Imperative: Volume 1, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (103 page)

“Good God.”  Darcy halted at the bottom of the steps and whispered. 

“There is a note.”  Elizabeth said softly as she rocked the sleeping child.

He found the note and read the nearly illegible scrawl.

This is Ellie.  She is a good baby.  Papa said I can stay home if she goes away.  Please look after her
.

“She has been abandoned.”  Darcy looked up to Elizabeth and then seeing Georgiana arrive, he handed her the note and knocked on the door of the church.  It opened and the curate appeared. 

“Mr. Darcy!”  He looked from him to Elizabeth and then down to the steps and spotted the basket.  His surprised smile faded to tired resignation.  “Another one.”

“Another?” 

“We seem to get one every month, sir.  Mr. Peters sends them to the foundling hospital in London; the workhouses don’t want them, too young to be of use.  The hospital will send it out to be wet-nursed.”  Moving aside, he allowed them entry.  “Was it crying?”

“No . . . sleeping.  I saw a girl leave the basket off and my wife . . .”  Darcy turned to her.  “You immediately suspected a child?”

“Yes, I found one once on the side of the road when I walked into Meryton.  But it was dead.”  She looked at him with tear-filled eyes.  All at once Darcy understood more of his wife, and why she had still accepted him after he admitted his first plans for Georgiana.  He placed his palm against her back and nodded as he rubbed gently.

“I have seen them in garbage heaps in London.”  The curate said without emotion.  “The ones that leave them in the open hope that they will be found.  As cold as it is, if you had not noticed . . . well.”  He turned and called for his wife.  A woman of middle age appeared and stopped in the aisle. 

“Mr. Darcy?”  She looked at him with wide eyes and then to the baby in Elizabeth’s arms. 

“Mr. Darcy found the baby on the steps, Mrs. Hawes.  You know what to do.” 

“Heaven help them.”  She sighed and took the baby from Elizabeth.  “Was there a note?  There sometimes is.”

“Yes . . .” Darcy tugged the note from Georgiana’s grip and handed it to the woman. 

“No idea who the mother is?  The hospital will want to know, but I suppose the note will do. ” She read it and shrugged.  “Ah well, it is common enough, young girl is pregnant and her father throws her and the babe out.  At least he will take her back after being ruined.  Most of them don’t, what parent wants a ruined girl on his hands?  Nobody will want to marry her.  I suppose the child’s father has abandoned them both.”  Picking up the basket, she nodded to Elizabeth.  “Thank you madam.  Tho’ if this one lives, I don’t know what sort of a future you saved it for.” 

“She is a girl.”  Georgiana said softly.

“At this age it doesn’t really matter.  When they get to be five or so, then they are of some use.”

“What happens to them?”  Elizabeth asked clearly.

“They work.”  The woman said matter-of-factly.  “If they’re lucky the girls will get a job in service, the boys will be apprenticed out somewhere, but you never know.  Stupid girls, a tussle in the hay and this is the result.  Lord knows they weren’t thinking of anything but themselves then.”  She saw Darcy’s blank face and Georgiana’s mortification.  “Forgive me, sir.  I forgot myself.  It just makes me angry.  Girls who have what’s right pounded in their head ignore the teachings of the church and family and get themselves ruined.  I say stand in front of the altar so you won’t be leaving a basket at the church door one day.”  Bobbing a curtsey, she turned and headed down the aisle and disappeared. 

“Is there anything we can do . . .”  Darcy said stiffly to the curate.  “Pay for the girl’s care . . .  Her transportation to London . . .”

“No sir, you pay for it already in your taxes, this isn’t even your church, after all.  The shame of it is that the mother is probably from another parish entirely.  This should be their problem, not ours.”  The curate bowed and opened the church door for them.  “Thank you, sir.”

“Yes, of course.”  Finding themselves outside on the steps they looked at each other.  “I have the distinct impression that he would have been happier if the child had been found a few hours later.”  He took Elizabeth’s hand and placed it firmly in the crook of his arm.  “I know that the parishes hate to take on the cost of these abandoned children.” 

“I imagine that the curate knows his business well.  The baby might very well be better off not being found.”  Elizabeth spoke softly.  They heard a soft sob and looked to Georgiana.  “The mother had a hard choice, and apparently nobody to help her.”  Elizabeth hooked her hand around Georgiana’s waist and looked up when the distant sound of the post horn reached them.  Immediately activity around the tavern picked up as passengers gathered and the mail bag was brought outside.

Darcy spoke quietly, “I was going to suggest a stop in the Tavern for a drink, but perhaps we should return home instead?”

“As good as that sounds, I think that we have had enough for one day.”  Elizabeth agreed. 

Georgiana looked back at the church door. “Yes, I would be glad to go home.” 

“WELL, YOU HAVE BEEN THROUGH MY FILES, my finances, talked to everyone here . . .”  Mr. Mayfield regarded Samuel speculatively, “I must say, you are a surprise.”

“Why is that, sir?”  He looked up from the account book he was scrutinizing.

“I have interviewed five others for this position.  Not one of them went into such detail with their questions or interest.  In fact, I have had the distinct impression that
I
was the whelp and you were the owner!”

Samuel’s eyes widened.  “If I have offended . . .  I apologize, sir.  I know that I am young . . .”

“No, no.  Look before you leap.  It shows excellent upbringing and I daresay, excellent advice.”  Mayfield settled his hands over his stomach.  “I suppose that I should not be surprised, your name is Darcy after all.  There is a fine tradition of law in your blood, and care.  I knew your great uncle, Judge Horace Darcy, when I was clerking here in this very office.  I was about seventeen the first time I met him passing through Lambton on his way to Pemberley.”  He rubbed his jaw with a smile and laughed, “Scared the devil out of me!  But he did take the time to look over my shoulder and noted a few things.  I sat up straighter after that.” 

“My father admired him.”

“Yes, yes, I can see that.  What will he think of this?”   He raised his brows and waved his hand.  “Your father is very proud to have followed his uncle’s lead to be a judge, I assume he wanted the same for you?”

“Yes.”  Samuel closed the book and sat back, looking around the quiet office.  “I enjoy the law; I enjoy helping people to put their affairs in order, but I have seen the toll that my father’s position took on him.  If I am blessed with a family one day, I . . . I want to be home at night with them.  Not travelling the countryside earning my way up the ladder.  I took the job at Easterly’s for just this reason sir, to give me experience and a taste of London.  I will not miss it if I leave and I will not wonder about it for never having lived it.”  A slow smile grew across Mayfield’s face.  “I do not know what my father will say.  I do love Derbyshire; I just never admit it to anyone.” 

“You grew up on Pemberley; I suppose that might have something to do with it.” 

“I do not want the life my cousin has.”  He said quickly.

“Your blood is in that land, Darcy.”  Mayfield’s finger shook.  “I think that your cousin Mr. Darcy reads you far better than you know.  He talked to me about you . . . oh, before you graduated, last May, I believe.  If you think you are fooling him about your lack of love for Pemberley or your desire to be a country solicitor, you have a lot to learn about that good man.”  Samuel’s jaw dropped. 

“But . . . He did not even realize that I was working at Easterly’s until he encountered me there.”

Mayfield chuckled.  “He does have other things on his mind, Darcy.  Where you were employed did not matter.  He knew that you needed experience.”  The door opened and they looked up.  “And here is your opportunity to display some.”  Rising, he smiled and approached the man.  “Mr. Monroe, how may we help you today?”

“It seems I have inherited a cottage.”  Monroe pulled a letter from his pocket and held it out to Mayfield.  “Now what do I do?”  

“I think that my future partner will handle this.”  He nodded to Samuel.  “It is my turn to observe.”

Smiling to his boots, Samuel nodded.  “Certainly sir, if you could take a seat here?”  He indicated a chair and Mr. Monroe did not move. 

“I say, who is this man?  I came for your help, not some . . .”

“I did not introduce you.  Mr. Monroe, this is Mr. Samuel Darcy, Judge Darcy’s son.  He is considering becoming my partner.”

“Darcy?”  Monroe started.  “A Darcy?  Well then . . .” He cleared his throat and gave Samuel a once over.  “I do not know your father, but I certainly know Pemberley’s master.  I just saw him outside with his new wife and sister.  I hope you approach his integrity, Mr. Darcy.”  Monroe pulled out a chair and sat down.  “About time you got some help around here, Mayfield.” 

“WHERE IS EVERYBODY?”  Christmas demanded.  “Why would anyone want to live in this godforsaken county?” 

“Some people consider the Peak District to be beautiful.”  Wickham noted.

“Well they are daft.  Never been out of London before and when this is through, I never plan to leave again.”  He closed his eyes and held onto the strap.  “I’m going to be sick.  Three days of this rocking . . .”

“We should be in Lambton very soon.” 

“Where is the house?”

“Five miles from the village, another mile or so to the manor from the gate.”  Wickham watched the scenery, recognizing landmarks as they rolled along.  “Look there.”

Christmas opened his eyes.  “Where?”

“See that hill there . . . beyond the forest?  Those are the walnut groves of Pemberley.”

“Where the cabin is . . .”

“Right.”  Wickham said quietly.  “That is where we will await our chance.” 

“We need a good rope then . . .”

“We can get that in Lambton.  I don’t know any other way.  Not if it is to be an accident.”

“I think it will work.”  The two men exchanged glances.  “It will have to.” 

“Right.”  Wickham turned to the window and looked out at Pemberley.  “It will have to.”

A blast on the horn alerted them that they were approaching the White Horse, and in ten minutes they arrived at Lambton’s inn.  Before they even stepped inside, the mail bags had been traded, the horses changed and the new passengers were boarded.  Christmas and Wickham looked after the disappearing coach and exchanging glances stepped inside of the inn.  As soon as he entered, flashes of his past popped into Wickham’s mind.  It had been two years since he last visited and nothing had changed.  Men looked up at the newcomers and returned to their ale and cards.  A round woman appeared and gave them a sharp look over, then took them up to their shared room.  Wickham paced and finally settled next to the window. 

“Jumpy?”  Christmas noted as he made use of the chamber pot. 

“I thought that she recognized me.”  He murmured.  “I left some debts behind . . .” 

Laughing, Christmas buttoned up his breeches.  “Fine, upstanding gentleman you are, you’ll make a fine husband for that sweet young thing.”

“I’ve changed.”  He murmured.

“Like hell you have.  A leopard can’t change his spots.  You didn’t try to escape during the night from me, did you?  You’ve had plenty of opportunities.  You want this as much as I do.  For the girl or the money, doesn’t matter.”  He nodded at Wickham when he looked back at him.  “So what got you in trouble here?  Cards?  Well, we will just be here the night, then we’ll head off to that cabin.  We’ll need a few supplies.”

Wickham digested the truth of Christmas’ observations and wondered if he should try to warn Darcy again. 
Leave it to Darcy to stop it, then I won’t be in danger of Christmas’s wrath . . .
  Finally he looked back out of the window in the direction of Pemberley.  “If I remember correctly the cabin is kept fully stocked, we will just need some food.  I do not expect we will be there long.”

“Speaking of food, you hungry?”  Nodding, Wickham followed Christmas to the door and they walked down the crooked stairs to the tavern.  Taking an empty table by the window, they sat in silence.  A girl delivered some ale and left to round up their meals.  Christmas took a long draw and leaned in to Wickham.  “I want to be on my way back to London as fast as possible.  Not enough people here, you can’t get lost in a crowd.  They all know each other and we stand out.”  He watched the people moving around beyond the glass, his sharp eyes taking in the busy market town.  “Well at least there’s
some
life here but I don’t want to risk . . . whoa!” 

“What is it?”  Wickham followed his finger and quickly moved back from the window.  “Darcy!”  They watched the tall figure exiting the office across the street, ducking his head to miss the low doorway.  He was accompanied by two elder men and they were crossing the street to the inn. 

“If I had a gun I could get him from here!”  Christmas cursed.  “Too bad his wife isn’t there.”

“They are coming in here!”  Wickham whispered in a near panic.  “If he spots me . . .”  Keeping his head down, he stared into his tankard while the three men entered and passed their table.  “Does he know you?” 

“No.”  Christmas watched them sit down.  “He never came in the kitchens when I was visiting and he had his own men out searching for you.  Don’t turn around; his view is right on your back.” 

The maid arrived with their meals and Wickham hunched over his, eating automatically, straining to hear the voices and his mind whirling as he argued with himself. 
If I turn around, Darcy will see me, and it will be over.  Christmas wouldn’t dare kill me in front of all of these people.  Just turn and look at him, he will likely beat me, but . . .
  He heard the scraping of chairs on wood and men laughing.  Their footsteps grew closer and Wickham’s arm flinched, knocking his hat to the floor.  Looking down, he saw boots stop and a hand reaching down to retrieve it.  The sounds of the tavern seemed to disappear as he watched the hat rising and at last met the man’s eyes.