Elizabeth Aston - The Second Mrs Darcy

“No, no, I do not ask for your help, except in the matter, the pure formality, of my needing to see that you are indeed who you are. No, I have the honour of being the bearer of what I am sure you will find good tidings, for Mrs. Worthington names you in her will as her sole heir; you inherit everything she owns.”

“But I am no blood relation of hers! She never knew me, how can this be?”

“She had no family of her own, you are her husband’s closest living relation, and since her fortune came to her from him, on his death, it is quite right and proper that it should come to you.”

Octavia’s head was in a whirl. She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again. No, she wasn’t dreaming. She was sitting here, with this strange young man, in Harriet Thurloe’s large drawing room, with its double doors leading on to the verandah beyond. There, outside, just whisking out of sight was Ferdie, the mongoose, encouraged to live in the garden as a deterrent to and scourge of snakes … She pulled herself together. “Precisely what, Mr. Gurney, do I inherit from this supposed great-aunt of mine?”

Mr. Gurney looked alarmed. “As to precisely, that is something I can’t say. These are confidential matters, and the overland route, although swifter than the sea journey, is fraught with potential hazards. I merely have the information I have given you. However, I think I may say that it will be a substantial inheritance, Mrs. Worthington had property in India, and …”

“Tell me, how came she to have property in India?”

“Did I not explain? Mr. Worthington made his fortune in India, so I am informed. He was a nabob, as we say, and he never returned to England once he had quit the country of his birth, when he was a young man of twenty or so. He was sent out to India by his family. He met his wife here, and they lived in Darjeeling. After her husband’s death, Mrs. Worthington returned to England. To the north of England; there is, I understand, a property in the north of England, in Yorkshire. Again, I have no details.”

Octavia could hardly believe her ears. A house? Yorkshire was the county where her third half sister Drusilla resided, but it was a large county, there was no likelihood of her having been a neighbour of the late Mrs. Worthington’s. Not that, from the sound of it, her great-aunt would have been the kind of person that Drusilla would call upon.

“In the circumstances,” said Mr. Gurney, frowning, “of course, I do not know what your plans are, but I would urge you to consider returning to England as soon as it can be arranged. There is a vessel, an East Indiaman, the Sir John Rokesby , which is due to sail; it might be difficult to obtain a passage at this late stage, but if it were possible, I most strongly advise you to make the voyage to England. You need to consult with our firm in London, that will be much the best thing for you to do.”

“My cousin, Mr. Thurloe, is with the Company. I think there would be no problem with obtaining a berth. I was contemplating going back to England in any case, it was only the expense—”

“Oh, Mrs. Darcy, expense is no consideration at all. I am empowered—directed, I should say—to make available to you whatever sums you might need to defray the expenses of the journey—of any expenses you might incur. You have only to name a sum; there is no problem with that, none at all.”

Octavia smiled, and Mr. Gurney blinked. The tall young woman suddenly looked years younger, not that she could be so very old, and there was a colour in her cheeks; he had thought she looked sad and pale when he arrived, but now she was transformed.

“May I take it that you will go to London?” he asked, after several minutes’ silence.

“Yes. If I could have some money, that would be …” She hesitated, fearful of asking too much. “Perhaps fifty pounds.”

“Fifty? Let us say a hundred, or more if you wish it. I assure you, you can draw on us for a much larger sum than that.”

“No, no thank you, I shall need very little on the voyage, and I should not like to carry too large a sum on my person.”

“Very wise, very wise. I shall send a clerk round with it this afternoon.”

He rose, perspiring more than ever; however did he manage in the really hot weather?

“One thing, Mr. Gurney, I would request of you.”

He looked enquiringly at her.

“Pray, can you keep the news of this inheritance to yourself? Calcutta is a small place, and until I have the details—well, I would prefer that no one knows about it.”

“Of course, of course. No, I am as capable of discretion as the next man, more so, for in my profession one has to keep mumchance, you know. No danger of this getting out, I assure you.”

He bowed himself out, the door closing behind him as Harriet, looking cool and neat in a pale green dress, came in through the other door.

“Was that Mr. Dyer? What did he want?”

“It was a colleague of his, some papers that needed attending to.”

“Is it something that Robert can help with?”

“Oh, no, it is nothing, nothing at all.”

Why didn’t she want to tell Harriet, to spill out the good news that she knew would delight her friend? Was it caution, for after all, she had only Mr. Gurney’s word that there was any substantial inheritance? The house in Yorkshire might be a tumbledown cottage, and the fortune in the end a few hundred pounds. Or the will might be disputed, some natural child of her great-uncle might appear to make a claim on the estate; her great-uncle must have been a wild young man to be packed off to India in such a fashion.

“Did you ever hear of a Mr. Worthington, Harriet? He lived in India, in Darjeeling, but died some years ago. He was survived by his wife.”

Harriet shook her head. “We have only been here for six years, you know. I do remember someone talking of a Mrs. Worthington, perhaps that was his widow. I believe she was very rich, and went back to England. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, merely that Mr. Gurney wanted to know if I had been acquainted with either of the Worthingtons.”

“Her money came from tea, I seem to remember.”

Before Harriet could ask any more questions, Octavia told her that she had decided to go back to England on the Sir John Rokesby . “If Mr. Thurloe can arrange it for me.”

“My dear, of course he can. How I shall miss you! But it is for the best, I truly think so, you must go back before you lose your looks in this horrid climate, and then you may see if anything can be got out of Mr. Warren.” She paused. “I know you will accept nothing from us, but it did occur to Robert and me that perhaps the cost of your fare was a concern to you. We should be so happy if—”

“No, no, it is not a consideration, I have the money for that and a little more besides. Which reminds me, I shall need some clothes, some half-mourning for when I arrive back in England. Will you please send a servant to Madame Duhamel for me?”

Madame Duhamel was a Frenchwoman who had come to Calcutta with her husband, only to be left a widow when he was carried off by the cholera. She had set to making her own living, and employed several local derseys to make up the fashionable clothes she designed. With good contacts in Paris, she had the fashion dolls and the plates only a few months behind the modistes in London; Octavia knew she would dress her in style.

“Madame Duhamel!” exclaimed Harriet. “She is wickedly expensive, you know.”

“But I shall not need so many clothes, and it will not do for me to arrive in London black and dowdy; my sisters are very smart, and will abuse me for a provincial if I do not take care.”

“Oh dear, you are quite right, first impressions are so important. Well, if you have the wherewithal, you cannot do better. I shall send to Ballygunge at once, there is no time to be lost. Indeed, I may ask her to make a gown for me, my blue is looking sadly shabby, I thought, when I wore it to the Lawrences the other night.”