A Peculiar Connection (31 page)

“My mother’s illness advanced that autumn, and I delayed my return to Cambridge because of it. I had always been particularly close to her, and she sought my presence even more as her health declined. She became possessed with the idea that I move to Ireland, her homeland, where I might practice my faith without the consequences affecting the futures of my brothers. My father had died some years earlier, and George, who was eight years my senior, had assumed his place as head of the family. He had married Anne, a titled lady, whose connections could assist George in any future ambitions he might entertain.

“‘Once I am dead,’ my mother said, ‘George will be free of what this country considers the Catholic taint. If you go to Ireland, Peter, there will be no one to hold George back. And you might also re-establish contact with my family in County Cork. I trust that my brothers’ hearts have softened and that they will take you in. When you reach the shores, call upon Lord Killaine. He will aid you once he learns you are my son and that you have embraced the church.’

“Of course, my mother knew nothing of my affection for Elizabeth or my horror at the thought of leaving the girl behind. Upon good days, which grew ever less frequent as the months passed, Mother made particular plans for supporting my leave-taking. She urged me to keep it our secret, for she and I both knew that George would not approve.

“Sadly, three weeks after Christmas, she died. It was a bitter, cold day in January, and I felt the loss deeply. I sought refuge at the chapel in the wood, and it was not long before Elizabeth found me weeping there. She shared my grief, not because she knew Mother well, but because she loved me. Any emotion either of us felt ruled the other, for our spirits were bound to each other.

“The day after my brothers and I buried Mother, Elizabeth and I made plans to marry. We engaged the support of the parish priest, and then I travelled to London to secure a special licence, having told my brothers I was calling upon a friend from school. We could tell the truth to neither of our families, for her brother would have forbidden it and never given his consent, especially when he learned that I had influenced his sister to change her religion. I also knew that George and Lady Anne would not understand. After all, I had not completed my education nor did I possess much of a future, for now that I was Catholic, I could never accept the living at Kympton.

“Elizabeth’s brother, Sir Linton Willoughby, was an ambitious but indolent scoundrel.”

Mr. Darcy gave a disgusted grunt of agreement and rose from his chair.

“I see you have discovered that for yourself, Fitzwilliam.” Father Darcy asked for water, which I quickly brought to his bedside. “Thank you, my dear.” He sipped from the glass before returning it to me.

“Having assumed leadership of his family after his father’s death, Willoughby had already wasted much of his fortune. He was his mother’s favourite, however, and she would deny him nothing. Together, they had determined to marry Elizabeth to Lord Dudley Haversham, a balding, stout, old widower twice Elizabeth’s age. Plans to secure the alliance during the approaching Season in Town were already underway, for Sir Dudley’s appetite for young women was well known. Thus, it was essential that I married Elizabeth before she was forced to depart Derbyshire.

“To comply with the legalities of the Crown, we married on the first of March 1791 in the Anglican Church in which the vicar had baptised us and in the faith he assumed we yet professed. I secured his pledge and that of the witnesses, his wife and daughter, to keep the union secret until we informed our families.

“Afterwards, we proceeded to the Catholic chapel where Father Ayden married us before God. Two Irish labourers working temporarily in the country, whom Father Ayden had given shelter for the night, witnessed our vows. They made their marks, and on the morrow, they went on their way. We planned to announce our marriage to both of our families a fortnight later just before the Willoughbys were to leave for Town. That gave me sufficient time to confirm our passage to Ireland from the funds my mother had quietly hidden away for me in a distant county with a banker unknown to George.

“I shall not share with you how and where Elizabeth and I managed to be together during those two weeks, but be assured that I was as resourceful as any man violently in love. We determined to tell our news to Elizabeth’s family before we confessed the marriage to George and Lady Anne. Our plans, however, went astray at Bridesgate, and I never told George that I had married.

“Sir Linton erupted into a rage the likes of which I had never witnessed before. He vowed that he would annul the marriage! He declared that our wedding was invalid because Elizabeth was not of age when she married and when she converted to what he called the
Papist
religion. He said he would see me in hell before he ever allowed me near his sister again. He announced that Elizabeth
would
marry Lord Haversham and that, if I made any attempt to change his plans, he would discredit my family’s reputation. After ordering Elizabeth confined to her room, he drove me from Bridesgate.”

By that time in his uncle’s narrative, Mr. Darcy had risen from his chair and begun to pace back and forth.

“My first thought was to employ George’s aid, but he and Lady Anne had not yet returned from Town. They had travelled there with Henry to commence plans for his enlistment in His Majesty’s service. I was wild with anger, fear, and frustration. I had no one at Pemberley to call upon for help, and I knew that the Willoughbys planned to leave Derbyshire the following day.

“At last, I raced through the wood to the chapel and sought Father Ayden’s counsel. We reviewed my options at length, and he advised me to return to Bridesgate that night after Sir Linton’s temper had cooled. He could not believe the man would not listen to reason once he settled down, and the priest assured me that Elizabeth’s brother would not annul our marriage.

“That night, I hastened to see Sir Linton. A frightful storm broke just as I climbed the stone steps to the entrance of the house. I recall how the butler refused me entry, evidently upon his master’s orders, and I stood out in the rain, waiting. At length, Sir Linton appeared and that is when…the inconceivable happened.”

Father Darcy’s voice broke, and I watched tears fill his eyes. He clutched at his chest and inhaled sharply. I rose and ran to fetch the powder Father Rafferty had shown me earlier. I stirred it into another glass of water. Mr. Darcy assisted him in sitting up, and the priest sipped the draught for some time before resuming his account. As I turned to sit once more on the stool, he caught my hand.

“Stay close beside me, lass. Sit on the bed, pray, for my strength falters.”

I eased myself down beside him, for I, too, had noticed the weakness of his voice. “Perchance you have said enough for today, Father.”

He made a feeble gesture in protest. “No…no, I must tell you before I am no longer able to do so. You, of all people, have the right to know.”

He swallowed visibly and then fixed his eyes on some unseen object in the distance. He remained silent for so long that I feared he was lapsing into some sort of vision, but just as I despaired of his return to the story, he rallied and began again.

“That night, at the commencement of that terrible storm, Willoughby told me that my Elizabeth was dead. Dead…even after all these years, I still find it difficult to say the word.”

“A bold-faced lie!” Mr. Darcy exclaimed, balling his hands into fists.

“Yes, Fitzwilliam,” Father Darcy agreed, “but I did not know it until yesterday. Willoughby said Elizabeth had fallen down the stairs from the second floor and broken her neck. Shock and outrage coursed through me. I wanted to throttle him, but he slammed the door in my face with a hatred I shall never forget. I cannot recall much of what happened after that. I must have wandered through the wood like a madman all night, for at dawn, I came to myself on the steps of the chapel, soaked and chilled from the rain.

“Inside, I threw myself before the altar and cried out my despair. The next thing I remember was Father Ayden’s endless questions as to the cause of my sorrow. I grasped little of what he said, other than something about allowing God to work in my life.

“Out of my mind with grief, I fell into a raging fever. Father Ayden put me to bed in his quarters and tended to my needs. I remember begging him to return to Bridesgate and give Elizabeth the last rites before her brother had her buried. When he suggested returning me to Pemberley or at least going there to inform George, I insisted that he do as I ask and go to Bridesgate instead. I assured him that all my family was in London, so a visit to Pemberley would be useless.

“I remained with him for several days, eventually growing stronger. Upon my recovery, Father Ayden told me of what had transpired at Bridesgate. Armed men hired by Willoughby met him at the entrance to the grounds. The steward informed the priest he was not welcome and that neither he nor Peter Darcy would be admitted under any circumstances. Father Ayden asked to see Elizabeth’s body, but he was told that she had already been buried in an unmarked grave in a secluded place unknown to anyone but Sir Linton. Not even buried in consecrated ground!

“A burly footman made a menacing gesture with his weapon, lending force to the words of Willoughby’s steward. ‘Sir Linton says to tell Mr. Peter Darcy he is not welcome at Bridesgate. If he or anyone from that Papist church trespasses, our orders are to treat him as any common intruder.’

“I did not return to Pemberley. I did not write to George or Henry in Town. Within the week, I recovered enough to depart for Holyhead, where I booked passage on a ship sailing for Dublin and made my way to my mother’s home county. The banker my mother had trusted gave me his pledge of secrecy. I also secured Father Ayden’s vow of silence about the matter before leaving, for I now feared for his safety as well as that of my family. To my way of thinking, Willoughby had become insane.”

“But why?” Mr. Darcy cried. “Why did you not go to Father and ask for his aid?”

The old priest closed his eyes. “To this day, my boy, I do not know why I failed to inform my family of my whereabouts. Perhaps I was simply too undone with my own misery to think clearly. When Henry found me fourteen years later, that, too, was his first question, but I did not have an answer, and I still do not. By that time, I wore the cassock I wear today. Perhaps I knew George would never approve my decision to join the priesthood, and I did not wish to endure the aggravation of his censure. I freely admit that is not an adequate reason, and I regret having caused Lady Anne and George, as well as Henry, anguish over my disappearance.

“I never told any of them about my marriage to Elizabeth. After all, she was gone, and the entire union had existed no longer than a fortnight. When Henry found me and yet did not mention the Willoughbys, I assumed Sir Linton’s wrath had faded and he had kept it quiet, wishing to hide the news of what he considered his sister’s disgrace from even my family.

“Now, you tell me Elizabeth did not die as her brother falsely declared. Rather, that she died some nine months later in childbirth. How deserted she must have felt! What must she have thought of my forsaking her? A coward…surely, she must have considered me the lowliest of cowards. I cannot forgive myself for having left her.” Tears trickled down his worn, lined cheeks.

“Sir Linton is the one I shall not forgive,” Mr. Darcy declared, and I murmured my agreement. He walked across the room to the window. He stood there some time before turning to face us. “What I wonder is exactly how much my father knew of this matter.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Did he know that Elizabeth Willoughby had married Uncle Peter, or did he believe her child was born out of wedlock?”

“According to Lady Catherine, he believed the latter,” I said.

“But…did Lady Catherine tell us the truth?”

Father Darcy sighed. “If I know Catherine, she told as much truth as she needed to satisfy her demands.”

“She demanded that I never engage myself to Mr. Darcy,” I said.

“Precisely,” Mr. Darcy said. “And she professed to believe that Elizabeth was the
natural
daughter of George Darcy. Surely, my father would never have told such a lie, even to protect you, Uncle Peter. I say that a call upon my aunt is in order as soon as we return to England.”

“And I shall write to Miss Willoughby this evening,” I added. “I would be interested in knowing how much of the story she assumed that we knew, but did not.”

“Is Eleanor happy?” Father Darcy asked. “She was such a lively little girl. Her laugh was delightful. One could not keep from smiling upon hearing her.”

I sighed. “She has not had an easy life living with her brother, but I am thankful to report that she bears a pleasant expression and a kind manner. She has never married, but she seems content.”

A light tap on the door signalled the ladies’ return. They waited without as we made our farewells.

“Shall you visit me tomorrow, my dear?” the priest asked, clinging to my hand. I assured him that I would. “Then, God give me strength so I may begin to beg your forgiveness on the morrow.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Father. You have been sinned against as much as I.”

Chapter Sixteen

That evening, Mr. Darcy and I remained much subdued. Fortunately, Georgiana chattered happily about her upcoming visit with Lord Killaine’s daughter on the morrow. Being nearly the same age, they had taken an immediate liking to each other’s company, and Miss Niamh Killaine had invited her to spend the day. They planned to ride horses selected from her father’s highly regarded stable and enjoy a picnic with their older companions. Miss Annesley, regrettably, did not share her young charge’s enthusiasm for horses, but she did her best to remain cheerful.

When Georgiana took her place at the pianoforte, I sat down at the desk and began my letter to Miss Willoughby. I hardly knew what to say, for my father’s story had stunned me. The need for answers, however, drove me to find the words.