive straight down to Netherfield House.

“Warren has laid claim to her fortune?” he said to Sophronia. “And everything is now in the hands of the lawyers? Well, there could not be a worse place for it to be. I pity Mrs. Darcy. To go from being a poor widow to a female Croesus and back to penury in the space of a few short months must be taxing to the spirit.”

Sophronia was not deceived by his air of indifference. She had noticed the sudden alertness when she had mentioned Octavia's name.

“I have invited Mrs. Darcy and Susan to join us at Netherfield for Christmas,” she went on.

“You have, have you? I suppose Susan will make a happy addition to our theatricals. Well, I gave you free rein with the invitations. Tell me whom else I shall have the honour of entertaining over the festive season?”

Sophronia handed him the list, and he ran his eye over it.

“I didn't invite the Langtons,” Sophronia said calmly. “I thought you would not wish it.”

He gave her a quizzical look.

“Besides,” she went on, “I do not care for Kitty, as you know. She has a voice that trills; there are enough birds in our house without having her chirrup, chirrup, all day long.”

Sholto had to laugh, and he raised a hand to acknowledge the hit.

“And,” with a sidelong glance, “I have not invited Eliza, although she has been angling for an invitation.”

This time there was a long silence. Then Sholto said, “Philip has not been in his grave these three weeks, and she wants to come to Netherfield for Christmas? It's hardly seemly.”

“Eliza never was seemly. I lied to her,” Sophronia said matter-of-factly. “I wrote and said you were only going to be here for a few days and would be spending the rest of the time in Yorkshire. Eliza does not care for Yorkshire.”

“Nonsense, she cares for anywhere she may live in state,” said Rutherford abruptly. “I am sorry for Philip. I liked him, but with that terrible wound he received in Spain, he was never going to make old bones. And now Eliza…” He paused and looked into the flames.

“Is hoping to pick up the threads of your long friendship,” Sophronia said drily.

“Just so.”

“Now, as to the theatricals,” Sophronia said, changing the subject abruptly. “The ballroom will be the best for our stage, unless we are to have a dance.”

Sholto followed his sister into the pretty ballroom, ghostly now, with its crystal chandeliers swathed in muslin and the floor squeaky with sand.

“Perhaps we should have a dance,” said Sholto, almost to himself. “Will many families be in the country for Christmas?”

“Yes, but we shall take a party to the assembly in Meryton, that will be enough dancing, I suppose. And if not, if our guests want to dance, why, there is room in the drawing room for five or six couples.”

“Have you decided on our play?”

“Why, yes. I am in the mood for Shakespeare this year. We are to put on
Twelfth Night
.”

“Very appropriate.”

“Isn't it?”

It was a family tradition, theatricals at Christmas, although for several years now, Rutherford had avoided Chauntry, unwilling to foist its inconveniences on more than a few guests who might be prepared to put up with the cold, the damp, the smoking chimneys, the animals. But Netherfield was much more comfortable; the house could accommodate twenty guests with ease.

“Who is to play Orsino?” Sholto asked.

“Why, you, dear brother, of course. And I hope Susan will oblige with Olivia. Poyntz, who is among those invited, of course, has agreed to take the part of Malvolio, while our neighbour Mr. Harrison will be Andrew Aguecheek.”

“And Viola? Will you play Viola?”

“I am too old for Viola, and as you know, I prefer to be behind the scenes, as players say. I will organise, and chivvy, but I shall not act. Charlotte Goulding might do, she is just of an age.”

“But not a natural actress.”

“No, however, she will do as her mama tells her. She will be among friends, so will not find taking a role beyond her powers.”

After they had dined, they went into the library, a handsome room with more comfortable chairs than in the drawing room. A roaring fire kept away the wintry chill, and they settled themselves in front of it.

Sholto watched his sister's face, warmed by the glow of a crackling log fire. Damn it, why had she never married? He had been remiss to let her stay to look after their mother. A companion could have been found, and no one could pretend that Lady Rutherford would be bothered to lose the company of her daughter, provided it did not inconvenience her.

Sophronia looked up at him with the blue eyes that were an uncanny reflection of his own, both in colour, and in the glint of humour that lurked there.

“I know what you are thinking, brother.”

“You so often do,” he said, sitting back and closing his eyes.

“It is not unusual to reach the age of five-and-thirty without meeting the man one wishes to marry. I am more fortunate than most women, I am in no danger of being forced to scrape a living for myself, I have all the ease and comfort and company I could wish. Unlike Mrs. Darcy, if Warren succeeds in wresting her fortune from her.”

“What is the basis of his claim? I had understood the inheritance came from her own family, not through her marriage.”

“I am not sure of all the details, but it is more than a dispute over a will; she is accused of bribery, and the buzz around town is that she may face a trial.”

Rutherford sat up, his ease quite gone. “Trial? What trial? What are you saying?”

“She is supposed to have bribed a naval officer to lie about the date of her husband's death. She denies it, of course, is horrified at the very idea.”

“It is impossible, she is not a woman to scheme and manipulate and lie, anyone with half their wits can see that. If any bribery has been done, you may be sure Warren is at the bottom of it.”

“You are right, of course. Warren would bribe the dark gentleman himself to get his hands on a fortune half the size of Mrs. Darcy's,” said Sophronia. “He is up to some wickedness, you may be sure of it.”

“Who is this naval officer? Why has it taken this long for Warren to come up with this preposterous accusation?”

“One Lieutenant Gresham. He was with Christopher Darcy when he died. He has been at sea ever since, only just returned to this country. That is what Warren says.”

“Lieutenant Gresham? Never heard of him.”

“He is one of the Suffolk Greshams. The younger son of a younger son. I don't suppose your paths have ever crossed. He went to sea when he was twelve, he has no influence, he will never be more than a lieutenant. Particularly now with this scandal hanging over him; the navy does not care for that kind of thing among their officers. If Warren bribed him, he must have paid him a princely sum.
Which he can afford to do, if he can wrench her fortune from Mrs. Darcy.”

Rutherford was prowling up and down the room. He stopped and turned on his heel. “What does this Gresham look like?”

“I have no idea. I have never set eyes on him. You sound annoyed, Sholto. Why?”

“I can't stand Warren. And it will be hard for Mrs. Darcy, to lose her fortune.”

“She hasn't lost it yet. I would put her down as a fighter.”

“Oh, I am sure she will not give in so meekly, but the law will not be on her side. The judges, if it comes to that, will take a man's word against a woman's, and in their minds will be the thought that such an enormous fortune will be much better in the hands of a man. It is a pity she has not married again, she could have had the pick of a dozen men, she has had half the men in London at her feet.”

“All after her money,” said Sophronia cynically.

“Perhaps not, she is hardly squint-eyed or in any way disagreeable. She likes to have her own way, men do not like that,” he said shortly.

They sat in silence, watching the fire, Sholto still not quite at his ease, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair.

“You should marry, Sholto,” Sophronia said. “It is time you finished with Kitty Langton, she is beginning to bore you, and what is the point of setting up another mistress, when you should be thinking of the title and an heir? Besides, if you aren't careful, Eliza will have you. Is there no one you might fall in love with, no woman who tugs at your heartstrings?”

“Like you, Sophronia, I do not deal much in love. It is an overvalued commodity.” He stood up and went over to the fire to kick a log back into place, then leant his tall frame against the marble fireplace. “I am thinking of offering for Charlotte Goulding.”

“Charlotte? Are you sure—?” She checked herself. “She is a very lovely girl.”

“Oh, as for that …”

“She is very young.”

“As are all the debutantes.”

“Her parents will be exultant, but do you care for her, or she for you?”

“We will understand one another. She will learn my ways, she is a biddable girl. No, don't look like that, Sophronia. Left to my own inclination, I wouldn't marry, but then Cousin Phineas would inherit the title, or that idiotic son of his, and I don't relish the prospect.”

“If he should inherit, you won't be around to know about it.”

“Very true. Should you like to have Charlotte for a sister?”

“No,” said Sophronia. “She is a feather-brained creature. And I would have said a domestic one, who would be happiest running a neat little household. I suppose she will accustom herself to a political life in London and learn to take on the responsibilities that go with becoming a countess. However, you don't marry to please me, and you won't care what Mama says. Let me propose a better idea. Why don't you marry Octavia Darcy? You need not care whether she has a fortune or not, you are so rich it doesn't matter.”

Rutherford was examining the shiny surface of his boot. “I can't think what put such a ridiculous notion into your head. Even if—I dare say she would not have me. You will find that she has other plans, I think. Or did have, before this blow. I have no wish to marry her, in any case, we only meet to disagree.”

“That would make for a livelier marriage than with Charlotte.”

“I'm not looking for liveliness. Octavia Darcy! When I wanted her, I'd find she was off galloping about the countryside, and when I hoped for soothing agreement to my opinion of some political issue, she would argue every inch of the way. Captain Darcy was a braver man than I am.”

“He was in love with her.”

“And she with him,” Rutherford said impatiently. “I do not think she is hanging out for another husband.”

“Hanging out, indeed! How vulgar you are, brother. And she liked Captain Darcy well enough, but she was never in love with him.”

Rutherford gave her a frowning look. “You do say the most extraordinary things, how can you possibly know that?”

“From Susan,” said Sophronia.

“Lady Susan,” he said in tones of strong displeasure, “should keep her mouth shut and her tongue from wagging.”

Sophronia retired early, leaving Rutherford to prowl about the public rooms, finally settling with a book in the library and a fine old brandy to soothe his nerves. Then he called for his candle and went upstairs to his bedchamber, where his slumbers were disturbed not by visions of Charlotte's beautiful face and figure, but by a tall graceful woman with no claim to beauty beyond eyes that a man could drown in.

And, just as he was falling asleep, by the memory of the stranger at the inn on the road from Oxford.