Page 20 of Pemberley's Imposter
“Just information, Bingley. If you cooperate, I shall be out of your way within minutes. I want to know a couple of details regarding the child who is living with Elizabeth at her cottage in Little Kings Hill.”
Bingley did not answer immediately. He stood, absently running his hand through his hair, with an annoyed expression.
“Did you know that she tapped the sap from birch trees to sweeten the tea she could not afford to buy? That she carried her own water and chopped her own wood while carrying your child? I was appalled by the conditions she was living under. More than six months passed before we even knew of her whereabouts.”
Darcy flinched; his own sentiments matched Bingley’s, but what could he do? Nothing! It was too late. Elizabeth must rightfully hate him as much as he loathed her. They were thoroughly trapped, in marriage and adversity.
“Seventy pounds a year was all her father and uncle had deemed sufficient for a genteel lady to manage on. My sisterhas gowns that cost more than that! I, of course, offered her sanctuary at Netherfield, but she refused. Do you know why?”
He did not leave Darcy time to reply.
“She was afraid you would come and deprive her of her child. She chose to live in utter poverty, as opposed to the comfort Netherfield could offer, to protect your daughter. How doesthatfeel, Mr Darcy?”
It was confirmed; he was the last man in the world Elizabeth would welcome to her humble abode.
“The date of birth, Bingley.”
Bingley looked at him with disgust.
“August the seventh, 1813. You can leave my house now. Go back to Pemberley and forget what you have seen.”
“I cannot. The child is my heir.”
“Then leave her Pemberley in your will. You need not be involved. Sign a paper stating you will not claim her until she comes of age. Allow Elizabeth and the girl to come and live with us. We shall see to her comfort and education.”
Judging by that suggestion, Bingley believed him devoid of every emotion, and to gainsay him would be futile. Nothing he said would change his former friend’s opinion of him.
“I shall consider it.” He ended the conversation with a curt nod and left Bingley to his thoughts.
In the passage, he was met by running footsteps and joyous squeals. A small child came towards him with his mother following close behind. His run came to an abrupt halt as the boy crashed into his leg, entwined his chubby arms around his calf, and looked expectantly up at him.
His lower lip quivered when he discovered it was not his father but a stranger’s leg he was clinging to. The boy courageously raised his arms towards him. Darcy bent and lifted the chap up. It was a novel experience to hold the young boy, who gazed trustingly into his eyes, and he could not help but smile at him. His mother stood frozen, a few paces away, her mouth hanging open in astonishment. Then Mrs Bingley collected herself admirably, and her usual serene expression reappeared.
“Charlie, come. Let us find your papa.”
Mrs Bingley beckoned to her child, who eagerly leant towards his mother’s outstretched arms. Darcy relinquished the boy and inclined his head to Mrs Bingley, who did not reciprocate. He continued out of the door whilst contemplating his next move. He had to act quickly before Bingley did something rash like moving Elizabeth and her child to the Scottish Highlands. He could not allow it!
Chapter 8 Lifelines
Miss Millicent Freight had come to learn how to make fragrances. Elizabeth had no stillroom, but the kitchen nook in her main room served the purpose. Mr Freight wanted his only child to have the best education. Whomever his daughter married would ultimately inherit his farm, so she needed to attract the best man possible.
Mr Freight must have realised Mrs Darcy was a genteel lady of a finer education than any of the other women in their village. He had been delighted when she approached him about the firewood because he wanted help raising his daughter. They had exchanged services with each other and soon became friends. There was no flirting between them, though many of the other women in the village tried their luck with the only eligible bachelor in the neighbourhood.
Elizabeth had told the villagers her husband was missing, and Mr Freight, like everyone else, had assumed Mr Darcy was a soldier. The years had since passed without any sign of the man. Mr Freight probably thought she was living in denial as he had never asked her a single question about her illusive husband. The war had ended in May the previous year. It had flared up again in March, but it was highly unlikely her husband would not have had one leave of absence for two and a half years.
“Your father has returned early.” Elizabeth remarked to Millicent at the unmistakable sound of approaching hoofs pounding the dirt.
“How inconsiderate of him. Let us pretend we have not noticed.”
Elizabeth laughed. “That would not be ladylike, Millicent.”
“Please, let us hurry to collect the last jasmines of the season. It is superior to every other fragrance. It will only take a minute,” Millicent begged.
“Let us be quick about it, then.”
Elizabeth hoisted her daughter up into her arms and ran to the jasmine bush. The girl squealed then laughed heartily at her mother’s antics. Millicent ran behind, huffing and puffing, carrying a small basket for the blossoms.
They made quick work of divesting the bush of its last flowers and hurried back to the cottage. The rider was waiting outside the house. He had dismounted and stood behind his horse, doing something or other.
