Echoes of Pemberley (12 page)

“What do you think?” Ben asked after he had given Sean a rundown of the animal’s unfortunate history. “Fancy a go at him? I shall compensate you for the extra work of course.”

“Yeah.” Sean nodded gamely and climbed over the fence.

Surprised, Ben said, “What —
now
?”

“Aye, sir, I intend to introduce myself and welcome our friend properly.” Sean approached the animal, cooing softly in Gaelic.

With raised brows, Ben glanced at Sarah. “Now,” he repeated and joined Sean in the paddock.

Catie watched in disbelief as the animal responded almost magically to Sean’s voice. The horse even whinnied and lifted its head with a coltish snort, demanding more attention. Once the gelding’s anxiety began to ease, Sean disappeared into the stable and came back with a bridle. Thrilled, Catie climbed upon the fence and sat on the top rail to gain a better vantage.

“Get down, Sis!” Ben hissed at her under his breath. “Can you not see how unpredictable the animal is?”

Catie obeyed but grumbled, “Must he always speak to me as if I’m seven years old?”

Sarah laughed shortly. “He will not always be so blind, my dear sister. But until he sees better you must do what women have always done.”

“What’s that?” Catie asked, glowering at her brother.

“Endure.”

Neighing contemptuously, the horse wasn’t so keen on the bridle, repeatedly rejecting it. Sean coaxed gently but firmly until the gelding submitted and allowed the bridle to be hung loosely over his ears. Caught up in the moment, Catie jumped carelessly upon the fence again and cried out, “He did it!”

The sudden movement spooked the horse, and the feral shadow fell back over him in an instant. Wild-eyed, the powerful thoroughbred reared back and charged aggressively towards Catie. She hit the ground hard as the thud of hooves crashed down around her like the rain of a sudden and violent storm. Terrified, she coiled into a protective ball, expecting the heavy blow of a hoof, but the clopping grew faint. The horse had galloped off, leaving her filthy but unharmed. Excited voices came from all around but all she could hear was the thumping of her rapidly beating heart.

“Don’t move, Catie,” Sarah, who was first to her side, cautioned frantically. “Is anything broken?”

“No,” Catie replied, rolling onto her back and wiping dirt from her face.

“My God, Sis, did he come down on you?” Ben stooped, checking her carefully from head to toe. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No.” Catie shook her head. “He didn’t land on me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine, Brother — just dirty.”

“Help her up, Ben,” Sarah instructed, and he carefully lifted his sister to her feet.

Catie looked down at her hands, which stung badly, and saw that she had scraped off a good deal of skin in trying to brace her fall. “Bloody horse!” she uttered spitefully.

“Bloody
horse
!” Ben gave her shoulder a censorious shake. “You’re lucky you weren’t trampled!”

“I know.” Catie didn’t dare meet her brother’s eyes. Even worse, Sean Kelly stood in the background listening as Ben scolded her like a child.

“Shall I go fetch the horse, Mr. Darcy?” Sean asked as if sensing Catie’s discomfort.

“Yes,” Ben answered in an aggravated tone. “Sarah, take Catie to the house while I go with Sean. The horse took out the top rail of the fence, and I’ll need to be there if he’s broken his leg.”

Startled, Catie looked at Ben. “You won’t shoot him, will you?”

“If he’s hurt badly, Catherine, I’ll have no choice.”

After Sarah bandaged Catie’s hands, Rose gave the girl two aspirin with a nip of brandy and marched her off to lie down until suppertime. With Catie safely upstairs, Sarah murmured a silent prayer for the horse and went to her sons, who were playing in the garden. She took a seat on a cushioned wicker lawn chair and was soon joined by her husband.

“Oh, Ben!” She sat up when she saw him. “How’s the horse?”

“Just a bad scratch,” he said, sitting down next her. “Sean’s wrapping his leg now.”

“Then you must go straight in and tell Catie. Her conscience is heavily burdened with that horse’s fate.”

Ben glanced at his watch. “It’s less than an hour till supper. Let her conscience suffer a bit longer.” Sarah gave him a disapproving look that made him chuckle and kiss her. “It’ll do her good, my love. Now tell me, how is my foolhardy sister?”

“She’ll recover. Though I doubt she’ll be sitting comfortably for a few days.”

“Oh?”

Sarah’s triangular brows arched with amusement. “Rose and I discovered a rather large bruise on your sister’s backside. When she fell she must have landed on a stone.”

Ben laughed. “Lessons learned from that end up are lessons learned indeed.”

“That’s what Rose said!” Sarah looked at him in amazement.

“It was one of Dad’s sayings.” He smiled thoughtfully. “How would we have managed Catie all these years without Rose?”

“We would have failed . . . miserably.”

Ben gave a soft grunt of agreement and fell silent as he watched Geoffrey and George chase each other around the lawn.

“What’s on your mind, Bennet?” Sarah asked. “Catie? Don’t worry so, darling, she still has girlish impulses.”

“No, I was thinking of Dad.” He released a burdensome sigh and added, “And Wesley Howell. I haven’t yet told you about my trip to London.”

She turned to give him her full attention. “Go on.”

“I’m afraid this whole affair is going to cost us more than I had hoped, Sarah. Charles Worthington and I are meeting next week to try and work out some kind of a negotiation, but I don’t see how we can avoid making the man some sort of an offer.”

“So, Wesley Howell is who he says he is?”

“It appears so. Everything, documents and all, appear to be in order. My only hope now is to reach a settlement with the man quickly and privately, without London’s tabloids getting hold of the story.”

“What about Pemberley?” Sarah asked, the trepidation in her voice evident.

“Pemberley will not be a part of any settlement!” he said hotly. “I shall let this matter go public and before the courts first; I made that perfectly clear to Charles.” Ben paused for a moment and then whispered, “God, Sarah, how I wish I could ask Father’s advice.”

Sarah affectionately took her husband’s hand. “I know, darling, I know.” They sat quietly until a few drops of rain forced them to gather the twins and head indoors.

Chapter 8

The few drops of rain turned into a steady downpour that lasted several days. Catie looked out of the rain-streaked windows in the drawing room and moaned. She hated more than anything to be closed up indoors, but there was more fueling her foul mood that morning. Audrey Tillman had unexpectedly flown off to meet her mother in Turkey and felt it essential to call her friend before leaving London to crow about her upcoming trip. Audrey was most likely walking on the white sands of the Aegean Coast at that very minute.

“I hope she gets sunburn!” Catie scowled at her reflection in the glass then opened Mary Darcy’s diary, her only companion for the last dreary days.

Mary and Arthur’s zealous summer romance was never discovered, and he left his friends at Thompson Farm at summer’s end with a promise to write Mary every week. Mary Darcy fancied herself to be ardently in love with Arthur Howell and was in a desperate state after his departure from Derbyshire.

31
^st
of August 1918
I must pull myself together. Both Mother and Father are eyeing me with suspicion. It is just misery, pure and complete misery. I love Arthur so that I feel my heart will explode right out of my chest. He has already written and promises to return summer next. Oh how I shall suffer until then.
How indeed!

“Oh, Mary, you poor, poor dear,” Catie whispered, shaking her head. After several more anguished outpourings, Mary’s entries were scattered until Christmastime, when she again wrote of Catie’s Grandfather Geoffrey visiting Pemberley from Rosings Park for the Christmas season.

21
^st
of December 1918
The house is most merry, adorned with greenery and holly. The Darcys of Rosings Park have arrived in their new shiny automobile. “Ostentatious,” Father whispered in Mother’s ear as we all waved them in, their horn blaring. However, I think Papa is still a bit miffed because Cousin Geoff made a fortune during the War. It is rumored that Rosings Park is now fully electric, even in the servant’s quarters. Thankfully, Cousin Geoff and young Geoffrey took Papa automobiling, and the three returned in high spirits. Now it is Mamma who is miffed, as the men have spent the whole of the afternoon in the carriage house staring at the engine. Arthur continues to write weekly and is presently in the north with his regiment. His latest letter was addressed to My Dearest Mary . . . my dearest! Oh, I think he must love me . . . surely he must!

Catie closed the diary and sat up. “Wesley Howell — Arthur Howell — Rosings Park — what does it all mean?” she mulled over the mystery once more, as the large hall clock belled the hour. Mr. Johnson would be preparing Ben’s lunch. She’d had every intention of broaching the subject of their grandfather being raised at Rosings Park with her brother, but the success of these types of conversations depended greatly on timing. She heaved a determined sigh. “I suppose now is as good a time as any.”

Upon entering the kitchen under the pretense of getting a glass of milk, Miss Catie was not a welcomed sight. As grand and enchanting as Pemberley was, even it could grow small and grey when one found oneself imprisoned within its walls for too long. And with the Aegean Coast weighing heavily upon her temper, young Miss Darcy had become a most disagreeable inmate of her ancestral home, sulking about the house the last few days, as stormy as the weather and never opening her mouth except to complain. Confident she would find something to be unhappy about, Mr. Johnson went about his business and ignored her.

Soon enough, Catie justified the man’s disregard by pouring her milk down the sink, claiming that it tasted a day or two old. Then, while advising Mr. Johnson to purchase from a different dairy next time, she emptied the rest of the container down the drain as well. Mr. Johnson grumbled under his breath as he filled a tray with Mr. Darcy’s lunch. He had just bought the milk fresh.

“What’d you say, Mr. Johnson?” Catie stepped over to the man.

“Nothing, miss, just speaking to me dearly departed mum,” Mr. Johnson replied as he forcefully brought down a sharp knife to halve the sandwich, making Catie flinch. He turned to call for a maid to deliver the meal.

“If that’s for my brother, I’ll take it.” Catie rushed forward. “I must pass his door on my way. No need to disturb anyone.”

Happy to see her with reason to leave, Mr. Johnson handed the tray over to Catie as he warned, “Careful now, missy. The soup is hot and the bowl’s full.”

“Enter.” Catie heard Ben respond to her knock and opened the door to his study, clumsily trying to manage the heavy tray.

“I have your lunch, Brother,” she announced pleasantly as she came in but drew up short at the sight in front of her. Aiden Hirst. Athletically built, eighteen years old and, like her brother, bearing a handsome, rectangular British face. Catie swallowed at the sight of him and glanced nervously at Ben.

“Allow me.” Aiden came forward to take the tray from her hands.

“Thank you.” Catie watched him edge it carefully onto Ben’s desk and ventured another look at her brother. He didn’t appear to be too nettled — no more than usual anyway. Ben stood and smiled, slightly easing her rapidly beating heart.

“Aiden, allow me to introduce my sister, Catherine; Catherine, Aiden Hirst.”

“Pl-pleased to meet you, A-Aiden,” Catie stammered and blushed when she noticed Ben grimace at her awkwardness.

“Likewise, Miss Darcy,” Aiden said.

“Catherine, Aiden is the nephew of Lawrence Hirst of Ardsley Manor,” Ben continued. “His uncle and our father go way back.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.” Aiden gave Catie a conniving wink. “Well, Mr. Darcy, I must be off. Thank you for seeing me, sir.” He shook Ben’s hand and turned back to Catie. “Miss Darcy, I hope we shall meet again soon.”

“Yes, s-soon,” Catie repeated anxiously, glad he was leaving.

“Please don’t ring anyone, Mr. Darcy, I’ll show myself out. I’m rather used to rambling old houses,” Aiden said, waving back at them. “Cheers.”

“Nice lad, that Aiden,” Ben said as soon as the door closed.

“Is he?”

“He seems to be.” Ben sat back down.

“Because Lawrence Hirst of Ardsley Manor is his uncle or because he’s rather used to rambling old houses?” Catie asked as she flopped down on the chair in front of Ben’s desk, legs dangling over the arm. “Really, Ben, don’t be such a snob.”

He looked at her with a mixture of impatience and sympathy. “You will soon be coming of an age, Catherine, that impressions will be important. You must start considering how you present yourself and how you speak to . . . you know . . . young men.”