Page 80

Rosings

27 th March, 1818

“Mr. Darcy,” the butler announced, his expression and tone relieved.

Anne de Bourgh, who had been miserably staring out of the window of the parlor, leaped to her feet and rushed over to her cousin.

“Oh, Darcy!” she wailed and burst into tears.

Darcy had not been married for five years without learning something about distressed women. He carefully put his arms around his slender cousin and held her close to his broad chest.

“It will be all right, Anne.”

The lady sobbed for a few minutes before withdrawing, her face ashamed, “I am sorry, Darcy. I am tired and ...”

“You have had a terrible shock,” Darcy said quickly, handing her a large and clean handkerchief. “Please do sit down. May we have some tea, please?”

“Of course,” the butler assured them, his whole body relaxing. He was honored to be the butler of Rosings, but the events of the last week had been quite overwhelming.

“I truly cannot believe you are already here, Darcy,” Anne admitted, wiping her eyes carefully. “I thought there was no way you could arrive for at least another two days given the distance.”

“The express arrived three days ago, and I spent a day preparing before I raced across the country on my best horse. Mr. Collins will be arriving in a few days by carriage.”

“You came on horseback, Darcy? I do hope you are not chilled! It is still quite cold, especially in the mornings and evenings.”

“Do not worry about me. I am entirely well. What has happened in the last few days? Where is Mr. Martyn?”

Anne sank into a nearby chair and ran a shaking hand over her forehead, “Mr. Martyn is sleeping upstairs at my insistence. The wound he received at Mr. Ware’s hands is infected, and he is running a fever; thus he must rest. I am so tired, Darcy. Every day, the magistrates come with my mother and harangue me. So far, I have kept them from taking Alexander away to jail but it takes everything I have in me. Mother is ... I believe she is insane.”

Darcy nodded kindly to the maid who entered with a tea tray, and quickly prepared a cup of tea with plenty of sugar, which he handed to his cousin.

“I want you to drink all of this, Anne, and then we can talk. Have you been eating?”

“Not enough,” his cousin admitted, and drank down the sweet liquid with pleasure.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Darcy gently began again, “Anne, what of Lady Catherine?”

“She claims that Mr. Martyn deliberately attacked and murdered Mr. Ware without provocation, and that I am protecting Alexander because I am a weak minded idiot. Mr. Ashbrook is the stronger willed magistrate and I believe he would have hauled Alexander off to imprisonment if my fiancé was not injured. Mr. Ashbrook has ...”

She trailed off and shook her head, tears gathering again.

“What has he done?” Darcy demanded in a dangerous tone.

“He wants to marry me,” Anne explained haltingly. “He says that all charges will be dropped if I agree to his offer. Mother is behind it all, of course, and pressures me daily to wed the man in spite of the fact that I am engaged to Mr. Martyn! My mother and Ashbrook have cooked up some plot between them; he will marry me and gain the wealth of Rosings, and Mother will regain some of her power over the estate. Mr. Mudgley, the other magistrate, seems more spineless than anything else, but he refuses to stand up for me or Alexander.”

Darcy’s face grew quite thunderous, and he leaped to his feet, striding back and forth, struggling to contain his anger.

“Are all of Lady Catherine’s lackeys, fools or reprobates?”

Anne laughed a little shakily, “I assume that is a rhetorical question?”

He grimaced and straightened his spine, “Anne, you have done marvelously well in standing firm during this terrible situation, but now I beg you to retire to your chambers. I will enjoy dealing with the magistrates and Lady Catherine.”

***

“Mr. Ashbrook and Mr. Mudgley, sir,” the butler announced in a disapproving tone before withdrawing and shutting the sitting room door behind him.

Darcy turned away from the window and glared down at the two men who had just entered. Both were of average height and about thirty years of age, but there the resemblance ended. Mr. Ashbrook was dark blond with crystal clear blue eyes and remarkably handsome features, which were marred by his haughty expression. Mr. Mudgley had nearly black hair and eyes, his skin was swarthy, and his shoulders were hunched slightly.

“We need to speak to Miss de Bourgh,” Mr. Ashbrook stated imperiously. “Do us the kindness of summoning her immediately.”

Darcy took a step closer to the two men, his brow creased with anger and indignation, “Miss Anne de Bourgh is in bed with exhaustion. She has delegated me to deal with both of you, and I will have great pleasure in doing so. How dare you persecute her in this vile way, gentlemen? She was attacked by a mongrel of a man, and Mr. Alexander Martyn defended her with courage. Since that horrible day, you have come again and again to abuse her and threaten her savior with imprisonment, or worse. Again, I ask, how dare you?”

Mr. Ashbrook had been feeling quite confident until this moment. He knew that Miss de Bourgh was bone crushingly weary, and he had come to Rosings this morning hopeful that today she would be amenable to his marriage offer. It was obvious that she cared deeply for Mr. Martyn, and he thought the promise that the solicitor would not face charges would finally make her malleable to his suggestion, especially since Lady Catherine would be along shortly to pressure her daughter to fall in with their plans.

“Who are you?” Ashbrook demanded, lifting his chin to stare into the taller man’s eyes. “Mr. Mudgley and I are the local magistrates, given the responsibility by our King himself to administer justice. Mr.Alexander Martyn is under suspicion of committing cold blooded murder …”

“I am Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, sir,” Darcy interrupted in a frigid tone, “cousin to Miss de Bourgh and nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. What you say is slanderous! Mr. Gabriel Ware attacked my cousin, and only Mr. Martyn’s noble intervention protected her from great harm.”

“Mr. Ware was a clergyman,” Ashbrook returned with a show of indignation. “It is quite impossible that such a man would attack a gentlewoman. Obviously Mr. Martyn waylaid the rector and murdered him, and convinced Miss de Bourgh, a persuadable woman, to fall in with his story …”

“Absolute nonsense!” Darcy thundered, his eyes enraged. “How dare you claim my cousin is lying? You have seen the report on Mr. Ware’s previous life, have you not? He was a reprobate, a deceiver, a schemer, and a seducer! Clergyman or no, he was an outright villain, and his death, while regrettable, was the result of his own evil desire to take revenge on the woman who stripped him of his post as rector of Hunsford.”

Mr. Mudgley, who was noticeably wilting at these words, stammered out, “Lady Catherine assured us that the report about Mr. Ware was a forgery created by Mr. Martyn.”

“I hired the investigators myself to delve into the background of Mr. Ware, who was installed illegally by my aunt, Lady Catherine, due to a forged codicil that kept my cousin from taking ownership of Rosings three years ago. I studied the details of the report and sent my cousin a warning to avoid Ware as I knew he was a vile man. Lady Catherine is a foolish old woman who is enraged because she lost control of Rosings. I warn you, sirs, that if you continue on this mad course, I will do everything in my power to thwart you! My cousin has suffered enough without this idiocy. My uncle, the Earl of Matlock, is on his way here from his estate in Staffordshire, and when he hears of your persecution of his niece, I do not think he will be pleased with either one of you.”

The two magistrates exchanged panicked glances at these words.

“We apologize profusely,” Mr. Ashbrook said quickly, bowing his head meekly. “We were mistaken in our analysis of the situation.”

“Yes, you were,” Darcy continued grimly. “Now go. I do not wish to see you on Rosings grounds again. If you need further details, send a messenger and I will meet you at Hunsford.”

“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” the two men chorused, and fled.

***

Lady Catherine de Bourgh alighted majestically from her carriage and trod toward the entrance of Rosings, only to stop in astonishment at the sight of the tall gentleman standing outside the great wooden door of the most beautiful mansion in all of England.

“Darcy!” she cried out in amazement. “How did you come to be here?”

“Anne wrote me several days ago telling me of Mr. Ware’s attack and Mr. Martyn’s defense.”

Lady Catherine took a few more steps, her brow furrowed, her mind whirling. This was most unfortunate; Darcy was not easily managed.

“I am glad you are here,” she lied, climbing the rest of the stairs and stopping to peer into her nephew’s eyes. “Anne is quite hysterical, and it has been difficult to clearly determine what truly happened. I do not wish to be critical, Darcy, but the solicitor Mr. Martyn, whom you foisted on Anne, is a manipulative malefactor. Regrettably poor Anne is easily swayed, but it is clear what truly happened; Mr. Ware attempted to protect Anne and was murdered for his pains. But let us go inside to discuss the situation; the wind is cold.”

She waited for her nephew to open the door for her, but instead the gentleman deliberately moved so that his back was against the wood, his expression forbidding.

“You are not permitted in Rosings, Lady Catherine,” he declared icily. “You will return to the Dower House, and I will visit you when I am ready.”

She flushed now in outrage, “How dare you, sir? This is my home!”

“It is not your home, as you well know. Anne is mistress of Rosings and has forbidden you entrance, which was exceptionally wise of her given that you seemed determined to thwart her every desire. I know you saw the report regarding your former parson; he was a villain and a seducer, and I warned Anne myself to stay away from him. I assure you that Lord Matlock will not be pleased with your actions, and he is on his way here now. I intend to see that you can no longer do any harm to my cousin, and I am considering prosecuting your worm of a magistrate, Mr. Ashbrook, who sought to take advantage of the situation to wed the heiress to Rosings. Now go, Lady Catherine, or I will carry you.”

Even a year ago, the lady would have disregarded such a warning but she still remembered the humiliation of only a few months ago, when Mr. Alexander Martyn, curse him, had carried her out of Rosings at Anne’s command and thrown her into a carriage.

“My brother will agree with me,” she insisted in a shrill tone. “Anne is not fit to be mistress of Rosings. I must resume my rightful place!”

Darcy shook his head and took a menacing step toward the woman, causing her to flee.