Dear online friends, Happy April! Thank you for the lovely reviews at the completion of Fortune and Happiness. They are heart-warming!
I'm back with a ghost story, co-wrote with C.A. It has around 20 chapters. I will try to post every Sunday. But I'm not very happy with several sections so if there is any delay, do be patient with me. As always, I look forward to hearing your comments and speculation. They will help me revise the story. Happy reading and stay safe!
All rights are reserved. Please do not post it anywhere else or share it without my permission. Thank you. Cheers Enid, from sunny Sydney (finally!)
The Encumbrance of Mystery
CHAPTER ONE
The truth is that ghosts and their whisperers are all made of too much consequence and allowed to take too many liberties with their time.
Fitzwilliam Darcy alighted the carriage swiftly, the sole of his boots hitting the ground with a thud. He pulled his hand through his dark hair and stared at Pemberley. Nothing had changed in all the time he had been away. It looked the same. His home in Cardigan was very different from Pemberley. He knew that it would be another year with his father older. He sighed. Things would have gotten calmer now that his father was older, unlike when his father was all agile and young. He didn't know whether to be glad about coming home to see his parents or be a bit nervous. They constantly argued about what sort of bride he should take. His mother, he understood a bit. But with his father, Fitzwilliam did not understand why his father troubled himself so much. After all, he got a bride very late himself. Fitzwilliam's father, Mr George Darcy, hadn't been able to take his eyes off his mother since they got married. Some stated that their relationship was controversial, but Lady Anne Darcy couldn't care less.
The entrance door to the house opened. Two footmen approached and bowed after Reynolds, the family butler, for the past ten years stepped aside.
"Welcome home."
Fitzwilliam nodded. The footmen dealt with his trunks. Mr. Reynolds barely looked him in the eye, and it was a symbol of respect even though Fitzwilliam didn't like it very much. Fitzwilliam stuck his hands in his breeches' pocket and walked down the hallway slowly.
"Darcy." he heard.
He looked up to see Frank making his way over to him. Frank engulfed him in an embrace. Fitzwilliam closed his eyes and hugged his friend in return. He had missed him dearly. Frank Churchill, a family friend of the Darcy, had assumed Fitzwilliam's position upon his departure. And through the letters, Darcy knew that Frank had done well to care for his father and mother.
Fitzwilliam had been unable to keep any other close friend like Frank ever since he was a child. So his heart always longed for Frank's carefree way wherever he went. He knew Frank wouldn't miss the family dinner for anything, and Fitzwilliam had looked forward to seeing him. Frank was like the brother he never had.
Frank did not hide his feigned disappointment and anger when they pulled apart. "Why did it take you so long to come home to us?" Churchill asked.
"Well, if you had just told me you missed me. Wouldn't it have been so much better?"
Fitzwilliam cast his gaze away. He swallowed hard. He stared at Frank but said nothing.
"Well, Lady Anne missed you greatly, but she said not to tell you so you didn't get unnecessarily worried and come running"
"Thanks for standing by them," Fitzwilliam muttered, running his fingers through his hair again. His mother did know him well. He would have been frantic and distracted. He would have returned as soon as he could.
He walked past Churchill and headed towards the salon. His mother was often always there. She liked to sit on the chair, knitting and humming. While his father would sit opposite her, talking, drinking tea, and keeping her company. Fitzwilliam had a faraway look on him with his childhood memories.
"Lady Anne is in her bedchamber. She's been telling everyone you are coming back very soon. All the visitors have had an earful about your coming." Churchill said. Fitzwilliam smiled. That was so like his mother.
Churchill walked over to him and touched his shoulders. "Your father also did miss you. But I'm sure he'll try to act tough. You know how he is."
Fitzwilliam sighed. He was the one to know about how his parents were, especially when it came to him. He was their only child; who could blame them anyway?
"I shall await mother in the salon." he nodded. "Perhaps you would like to join me?"
Churchill's eyes brightened. Fitzwilliam had missed his friend so much. Frank slapped him on the back, and they walked into the salon together.
"Tell me about Wales, will you? "Churchill walked over and poured a scotch.
"Ah. It's a very different environment from this place," Fitzwilliam began.
"Aye, I'm sure it is. I mean, juicy details. Maybe even stories that would make me want to join you over there, you know."
"Looking after grandaunt's estate is an honour, you know; you should find your way there sometime soon."
Churchill handed him a glass of scotch. "I would go there when you can finally tell me the tales of beautiful women in Cardigan."
"I have better priorities, Churchill. I barely see anyone else." Fitzwilliam laughed, showing his dimples.
Churchill joined in too. They were so deep into their laughter that they did not hear the sound of slippers in the hallway. They were both lost in remembering childhood memories and laughing, to notice.
When Fitzwilliam looked up, he saw his mother standing by the door, her hand on her chest and her lips pulled up in a smile. Both men rose from their seats and walked over to her. She opened her arms wide so that they could both walk into it.
"Oh, Fitzwilliam..." she hugged them. "Frank."
When they pulled apart, they were all grinning. Lady Anne nodded. "Aye, so let me in on the joke. What has brought so much laughter?"
Fitzwilliam stared at his mother for a while. She was smiling, and although it reached her eyes, it was pretty apparent that she had been crying.
Lady Anne sat on the chair and said to him. "I'm glad you came home a bit earlier, Fitzwilliam; you must assume your responsibilities."
Fitzwilliam smiled. "I am well aware, mother."
"Splendid. Your Papa and I have been discussing this same thing before you arrived." Fitzwilliam looked over her shoulder. Maybe he could see his father soon.
They both nodded. Churchill relaxed in his seat. He grinned mischievously and faced Lady Anne. Fitzwilliam suspected what he intended to say to his mother, but he was too late to stop him.
"Lady Anne, Fitzwilliam says he spent all his time with women."
She shook her head. "Dear child."
"Mother..." Fitzwilliam tried to feign offence. While Frank was at ease with laughing. "That is not quite true. I worked hard around the estate, just like I promised, Mother."
"I am certain you did. Frank, stop trying to set your friend up."
"If only you had arrived earlier to hear Frank say such things, Mother. Do you not trust that I could never tell a lie to you?"
Her eyes were bright. "I trust that."
Lady Anne looked on in satisfaction. Fitzwilliam could tell that she was pleased that they were both there.
As though she recalled something, she raised her hands in the air.
"Ah...and as you are here now, I think it best that I say this."
They both sat up, eager to hear what she had to say. "I shan't have you walking around this estate like you have nothing better to do with your time, Frank."
"Mother, that is right. Frank is too idle!"
Churchill leaned against the couch he was on but said nothing. He only swatted away some imagined dust on the lapel of his fashionable jacket.
She turned towards Fitzwilliam. "And you, son, we shall discuss more pressing issues when your father arrives."
"Enough of that, Mother." Fitzwilliam shrugged his shoulders. "we shall further discuss that in due time." Fitzwilliam was aware of the discussion his mother wanted to bring up. About whom he shall marry and whom he shan't marry.
"I am glad that you are home, Fitzwilliam. But what's important has to be done in due time." Fitzwilliam's father, Mr. George Darcy, said as he walked in.
"Good day, Father," Fitzwilliam said as he arose.
"I'll go check if the remaining guests are getting along well," Churchill said and stood up to make his way out of the salon. Fitzwilliam knew that since they were children, Frank and George Darcy had never been well blended. Frank had always been the naughty one, and Fitzwilliam was the other quiet lad. However, Frank could never get along as much as he got along with Lady Anne.
"You do that," George Darcy said as he took a seat and sighed.
"How's Aberteifi Park, Son?" Aberteifi Park was the estate in Wales Fitzwilliam's grandaunt had left him.
"Great."
"I hope you've met women of good status over there."
"Er... I hear he's been spending his time without women at all." Lady Anne said.
"Is that true, Fitzwilliam?" His father snapped at him, and his mother grimaced.
Fitzwilliam expected something of such, but he hadn't expected his father to be so quick about his request.
"Father, I haven't been able to meet a lady of such importance yet?" He responded, unsure if that was the correct response he was supposed to give.
"Well, I've got someone who can befit that standard, you know. Someone that would make us all happy. Not just one person even, you can choose amongst about three to four of them," he concluded, smug with himself.
"I thought we already spoke about this, George. We concluded that our son shouldn't marry for the wrong reasons. He should get a bride solely because he wants to be with the person for the rest of his life," Lady Anne said and huffed.
"And what's your definition of the wrong reasons? There couldn't be any reason more right than the ones I've proffered."
"Fitzwilliam should get married only to the woman he loves, adores, and cherishes. He shouldn't have to make a decision he would regret all his life."
"No one married for love in our circle and I'm sure he can attest to that," George Darcy said and looked at Fitzwilliam, but Fitzwilliam didn't say anything. What exactly were they expecting him to say? It seemed like his parents had discussed and argued over the topic before he even got back, so he didn't know what to contribute. He wasn't even sure he wanted a bride just yet. He was just twenty-four years of age, after all.
"Love brought us this far, George, and you should never forget that," Lady Anne said, and his father sighed.
Lady Anne, in her younger days had been, in fact, a wonderful lady with the uncanny ability to make others find her pleasant or otherwise. She had a smart mouth, and although, she was usually of good behaviour, she was not one to hold her tongue when she saw something wrong. She attended the best private school and moved with people of high rank.
As she aged, she grew fond of George and found that a love match was crucial for one's happiness. She was of a respectable noble family in the north of England, a circumstance more deeply impressed on George's memories than hers.
Mr. George Darcy had always wanted more status than the riches he already had. However, Lady Anne, who was titled, had the upper hand in society.
"But you are aware I'm only doing this for our son's sake. I only want what's best for him." George stated.
"If you want what's best for him, you'd let him choose the bride he wants to choose at the right time. When he's sure, he's in love with the woman and wants to spend the rest of his life with her. Not because she's all mighty rich and well connected."
Fitzwilliam understood what the bone of contention was about. His father wanted him to get married for connections in society, while his mother was fine with him getting married to anyone, so long as he was in love with the lady. He agreed with his mother. He wanted his wife to be a friend, someone he could easily confide in, not a beauty with status that didn't know her right from her left, and more so, a woman who didn't have emotions for him.
"Papa and Mama, I understand that you both want what's best for me, but I'm not sure this is the right time to discuss matters this delicate. Or what do you think?" Fitzwilliam asked, trying to make his parents change the direction of the conversation. He was starting to get very uncomfortable.
"But this is the best time to discuss this, Fitzwilliam. There's no better time, Son. Time is no longer on your side. Even ours," George said, and his mother nodded like she supported what her husband said. "Especially ours."
Fitzwilliam had known his father would try to buttress his point instead of reasoning with him, and so he had prepared what to say in his head. He looked at both his parents with a dull expression.
"I don't particularly mean the timing. I mean the time. Look around; we have guests that need to be attended to. I haven't been able to greet anyone yet, and some guests would mistake that for me being without manners. I'm sure we don't want that, do we? Especially not if I'll be getting married into any of their families," Fitzwilliam added. He knew he had managed to swerve their mind. His parents were now left with no choice but to leave the argument.
"Aye, I'll let this go, but that's only because what you mentioned is right. We should get the dinner ready. However, we would continue this as soon as we are done with the festivity in the air." His father said.
"You should go greet your aunts, Fitzwilliam. They have been anticipating your arrival," Lady Anne said, and they all walked into the dining room.
Family gatherings like this were always so colourful and ridiculous. Asides from the banter, which seemed to be constant about family and marriage, everything else seemed extraordinary. Fitzwilliam found himself looking forward to it and anxious about it.
"You've gotten so big in just a year, Fitzwilliam," Lady Matlock said, and Fitzwilliam smiled. Of course, he did. She hadn't seen him in a year. He looked pretty much the same to himself, though.
Lady Matlock, formerly Augusta Hawkins, was the wife of Lady Anne's brother.
"You look much prettier yourself, Aunt," Fitzwilliam responded and took her hand.
"Oh, there you go again, flattering me at every chance you get," she said and chuckled.
"We all know Fitzwilliam is not doing that. You are more handsome than last year, milady." Frank jumped in.
"Let's hurry to the table, Boys. Before the food gets cold," she said.
He wouldn't want to keep the guests at the table waiting. That would not be polite of him.
"Yes, Aunt. You first," Fitzwilliam responded and bowed slightly.
They were all gathered around a huge table when he got into the grand dining room.
"What do you engage yourself in recently, Lady Matlock? Cards, maybe?" Asked Sir Lewis, brother-in-law to Lady Anne Darcy.
"Augusta prefers music to anything else. When she is not attending or hosting events, one will find her sitting behind the piano all the time. She is a great musician." Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the wife of Sir Lewis, exclaimed.
"You make me seem so boring a person, Catherine! Why did I deserve your censure? I enjoy a great many other things too!" Augusta cried.
"Such as committing common vulgarities, I am sure," Lady Catherine murmured in a low voice.
Fitzwilliam heard his aunt, shook his head and moved forward to greet them all.
"How much he has grown and into such a fine man," Lady Catherine said, and they all smiled again. It was a ritual they enjoyed, and Fitzwilliam had to look surprised every year even though he expected it before it came forth.
They all settled down, and Fitzwilliam looked around the table. There were many of them on the table. They were mostly family members, except for those debutantes George Darcy had mentioned. Fitzwilliam shuddered at the flirty manner of some of these young ladies when he happened to look in their way. They batted their eyes, pushing their bosoms up or tracing their fingers on their necklines.
"Hey, why do you look like you've seen a ghost? You are as white as a slate," Frank slapped Fitzwilliam's arm.
"Get yourself a seat, Boys," Mr Darcy said sternly, and Churchill immediately got a seat without waiting to be told twice. The servants then started bringing in dinner.
~P&P~~P&P~~P&P~
"Do you think animals speak to each other?" Sir Lewis asked, and half of the table stared at him.
Fitzwilliam had always known Sir Lewis to speak and think of strange things. However, Mr John Bingley was worse. "Of course, they talk to each other," Mr. Bingley responded earnestly. He was August's cousin, came from a respectable family in the north of England and had amassed property to the amount of nearly a hundred thousand pounds through trade. He had just purchased an estate three years ago. There was a level of delight in John's eyes. Like he has been waiting for this conversation or something of such.
"What do you think animals talk about?" Sir Lewis asked again as he passed a turkey limb from a bowl to his plates. If Fitzwilliam had been the one speaking during mouthfuls, his father would have a problem with it, but the older gentlemen could do as they wished.
"I bet they talk about other animals," Mr. Bingley responded. Sir Lewis looked severe.
"That is boring. What else do ghosts talk about?" Mrs. Bingley requested further. There was awe in her face at such knowledge the men were displaying. Fitzwilliam disagreed with the idea of animals speaking, though.
"They talk about food and the weather." Sir Lewis responded and beamed with pride.
"Do they talk about us?" Miss Caroline Bingley, the youngest daughter of John Bingley, asked while using her finger to trace along her earlobe down her neck.
"Of course, they talk about us." Lord Matlock chirped in.
Miss Bingley looked surprised. "They do?"
"What do they say about us?" Augusta asked.
"They say that we are hilarious," Mr. Bingley said and chuckled.
"Ha! We're not funny-looking; animals are!" Lady Catherine responded, looking somewhat offended.
"We look absurd because we wear clothes, and they don't," Mr. Bingley said, and some of the guests laughed.
The family always made sure to use this occasion to speak of everything they could, no matter how much it seemed stupid.
"You look so beautiful, Milady," Sir Lewis said to Lady Catherine suddenly. Some guests couldn't keep their expression straight on hearing Sir Lewis jumping from one topic to another.
"You and Catherine act like you were just married yesterday," Augusta commented with a certain degree of disgust.
"Were we not, my dear Catherine?" Sir Lewis asked. "What is marriage?"
"Tis when you love someone and commit to living together and have a family." Rev William Collins responded. He was the Vicar of Stapleford, a living bestowed by the Matlocks.
"A man loves his mother, lives with her, and is family to her: is that a marriage?" Sir Lewis asked further.
The vicar shook his head before responding. "No, no—marriage is when you love someone you're not related to, and then you choose to become related."
"Like adopting a child?" Caroline jumped in with bright eyes, seeming quite proud of her contribution to the conversation.
"No, not like adoption. The person you love is another adult."
"What do you mean by love?" Sir Lewis changed his direction again.
"Well, what's between this pretty lady here and me surely passes for that" Mr. Bingley responded, holding his wife's hand and kissing it. "Of course! It is a close, intimate relationship whereby you desire to unite with the other person completely. You share a home with that person; you want to have a family together."
"Oh, so what's crucial for marriage, you say, is that the two people are in a sexual relationship of some committed kind, though not a kind that necessarily brings about a union of their bodies. How do they have a family, by the way?" Lady Catherine jumped in like she wanted to make obvious something.
"Mostly, it's affection or love, as I mentioned earlier. But it could also be other things, you know. Anything gets endearing for different people," The vicar responded. From Lady Catherine's face, Fitzwilliam could tell that the response didn't sit well with her. The table was silent for a moment except for the clattering of plates and forks. A bit of munch here and there as well filled the air.
"What happens after death?" Sir Lewis asked, and a chill ran down Fitzwilliam's spine. He and Frank exchanged looks. Did he want to discuss that over a meal? What happens to humans after they die.
"That is easy! They become ghosts. That's why there are a lot of ghosts roaming about." Augusta said with her hands raised in the air.
"There are?" Miss Bingley murmured in shock; her lips trembled for effect.
"I doubt there are. Dead people go to the afterlife. That seems and sounds better. After all, no one has walked into a ghost on the road," Collins stated.
"I wager that's what makes them ghosts, and you don't know when you walk into them." Sir Lewis said with a stern expression.
"That thought is unnerving. I think I'd rather munch this turkey without the thoughts of ghosts in it," Mrs. Bingley said.
Fitzwilliam was glad that nobody said anything else till the dinner was over. It tasted better that way.