Chapter 142

About an hour later they were walking towards the guard house hand in hand, they had cleaned up and changed, Elizabeth wearing an older dress but her rich fur-lined long coat over it.

'I don't want Mrs Brewer to think I don't respect her, Fitzwilliam,' Elizabeth had said, 'but attics are usually dusty, and there are nails and wood splinters sticking out, I don't want to risk spoiling my good dresses. Do you think she'll accept my wearing an older dress if I wear my best coat?'

Frankly, Darcy hardly knew Mrs Brewer, they lived on his estate but in their own little house near the entrance gates, where Wickham's father had lived before them. Nathan ran Darcy's estate when Darcy was away from home, as Mrs Reynolds ran the household, except for the household finances, which Mrs Reynolds handled but under Nathan's supervision. The steward only answered to Darcy himself, he was the most important member of his staff with the most responsibilities. Of course Mrs Reynolds ran the household even when Darcy was in residence, though he wouldn't be surprised if Elizabeth would soon take an interest there.

As they followed the lane towards the little house, he replied, 'I suppose she will understand, my love. Who would wear a good dress when they are about to get very dirty? It would have been more sensible to go in your riding skirts and clean up afterwards.'

The little house had a reasonably sized garden plot at the back, which was surrounded by a tall hedge with just the one entrance that looked as if it had grown into the thick evergreens. The opening was guarded by a curious fence that seemed rather out of place on his estate: it was as tall as a man and consisted of several intricately curved branches of some kind of fairy-tale tree, sprouting from the lower left and curling upwards, twisting across and through each other to form a latticework of intertwining branches. Elizabeth was as intrigued as himself, and they simultaneously reached out to feel what it was made of.

'It's iron, isn't it?'

He could not but agree, it felt cold to the touch and it was very solid, this had to be wrought-iron. A little knock confirmed their suspicion, as the fence made a ringing sound.

'It's beautiful, it looks just like wood, even the colour! Did you know it was here?'

He had never before seen that fence, or he'd have shown it to Elizabeth when she first arrived here. To him, the the guard house hadn't been worth any consideration, it was small, old, but not old enough to be interesting, and to be honest, not very comfortable. But Nathan had been glad to have it when Darcy'd had him recommended by Mr Eliot's predecessor when Wickham's father had died rather suddenly. That unfortunate man, after losing his wife to consumption and his son to debauchery his work had been his all, and when Darcy's father had died the life had just gone out of him. He'd taught Darcy all he knew, and then one winter he had caught pneumonia and before Darcy had heard of his illness, he'd died of it. He had attended the funeral, from a little distance at first, but when Wickham wasn't even there he had joined the rest of the attendants, Mrs Reynolds, some other members of the staff, a distant relative or two.

A small hand squeezed his, and he looked down on his lovely Elizabeth. Then, he had thought Wickham senior indulgent towards his Victoria, now he knew from personal experience how madly in love a man could be with his wife.

'I have to confess I haven't been to this place for years. It looks altogether different, somehow. I suppose they use this door to enter the yard, but I don't see how I could do that, my love. I feel obliged to use the front door, though it's probably stuck for lack of use.'

'I'm certain Mr Brewer will forgive you. He must have been glad to see you after so many months.'

'He was. He had done all the work to perfection, of course, but sometimes it is nice to get a little acknowledgement as well as a salary. Nathan is very important to me and an admirable man. Intelligent, kind, and with a sense of humour. Like his predecessor, the elder Mr Wickham. He always had a kind word and good advice. Maybe stewards are the true cream of mankind.

'So you were travelling memory lane just now, remembering a friend. I hope you are not feeling guilty anymore over having let down his son.'

'I do not, Wickham is where he belongs, even if it took him years to find that place. And I am glad to have helped him, out of respect for what his father did for me and my family. And who knows, maybe his father wasn't actually his father. Though I suppose the man who raises you will be your father forever.'

'I wouldn't know,' Elizabeth observed bluntly, 'I was never raised. My bad habits are all inherited, no possible doubt who my father is.'

No, there wasn't. Darcy did not hesitate to smile at Elizabeth's half-funny, half-serious remark, and replied, 'And still I cannot help loving you, and liking him. How afraid I was of his sarcasm. I wish my father had neglected my education and kept me around, I might have been there for my mother, and a lot happier myself. When we have a son, my love, please let us not send him to some cold, uncaring school during the most formative years of his youth. Let's just hire a superior tutor and raise him ourselves.'

'Or we could foster him with Anne and Frederick, I don't think Frederick will ever allow a child of his to suffer through school.'

'That is just the strangest idea, though I know they will have children eventually. But I suppose we'd better foster theirs then, they'll be wanting to go out a lot and we don't. Ah, we're here, I'm going to knock.'

And though Nathan did look a bit surprised to find someone at the front, the door did not so much as creak. And anything Darcy might have wanted to add to their talk was forgotten, as soon as they had entered the Brewers' quaint little house.

'Will you join us for tea?' his steward asked, 'Juliette has made her special pie. You've never been here before, Mr Darcy, I hope you'll like what we did with the house.'

He sounded a bit nervous, he was probably afraid Darcy would object to their décor, but he remembered the house as it used to be, like uncle Spencer's town house, at least ten years out of date. It had been small, cramped and as much a shrine to a beloved spouse as his uncle's much larger house still was. Now, it was still small, but it breathed life and intimacy, each wall was a different colour and there were works of craftsmanship, or was it art?, everywhere. Not traditional paintings and marble statues such as Elizabeth had described from Carlton House, but living, breathing objects made of wood, or other natural materials such as shells and stones. The furniture looked as if it had been grown on a tree instead of wrung into shape by a carpenter or crafter, the lines flowing and corners or sharp edges totally absent. Rugs and pillows and cushions abounded, the curtains were made of velvet but adorned with glass beads and bits of pearly shell, and there was a large harp standing in a corner. A large lamp was made in the same style as the fence outside, of wrought iron with panes of coloured glass filling the gaps, in a semblance of a bush or a tree with living branches.

Darcy would not want to live here but he knew somebody who'd love it.

'Georgiana would absolutely love this!' Elizabeth exclaimed.

Exactly. Georgie would love it, and Darcy guessed that some of the artwork was extremely good quality, way above Nathan's standard of living.

'Do you really think so, Mrs Darcy? Juliette made most of it. She's in the kitchen, fetching tea, she will be so delighted to finally meet you!'

Why hadn't he taken Elizabeth to meet Mrs Brewer before? They had visited Peter at home. Nathan hadn't invited them, if he had they would have gone, maybe he was afraid they'd disapprove?

'You wife can work iron?'

Now Nathan's pride showed.

'She has a little workshop in the back of the garden where she does that, yes. Just small things and very labour intensive, but I think it's beautiful.'

'It is, very much so, the gate, the lamp, it must have been so hard to fit those pieces of glass to the spaces exactly. Georgiana will love this, Mr Brewer, will you allow me to bring her over soon? Does she take commissions, your missus?'

'Rarely, it's so much work hardly anyone can afford a piece, but she does have to buy materials. Coloured glass and this quality iron don't come cheap. I'm glad you like it, Juliette was afraid you'd be angry that she'd made such a mark on your house, which is why she fled to the kitchen. She's very sensitive, I'm afraid.'

'So she made a special pie to soothe us if we'd reacted aversely?'

Elizabeth just couldn't help being perceptive. Nathan merely nodded.

'I am merely a bit jealous of her talent, Mr Brewer. But even if I had the talent, I most certainly don't have the patience, so maybe it's for the best your wife has both.'

Nathan laughed, obviously relieved. He turned around and said with humour, 'You can come out now, Juliette!'

Mrs Brewer looked different here from the times Darcy had seen her in church. Then, she'd been a bit matronly for her what he guessed were about thirty years of age, not coarse or fat, she could be called delicate, but rather conservative in her dress and hairdo. Which suggested to him that she'd have her maid keep a very clean house, throwing out everything that might gather a speck of dust, even in the attic. But now, Darcy started to think the matronly look was meant to hide her true person from the world, and there was absolutely no sign of a maid. It seemed Mrs Brewer did her own housekeeping.

Like her name, Juliette Brewer's appearance suggested she might be French. She was no taller than Elizabeth, and her hair was very dark, as were her eyes. She had long, dark lashes and refined facial features that could have been called beautiful if she'd had more bloom. But where Elizabeth had the smooth face and curves of a young woman, Mrs Brewer seemed a bit on the thin and delicate side, especially in the simple flowing dress she was wearing in the house. Her eyes shone with intelligence, but seemed a bit too bright, and her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Darcy felt a bit worried, was Nathan's dearly beloved wife ill? He remembered the young woman on the dissection table, people in consumption looked like this. Why hadn't Nathan said something? They could send for that doctor from London, he knew so much about the wasting disease, maybe something could be done. But wait, if Mrs Brewer was severely ill she couldn't work, especially not with iron as she apparently did.

She set down a tray with tea things, among which four delicious-looking pieces of confectionery

'I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Darcy, Mrs Darcy. I've made some pie for you. I hope you don't mind my redecorating the house.'

She curtsied very low and sounded very guilty, but her husband was Darcy's most valuable employee, and she was obviously a very talented artist herself, no need for humility. Of course, Elizabeth reacted before Darcy could, and much more appropriately. She shook hands with their hostess and replied with enthusiasm.

'It's lovely, Mrs Brewer! The pie and the house, will you let me bring Mrs Fielding to see it? She will love your decorations.'

When Mrs Brewer's face looked slightly blank at the mention of the name, Elizabeth added, smiling, 'Miss Darcy, Mrs Brewer. She got married a few weeks ago.'

Elizabeth's familiar remarks had settled the lady artist, she did not look upset for having forgotten about Georgie's marriage.

'Of course, with the famous pianist! Congratulations! Of course she is welcome to visit, and Mr Fielding too. Do you really like it? It's so... unconventional.'

They had sat down on the fragile-looking furniture, which turned out very comfortable and sturdier than expected, and Mrs Brewer was pouring tea while chatting with Elizabeth. The tea was not their regular dark brand, of course, that was way beyond the Brewers' means, and Darcy hoped it would be drinkable. But when he lifted the cup to his lips and inhaled the fragrance of the hot tea, it wasn't regular tea at all: it was an infusion of herbs, and it smelled delicious. Elizabeth was as surprised, but apparently she thought it was Darcy's turn to say something nice. He took the smallest of tastes because it was still very hot, but he could truthfully say it was very nice tea.

'You are an artist with food and drink as well, Mrs Brewer! This tea is very good, sweet without sugar and yet very refreshing.'

'Thank you, Mr Darcy, I suppose you have drunk tea with some important people, your good opinion is very valuable.'

Well, she certainly got over her shyness quickly. Better try that pie, it looked very good. But first, a fitting reply.

'We have met quite a lot of important people lately, mostly because of my brother-in-law, Mr Fielding, who got invited to all kinds of places to play. But they generally didn't serve us tea and pie, they liked to surprise the famous Mr Fielding with wine and savoury dainties. The only one of us who has had the chance to taste the best on offer in pies is Elizabeth: she had dinner with the Prince of Wales in his own Carlton House.'

She did not even mind, but rather corrected him kindly, 'Actually, my love, he served the best confectionery in the afternoon, for tea, when Georgiana and Eric were there as well. But we did not actually get to taste his tea, there was hot chocolate, and the best wine I ever had. Potent, though.'

'You were at Carlton House, Mrs Darcy? What was it like, we've read so much about the stunning décor, I'd so love to see it.'

Elizabeth described the edible statues and flowers, and tried to convey what bergamot tasted like, and Madeira wine. And how the Prince had the richest rooms and the most beautiful paintings she'd ever seen.

'But frankly, Mrs Brewer, I like your style of decorating better, though it may be a bit much for a formal room. But now I'll stop talking and taste your pie, for it is as beautiful as some of the Prince's treats were, and I'm so curious whether it's as good.'

Darcy hoped it would be as good, or Mrs Brewer would be disappointed, though unlimited resources and French pastry chefs could hardly be eclipsed and she should realise it.

It was incredibly good, the pastry was flaky and not too moist, which was almost impossible with such thin pastry. The filling was creamy and tasted of fruit, but where would Mrs Brewer have gotten fruit at this time of the year? Darcy would have sworn he tasted peach!

'This is incredibly good, Mrs Brewer,' Elizabeth said. 'It's March, and yet your filling tastes as if there is fresh peach in it. And it's creamy but not heavy. I've tasted pie this good just once before, and it was not at Carlton House, that was all richer and stuffed with expensive, rare ingredients. It was at a London gentleman's house, and Anne said he'd gotten it from a public place called The Old Rookery. Thank you so much for making this for us, Mrs Brewer.'

Mrs Brewer was pleased with the praise.

'We have peaches in our garden, Mrs Darcy, I preserved some to make pie with. I'm glad you liked it, even if you liked the house even without the pie. I'd like to show you the garden and my workshop some day, but Nathan said there were some things you wanted to look for in our attic? I am certain there are two boxes with old stuff up there, I couldn't bring myself to throw away other people's lives, everyone said Mr Wickham had been such a kind man and so fond of his wife and his son. What if his boy were ever to come back and ask for memories of his father?'

Darcy did think she'd heard some of the rumours surrounding Wickham, the debts he'd left behind, the girls he'd broken promises to, but still the remembrance of the father was more important to her. She was a good woman, and she had sacrificed a precious jar of carefully preserved peaches for him and Elizabeth, and he would not forget that.

'Mr George Wickham is doing rather well at the moment, Mrs Brewer,' Elizabeth said, as if to explain why they were asking for what was in fact his due.

'He is a Lieutenant in the Rifle Core, and married to my youngest sister. They have their first child coming. I will let them know about his father's boxes, and if he wants them returned we will see what we can do, my sister may visit this summer.'

Elizabeth had not been hurt when he'd told her about Lydia being with child again, and she wasn't now, Lydia had been so distraught over the loss of her first baby, and Wickham would most likely be sent abroad before it was born. There was no way Elizabeth could envy her sister for getting with child again before she did herself. But Mrs Brewer did show some pain, now he thought of it she didn't have any children either, and she was a lot older than Elizabeth and had been married for at least three years. Darcy had never realised this difficulty in his steward's marriage, and he was not pleased with himself for failing to see Nathan's grief over it. He had just envied his steward's unconditional love for his lady, and never even considered they might not be perfectly happy.

Nathan covered up his wife's moment of sadness by getting up and addressing the two of them.

'Shall I lead you to the attic? I have a lamp filled and ready, sir, you can do whatever you like with those boxes.'

The attic was in proportion to the house, of course, and as dusty as any of his own. The steward led them to the back of the space, where he removed several items before pointing out two medium sized boxes, lids closed, unmarked and dusty.

'Do you have a place where we can unpack them, Nathan? To see what's inside?'

'Of course, sir, you can use my little study. The light is much better in there.'

As they each lifted one of the boxes while Elizabeth held the lamp, Nathan said quietly, 'Juliette will be very relieved that you didn't mind her way of doing up the house, sir, ma'am. She was so nervous. Life tends to get her down a lot, she suffers anxiety over things other people just ignore. I try to tell her it isn't all that bad, but that doesn't seem to help very much. Only working on her art gives her relief, and she was terrified with the thought of being forbidden to practise it on your grounds.'

By now they had reached the study, a neat little place with a very serviceable desk, and as Nathan put down the box he was carrying, Elizabeth laid a hand on his shoulder and asked with more than a little worry, 'Is that why she is so thin, Mr Brewer? Is there anything we can do to help, maybe have a doctor check her out? I've recently met a really good one in London.'

'We couldn't afford a London practitioner, ma'am, and Juliette refuses to have a local man, says they're all quacks and they'd start everyone gossiping. She prefers to just move on and pretend everything is fine. It's why she doesn't want a maid, or a cook, says she likes keeping her own house, and she does. We're doing quite well together, it's just that she really wanted a family, and there is not much hope of that now.

I'm sorry, I talk too much. It's just so hard to see her like this, and I thought you might have noticed and might want an explanation.'

Now Darcy spoke up, at his most earnest.

'Nathan, you are my single most important help, I could never do without you. I want both you and your wife as happy as I can help you become. If Juliette agrees to see this doctor, I can have him come over, or you could take a nice little trip to London, with my carriage, at my expense, to see him there. You can stay in the house, it's a good opportunity to meet Mrs Annesley and check the finances there. Let the stable boy drive you around, he needs the experience, visit a show, do some shopping. Enjoy yourselves, take a break. I'm here, my sister is here, we'll take care of everything for a few weeks.'

He knew Darcy could afford it, and the temptation was huge.

'Thank you, Mr Darcy, I'll talk it over with Juliette. I think it might do her some good, she's always in the house, with her projects. I'd better go see her, will you let me know when you're done here?'

'Just convince her to go to town with you, Nathan, she'll love it. No-one knows her there, she can just be herself. And yes, we'll let you know. Thank you, Nathan.'

Darcy started to unpack the first box, taking care not to spread the dust all over the room. Inside, it was relatively clean, and it was filled with stacks of papers and letters.

'Just what we hoped for, my love, lots of letters!' Elizabeth exclaimed, and they eagerly set to work to see whether any were his wife's. But after reading about half of them they started to realise that their expectations had been too high, for there was as yet not a single personal letter in the stack: most of the paperwork was just that, ledgers of Mr Wickham's daily business, the number of calves born and sold on every single farm in Darcy's ownership, the prices of potatoes for every single day of a whole year. Mr Wickham had undoubtedly used these to make the best decisions for Darcy's estate, or maybe even for his father's estate, but they were not what they had hoped for. The letters proved letters of business, to grain factors, mill owners, sellers of seeds, such a big disappointment.

The second box contained similar papers, and Darcy wondered how they had come to be stored instead of thrown out. Disappointed, they placed the stacks of papers back inside the boxes, and Darcy went out to find Nathan. He didn't have to go far before he ran into his steward, who asked, 'And, sir, did you find what you were looking for?'

'Actually, no, it was a great disappointment, just old ledgers and letters of business. We'd hoped to find some letters of a more private nature.'

Now Nathan seemed struck by something, and positively thoughtful. At length, he spoke.

'If you don't mind my asking, sir, would those letters be the kind one would like to keep to oneself?'

'Yes, actually. You think we're looking in the wrong place?'

'Well, sir, as it happens, about a year ago we were working on one of the smaller rooms upstairs and had it stripped, and I saw something out of the ordinary. Nothing very grand, it just struck me that a few floor boards were loose as if they'd been used as a cache or hiding place of some sort. I planned to explore, but then something happened and I forgot. Do you want me to show you?'

A secret space underneath the floor boards? That was just perfect!

'We'd love to, it's exactly where one would expect to find the kind of letters we're looking for. Do you know which room it was?'

'It was a small room connected to the master bedroom, let us fetch Mrs Darcy and we'll go look.'

Something in Nathan's demeanour told Darcy that what had happened had given both him and his lovely wife a blow, and he was not looking forward to going back to that room.

'Do you want us to do that by ourselves, Nathan?'

His steward's expression became positively sad, then he shook his head and observed, 'No, sir, you'd never find it. Besides, it's been a year, I'll have to face it some day, and the room will need an explanation or you'll be upset. Mrs Darcy will be at the very least, I'm sure.'

Suddenly, Darcy had an idea what they would find in that little room, and indeed it would disconcert Elizabeth. But she was strong and positive, and if there was a chance to find private letters from his father to Victoria Wickham she would face her own fears.

He did not get the chance to warn his beloved, it would have been painful to Nathan and he was suffering enough if Darcy was right what had happened almost a year ago. Instead, he took her hand as they crossed the Brewers' bedroom, another fanciful place filled with beautiful ornaments and sculpted faerie creatures. As Nathan opened the door at the end of the room, he turned around and faced the two of them.

'I haven't set foot in this room for almost a year, though we didn't tell a soul I suppose you will understand immediately. It has been very painful for Juliette, and for myself.'

He went in quickly, and disappeared under a beautifully wrought cradle with little white hangings of a frilly material. Darcy he had to swallow hugely. Not these good people, too!

The tiny little room was a mother's dream in virgin white, with lace curtains and a tiny cradle made of fancy iron work in Mrs Brewer's own style, with plant-like curls and creepers and beautifully pleated hangings of the sheerest white muslin. Elizabeth felt her eyes burn for poor Mrs Brewer, and yes, for Mr Brewer, too. The floor boards were painted white, and on the icy-pale blue rug beneath the little crib, he kneeled and folded back the rug to expose several short boards that were obviously loose from the rest of the floor. He had some trouble removing them, and his voice sounded wrung as he remarked, 'I never got around to opening it, it may be empty. Or it may contain nothing more than a stocking filled with gold.'

Such heartbreak this couple must have gone through, how many babies didn't get to live? Elizabeth had never considered that before Lydia. Mrs Brewer's paleness and dedication to her work were suddenly so much easier to understand. She did not know what to say, what could she say to someone she didn't know at all? It had seemed to come to her naturally when she visited Lydia, but Lydia was her little sister and she had known her all her life.

'Got it!' Mr Brewer exclaimed in triumph, despite the whole situation, setting aside the boards and feeling around in something that appeared to be quite a sizeable empty space. Then he retrieved a thick bundle of envelopes, held together with a pink ribbon that was secured with a pretty bow.

'Is this what you were looking for?' he asked, now more in the mood of the hunt rather than gripped by grief. He handed them to Fitzwilliam, who checked the address.

'I think it is, Nathan. Will you tell us about it, or is it still too painful?'

After replacing the boards carefully and smoothing the rug over them, Mr Brewer got up, back to reality.

'It is painful, but maybe talking about it will help. You went to Newcastle to support your sister in a similar situation, didn't you, Mrs Darcy?'

'I did, and it was heart breaking. My sister never was a very serious girl, Mr Brewer, but she really hurt. I feel so much for you and Mrs Brewer.'

'We had been trying to have a baby since we got married, and it took very long. Juliette was so incredibly happy, she started on this room right away, and I helped gladly. Then before we were ready to tell anyone, she started to bleed and the baby was lost. She has been inconsolable ever since, I don't know what to do anymore. She didn't want anyone to know, but I'm starting to think that was the wrong decision, Mrs Reynolds would never gossip, nor would Mr Eliot. If only she'd be able to talk to anyone.'

'My sister finally talked to the army minister, Mr Brewer, and his understanding did so much good. Please do find help, Mr Eliot is as understanding as Mr Blaze at the camp, I'm certain she would feel better right away.'

'If only she could have another baby, but it's been almost a year...'

'Will you think about my offer, Nathan?' Fitzwilliam said sincerely. 'I could arrange for you to leave in a week's time, we'll have most of the spring work done by then and you can be free to spend two weeks away from home. Visit a doctor, see new things.'

'Thank you so much, sir, I will ask Juliette. She is not fond of crowds, but she knows everyone here, maybe it will be a relief to be among strangers for a while.'

'What do you want me to do with those boxes, Mr Darcy?'

'I'm afraid they can be thrown out, Nathan, there was nothing of any value in them. Just old stuff from the estate. I'd like to take these letters, though.'

'Of course, sir, and once again, thank you so much!'

'Shall we take out leave from Mrs Brewer, or do you think she prefers if we don't?'

'I suppose she's left the house already, ma'am, she always goes to her workshop when she's anxious. Will you please forgive her? She has been through a lot.'

'There is nothing to forgive, Mr Brewer, your wife has treated us to a superior piece of pie, and frankly, if she saw me now she'd know we know, and she would not like that. Better you talk to her first. The best of luck, Mr Brewer.'

'Thank you Mrs Darcy, you understand Juliette.'

And without further ado they left, through the side door and the beautiful gate. Elizabeth had time for one good look at the garden, and it promised to be a magnificent experience when she'd take Georgiana over to see the house and garden. If Mrs Brewer didn't change her mind, now Elizabeth had found out about her unlucky pregnancy.

They walked back to the house in silence, Fitzwilliam busy removing the ribbon from the letters. He then handed her one, kept one himself and stuck the rest of the little stack in his coat pocket. The address was written in a firm, masculine hand, and the name was Mrs Victoria Wickham.

Taking out the paper, she recognised the same hand, and she quickly checked the adieu. It said: Yours truly, Richard Darcy.

This was it, the proof that Fitzwilliam's father and Wickham's mother had been intimate, although Elizabeth hadn't really doubted that. She merely doubted that a child had come from their association.

'So that's it, my love, uncle Spencer was right. My father did indeed have an affair. I feel sorry for my mother, how she must have felt the hurt and humiliation, and with someone she knew and liked. I suppose it went on for years and years, and all this time mother was struggling with her health. I never had the slightest suspicion, I worshipped my father.'

'Let's read them in the bedroom. I feel guilty for putting you through this, I want to hold you whenever you need it without having to think of propriety.'

He did not reply, he merely took her hand and led her up the stairs to their room, where they removed their coats and sat down on the bed.

'Shall we each read a few, then exchange them? Or do you want to read all of them out loud, so we can discuss them straight away?'

'Let's do that, we're not in a hurry, are we? I want to share this with you, I have never known any of the people involved, I'd feel like an intruder reading their communication.'

'True, I can imagine that. Shall I start? Do we need to find the oldest one first?'

That seemed like a sensible thing to do, and checking the headings of the letters they discovered all had been written from London. The earliest letter they found was dated about six months after Darcy's birth, and was shocking in its tenderness. Of course Mr Richard Darcy had the reputation of being a kind and warm-hearted man, who did much good for his tenants, and had the affection in this letter benefited his wife all would have been well. But it was not, this letter had been written to another man's wife, and at least two people had suffered for their forbidden love, Elizabeth knew Fitzwilliam's mother had had her suspicions, and she could hardly imagine Wickham's father hadn't.

My very dear Victoria,

I have finally found a way to write to you that is perfectly safe. This letter was handed to you personally by my huntsmaster, who lives in one of my cottages off the main road just past the church. If you leave your reply in the Roman temple behind the statue of Mercury he will make certain it reaches me here. Do not worry, his silence is assured. Burn this letter once you have read it, my love, it's just paper and ink. Our love is what matters and leaving behind proof can only destroy it.

Though his voice sounded as articulate as ever while he read that, Fitzwilliam had to stop to take a deep breath after the introduction. This was worse than anything they could have imagined, their affair sounded so deep and so very calculated!

'Can you go on? I'm afraid it's too much for me already, and I have a feeling it will get worse. 'My very dear Victoria'! When did it start? Even before he married my mother?'

'Did he know her before? Do you know where she came from? Was she married to Mr Wickham before he became your father's steward?'

'I suppose they couldn't have, as far as I have heard Mr Wickham was married just after I was born, and Mr Wickham had been working for my father for several years before that. I don't how many years exactly, and I don't know how the Wickhams met. She was not a local woman, I think, she dressed differently, she was much younger than her husband, and he spent a lot of money on her, more than he probably should have. I always thought she looked like one the ladies of fashion from London, like the ones who read about you in the papers last season.'

'Shall I read on? Can you bear it?'

He squeezed her hand and smiled.

'It all happened years ago, everyone involved is dead. There is nothing we can change. I feel I ought to know what my father was really like. Maybe everyone hereabouts knows, except me, that would make me a laughing stock. I prefer to face the facts, dear Elizabeth, however harsh they may be.'

She nodded and read on.

I was so sorry to have to leave you, but my obligations in town did not allow me to stay at Pemberley. Much as I would have preferred to, with you finally settled nearby, and Anne still so weak and my strapping baby boy finally here. After four years, and with Anne always laid up with something, who would have thought I'd have such a beautiful, strong heir? I am certain you worked some of your magic on her while you cared for her in London. You will keep taking care of them, won't you? Anne has been a good wife to me, she loves me so much, she cannot help lacking spirit and something interesting to say. I thought she might improve away from her sister, but she never gained any liveliness to speak of. Poor thing. She is no threat to you, as Wickham is no threat to me. I hope he treats you well, but you may rest assured I would not have introduced you to him if I'd had any doubts on that score. No other man will love you as well as he does, and he is not the kind to refuse you anything. Even if we're separated for a few months, it's much better for you to live in peace in the countryside than to slave away in town for those who don't care.

He set up his steward with his mistress so she could live close to him? That couldn't be true!

If Anne's sister visits, do not draw attention upon yourself! You can help Anne with the baby, and console her afterwards for Catherine's visits always tire her out, but if you cannot take Catherine's insolence better be out of sight while she is there. I plead you to mind my warnings, if anyone can cause us grief it is Catherine. Anne knows she is imposed upon by her harpy sister, but she could never resist her. You could, I know, but you should not. It's just too dangerous to what we have built up together, we have too much to lose.

The letter went on to resemble a true love-letter, heaping praise and endearments on Victoria Wickham, and poor Fitzwilliam was almost numb, it seemed. But when that one was finished, he said, 'Will you read the next one as well?'

It was dated three months after the first, in November.

My dearly beloved,

I'm sorry I didn't write before now, we've been very busy with a young child underfoot. I find I'm glad to have Anne and our little boy over, he is such a joy, even when he cries I'm glad his lungs are strong and healthy.

I'm also glad to hear that Wickham is treating you well, I always thought he had a very large heart, and I know he is very happy to have you as his wife, because he told me. Of course you must give him what is his due as your lawful husband, all men have appetites, even the most loving ones. I do realise your sacrifice, my dear, but marrying him was the only way we could be together regularly, and I feel much relieved to have you taken care of by someone I trust.

Since the season is just getting started here, and Anne is up to some engagements these days, I think our stay in London may be of some duration. I will try to write as often as I can, please be very careful that Wickham doesn't catch you taking your letters to the temple, and make sure you burn them to ashes, not leaving even the slightest decipherable remains.

Well, one thing was certain, they were not going to find letters from Victoria Wickham to Richard Darcy, they had been burnt, the ashes scattered in the winds. The rest of this letter contained the same loving phrases that had undoubtedly convinced the young London nurse to marry a man she didn't know and didn't love to be close to the man she did love. A gentleman, married to a lady of an esteemed family, who was enjoying himself in London with his wife and baby, while his mistress was left behind in the country to please a man who at least loved her sincerely.

'Georgie needs to read them as well, doesn't she?'

Her beloved's voice was flat, he'd been shocked beyond his ability to actually feel it anymore, and she took some time to kiss him and embrace him lovingly. Poor Fitzwilliam, this was getting worse and worse, and he had never seen anything amiss.

'I think so, yes. But please keep in mind that she never knew her father all that well, he was kind but they never had the special bond you had. It won't be as hard on her to find out that her father was seeing another woman.'

'You may be right. I hope you're right. Please go on, let's have it over with, he didn't even have the decency to treat her right.'

He didn't. Fortunately Mr Wickham had done that, even if he hadn't been the man Victoria Wickham really wanted, and even if she had treated him miserably. The next three letters were spread over a whole year and contained a lot of flattery, but also seemed to show a further lack of feeling in Fitzwilliam's father. He would describe how pleasantly he was engaged with his wife and son in London, something that could only have been painful to his mistress. But still her epistles couldn't have been accusing or depressing, for by now she was with child herself, and from Richard Darcy's sincere congratulations and inquiries after her health she seemed pleased to be expecting. The next years saw the number of letters dropping, and apparently Fitzwilliam's mother's condition had worsened, forcing her to stay in the country all the time. Again, Richard Darcy entreated his dear Victoria to take good care of his wife, even if by now she had a small child herself.

He no longer urged her to burn the letters, or to be cautious while writing or delivering them, he probably thought their arrangement worked perfectly well and would continue to do so, though their finding them proved nothing could stay hidden forever. So far, there hadn't been allusions that George Wickham might have been Richard Darcy's son, but it was more than clear that they had been sleeping with each other at the time of his conception, which made it not unlikely at all.

Elizabeth opened the last letter of the lot, with a date four years later than the previous seven. When she looked at her beloved he seemed steady enough to bear one more, how many unpleasant revelations could follow? His father had committed every imaginable sin already. Why write again after four years? Besides, they still saw each other often, Richard Darcy spent quite a lot of his time at Pemberley, and someone, had it been Anne, or the Earl? had remembered the Wickham family sometimes joining the adults in the evening.

'Can you handle this last one, my love? This cannot be easy on you, you will let me be there for you when you tell Georgiana, won't you?'

'It's not that bad, Elizabeth, truly, I kind of expected something like this, I can handle it. Please just read on and have it over with?'

She nodded and started to read.

Dear Victoria,

didn't I tell you to burn those letters? I told you to be careful, and now you tell me my letters have been stolen from your room? How do you know they were stolen, that you weren't just careless and left them lying about for someone to find? Wickham may have found them! Or the maid! You should have burned them as I said, now we may be in deep trouble.

To be safe I will find a different way to send you news, I think my huntsman is getting tired of our never-ending flow of letters, but do listen to me and burn them afterwards, my dearest! It is of great importance that you do, for I think Anne has talked to her sister when Catherine was here just after tragedy struck. Or maybe she was delirious, as you know she did have a fever for a few days. And her brother Earl Compton also seemed restrained, I think they suspect, so be on your guard and get rid of any of my letters you still have. And stay out of their way when they visit.

That said, I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits, and I beg you to write to me soon and tell me whether Anne is telling me the truth when she says she is doing well. She was not when I left, and I'm afraid she is putting a brave face on our tragedy. Of course one expects a mother to grieve when she loses a child, even a newborn babe, but the labour had left her so weak and frail, I do worry. She so wanted a little girl, but it was just not meant to be. Would that I could have stayed with both of you, but there are some things that have to be done in town and I have to do them myself. Don't be foolish now and imagine me with another woman, you know I love only you and have loved only you from the moment we met. Why would I want to be with some cheap London tart if I can get back to you as soon as my business here is finished?

And please, my love, do not argue with your husband that he wants to send George to school. If you want your son to be someone, he needs to go to school. I know he is still very young and a bit small and shy, but there is no other way. He'll toughen up quickly, and besides, it'll be at least a year before he'll be old enough. Don't worry about the cost, I'm good for it, it's the least I can do for little George, he is such a delightful boy. You just try to enjoy yourself over there and maybe I can persuade Wickham to let you join me for a few days this winter. Maybe he'll understand that some people do like society.

Another few pages of endearments proved their love hadn't changed any, those missing letters had been written and sent and read, but they had disappeared. Maybe Fitzwilliam's mother took them, or Mr Wickham. Elizabeth was a bit disappointed not to have found real proof of Wickham's parentage, so many awful details uncovered, but the real question was still unanswered. Maybe those missing letters held the key, but how would they find out where those were? Maybe they should go to that old huntsmaster, it couldn't have been Oliver for he was too young to have worked for Fitzwilliam's father.

She did wonder how much suffering was hidden under most people's relatively normal lives. Mrs Hurst had no children, had she lost a child like so many others apparently had? And was Jane in danger, or, God forbid, Lydia's new baby?

'Well, that's it,' Fitzwilliam observed, 'more details than I ever wanted to know about my father's life and miserable character, and not a line of evidence. Too bad. I guess we'll have to search the house then.'

That was quite a task, it was just huge, and who knew where there would be loose boards or hidden drawers? But Earl Compton was going to search his sister's old room at his estate as well, maybe he would find something. And Richard Darcy did mention Lady Catherine a lot, she might know something. But who was going to ask her?