Colleen McCullough - The Independence of Miss Mary Bennet

“Yes, but only Pemberley men, and the most trusted. We’ll need a winch to bring the parcels up from the chamber, and a basket small enough to pass through the ventilation well without sticking. The basket will have to be perfectly balanced, and equipped with little wheels. That will enable us to wrap the ingots in it, then wheel it through into Dominus’s cell. Charlie, make sure you bring plenty of gloves when we return. Each package will have to be well-roped besides well-wrapped.”

“What a mind you have, Papa!” said Charlie. “Every detail.”

Fitz’s rare smile flashed out. “Why do you think it was so easy for an obscure MP from Derbyshire to aspire to the prime ministership? Few men are willing to deal with the minutiae, and that is a flaw in character.”

“When do we begin this Herculean task?” Angus asked, rather ashamed that his muscular build negated his sharing in it.

“Today is Wednesday. Next Monday, if the sleds can be made and the donkeys located by then. We will hope to complete it in five days.”

When they set off down the hill, Charlie let Angus lead Jupiter and deliberately fell behind to be private with his father.

“Papa, is this Grandfather’s loot?” he asked.

“I imagine so.”

“How then did Father Dominus lay hands on it?”

“A question I suspect Mary could answer, at least partially, but chooses not to. Miriam Matcham’s statement to the Sheffield authorities refers to a Father Dominus who supplied poisons and an abortifacient to her-he would have been ideal for an abbess. Since her mother inherited the brothel from Harold Darcy, it seems likely that Father Dominus originally belonged to Harold Darcy. Perhaps he was a trusted confederate. Certainly over the years Harold must have accumulated huge quantities of gold jewellery and coins, none of which ever came to light, though the precious stones did-he had a little cask full of loose but faceted rubies, emeralds, diamonds and sapphires. No pearls were ever found, or semi-precious stones. Given Dominus’s skills, it may be that he was commissioned to melt down the gold. Still, it’s all conjecture.”

“Good conjecture, Papa. I wonder why Mary keeps his secret?”

“If you ask her, she may tell you, but she will never confide in me. As she sees it, I treated her with contempt, and I did.”

“In the old days she would have told me, but not now. I am too close to you,” said Charlie ruefully. “There is a kind of invisible barrier between men and women, isn’t there?”

“Yes, alas.” Uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken, Fitz went elsewhere. “What we do know is that the old man never tried to exchange any of the gold for money, or otherwise betrayed his whereabouts to Harold Darcy.”

“What a shock it must have been to Grandfather!”

“That too we may be sure of. Around my twelfth birthday there was a marked change in my father. He became wilder, much angrier, cruel to Mama and to the staff. Unpardonable!”

“Papa, your childhood was hideous!” Charlie blurted. “I am so sorry!”

“That was no excuse for my being so hard on you, my son. I have more to apologise for by far than you.”

“No, Papa. Let’s call it equal, and begin again.”

“That is a deal, Charlie,” said Fitz huskily. “Now only remains to mend my fences with your mother.”

The gold was removed over the course of five days with remarkably little fuss. It never occurred to Pemberley’s faithful retainers to question their master’s story of four and a half tons of lead, nor would it have occurred to the least naпve among them that Fitzwilliam Darcy and his only son were capable of the hard labour involved in lifting, wrapping and roping one hundred pounds many times over. No glint of gold showed through a rent in the light canvas, nor did any parcel fall apart while being manhandled. After some rather exhilarating rushes down the hillside, the contents of the sleds were loaded into wagons and so to Pemberley, where they sat in the big “safe house”-a stone barn Fitz used to store items of value. In the fullness of time several wagons conveyed the parcels to London and a curious destination-the Tower.

The public caves had been reopened for inspection; once more tourists could wonder at the maw of the Peak cavern, wander inside to see the rope-maker’s walk and the ancient houses that had, from time to time, sheltered the people of Castleton from unusually remorseless weather, or, in lawless times, bands of marauders.

Much to Elizabeth’s delight, Fitz had ordained that his girls should in future dine with the family, and actually spent a little time with them. Cathy’s tendency to play pranks dwindled, Susie learned to hold up one end of a conversation without turning the colour of a beet, and Anne displayed an eager interest in all matters political and European. Georgie tried very hard to conduct herself like a lady, and had consented to having her nails painted with bitter aloes-it tasted vile-while heroically managing not to wash the hideous remedy off.

“What happened between Susie, Anne and Charlie’s tutor?” Fitz asked his wife, frowning direfully.

“Absolutely nothing, except that they fancied themselves in love with him. I think that shows good taste,” Elizabeth said tranquilly. “He gave them no encouragement, I assure you.”

“And Georgie?”

“Actually rather looking forward to her London season now that Kitty has painted alluring pictures for her delectation. She’s such a beautiful girl that she’ll take magnificently if she loses her Maryisms, which Kitty assures me she will. Witness her struggle to conquer the nail-biting.”

“It has been a terrible summer,” he said.

“Yes. But we’ve come through it, Fitz, and that’s the main thing. I wish I had known that you and Ned were brothers.”

“I would have told you, Elizabeth, could I.”

“He always reminded me of a huge black dog guarding you from all comers.”

“He filled that role, certainly. Many others too. I loved him.” He looked directly at her, dark eyes on hers. “But not as much as I love you.”

“No, not more. Just-differently. But why did you stop telling me you loved me after Cathy was born? You shut me out of your life. It wasn’t my fault that I could give you no son other than Charlie, or that he was so unsatisfactory. Still, you don’t find him unsatisfactory now, do you?”

“No better son could any man have than Charlie. He’s a perfect fusion of you and me. And it’s true I shut you out of my life, but only because you shut me out of yours.”

“Yes, I did. But why did you shut me out?”

“Oh, I was so wearied by your endless mockery of me! The quips and smart remarks, the poking sly fun-you couldn’t forgive it in Caroline Bingley when she denigrated you, yet you denigrated me. It seemed I only had to open my mouth, to be ribbed for my pompousness or my hauteur-things that are innate, for better or worse. But that was nothing compared to your lack of genuine enthusiasm for married life. I felt as if I made love to a marble statue! You didn’t return my kisses, my caresses-I could feel you change into that thing of stone the moment I entered your bed. You gave me the impression that you loathed being touched. I would gladly have kept trying for a son, but after Cathy I could bear no more of it.”

She was aware of a tremor as fine as a cat’s purr, swallowed painfully, looked not at him but out the window of her sitting room, though it was long after dark and she could see nothing save the dancing reflections of candles. Oh, how sure she had always been that she could lighten Fitz’s nature, make him see how ridiculous he could be, with his icy demeanor and his stiffness. Only over this last year had she given up on poking gentle fun at his rigidity, and that had been from anger and disgust. But now she finally understood everything there was to know about leopards and their spots. Fitz would never be able to laugh at himself! He was too obsessed with the dignity of a Darcy. Charlie might succeed in breaking Fitz’s ice, but she never would. Her touch was too remorseless, her sense of humour too irresistible. As for his other accusation-what could she say to defend herself?