Chapter Two
"Are you well, Elsie?" asked John, concerned.
She made a half-hearted effort to smile. "As well as can be, John."
He came over and embraced her. "I know it's hard, love. I miss them every second of the day. But I try to think of the way they will be looked after from now on, and it makes it all a little better."
"I know, I know," she sighed. "It's just that I don't know how they will be looked after from now on, John. I don't know where they are, or who they are with, or whether those people are responsible or not, or anything. . . It's just so hard! They've been gone six weeks now, and every moment of the day I keep on imagining little Lara, all confused, wondering why we have abandoned her, and darling Vivian, growing up not knowing that we ever existed . . ."
He wiped away the little tear escaping from her eye. "I love you, Elsie. And there's food on the table now, and shelter for the boys. Surely that's better than nothing?"
"Yes, of course," she smiled.
There was a knock at the door. "You sit down. You've had a hard day. I'll go and answer the door," she said. She hurried down the narrow stairs. "Yes?" she said, opening the door, before she realised who was standing there. A gentleman a few years older than John, complete with coat, breeches, Hessians, a top hat, exquisitely tied cravat . . . And outside, the most luscious carriage, drawn by four glossy black horses.
"I apologise to disturb you, ma'am," he said with a winning smile. "I came to enquire - is this the home of Mr John Fowler?"
She curtsied hurriedly. "Yes, sir. I am Mrs Fowler."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am. May I speak with your husband?"
"Of course," she said, flustered by the politeness she was unaccustomed to from the gentry. "Please come upstairs. I'm sorry, the stairs are quite cramped."
"Not at all," he said politely, although it was perfectly obvious they were.
When Elsie opened the door, John had his back to her, and said, "Elsie, I do think we must put in a few more shelves here."
"John?" she said. "We have a visitor."
He turned round, and his mouth opened a little when he saw who had come. "Oh, pardon me, sir!"
"Of course," the guest said with a smile. "I am so sorry to intrude on you. I am George Darcy. I assume you are Mr Fowler?"
"Yes, sir," said John.
"There is a matter I must speak to you of," said Mr Darcy. "Could I claim some of your time?"
"Of course," said John, gulping. He, like Elsie, was also unaccustomed to politeness from the gentry. He drew out a chair for Mr Darcy. "Will you sit down?"
"Thank you. Oh, Mrs Fowler, you should probably be included in this as well," he called after Elsie as she made to leave the room.
She turned around and sat down cautiously.
Mr Darcy's face took on a serious look. "Mr Fowler, I don't know quite how to start this . . . perhaps, well - would you oblige me by telling me your history?"
"My history?" said John, confused.
"Where you come from, your parents, all that type of information. I am sorry to be so impertinent, but it is very important."
"Not at all," said John. "That is, it is not impertinence at all, sir. To tell the truth, I'm not exactly sure where I come from. You see, I am a foundling. A fine old gentleman by the name of Winston found me on the doorstep of his orphanage when I was about a year old, and brought me up ever since. When he died, I had to find a job, and so I became a miner."
"I see," said Mr Darcy, his brow furrowed. "Can you tell me, did you have any information as to where you may have come from with you when you were found?"
"Yes, I did, actually," said John. "All my clothes were embroidered with the initials J. A. F, and so those were the initials Mr Winston gave me - John Alfred Fowler."
"Do you still have those clothes?" asked Mr Darcy.
John looked surprised. "Yes, I do. Would you like to see them?"
"Yes, please." And as John got up to look for them, "I do apologise again for my impertinence. You will see soon that this information is very important for me."
"Please, sir, I understand, it's not a bother," said John, and Elsie nodded her agreement. He was back in a few moments. "Here you are, sir. I have kept them all my life."
"The very ones," murmured Mr Darcy. He looked up. "May I ask, Mr Fowler, when did this worthy Mr Winston find you?"
"On the 27th day of August, 1766," said John promptly.
"Oh, August the next year, then," murmured Mr Darcy to himself again. "Mr Fowler, do you know anything else about where you came from?"
John thought for a moment. "Well, Mr Winston always thought it was not honest men who brought me to the orphanage. I'm not exactly sure why, but I gather he caught a glimpse of some men watching when he found me, and recognised one later who was pictured in the newspaper as being condemned to hanging for theft and murder on the highway."
Mr Darcy drew in his breath. "Really?! Well, Mr Fowler," he was smiling broadly now, "I will tell you why I have been asking all these tiresome questions. No doubt you have been wishing me gone all this time, but I hope that may change."
"Oh no," insisted John, "really, it isn't a problem at all." Mr Darcy was so genteel and polite that it would be a pleasure to have him visit anytime, thought Elsie.
"Again, I am not entirely sure how to tell you this, but I am the cousin - much younger, of course - of the late Earl and Countess of Matlock. About thirty or so years ago, the Earl and his wife were travelling to Bath to see the Countess' mother, with their small and only son, a baby at the time. On the way, they stopped at an inn to get quick refreshments, and as their son was fast asleep, they left him in the carriage with a footman outside to call them if he woke. Unfortunately, as they entered the inn, a group of highwaymen attacked the men guarding the carriage, and drove off with it, and with the small boy still in the carriage."
Elsie looked at John. His mouth was open and his eyes wide.
"My cousins obviously scoured the country for their son, but the bandits had hidden him well. Although they did not ask for a ransom, they evidently did not want to give him up in case it jeopardised their position. Eventually my cousin had to call the search off and accept that his son was lost forever." Mr Darcy paused and looked at John straight in the eyes. "This must be a huge shock, John, but I have reason to believe you are my second-cousin, John Alexander Fitzwilliam, and as my cousins have recently died, the Earl of Matlock."
There was a very long silence. Elsie thought she could hear John's heart beating, and her own wasn't much quieter. Finally John spoke up in a voice significantly different from his own. "I think you must be mistaken, sir. I am no earl."
"On the contrary," said Mr Darcy gently. "The garments you just showed me are identical to those I have been shown by my cousin, Lady Matlock - your mother - on numerous occasions as garments from a set belonging to her son. You have the same initials as John Fitzwilliam, and as you seem to have been dropped at the orphanage by highwaymen, it seems sensible to believe that you were abducted by highwaymen also." He paused, studying John and Elsie's white faces. "I understand this must be very hard to come to terms with. You must know that it is completely up to you whether or not you want to accept the title of Earl of Matlock or not. But . . ." For a moment he lost his calm exterior. "I must beg you to understand that you are the one for whom my entire family has been searching for a very long time. You must not make yourself uneasy by imagining your relations reluctant to accept you or anything of the sort. I myself have been searching for you for the past six months and you have no idea how happy it makes me to finally find my cousin."
John stirred from his white-faced reverie. "So . . . I am your cousin?"
"Yes."
"I am an earl?"
"Yes."
John breathed in deeply. "I am sorry. I am finding it quite difficult to make myself understand."
"I perfectly understand," said Mr Darcy earnestly. "I pity your situation, and if you wish, I will go away now and only come back when you have reconciled yourself to your position a little more."
"No, no," said John absently. He looked across the table at Mr Darcy. "Did you say my parents are dead?"
"Yes," said Mr Darcy, and a look of sorrow crossed his face. "I am very sorry indeed that you could not have met them. They died within a month of each other about two years ago."
"I see," said John sadly.
The door burst open. "Mama, Papa, there is the most splendid carriage outside, with the glossiest horses you'll ever see!" shouted Richard, and broke off suddenly when Thomas saw the man sitting at the kitchen table with his parents, and kicked his little brother. "Oh! Sorry!"
Mr Darcy smiled. "They are rather splendid horses, are they not?" He turned to John and Elsie. "I presume these are your sons?"
"Yes," said Elsie quickly. "Come here, boys! This is Mr Darcy. These are our sons Thomas and Richard."
"Good day, Master Thomas, good day, Master Richard," said Mr Darcy with a smile, shaking their hands. "I have a son about your age, called Fitzwilliam."
"Fitzwilliam!" snorted Richard, overcome with his feelings at such a ridiculous sounding name.
"Richard!" gasped Elsie, embarrassed and dismayed, while Thomas kicked his little brother again for the want of delicacy he displayed.
"Oh, I agree," said Mr Darcy, enjoying himself. "It was all on my wife's insistence. But we just call him William normally. Do you have any other children?" he asked Elsie.
Her stomach chilled at the recollection, and words deserted her. John jumped in to rescue her. "We had two daughters, sir, Lara and Vivian, but - we are very poor, sir, and . . . in desperation, we had to give them away for adoption."
"Oh, I am so sorry," said Mr Darcy with true sympathy. They were quiet for a few moments, before he got up. "I must take my leave of you now, Mr and Mrs Fowler - or should I say Lord and Lady Matlock?" Elsie blushed. He put a card down on the table. "I will leave you to digest all this news," he said, "but will you come and visit me tomorrow evening for dinner? We can talk there in more detail. My house is in Brook Street. Oh, and do bring your sons. My son will enjoy meeting them."
"Of course, sir," said John, dazed, while Elsie curtsied mechanically.
And he was gone. John sat down with a thump on his chair, looking for all the world as if he had just swallowed something very large, and Elsie turned away to her mop and started washing the floor as if her life depended on it.
Silence.
"Do you know what this means, Elsie?" said John in an amazed voice after a while. "We'll never go hungry again!"
Elsie burst into tears. "Oh John!"
"What ever is the matter?!" he asked, completely confused.
She threw herself into his offered embrace. "Please John, you know you can divorce me!"
He was amazed. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"John, I know I am nowhere near grand enough to be a countess. Don't think I have to stand in your way!"
"Now listen to me," John said fiercely, pushing her chin up to make her look at him. "There is no way I will ever divorce you, and if anyone suggests I should if I want to be an earl, he can be damned! I don't need to be an earl, Elsie, and I only need you." He grinned. "Mind you, I think I may very well choose to be an earl, but if I do, it's only if you are fully accepted as my wife." He smiled and kissed her. "Somehow I don't think Mr Darcy will have any problem whatsoever with my choice of a bride."
"Oh, but Elsie is such a terrible name for a countess!" sobbed Elsie.
"Well then, we'll change your name!" said John. "Come on now, don't cry, love! What would you like your name to be?"
Elsie stopped sobbing and smiled dreamily. "I've always wanted to be Cecilia . . ."
"And Cecilia you shall be!" said John firmly.
Elsie stopped smiling. "Oh John, the girls . . ."
"Yes, it has crossed my mind, too, Elsie - I mean, Cecilia," he said grimly.
"We didn't need to give them up!"
"I know."
Somehow Elsie managed not to burst into tears, but her heart was being ripped apart somewhere inside her.
"Are you well, Elsie?" asked John, concerned.
She made a half-hearted effort to smile. "As well as can be, John."
He came over and embraced her. "I know it's hard, love. I miss them every second of the day. But I try to think of the way they will be looked after from now on, and it makes it all a little better."
"I know, I know," she sighed. "It's just that I don't know how they will be looked after from now on, John. I don't know where they are, or who they are with, or whether those people are responsible or not, or anything. . . It's just so hard! They've been gone six weeks now, and every moment of the day I keep on imagining little Lara, all confused, wondering why we have abandoned her, and darling Vivian, growing up not knowing that we ever existed . . ."
He wiped away the little tear escaping from her eye. "I love you, Elsie. And there's food on the table now, and shelter for the boys. Surely that's better than nothing?"
"Yes, of course," she smiled.
There was a knock at the door. "You sit down. You've had a hard day. I'll go and answer the door," she said. She hurried down the narrow stairs. "Yes?" she said, opening the door, before she realised who was standing there. A gentleman a few years older than John, complete with coat, breeches, Hessians, a top hat, exquisitely tied cravat . . . And outside, the most luscious carriage, drawn by four glossy black horses.
"I apologise to disturb you, ma'am," he said with a winning smile. "I came to enquire - is this the home of Mr John Fowler?"
She curtsied hurriedly. "Yes, sir. I am Mrs Fowler."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am. May I speak with your husband?"
"Of course," she said, flustered by the politeness she was unaccustomed to from the gentry. "Please come upstairs. I'm sorry, the stairs are quite cramped."
"Not at all," he said politely, although it was perfectly obvious they were.
When Elsie opened the door, John had his back to her, and said, "Elsie, I do think we must put in a few more shelves here."
"John?" she said. "We have a visitor."
He turned round, and his mouth opened a little when he saw who had come. "Oh, pardon me, sir!"
"Of course," the guest said with a smile. "I am so sorry to intrude on you. I am George Darcy. I assume you are Mr Fowler?"
"Yes, sir," said John.
"There is a matter I must speak to you of," said Mr Darcy. "Could I claim some of your time?"
"Of course," said John, gulping. He, like Elsie, was also unaccustomed to politeness from the gentry. He drew out a chair for Mr Darcy. "Will you sit down?"
"Thank you. Oh, Mrs Fowler, you should probably be included in this as well," he called after Elsie as she made to leave the room.
She turned around and sat down cautiously.
Mr Darcy's face took on a serious look. "Mr Fowler, I don't know quite how to start this . . . perhaps, well - would you oblige me by telling me your history?"
"My history?" said John, confused.
"Where you come from, your parents, all that type of information. I am sorry to be so impertinent, but it is very important."
"Not at all," said John. "That is, it is not impertinence at all, sir. To tell the truth, I'm not exactly sure where I come from. You see, I am a foundling. A fine old gentleman by the name of Winston found me on the doorstep of his orphanage when I was about a year old, and brought me up ever since. When he died, I had to find a job, and so I became a miner."
"I see," said Mr Darcy, his brow furrowed. "Can you tell me, did you have any information as to where you may have come from with you when you were found?"
"Yes, I did, actually," said John. "All my clothes were embroidered with the initials J. A. F, and so those were the initials Mr Winston gave me - John Alfred Fowler."
"Do you still have those clothes?" asked Mr Darcy.
John looked surprised. "Yes, I do. Would you like to see them?"
"Yes, please." And as John got up to look for them, "I do apologise again for my impertinence. You will see soon that this information is very important for me."
"Please, sir, I understand, it's not a bother," said John, and Elsie nodded her agreement. He was back in a few moments. "Here you are, sir. I have kept them all my life."
"The very ones," murmured Mr Darcy. He looked up. "May I ask, Mr Fowler, when did this worthy Mr Winston find you?"
"On the 27th day of August, 1766," said John promptly.
"Oh, August the next year, then," murmured Mr Darcy to himself again. "Mr Fowler, do you know anything else about where you came from?"
John thought for a moment. "Well, Mr Winston always thought it was not honest men who brought me to the orphanage. I'm not exactly sure why, but I gather he caught a glimpse of some men watching when he found me, and recognised one later who was pictured in the newspaper as being condemned to hanging for theft and murder on the highway."
Mr Darcy drew in his breath. "Really?! Well, Mr Fowler," he was smiling broadly now, "I will tell you why I have been asking all these tiresome questions. No doubt you have been wishing me gone all this time, but I hope that may change."
"Oh no," insisted John, "really, it isn't a problem at all." Mr Darcy was so genteel and polite that it would be a pleasure to have him visit anytime, thought Elsie.
"Again, I am not entirely sure how to tell you this, but I am the cousin - much younger, of course - of the late Earl and Countess of Matlock. About thirty or so years ago, the Earl and his wife were travelling to Bath to see the Countess' mother, with their small and only son, a baby at the time. On the way, they stopped at an inn to get quick refreshments, and as their son was fast asleep, they left him in the carriage with a footman outside to call them if he woke. Unfortunately, as they entered the inn, a group of highwaymen attacked the men guarding the carriage, and drove off with it, and with the small boy still in the carriage."
Elsie looked at John. His mouth was open and his eyes wide.
"My cousins obviously scoured the country for their son, but the bandits had hidden him well. Although they did not ask for a ransom, they evidently did not want to give him up in case it jeopardised their position. Eventually my cousin had to call the search off and accept that his son was lost forever." Mr Darcy paused and looked at John straight in the eyes. "This must be a huge shock, John, but I have reason to believe you are my second-cousin, John Alexander Fitzwilliam, and as my cousins have recently died, the Earl of Matlock."
There was a very long silence. Elsie thought she could hear John's heart beating, and her own wasn't much quieter. Finally John spoke up in a voice significantly different from his own. "I think you must be mistaken, sir. I am no earl."
"On the contrary," said Mr Darcy gently. "The garments you just showed me are identical to those I have been shown by my cousin, Lady Matlock - your mother - on numerous occasions as garments from a set belonging to her son. You have the same initials as John Fitzwilliam, and as you seem to have been dropped at the orphanage by highwaymen, it seems sensible to believe that you were abducted by highwaymen also." He paused, studying John and Elsie's white faces. "I understand this must be very hard to come to terms with. You must know that it is completely up to you whether or not you want to accept the title of Earl of Matlock or not. But . . ." For a moment he lost his calm exterior. "I must beg you to understand that you are the one for whom my entire family has been searching for a very long time. You must not make yourself uneasy by imagining your relations reluctant to accept you or anything of the sort. I myself have been searching for you for the past six months and you have no idea how happy it makes me to finally find my cousin."
John stirred from his white-faced reverie. "So . . . I am your cousin?"
"Yes."
"I am an earl?"
"Yes."
John breathed in deeply. "I am sorry. I am finding it quite difficult to make myself understand."
"I perfectly understand," said Mr Darcy earnestly. "I pity your situation, and if you wish, I will go away now and only come back when you have reconciled yourself to your position a little more."
"No, no," said John absently. He looked across the table at Mr Darcy. "Did you say my parents are dead?"
"Yes," said Mr Darcy, and a look of sorrow crossed his face. "I am very sorry indeed that you could not have met them. They died within a month of each other about two years ago."
"I see," said John sadly.
The door burst open. "Mama, Papa, there is the most splendid carriage outside, with the glossiest horses you'll ever see!" shouted Richard, and broke off suddenly when Thomas saw the man sitting at the kitchen table with his parents, and kicked his little brother. "Oh! Sorry!"
Mr Darcy smiled. "They are rather splendid horses, are they not?" He turned to John and Elsie. "I presume these are your sons?"
"Yes," said Elsie quickly. "Come here, boys! This is Mr Darcy. These are our sons Thomas and Richard."
"Good day, Master Thomas, good day, Master Richard," said Mr Darcy with a smile, shaking their hands. "I have a son about your age, called Fitzwilliam."
"Fitzwilliam!" snorted Richard, overcome with his feelings at such a ridiculous sounding name.
"Richard!" gasped Elsie, embarrassed and dismayed, while Thomas kicked his little brother again for the want of delicacy he displayed.
"Oh, I agree," said Mr Darcy, enjoying himself. "It was all on my wife's insistence. But we just call him William normally. Do you have any other children?" he asked Elsie.
Her stomach chilled at the recollection, and words deserted her. John jumped in to rescue her. "We had two daughters, sir, Lara and Vivian, but - we are very poor, sir, and . . . in desperation, we had to give them away for adoption."
"Oh, I am so sorry," said Mr Darcy with true sympathy. They were quiet for a few moments, before he got up. "I must take my leave of you now, Mr and Mrs Fowler - or should I say Lord and Lady Matlock?" Elsie blushed. He put a card down on the table. "I will leave you to digest all this news," he said, "but will you come and visit me tomorrow evening for dinner? We can talk there in more detail. My house is in Brook Street. Oh, and do bring your sons. My son will enjoy meeting them."
"Of course, sir," said John, dazed, while Elsie curtsied mechanically.
And he was gone. John sat down with a thump on his chair, looking for all the world as if he had just swallowed something very large, and Elsie turned away to her mop and started washing the floor as if her life depended on it.
Silence.
"Do you know what this means, Elsie?" said John in an amazed voice after a while. "We'll never go hungry again!"
Elsie burst into tears. "Oh John!"
"What ever is the matter?!" he asked, completely confused.
She threw herself into his offered embrace. "Please John, you know you can divorce me!"
He was amazed. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"John, I know I am nowhere near grand enough to be a countess. Don't think I have to stand in your way!"
"Now listen to me," John said fiercely, pushing her chin up to make her look at him. "There is no way I will ever divorce you, and if anyone suggests I should if I want to be an earl, he can be damned! I don't need to be an earl, Elsie, and I only need you." He grinned. "Mind you, I think I may very well choose to be an earl, but if I do, it's only if you are fully accepted as my wife." He smiled and kissed her. "Somehow I don't think Mr Darcy will have any problem whatsoever with my choice of a bride."
"Oh, but Elsie is such a terrible name for a countess!" sobbed Elsie.
"Well then, we'll change your name!" said John. "Come on now, don't cry, love! What would you like your name to be?"
Elsie stopped sobbing and smiled dreamily. "I've always wanted to be Cecilia . . ."
"And Cecilia you shall be!" said John firmly.
Elsie stopped smiling. "Oh John, the girls . . ."
"Yes, it has crossed my mind, too, Elsie - I mean, Cecilia," he said grimly.
"We didn't need to give them up!"
"I know."
Somehow Elsie managed not to burst into tears, but her heart was being ripped apart somewhere inside her.
