Thank you for all of the awesome feedback! I have already posted another separate story about Sophia Darcy if you would like to know more. :) x
Lady Sophia Clarendon-Darcy sat in the corner of the Stag Parlour, the fire was raging in the large hearth and filling the room with an overpowering heat. Seething with anger, she tapped her foot on the edge of the window seat in the corner of the room where she had been placed to prevent her causing trouble; at the table her brother Cyril, her father George and the Cheshire Gentlemen, a small group of local landowners loyal to the former King James II, were gathered amidst smoke and ale, discussing their plan to restore the deposed Monarch to the throne in loud, bellowing voices which belied the secrecy of their very treasonous plotting. Sophia, mother of two Royal bastards, was a key part of this plan – indeed it was her very own idea to force action on behalf of the rightful King and legitimise her own children as his successors. Edmund and Henry, strong healthy boys, resided in the country – too precious to be kept close to the park at Pemberley, or even at her house in town. Even though they had been officially recognised as sons of the King, being awarded the name Fitzroy and the titles of Earls of Bentinck and Struthers, their position under the rule of William of Orange was tenuous, especially given his wife's own inability to provide the country with a Protestant heir. The Darcys themselves were staunch Royalists, and this most recent of developments had caused problems.
Sophia understood the risks that were being taken on behalf of her children, understood that any hint of conspiracy or intrigue could result in the children simply disappearing. She sat in the corner, the glittering Darcy Pearls pendant that had once belonged to her mother sparkling at her neck and her grey eyes incandescent with rage. She was listening to these silly men prattle on about their plans to raise armies, about their plans to smuggle the King into the country and march down to London to reclaim the throne. It was all so foolish. If they were going to be successful then they would have to be a little be cleverer with their plotting, or all of them would end up in the Tower, with nothing but a swift, merciless death ahead of them.
"Surely," she stated loudly enough to be heard, but not loudly enough to command the room as the chatter of twelve raucous gentlemen used to ignoring the voices of their wives continued to dominate the walls of the small parlour. Marching over to the fireplace and picking up a poker, she banged on the floor three times, "Gentlemen, Gentlemen, Gentlemen! I beg your attention, please do not do the mother of the focus of your endeavour such an injustice."
The men in the room began to quieten until Percival Warner, the lord of the manor that abutted their own to the north began to gripe about her even being included in the meeting.
"It is called the Cheshire Gentlemen, not the Cheshire Gentlemen and their Errant Daughters. This is simply the point which I am trying to make, albeit not as eloquently as I would like." He leaned over to Henry Danvers, who was sitting next to him and began to laugh. The laughter began to spread around the room like wildfire until Sophia, furious and red-faced, screamed for them to be silent.
"How dare you have the presumption that you can use my children as figureheads for your futile exercise, whilst at the same time demeaning anything that I may have to say." She spat out the words, as the room fell to quiet and the assembly attended to her every word. "I may not be a gentleman, but I am the daughter of a Duke and as such I outrank most of you here. Do you fail to see that the arrogance of your sex is what will eventually be your downfall?"
"We are hear to discuss the action we are going to take, Lady Clarendon, and not sentimentalise your love affair with the King," quipped Robert Piers, a local landowner who would have been quite handsome, excepting the large scar on his right cheek which he had received in a less than honourable duel.
"As you know, Mr Piers, I was the accepted Mistress of the King at court, holding a position that you probably wouldn't recognise if it slashed your other cheek," she looked at him pointedly. Men like Piers forgot that she could hold her own at court, that she wouldn't be bullied and subjugated like their own wives.
"As far as I am aware, Lady Clarendon, we are all fully knowledgeable of the 'position' that you held at court, but your ability to sire Royal bastards does not make your attendance here necessary."
George Darcy, the most senior man in the room rose to his feet and walked over to his daughter. He leaned over and whispered into her ear, "Madame, you need to leave this room now, you are doing none of us any good."
Sophia leaned back and looked into her father's eyes, they were exactly like her own and she could see the spark of fire in them. He was an old man now, but still fighting inside for what he believed to be right. George firmly believed that James was the rightful King of England, as he had believed that Charles was for all those years of fighting in the War, or struggling in exile. There were risks in what he was doing, he was aware of that, but he did not contend with the idea that a god-anointed King could be usurped or replaced.
Sophie curtseyed to her father before stomping through to the Drawing Room where the rest of the ladies were in attendance. She took a seat by the window, looking out onto the north front range of Pemberley, the beacons were lit – illuminating the circular driveway and the men below, who were preparing the coaches for departure. A year later she would watch helplessly from the same spot as four messengers and twenty-one Dutch troopers marched into the house to arrest her father for High Treason. He was escorted to await trial in London, his place of imprisonment would be the Tower; as he was taken over London Bridge he could see the spiked heads of Henry Danvers, Robert Piers and Percival Warner looking down on him with ominous, grisly faces.
Imogen looked at Harriet with wide-eyed disbelief, she had never heard this story before, had never realised that actual things of importance had happened at Pemberley, apart from Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, obviously. Bundled up in hats and gloves, and with cups of hot chocolate from the café, they were walking around the grounds – blowing off the winter cobwebs, as Lizzy called it – and getting to know each other properly. For the first few days Imogen had felt self-conscious in the flat with her niece, who was not much younger than she was, who eyed her with awkward suspicion one minute and a strange pitying look the next. They had bonded over a teen-based foreign language series on Netflix that they found one night when neither could sleep, and now infuriated Lizzy by swearing at each other in Norwegian and leaving foundation all over the bathroom sink.
They walked up towards the top lawn, past the Rose Garden, and down into the Killtime Ravine. "So, what happened to Sophia Darcy?" Imogen asked, "I have never really heard about her before." Growing up in France and then at boarding school, she had never really felt connected to the family lineage, it all seemed so old and faraway.
"No-one really talks about her because of what happens next…" Harriet paused for dramatic effect, pleased to have the attention of a captive audience. "George gets arrested, goes to the Tower, gets put in really awful rooms and they don't let anyone visit him." She looked at Imogen who was totally engrossed in the story and nodding along. "And then… they let him go."
"Just like that? I thought you were going to say that they cut his head off or something. Placed it on a pike on London Bridge." She pulled a funny face and then laughed. Harriet thought it was nice to hear her laugh.
"What they did was much worse than that, I think," Harriet said sadly. She hated the way that Sophia had been vilified and all but removed from the family history page in the Pemberley guidebook.
"How come?" Imogen was genuinely interested in what Harriet was telling her and, secretly, she couldn't wait until the house was open, so she could go and have a look at all these rooms that she kept mentioning.
"When she was younger, she had grown up at Court, was like a sister to Princess Mary and Princess Anne – they wrote to each other all the time and loved each other a lot. When Mary became Queen –
"Mary was married to… William?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "When William and Mary became King and Queen they exiled Anne to her own court out of town, where they let her get on with it. The sisters never really reconciled, and Mary died young with no children. When William got ill he recognised Anne as his heir and that's where she got a bit power hungry."
"Right, I'm confused now… What has this got to do with Sophia?"
"Sophia had two children by Anne's dad," Harriet pulled a face. "I mean, my friend Summer's dad is fairly good looking… for a Dad anyway… but can you imagine having your best friend's dad's kids? Grim!"
Imogen looked at Harriet in disbelief, "this is like a Soap Opera, but with royalty."
"Royalty is a Soap Opera," the younger woman laughed.
"So, what did they do to Sophia? You still haven't told me!"
"Anne summoned Sophia to Court and took her children into her own protective custody."
"She took her children? You can't do that!" Imogen was positively horrified.
"You have to remember that then children were sent away all the time and didn't really see their parents until they were returned as fully functioning members of society."
"That's not just then, Harriet, that's now if your dad is the bloody Duke of Knobheadshire."
"Are you going to let me finish this story, or are you going to cry about how you grew up in a villa in the South of France?" Harriet looked at Imogen pointedly. "Anyway, it gets worse."
"How can it possibly get worse? They've taken her children and thrown her dad in prison!"
"Have you ever wondered why Mr Darcy is just Mr Darcy and not the Duke of Derbyshire like Grandad is?"
"Harriet, I have often wondered why Matthew Macfadyen has a mullet when he is Mr Darcy, but I have never really paid much attention beyond that. I did think at one point that Jane Austen decided to make a feeble attempt to hide identities, but she mentions everyone else by name anyway."
They were walking back up the ravine now, heading towards the Dutch Gardens and their elegant symmetry. The air was cold around Pemberley today and Harriet was glad that she had worn an extra pair of socks. She rolled her eyes at Imogen, who was obviously freezing.
"Anne didn't punish the family by having George executed or doing anything so obvious, but she did take away the title, which essentially signed his death warrant anyway, he was dead within six months of it. They also had an attainder to pay, a huge amount of money - the estate was virtually bankrupt, and Pemberley was nearly lost because of it all."
"What happened to Sophia?" Imogen had a face of genuine concern for this once lost but now found relative that she felt oddly akin to.
"She went to France; married a prince over there, but that's about all we know really."
"What about Cyril? Did he live? Was he okay?"
"Imo, you know that he's like our great great great great" she was counting them off on her fingers, "great great great great grandad, right? He was okay, he managed to keep a hold on the estate by selling off portraits and furniture, but only just. "
"What a sad story," Imogen said in a mournful tone.
"What a sad real-life event, you mean," Harriet raised her eyebrow to her Aunt as they walked under the garden arches and into the courtyard, where the cloisters gave them the merest hint of protection from the cold.
"Thank you for telling me," Imogen said softly, "Dad never really shares stories from here. I never knew half of this stuff even happened."
Harriet returned the smile and wrapped her arm around Imogen's shoulder, she noticed that she was still painfully thin under the goosefeather coat, and whilst she looked okay if you saw her from a distance, it was only when you were close that you could see the dry patches on her skin, the bags under her eyes and the scars on her arms that she tried to hide with bracelets.
"We come from a very long line of amazing women – the guidebook will try and make it all about the men, but if you look closely you will see that Darcy women are all made of much stronger stuff," she looked at Imogen pointedly, before giving her a meaningful hug. "Right, I have to get to college, I will see you later – remember, my mum is off to London today for her hot date."
Imogen looked confused, "hot date?"
"Yeah," Harriet smiled. "We have the flat to ourselves – this means you need to buy the pizza."
"Okay, it's a deal," she nodded.
Harriet walked off in the direction of the north stairs, leaving Imogen alone in the courtyard. It was eleven o'clock and the house was opening for the day, the large doors at the top of the stone steps being pushed open as the sound of the centuries old bolts clanged around the walls. Imogen tentatively walked up the stairs, feeling in so many ways like she was walking in the footsteps of history. Was it these steps that Sophia Darcy had run down in her crackling satin gown, chasing the soldiers as they took her father away? Did Elizabeth Bennet-Darcy, with her fine eyes and rich husband, ever walk up these steps with her head in a book? She didn't know right now, but she was determined to find out.
"Welcome back, Lady Imogen," Graeme smiled. He had been one of the doormen at Pemberley since the HHS had taken over, he had a friendly face and a lovely warm voice that made her feel safe and in the company of friends. "We have missed you!"
Imogen walked through the door of the house and immediately knew that she was home.