Beginning, Previous Section, Section XII

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Chapter Forty-Two

Soon Padua was gossiping once more; this time about Mr. Smith, who was making plans to return to his native England after his son Gustov had been called back unexpectedly to Austria. His landlord and cook were sorry to see him go, but understood that, without his son, Mr. Smith no longer had ties to Padua, despite his love of the local pastries.

Mr. Smith, or Mr. Thomas Higgins, happily returned to his home county with a new and important position: he was to manage the start of a horse-breeding venture at Pemberley. Darcy had sent him back with several horses they had chosen in the spring, their little Italian stable boy and a clearly defined plan: the idea of raising the best horses in Derbyshire.

Both the Darcys and the McNallys were sorry to say goodbye to him, but it was Elizabeth who was the most affected. With a teary farewell did she finally let him go, riding a fine mount and a happy smile upon his face despite his saddened heart. Over the years, he would often see Mr. and Mrs. McNally at Pemberley, happy to learn of all the news of the Darcys from abroad.

Elizabeth and Georgina had spent the brisk spring months learning to love one another as true sisters. Georgie was struck by how different Elizabeth was from Mrs. Bingley, but soon was grateful the fates had given her this particular Bennet for a sister. Their temperaments were both playful, their minds quick and witty and their devotion to their new family unwavering. Elizabeth relished having a woman to confide in and a sister she now loved as well as her own. Their parting was very difficult.

The McNallys stayed on in Padua until the spring ended in June. They also promised to one day visit the continent again.

Georgiana was brazenly smug that she had predicted the newest Darcy’s existence before anyone else. She made Elizabeth promise to write to her of all she experienced during her confinement. She also confided to her new sister that Baby Darcy would be welcomed only two months before Baby McNally would be introduced to the world. Elizabeth was thrilled for Georgiana, and begged her to tell Will before they left. Thus, a merry party gathered the night before their departure; two radiant young wives, glowing from motherhood, two beaming husbands, deliriously proud of the beauties who had given them their hearts, and one very delighted young boy who was happy to make many canvases in his mind.

Padua, one year later

Thomas Patrick Darcy sat happily upon his Papa’s knee while his elder brother played a rollicking game of peek-a-boo* with him, much to the delight of the five-month-old. He gurgled and laughed while a steady stream dribbled from his mouth.

William frowned. "Why can he not keep that in his mouth?"

His parents laughed.

"Perhaps when he has enough teeth he will," answered his father.

"Be glad it is not his midday meal coming up," said his mother. William grimaced. He had seen enough of his baby brother’s meals already.

A carriage pulled up to the front of their lodgings, sending the elder sibling to the windows. Darcy brought the baby to his mother and sat beside her, waiting to see who would be calling. Nothing prepared Elizabeth for the sight she beheld.

"Jane!" she cried and ran to her sister. They instantly began chattering while Thomas squirmed as he was pressed between the two.

Behind her Bingley entered and at the sight of him, Elizabeth caught her breath. It had been over eight years since she had last seen him.

"Mrs. Darcy. I thank you for receiving us," he said shyly.

"Oh, Charles!" Elizabeth cried and embraced him carefully trying not to squash her son. Bingley laughed and Thomas started babbling from the cacophony of noises filling the room. Jane was greeting Darcy and William, while Elizabeth was trying to introduce them as well as baby Thomas, and all of them were enthusiastically inquiring after one another’s health.

Suddenly Will stopped speaking and then Jane stopped as well. When Elizabeth finally stopped her talking due to the strange silence, she frowned at her husband who moved quickly to relieve her of their baby son. She looked confused and then turned to where his gaze lay. Her eyes filled instantly with tears and she flew to the man in the doorway.

"Hello, Lizzy," Thomas Bennet said.

William sat upon the sofa watching the scene around him. He was not sure how he felt about his young cousin, Emily Bingley. She was a pretty little girl; however, as far as William was concerned, little more than a babe, like his brother Thomas, with the exception that she could walk and occasionally say a word or two. He was glad she had a nursemaid to look after her, as he did not think he was up to the task.

Mama and Papa looked very happy talking to his aunt and uncle, and with a sigh, he had to admit his dear Lady Angel was as beautiful as ever. He liked his new Uncle Bingley. He smiled a great deal, and seemed pleased with all that he saw. Lastly, he looked at his Grandfather, who was, surprisingly, looking back at him. He nearly burst into laughter when the man winked at him, but then stirred uncomfortably as the gentleman approached him.

"William, would you like to walk out with me? I have been in the carriage since sunrise and could do with a bit of a stretch."

He looked to his mother who smiled and nodded her head.

"You look very much like your father, William," Mr. Bennet said after they had been walking for some time in silence.

He smiled. "Most people say that. I hope I will be tall like him someday."

"I think you shall, son." Mr. Bennet continued gazing. "You have your mother’s eyes," he observed out loud. "An improvement over your papa, I think."

William laughed. "I hear ladies say Papa is a handsome man. They forget I can understand them." He smiled sheepishly. "I do not laugh when they are saying things about him so they will continue to talk."

Mr. Bennet laughed. "You understand a great deal if you know when to pretend such things, William. Tell me about your studies, son."

For the next hour William told his grandfather of life in Padua, his professors and the subjects that interested him most. Lastly, he spoke about his beloved Mama and Papa and his new baby brother, Thomas.

Mr. Bennet told William about Longbourn and his grandmother and Aunt Mary. Then he told him about his Aunt Kitty and Uncle Walter and his other cousins who lived in Meryton. Mr. Bennet had the satisfaction of hearing how truly attached his grandson was to his father and brother- a point he had worried about after all the years William had spent being the sole recipient of his mother’s love. His memory of his grandson from their afternoon in the park in London three years earlier had not done the boy justice, and Mr. Bennet relished every moment spent with him.

"You seemed to have developed a close relationship with your grandson rather quickly, Papa. I am glad you have had the chance to see him once again," Elizabeth later remarked.

Her father motioned to the bench next to him and she happily sat beside him. He gently took her hand; a motion he had repeated often since arriving. "He is a remarkable child, Lizzy. I am prodigiously proud of him, and his mama." He raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

Elizabeth laid her head upon his shoulder. "Thank you, papa," she answered simply. There was no need to elaborate. All the words of regret, apologies and forgiveness had been written long ago. Now there was only the need to be close to each other, to allow the last of their healing to come through the physical reinforcement of holding a hand, or an arm around a shoulder. Elizabeth and her father spent the majority of his month-long visit thus.

"What news from home, then?" she asked much later.

"I suppose of greatest import is the news that my cousin William Collins has passed on."

"Oh, poor Charlotte!"

"Indeed, she and her daughter have returned to Lucas Lodge and her parents. My cousin luckily left her with some money to live on. You might recall he was of a particularly thrifty nature with his household allowance. In addition, your husband’s cousins the Fitzwilliams have given her a small legacy for her husband’s years of service as the parson at Hunsford. She will not be a burden to her parents. I daresay Sir William will soon be spouting his great good fortune in having a dutiful and sensible daughter there to nurse him in his last years.

“However, the ramifications of Mr. Collin’s death are of particular interest to you, Lizzy. I plan to spend the time and money and break the entail. If the Bingleys have no son, Longbourn will fall to William."

"I am sure the Bingleys have not finished increasing their family, Papa."

"True, but both she and Kitty seemed to have inherited the Bennet propensity for producing girls. Kitty has just given Walter another daughter."

"Oh, dear. That makes three?"

Mr. Bennet affirmed it. "Perhaps you have some advice you could pass along to help your sisters out of their unique predicament?"

Elizabeth tried to scowl at her father but gave up laughing. "If I had a clue I would gladly share it."

"I thank you for the honour you have bestowed in naming young Thomas after me. He is as fine a lad as any I have seen. I think the hearty Bennet breeding and the noble Darcy line merge rather well, do you not? I have rarely seen two more beautiful, robust children, other than my own girls, of course."

Elizabeth laughed. "Thank you, father. A completely unbiased judgement of how handsome my sons are is always appreciated. We were very happy to name Thomas after you."

Her father kissed her forehead. "If I do not return without a trunk full of pictures of the four of you, I best not show my face on the doorstep of Longbourn. I shall have to petition your husband heartily these next weeks.”

"I think Will has something in mind for you to ease your way, Papa. But I will not spoil his surprise.”

"Very well. Keep your secrets if you must. I shall instead change the subject smoothly by telling you we recently had the honour of your sister and brother McNally calling upon us, not a month before I left."

This visit had to be pored over in detail for a full half-hour. Elizabeth was wild to hear of the new Miss Victoria McNally and her parents. Her father reassured her of her niece’s beauty and excellent disposition, as well as Mrs. McNally’s apparent good recovery from the birth.

"Your mother had the infinite pleasure of having not only Lady Lucas in her drawing room at the time, but Mrs. Long as well, when the McNallys were announced. Though I am not normally interested in ladies fashions, the elegantly attired Mrs. McNally was truly a treat to behold," he snickered. "Mrs. Long could not utter a word and sat with her mouth gaping like a trout. Lady Lucas simply nodded stupidly and your mother was in her element and never so happy in her life.

"I must admit I expected her to become overwhelmed, but once again I was surprised when she behaved like a society hostess used to entertaining the likes of the wealthy Mr. and Mrs. McNally every day,” he chuckled.

"Your dear sister-in-law said so many wonderful things about you and Darcy, and your son of course, that your mother has not so much as frowned nor had an attack of nerves since. The gossips believe every boast she makes, and even some she improvises. I think being the undisputed leader of the first circle of the neighbourhood has helped her health immensely. I shall ever be beholden to your excellent relations.

"Mrs. McNally also gave me leave to tell you that an acquaintance of both of yours, a Mr. Thomas Higgins, was soon to be married.”

"Higgins, married! Oh good gracious! Whoever is he marrying?"

"He is marrying a local lady, a widow he had known as a girl in his childhood and had not seen for some thirty years, a Mrs. Constance Edwards. Apparently he is to marry her, and bring her widowed sister, a Mrs. Keane, to live with them as she is quite a good cook."

Elizabeth was speechless. Higgins marrying one of the dear sisters from Mrs. Thurgood’s household! She began to giggle. Thank goodness she looked so different now and it would be some time before they returned to England. At least she did not worry the sisters might recognise her. She could think of nothing that could please her more than to know that three of the people who had helped her had found happiness, and were well taken care of. She would apply to Will for a lovely wedding gift.

Later that night, in the privacy of their chamber, Elizabeth detailed the story of the housekeeper and cook at Fairhaven Manor. Darcy was enchanted by Elizabeth’s tale of the silly, yet warm-hearted sisters who had come to her aid. As they prepared to go down to breakfast the next morning, Darcy shocked his wife when he made his suggestion for Higgins’ wedding present.

"It will be many years until we live at Pemberley and many more after that before I expect you to need it," he said, as he sat on the edge of the bed attending his stockings and garters. "What say you to giving Higgins and his new family the right to live in the dower house at Pemberley?" His last words were smothered by a wife who met his lips and body as she bowled him back onto the mattress. He laughed at her passionate response.

"My, if this is how you are going to react to my generosity, I may give away all of Pemberley."

She silenced him with more enthusiastic kisses. "You are the very best of men. The best I have ever known."

"Having your love makes me what I am, Lizzy." He stroked her beaming face and soon all thoughts of Higgins, or breakfast, were left behind.

The month that passed would be one fondly looked upon the rest of their lives. Their responsibilities were few, the weather fine, and the love and pleasures the Bennets, Bingleys and Darcys shared were boundless.

Mr. Bennet had been surprised when Darcy requested he return with a number of parcels, several of which were to be sent on to Pemberley. The family sat in the small drawing room one evening, when Darcy literally unveiled the precious cargo. There sat three magnificent portraits.

Mr. Bennet was first drawn to Elizabeth’s. She sat in a glorious sunlit garden. Flowers and greenery surrounded her, complimenting the woman who was at her best in the middle of nature. Her happiness effused from her face. Her delicate hand was positioned lightly over her middle, no doubt hiding her precious baby Thomas for the modesty of the painting. The brilliance of her eyes and her natural elegance had been captured perfectly. He was speechless. Bingley and Jane sat dumbfounded as well.

"I have had smaller versions made for Longbourn," Will reassured him. "But if you wish to display this, or any of the three for some time before sending them on to Pemberley, I will certainly understand."

Mr. Bennet nodded. "I think our family would be very grateful to you for that, Will. It is exquisite."

Next was a fine portrait of William, standing easily, with a mischievous look in his eye, and a clear struggle with trying not to smile upon his mouth. It was a wonderful rendition of a look his grandfather had often seen this past month. He chuckled.

"Well done!" he proclaimed.

Lastly was a family portrait, so obviously recent by Thomas’ age in it, he expected the oil to be wet still. The grouping was set in a very fine drawing room, rich wallpapers along the walls and a silk damask sofa in the middle. A happy Darcy sat on one end, his arm around an equally happy William, both dressed very finely. Next to him sat a joyous Elizabeth in a gown of shiny silk and a beautiful pearl choker around her neck. Darcy held her hand in his and Thomas sat in her lap in an elaborate laced christening gown, a jovial smile upon his little face. Mr. Bennet looked at the details of the large work and noticed Will and Elizabeth’s grasped hands lay upon a red book, untitled - a strange decoration to be sure. He also observed the painting behind the family. It was a masquerade ball from at least a hundred years ago. If Mr. Darcy preferred to place apparently sentimental clues in his paintings, Mr. Bennet was not going to comment upon it.

The significance of Darcy placing William next to him, and his hand upon the boy was not lost on Mr. Bennet. Darcy was making his claim to his son clear. If anyone ever had a thought to challenge William’s legitimacy, his father was stating his beliefs and wishes quite plainly.

"These are truly beautiful, Will. Are you sure you do not wish to keep them a few more years?"

"I have the original subjects, sir. I also had smaller versions done for us as well. And a miniature of my Lizzy of course." He smiled and kissed his wife’s cheek unashamed. "I wish for the master and mistress of Pemberley’s portrait to be hung in its rightful place in the grand gallery. If we can not be there in person, I wish at least our images to watch over the place."

"Then we shall be happy to deliver them."

"If you wish to make the delivery yourself, sir, I have prepared a letter for my housekeeper to instruct her to open the house to you; and more importantly, the library, should you wish to take a short respite of say a week or two before returning to Longbourn. I would certainly appreciate hearing my book collection was being used while I was away. Of course, my wine cellar would be at your disposal as well."

Mr. Bennet was near to tears. "My boy, you know you already had my blessing for your marriage long ago. I can only assume a true affection on your part from such an offer. Thank you, son. I could not have given my Lizzy up to someone less worthy, and I am excessively pleased that you have found such happiness as well. You both deserve your good fortune."

The end of the month did come and with many tears, the families parted. Mr. Bennet happily took up his son-in-law’s offer and eventually delivered the portraits to Pemberley in person. He spent a blissfully peaceful three weeks appreciating Darcy’s hospitality and estate. It was sadly the only time he made the trip.

In the years to come, many people came to apply to Mrs. Reynolds to see inside Pemberley. If she noticed an increase of visitors after Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy’s portrait and the Fitzwilliam Darcy family painting had been hung in the gallery, she made no mention of it. Nor did she comment when an odd couple, who suspiciously resembled Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, once requested a tour.

* While the history of the game of peek-a-boo is generally shrouded in mystery, there is no need to remind the reader the famous controversy of the game and its indisputable link to ‘A Ring, a Ring O’ Roses’ and the lullaby ‘Rock a Bye Baby’. All these seemingly innocent child’s play diversions of course had horrific underlying themes which were then made a mockery of by history’s children. To startle a child, most especially a babe, into jubilation over such important themes as peeking (a very ill bred habit) and boo (a clear indication of the occult and witchcraft) is indeed, terrible, and might have had significant impact on the general study of the history of games and children’s game in particular, had the authoress spent even one single minute of her time researching when the game originated and whether it existed in Regency times.

Posted on Monday, 15 May 2006

Chapter Forty-Three

The gardens had changed, the trees were larger and some planting of new flowers were arranged in the beds. As her family exited the two carriages, Elizabeth circled around slowly and was struck with the urge to laugh out loud at seeing her sons and Will in front of her parents’ home. What an imposing group they made.

Darcy rang the bell and an unfamiliar face greeted them. Elizabeth had not considered that Hill would have long since been gone, and that new people would be waiting upon the Bennets. They had just entered when Mary exited the library and gasped to see her home completely filled with strangers.

“Lizzy!” she shouted as she noticed Elizabeth and quickly swept her sister into her arms for a happy reunion.

Mary glanced past her sister’s shoulder and observed her brother’s muttonchops and the silver streaks that tinted the edges of his curls. “Darcy, you have certainly changed, but so have we all!” she laughed. “Are these my nephews? What a handsome family you have, Elizabeth! I congratulate you. If one must have children, it is always so much wiser to have good looking ones.”

Darcy and Elizabeth stood with mouths agape. Will knew for certain that he had never heard more words uttered from Mary in all the years that he had known her, while Elizabeth was amazed at her sister’s good sense and wit.

Mary laughed at their faces. “Oh, do not be so droll! I have always had a sense of humour, I simply misplaced it several years back.”

The little boys and their older brothers giggled, then sheepishly looked to their parents to make sure they were not being rude. Luckily, their Mama and Papa were snickering right along with them.

Elizabeth then introduced her sons to their aunt one by one, each boy bowing politely, and three of them smiling sweetly, showing off the dimples they had inherited from their father. When Elizabeth came to William, her sister interrupted, saying, “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, William.”

“At last, Mary?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, I have been corresponding with this young man for many years now, and am glad to finally put a face to the name. Though I wish you had told me I need only think of your own father’s face when he was younger and saved me the wonder. Goodness, but you are the spitting image of him.”

“Thank you, Aunt,” replied William, who stood as tall as his father did.

“Well, I believe you should see Mama, should you not?”

Elizabeth nodded, her countenance grave. “How is she, Mary?”

“Oh, she is well. She is content to sit with her cat, or sometimes she will ask for needle and thread and start a little fine work. She never finishes, but often starts anew several times a day. Most days she sits quietly and watches out her window. It has been so wet this summer she could not enjoy the garden much, I am afraid.”

“Will she recognize me?” Elizabeth asked tentatively.

“I hope so. You have changed a great deal, Elizabeth.” Mary’s brow raised and indicated the roundness her sister had taken on.

Elizabeth laughed. “I fear having so many children does very little to aid a lady in keeping her girlish figure. However, I have no complaints as my husband does not object in the least.”

“Wise man, Darcy.”

“I have learnt a great deal these past years,” he retorted.

“Mama sometimes forgets about your marriage and your children. You will have to be patient with her. Will my nephews be able to behave themselves in our absence? I would not like to hear the china had been broken nor the plants upset.”

William spoke up, “Would you mind if we trample in your gardens, Aunt? I know my younger brothers could use the chance to exercise their limbs after the carriage ride.”

“An excellent suggestion, big brother,” Mary replied. “Should there be a ball or stick and hoop among your things on the carriage, I strongly suggest you bring those out as well. Just mind the flowers, boys; it would not do to give the gardener more work.”

The staircase seemed strange to Elizabeth, so much smaller than she remembered. The lack of her mother’s loud shrilling no longer ringing through the house also made it seem a bit sadder. Unexpectedly, the recollection of her father’s absence began to prey upon her. She felt a sudden warm hand upon her arm.

“Are you thinking of your father?” Darcy asked, concerned.

She nodded quickly with a grimly set mouth. “His presence invades my senses. I have never been here when he was not and it is almost overwhelming. I feel like I have gone back in time, but so many are missing.”

They had reached her mother’s door, when Darcy stopped her and took her into his arms while tenderly kissing her head.

“I feel it too, my Love. How can I help you? Is there anything I can do to relieve you of your pain?”

Elizabeth sighed into his shoulder and shook her head. “No, it is not necessary; I am better already simply hearing your soothing voice.” He tightened his arms around her and rested his cheek against her hair.

“Holding you helps me as well. I must thank you also.”

She pulled reluctantly away, and smiled slightly, “Always, Will.”

Mary had stood off to the side, waiting for Elizabeth to regain her composure. They both looked to her now, and she smiled a knowing smile; they each felt the loss of the missing that day.

Mrs. Bennet sat near the fire affectionately petting her cat. She looked much frailer than Elizabeth had expected. Her lovely rich curls were now simple wisps of white sticking out from under her lace cap and her face was lined with many wrinkles. Mary went immediately to her and told her that she had visitors come to call. Oblivious to the two who stood by the doorway, she now turned and, upon spying Elizabeth, her face contorted from frowning, then recognition, then instant tears as a fragile voice came from her worn body.

“Elizabeth, is it really you?” she cried gently. “Oh, do come and give me a kiss.”

Elizabeth went to her mother’s side, enveloping her gently in a warm embrace. “Hello, Mama, I am so glad to see you.”

“Let me look at you, Lizzy. You certainly look very well, but so much older. My, how many years have passed! Goodness! My Lizzy come back to me!” she said again, as she continued to kiss and hug her daughter. Her movements were shaky and Elizabeth was surprised at how weak her embrace was. She now clearly understood the delicacy of her mother’s health. Mrs. Bennet seemed on the verge of an attack of nerves, but she calmed upon looking slightly past her daughter. “Who have you brought with you, Elizabeth?”

“Mama, I would like you to meet my husband, Mr. Darcy.”

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes went wide. “Your husband? Truly, Lizzy?” Elizabeth nodded. Her mother sighed, and smiled sweetly, closing her eyes. For a moment, Elizabeth thought she might have fallen asleep, but soon her eyes fluttered back open.

“I am very glad for you Lizzy; you shall want for nothing and I shall not have to worry about you any more.”

“I am sorry if I made you worry, Mama, truly I am. But please do not fret ever again. Mr. Darcy and I are very happy.”

Her mother smiled. “I am glad. Well, Mr. Darcy, you must come and give your Mama a kiss, too. It won’t do to have you standing about like a stranger.” Darcy laughed and did as he was bid. As he leaned over his mother-in-law she took a good look at him.

“You filled out nicely as well, Mr. Darcy. I believe you and Lizzy must have a very good cook. I am glad to see it; I do not like it when people do not enjoy their food. It is not right.” Lizzy shook her head and laughed lightly.

The boys were apparently enjoying their games outside, for soon their clamour made its way even into the upstairs bedrooms with the windows closed. Her mother exclaimed at the noise and rose slowly with the help of her cane and Mary’s arm for support, and proceeded to her window to see what could be causing such racket.

“Wherever did all those boys come from?” she wondered out loud, as she sat, now exhausted, in her window seat.

“Those are my sons, Mrs. Bennet,” answered Mr. Darcy.

“I see. My goodness, so many! And they are all yours, Mr. Darcy?”

Darcy frowned. “Yes, of course they are mine.”

“Did their mother pass on then?” she enquired.

Elizabeth finally realised her mother’s confusion. “Mama, I think you misunderstand my husband; all of the boys are mine as well. They are our children.”

Mrs. Bennet was speechless. She turned back to the group playing on the lawn by the drive, obviously trying to assess their potential ages and began counting. Suddenly she started to giggle. “I have six grandsons!”

Elizabeth looked to Darcy who was also starting to see the humour of the situation. Poor Mrs. Bennet! Jane had given her two granddaughters and Kitty three more. Now Elizabeth, whom she had forgotten was married, had shown up suddenly on her doorstep, with one of the wealthiest men in the land, and six strong sons by him. Yes, it was a very happy and humorous thought indeed.

Suddenly Mrs. Bennet stopped laughing. Her face showed great concern and Elizabeth was worried her mother had gained a talent for mathematics. “Lizzy! Please do not tell me that Mr. Darcy’s estate is somehow entailed away to only the female line of his family!” she asked, truly worried.

It took but a moment for Darcy to comprehend the odd route by which his mother-in-law’s mind travelled. He quickly reassured her, “Not at all, my dear Mrs. Bennet. I can assure you Elizabeth and I have six sons from our own choice, not to fulfil any obligations of heredity.” She relaxed visibly.

“Would you like to meet them, Mama?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, yes, Lizzy, but dear me, this room is not nearly large enough for such a group. Mary, do you think I might go down to the drawing room today? We could ask Louise and Carol to come and help me down the stairs.”

“If you would allow me, Mrs. Bennet, I would be happy to carry you to the drawing room when you are ready. Would that be acceptable?” Mrs. Bennet beamed at her new son-in-law.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy! That is most kind of you. I would be very grateful to you, Sir.”

“Madam, it would please me greatly if you would call me Fitzwilliam or at least Darcy. I am family after all.”

Mrs. Bennet giggled again. “Goodness me, I do not think I could call you by your given name. I have known you far too long as Mr. Darcy. I think Darcy will do nicely, though. Thank you… Darcy.”

When the Darcy boys were lined up to meet their grandmamma, Mrs. Bennet became overwhelmed. She smiled faintly, her lip began to tremble and then a tear fell from her eye.

“Dearest Lizzy, I do beg your pardon, but you see, there was a time when this is what I wished for your dear papa more than anything. Seeing your handsome sons here in front of me, reminds me so much of my dear Thomas and what we had hoped to achieve. Please do not think less of me; I am very happy that you have these dear boys to call your own.”

“Your own as well, dear Mama. They are your grandsons, too, do not forget.”

“No indeed, they are my grandsons, just as much Bennet as they are Darcy.”

Elizabeth began the introduction with her eldest, William, who was seventeen at the time. Next came Thomas Patrick, a sensible boy of eleven who, of all the Darcy sons, resembled his father most in character. William’s studies and thoughts tended to keep his mind occupied no matter where he might be, therefore Thomas had easily slipped into the role of eldest brother when it came to responsibilities and being an example to his younger siblings.

Next, she introduced Harold George, nearly ten, and named after his Darcy ancestors. Harold was the gregarious member of the family. He was wild for any sort of gathering, kept his sleeves and knees impeccable and was already disturbingly aware of any pretty lady that might be in the vicinity. Elizabeth and Darcy would never admit it to each other, but they both assumed Harold would be the first of their sons to wed.

Eight-year-old Richard Edward stood silently as was his nature. His quiet composure and stealthy speed made him the unofficial guardian to the almost twins, Charles and Andrew. While the two younger boys were rumbustious as could possibly be, Richard’s calm demeanour never failed to capture their attention, and they dutifully minded him, nearly all of the time.

“I am not a Bennet, I am a Darcy,” huffed an indignant four-year-old Andrew, when his turn to bow came.

“Be quiet or you will upset Oma,” chided his older, yet shorter brother, Charles.

Darcy looked to Elizabeth to see her reaction to her second youngest calling his new grandmother such a sweet endearment. Charles had spent his early childhood speaking German and English together, and to this day, he, along with several of his brothers, bore accents from the country in which they were born.

Richard also tended toward the German, while Harold and Thomas had a decided Italian lilt to their English. William, when pressed, could both speak Italian with a perfect northern dialect, and change his English accent into an astoundingly thick Italian rendition, much to his brothers’ delight.

Andrew’s accent was undecided. He had spent a great deal of time in Germany and France; however, being the youngest of such a boisterous brood had a distinct disadvantage if one wished to voice an opinion. Consequently, Andrew rarely voiced anything.

In fact, when he was a small babe, his thumb proved the only receiver of any attention from his mouth, with the exception of a great quantity of food. Having five elder brothers who often stood in as nursemaids to him, proved very convenient to baby Andrew; he had only to point and grunt before instantly being rewarded with whatever he desired. Hence, he was already taller than his eleven months older brother, and would one day outgrow his entire set of siblings, his father and even his Uncle Patrick.

Derbyshire, Six weeks later

The carriages drew close to the beautiful home and Darcy could feel his heart pounding. His sons were chattering excitedly, knowing the last miles were being traversed. He called to his driver to stop both coaches, just as they made the well-known turn and the house itself was now in full view. He could hear the collective gasps from his family, and the staff who accompanied them.

Elizabeth leaned her head onto his shoulder. “A finer prospect I have never seen,” she whispered sweetly into his ear.

Charles, Andrew and Richard clamoured to get a better look.

“Is that our house, Papa?” Richard asked.

Darcy chuckled. “It is. Welcome to Pemberley.” He opened the window and shouted at his older sons behind him. “Welcome to Pemberley everyone!” An eruption of happy noises emanated from both carriages and they continued on to the house.

All the Darcy boys tumbled out of their confines the moment the horses stopped and eventually stood silent, waiting until their father finally stepped down from his coach, turned and handed his wife out.

Elizabeth looked around her and smirked at her husband. “Now I know why you insisted we stop so early last night. I wondered why we did not complete our journey to Pemberley yesterday.”

Darcy merely gave her a mischievous smile and pulled strongly on her hand causing her to fall into his arms.

“Elizabeth, I have dreamt of bringing you here as my wife for so many years.” He kissed her soundly then, in front of his sons, the complete staff of Pemberley lined up in their smartly cleaned uniforms, the tenants of the estate, their families and then what seemed like half of Derbyshire, all present to welcome the long absent master and mistress. When he at last released her lips, he had the good manners to blush, though he could not contain his smile.

He turned to the gathering. “Good people, it is with the utmost happiness that I present to you all my wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, Mistress of Pemberley.”

The next hour was spent in a receiving line, with all of the Darcys meeting the local populace, Will often giving a history to his family of the people they were meeting. When they finally got to the end, the master announced another surprise: an invitation to everyone for the combination of a welcome home celebration and harvest feast that very night.

“I did not want you to have to suffer the planning of such an event, dearest. I apologize for not informing you ahead of time. Will you forgive me for wanting to show you off?”

Elizabeth laughed lightly, nodded and the two walked into their home.

“Georgie! Patrick!” she exclaimed when she entered.

Later that evening, as the harvest moon was rising like a great glowing orb over Pemberley, Darcy watched with immense satisfaction as his wife chattered with his sister and Jane in the corner. They had seen the Bingleys only a fortnight ago at Longbourn, but Darcy had secretly brought them to Pemberley for the homecoming and another surprise he had planned.

After the bounty of food had been consumed, musicians had appeared at the end of the meal and began to tune up. At a nod from the master, they suddenly stopped, as did the rest of the throng when Darcy cleared his throat rather loudly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, twenty years ago today I made the most grievous mistake of my life and tonight, I mean to correct it.” He turned to the family table, where his sons sat rosy-cheeked and happily taking in all the amazing sights surrounding them in their new home. “My sons, you might not appreciate the lesson I am about to pass on to you now, though you might be old enough, William.” the crowd snickered appreciatively. “However, I will ask you heed my words and remember that anything that comes out of your mouth should reflect the very best of what you can be. Always assume the world can hear what you say, so that you will always say something worth hearing.”

With that, he looked to his brother-in-law. “Bingley?”

Bingley stood and came to him, then began in a very wooden, yet loud voice, “Darcy, I must have you dance.”

“I certainly shall not, Bingley.”

“Behind you is one of Miss Bennet’s sisters, who is very pretty, and I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.” Several people giggled.

“Which do you mean?” Darcy then turned and looked directly at Elizabeth. “Bingley, I think I may have once thought to put you off by giving such a woman no consequence, and indeed, I may have once thoughtlessly said she was not handsome enough to tempt me to ask her for a dance.”

The crowd gasped and Elizabeth laughed, yet her eyes were glazed.

He turned to his friend and clapped him soundly on the shoulder, “However, with time comes wisdom, and I can only answer,” he turned back to his wife, “yours is a brilliant suggestion. I can think of no greater pleasure than dancing while looking into a pair of fine eyes in the face of the handsomest woman I have ever seen. I shall do exactly as you suggest.” He gave an imperceptible nod to the musicians who started their introduction quietly while Darcy walked to his wife’s side.

“Miss Bennet, will you do me the great honour of dancing with me?”

Elizabeth smiled sweetly through her tears. “Mr. Darcy, I think I should be delighted to give you my hand.”

With that, the master and mistress of Pemberley waltzed onto the floor.

41 years later, 1872

William sighed as the carriage pulled up to the grand entrance at Pemberley. He slowly stepped out and stretched his weary legs which had been cramped for two days in various coaches, trains and ships. He could see some of the grandchildren and great- grandchildren on parts of the property, along with his sisters-in-law and the nannies.

He met Andrew first. A shadow passed over his face, startling him, when his youngest brother caught him in an embrace.

“About time, old man,” he chided William. “Thomas has been at his wits’ end, which was not a far distance to travel.”

William rolled his eyes at him. Andrew’s clever wit and his imposing size were, in William’s opinion, the two biggest factors that got him elected to Parliament. He could not deny that Andrew was an overpowering presence. “How is Abby?”

“Quite well, she is concentrating on my eldest daughter’s presentation at court.” William frowned. “No, you have not gone mad, Annabel is only thirteen yet her mother thinks it is never too early.” They both laughed. “Come, I think most of us are playing billiards.”

He was correct; all but Thomas were escaping the bustle of all the children in the house. William greeted his second youngest brother, the honourable judge, Charles Darcy, hoping that he and Andrew would make it through just one day without arguing with one another. Charles found himself defending most of his beliefs and thoughts when in the presence of his youngest brother. Andrew, at least in William’s eyes, merely did what he could to get a rise out of his stoic elder.

Richard and Harold were obviously in deep conversation with one another when William entered, no doubt carrying on a serious discussion about their respective properties. Harold had been gifted years ago by his parents with none other than Netherfield Park, when he announced, after only one year in society and only four and twenty years of age, that he wished to marry a pretty, yet very silly heiress whom all the Darcys knew had captured his fancy. Daphne Weston was equally smitten with her dear, clever Harry and doted upon him these last twenty seven years. They were also the first to present grandchildren to Will and Elizabeth.

Richard’s fortune had come just as early in life. When he was merely a boy, his father’s cousin had come to stay with them for an extended time after his wife’s death. What young Richard had not known was how much the elder cousin had come to pay attention to the cast off remarks the boy had always made under his breath, reminding him of Mrs. Darcy’s father in wit, and endearing Richard to the elder gentleman for life. Several years later, when Richard Darcy graduated from Cambridge, he learnt he would one day inherit Rosings Park from Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Richard, like Harold, thrived on his estate and raised an entire brood of happy children with his excellent wife, who married him because of how he could always make her laugh.

The brothers all greeted William and soon enough, Thomas Darcy, now master of Pemberley, entered. He embraced William heartily.

“I am very glad you are come, William,” he said with great emotion.

“The estate looks splendid as always, Thomas. I always knew you were the one who should have it, that you were the one who could take care of our legacy properly.”

“I owe it all to you, William. I shall never forget your sacrifice, or the good fortune you bestowed upon me.”

“Nonsense!” his eldest brother scolded. “We both did what was right. I never want to hear talk of debts from you, young man.”

They all laughed lightly, but the truth of Thomas’ words rang true. The younger brothers did not remember the event, but the story of the argument their parents had, so soon after returning to England, was family legend. It apparently had lasted for days until finally their mother had conceded. Father and William rode out onto the property, and when they returned, they called Thomas into the library where William told his brother he had decided he did not wish to inherit Pemberley and would legally sign over his rights as first-born son and heir to the estate to the next in line. William left for France the next year and Thomas was now heir to Pemberley.

William knew what he said was true. He still remembered vividly his brother’s face that first week they arrived in Derbyshire. Thomas was home. Since that day, Thomas rarely left the estate unless forced.

Thomas brought him out of his reverie. “How soon can you be ready to go up?”

He shook his head clear. “Let me change and make myself presentable, and I shall be with you in half an hour.”

The room was brightened by the sun pouring into the windows as it started its descent into the west. William trod carefully, making sure not to be noisy, lest the inhabitants be napping. They were, of course, despite the plenitude of light. His father was propped up by many pillows, yet his head was still tilted to the side where it rested on top of his mother’s. They each had an open book in their laps, and their spectacles still sat upon their noses as they slept.

William sat in the well-worn chair next to them and watched carefully. He wondered if he and his dear Sophie would one day live to see their age. Would they be content to live out their days in a bed? He could not imagine his little spitfire of a wife ever settling down so; her grandparents were McNallys, after all. And, as the aching joints in his back reminded him, she was twenty-five years younger than he was. His inadvertent groan awakened them. His mother grasped his father’s hand quickly as she uttered her surprise.

“Oh, William! My dear boy, here you are at last.”

Darcy woke up and slowly turned to his son, smiling sweetly and closing his eyes again. Elizabeth moved to prod him but he stopped her with his words.

“I am not asleep; I am just taking my time in waking. Put that finger back.” They all giggled.

William kissed them both and they caught up with all the news until the family gossip had been well and truly worked over.

“I have something wonderful to show you both,” he said with glee. He carefully brought out a small box and unwrapped a card inside. He turned it so the afternoon sun shone directly onto it, as if it were a specially made lamp just for his presentation. His parents sat in awe.

“Is that…?” his father asked first.

“It is,” William answered with no small amount of pride. “Taken six days ago. I am sorry I could not be here sooner, but we were so close, and I had hoped to be able to bring something like this back with me…”

“Oh, my love. Do not apologise; of course you wished to finish your work!” Elizabeth cried. “I am so happy for you! I am so proud of you! Oh, William! Your dream!” her tears fell unabashedly.

William embraced his parents. “I never could have done this without all you have done for me, all you have given me.”

“No, son. This is your accomplishment. We are so proud you have made this happen. So many will benefit from what you have set in motion.”

“This is yours,” William said, handing it to the both of them.

Darcy took it in his hand, his head slowly shaking back and forth from amazement as he inspected it. “No, Son,” he turned to Elizabeth, “this should be given to your mother. Without her sacrifices, as well as her wisdom, many things would have been different. It was she who decided to take the chance and move you to London, and then to Padua. She is the bravest person I know and also the most loving, for she did it all never knowing if there would ever be a day like today. She believed in your genius, William, and your spirit.”

Elizabeth’s brows rose despite her tears, reminding Will of the young woman from sixty years earlier. He took her hand and gently raised it to his lips. “Bella Elizabetta,” and placed the treasure in her shaking hands.

“I will take it for us both, then, dearest Will. For I should like to see the proof of my son’s triumph when we wake each morning.” She examined the treasure very cautiously. “I hope this means you will take some time to rest, my son. What are your plans?”

William smiled. “I plan to go home to Longbourn and make an heir.”

He stayed the whole of the afternoon in their room until they once again had nodded off to sleep, his mother’s head coming to rest upon his papa’s shoulder and then his papa’s head slowly lowering until touching hers. The sun was low in the sky throwing fiery gold into the room and illuminating the sleeping pair perfectly. William sat watching a long time, making cherished canvases of his parents in his mind.

Epilogue

Nigel Worthington-Smith sat quietly at his desk staring at the picture on his computer screen. He quickly paged back through his notes to see what he had written from his initial phone call with the client, Mr. Jason Murdock.

American

inherited his great-uncle’s estate, Longbourn, Hertfordshire

looking for valuables - drawn to this

needs estimated value

He looked back at the screen and attempted to stop the pounding in his heart.

“Mr. Murdock, I need more information on the item you just emailed me. Can you tell me where it was discovered?”

Nigel’s manager and the director of his division stood next to him while he spoke.

“I see… were there any other similar items in the trunk?”

He nodded his head enthusiastically at his bosses.

“Are any of them dated by any chance?”

He frowned.

“I’m sorry, did you say 1843? Are you sure it isn’t 1893, the four is perhaps a nine? I see… excellent…pardon?” He quickly scribbled on his notepad. “Are you sure that is the title?”

His hands began trembling. He flashed his note at his manager who grinned wide.

“Yes, I believe Blendheim’s would be very interested in seeing them, all of them, I suspect.”

The director pointed to the calendar.

Nigel raised his brows, but he nodded. “Would you be available to allow us on the estate tomorrow?”

Longbourn

Jason Murdock looked on with amusement at the men gathered in his uncle’s attic. They wore crisp white gloves as they delicately handled each item being withdrawn from the trunk. He felt slightly guilty at his own haphazard methods of going through those same things just a week ago, but took comfort in knowing he had not truly damaged anything inside. Several grunts and non-committal “hmms” had been uttered as something new was brought out, described, catalogued and packed for shipping.

When the trunk was finally empty, and the other workers were storing away their personal belongings, Mr. Worthington-Smith approached him.

“Mr. Murdock, allow us to thank you once again for taking up so much of your time. We have made a list of the items we wish to investigate further, and it is ready for your approval, along with our insurance certificates. But before we finish, we should like to get more information about your family, sir.”

Jason was surprised. “My family?”

“Yes, sir. The man who left you this estate, Victor Darcy, he was your great-uncle?”

“Yes, my late Grandpa John’s older brother.”

“I see, then your mother married an American, named Murdock?”

“Actually, no, it was Grandpa John who married the American. The marriage caused quite a fight since his father and brother didn’t approve of my grandmother’s family.”

Mr. Worthington-Smith pushed, “Please, go on.”

“My grandmother was Sally Murdock. Of the Westport Murdocks?” Mr. Worthington-Smith shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“Her family was very wealthy, which should have made his father happy. But Grandma Sally’s family fortune had been made by an ancestor, also called Sally Murdock, when she emigrated from England as a widow in the early 1800’s and opened one of the most profitable brothels in Boston. She was rumoured to have been one of the founders of the infamous Ann Street, the most notorious red-light district in America at the time. The Murdocks had since gone into respectable businesses by the time Grandpa John was around in the forties of course, but that stain was apparently too great for the Darcys in spite of all grandma’s money.

“Grandpa was so angry, he moved to America, changed his name from Darcy to Murdock and hardly spoke to his family again. I think he never did reconcile with this father.”

“Your great-uncle had no children?”

“Uncle Victor never got married. He was supposed to have been some sort of spy in the war, and lost his leg. When he came home and Grandpa left with Grandma Sally, he just sort of withdrew. The neighbours here have told me he lived a very quiet life.”

“Do you happen to know the name of John and Victor’s father?” Mr. Worthington-Smith asked.

“It was Frederick. Gramps had four aunts and his father, Frederick, was the baby. I guess he was a surprise since the sisters were so much older. Gramps talked about his four very prim and proper old aunties. I don’t know who Frederick’s father was though. I’m sorry. I may find it when going through more of the family papers later.”

“Yes, please. If you could provide a family tree to us, it would be very helpful. I would love to tell you we shall be contacting you very soon, but authenticating is a tedious business. We stand behind everything we say, so must be very careful before making promises. We will get to the bottom of your little mystery, however and provide you with an estimated value if you decide you wish to sell at auction.”

Six months later

Jason walked into the elegant building of Blendheim’s London on Oxford Street and was startled to find himself directed to the offices of the owner. A large conference table commanded the centre of the room, set with fine china and an ornate sterling silver tea service. Nigel Worthington-Smith was soon introducing him to the director of the division and then the owner himself.

“This is my second favourite part of my job, Mr. Murdock, informing our customers of the value of their pieces,” he said enthusiastically.

“What is your favourite part?” Jason asked.

Mr. Worthington-Smith looked at him incredulously. “Selling them, of course.”

Soon the meeting was called to order and Jason took a seat in a plush leather chair. There were several people seated around him to whom he had not been introduced and his curiosity was piqued as to why so many were sitting in on his meeting.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to start by introducing you all to our client, Mr. Jason Murdock, whose excellent eye caught this exquisite piece.” He gestured to the glass box at the head of the room, which sat in a perfect beam of light from above, obviously a commonly used display location for their works of art. Inside was Jason’s photograph.

“Our first priority in evaluating any piece of art is to determine what it is, who made it and when it was made. You can imagine it is not always a simple procedure to find any of these answers.

“The piece in question is extremely similar to a very famous photograph, to which we could easily compare it.”

The wall behind Mr. Worthington-Smith opened up to reveal a screen and an enlarged version of an image, nearly identical to Jason’s, appeared. “As you can see, it looks exactly like yours, sir, with the exception of the addition of the two men in the lower left corner, standing on the hill.”

“They must have taken this directly after or before mine,” Jason said.

“A possibility we very much wished to prove, Mr. Murdock. Therefore, our next priority was to identify the men. The smaller man on the right was easily recognised. He is Louis Ducos du Hauron, the man who took the famous photograph. He had a partner, Charles Cros, who is also well known, however the man standing next to Hauron is not Cros.”

“Why do you think he is important? Maybe he’s the guy who drove them out to the hill.” Jason asked nonchalantly.

Mr. Worthington-Smith laughed lightly, “No, Hauron knew this particular image could be very significant and would not treat the subjects in it lightly. This man’s presence was intentional. We were convinced early on that discovering his name was paramount. Which is why we turned to the contents of the trunk where you found it. We often find the location the objects are found in helps in identifying them and your trunk eventually proved useful, yet also raised even more questions.”

He motioned to the side and several men brought in four easels with large frames which featured many of the other photographs Jason remembered from the trunk. They placed the frames around the room facing the conference table. There were many murmurs among the people there. Jason sat bewildered.

“These are not what you might have originally thought, Mr. Murdock. Although photography had taken off by the 1860’s these are much earlier, circa 1840’s. They were captured by a method known as the Calotype process invented by William Henry Fox Talbot here in England in the late 1830’s. The process was difficult to do and the general populace had very little chance to use it due to Fox Talbot‘s patents which were prohibitively expensive. That makes these particular pieces very rare.”

“Forgive the interruption, Nigel. But the one with the reclining man looks amazingly like the famous Fox Talbot photograph ‘Henneman Asleep’,” said a lively woman across from Jason.

“You also have an excellent eye, Valerie. We have indeed been able to confirm that it is Nicolaas Henneman.”

The room was filled with whispers. Nigel pressed a button and the screen behind him showed an enlargement of an image of a man sleeping in a chair. “This is the famous ‘Henneman Asleep’ by Talbot, circa 1843.”

He turned to back to Jason, “Henneman was an odd character. He was Talbot’s assistant and Talbot even set Henneman up in London to do photography years later. However, he was originally the man’s valet.” Jason was frowning hard causing Nigel to laugh slightly. “Yes, to this day it remains an oddity. Henneman was Dutch, yet trained in France and then came here to work. Why Talbot trained someone with a servant’s education as his assistant, no one could guess.”

Heads were turning back and forth furiously until Nigel clicked to the next slide. The two enlarged images sat side by side. The second, Jason’s picture, showed the same man in a slightly different pose. His legs had moved and his hand had come to rest on the arm of the chair.

“An original Fox Talbot! Congratulations, Mr. Murdock!” the man to Jason’s left exclaimed.

“Um… thank you,” he replied.

Nigel smiled once again. “Yes, we believe it is most certainly a Talbot.”

“It seems I had an ancestor who collected early photos.”

“Possibly, but the men who took these photographs would not have parted with them for mere money. Which leads us to yet a third set.” He nodded once more and another set of easels and framed photos were brought out. The whispers grew enormously.

“These were taken by a third process called Wet Collodion. It was invented in 1849 here in England by a young man named Frederick Scott Archer who lived in London as a photographer. He did not patent his invention, and he also did not introduce it to the world until 1851 when he published an account of it in a chemical journal.”

Jason was nodding, trying to understand the consequences of the numbers Nigel was throwing at him. Once again, an enlargement came on the screen, this time of a gentleman reading a newspaper on a bench in the park.

“This is one of the Collodion images from your trunk, sir.” He clicked again and the screen zoomed onto the date on the newspaper: May 24, 1850.

“Could he just be holding an old newspaper?” Valerie asked.

“Fortunately, we do not have to prove the date.” The photo zoomed back out. “Do you see the building in the background? The Lancaster Theatre? It burned to the ground in October of 1850.

“We were able to date this one, and later authenticate that the others are not reproductions. The fact that these are original Archer Collodions, taken at least a year before the rest of the world began to produce them in great quantities means their value is increased dramatically.” The people in the room were nodding enthusiastically.

“However, our original problem was not yet solved; we still wanted to know who the man in the Hauron photo was. In addition, a larger question now loomed before us; how did all these important pieces of history come to be in your family’s possession? To answer that, we asked you for your family tree and later, we tried to match which ancestors would have been living at the time the different photos were taken. Only one person fit the time frame; your great-great grandfather, William Bennet Cartwright Darcy.”

“How did he get them?”

“How indeed, Mr. Murdock? To find the answer to that, we began to research William Darcy. Do you know much about him?”

“Not a thing. I don’t believe my Grandpa John ever knew him.”

“No, he would not have. He died long before your grandfather was born. William Darcy was really an extraordinary man. His father, Fitzwilliam and mother, Elizabeth lived in Italy when he was a boy. Our investigation found out that William was admitted to the University of Padua when he was only eight years old. He received what you would call a Bachelor of Science degree in mathematics, chemistry and physics before he left at only twelve years of age.”

Jason was stunned.

“He went on to the University of Bonn to continue to study all three subjects and received the equivalent of a Doctoral degree in each by the time he was seventeen.”

“A child prodigy.”

Mr. Worthington-Smith nodded. “Without a doubt. His family returned to England after he graduated from Bonn, but he then left for Paris and continued to study and eventually taught chemistry there.”

“How did you learn all this? I can’t imagine it was easy to find out about my ancestor’s going to European schools?”

“Ah, that is where your trunk proved invaluable.” He clicked on the screen again and a photo of a worn leather book appeared.

“Did you happen to look through this at all, Mr. Murdock?”

“I did look through it briefly, yes. It appeared to be a diary of some sort. It was rather hard to read the fancy writing.”

Nigel clicked to the next page; there on screen was a page from the journal. He sighed. “It is a very elegant hand, but if you are not used to the style, it can be difficult to read. This journal was written by William’s father, Fitzwilliam. This is where we learned of William’s education and much more.

“However, it was these diaries,” another book came on screen, “that provided us with answers we didn’t even know we were looking for.” A page came on screen, this time in a different hand.

“Is that Italian?” someone asked.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. It is Italian, however if anyone here is fluent, I am sure they have already concluded that this seems to be nonsensical. It is, of course, because it is written in code.”

Several eyebrows shot up.

“Someone had something to hide?” Jason asked.

“Someone did not want to be found out, is more the truth, Mr. Murdock. After knowing the man’s genius, it did not take much on our part to conjecture these were written by William Darcy. Handwriting analysis comparing it to letters we found in the trunk confirmed William had written them. Normally we might not have pursued such a challenge had we not made a startling discovery.”

Here Mr. Worthington-Smith’s division director stepped in. “The discovery was yours, Nigel. You were the one to notice the similarities and start us down the path.”

Nigel blushed. “Thank you, sir. After we made our discovery, we spent some time having the diaries deciphered. William Darcy was brilliant at codes and gave us quite a hard time of it. Interestingly, it was William’s father who provided the answer to breaking it. Apparently, William often wrote to his father in code and Fitzwilliam put the key in his journal. The rest then fell into place.”

“Get on with it, Smith.” complained the owner. The company laughed.

He clicked on the next photo. “Do you recognize either of these paintings, Mr. Murdock?”

“The family picture is the one that hangs in the drawing room at Longbourn.”

“Yes. The individual portrait is young William Darcy and the other is the Fitzwilliam Darcy family. William is standing next to his father; the baby is his brother Thomas, who would one day inherit his father’s estate, Pemberley, instead of the eldest son, William, an occurrence practically unheard of at the time. William Darcy would instead inherit Longbourn from his mother’s father.”

“Why wouldn’t William inherit Pemberley, too? Did he and his father have some sort of estrangement?”

“Not in the least. According to Fitzwilliam’s diary, William gave up his birthright to his younger brother of his own volition when he was eighteen years old.”

The Englishmen around the table gasped. “Whatever for?” one astonished man asked.

“Perhaps because he knew he was going to be too busy to be a proper master to such an enormous estate.”

“Busy doing what?” Jason asked.

“This,” Mr. Worthington-Smith said triumphantly. The screen then focused on the face in the painting of young William Darcy and it began to change before the viewers.

“Age progression technology,” someone whispered.

Slowly William’s face began to age through childhood, his teen years and then into a young handsome man, very similar to his father. The progression stopped there, and the words

1842, age: twenty-eight

flashed across the bottom of the screen. The picture then moved to one side and another face slowly came into view. Jason could hear the gasps around the room when finally, side by side, were the faces of Henneman sleeping in the chair and the young William Darcy. They were the same man.

The room erupted in noises. Nigel spoke up to be heard above the crowd. “The age progression you watched was done by an independent laboratory that had no idea who we hoped William would look like.”

“Were there no other images of William Darcy?”

“None that we could find. We suspect he was quite determined to stay hidden. Fortunately for us, age progression allows us to make pictures of him at any age. If these photos had been discovered as recently as twenty years ago, we would not have had the technology to prove our theories.”

“Hennemann was really an English chemist!”

“What of Archer? How does he fit into this?” Valerie asked

“They met in London, after Talbot set up Darcy, as Hennemann, with the photography studio. Darcy collaborated with Archer and helped him discover the newer process that was much quicker and cheaper.

“Darcy had the chemistry experience Archer, and we suspect Talbot, needed. He also talked Archer into not patenting the process, unlike Talbot, and that meant thousands of people could finally afford to have photographs made.”

“All this was in Darcy’s journals?”

Worthington-Smith nodded. “It was.”

Jason could hear the two behind him in heated discussion beneath their whispers. “The Gustave Le Gray photos from 1857, went for over a quarter million pounds each.”

“I cannot imagine what the Talbots and Hennemans would go for these days. Nor the Archers. The 1842 Girault de Prangey sold earlier this year set the world record for a photograph - over five hundred thousand pounds.”

Jason felt a large lump in his throat. He looked around at the quantity of photographs and quickly started to add the potential worth in his head while Nigel Worthington-Smith continued.

“Ladies and gentleman, we are not quite finished, if you could be patient for one minute more.” He pressed the button again and William Darcy continued to age, until at last he was an elderly man. Once again, the age progression stopped and the words read

1872, age: fifty eight

When the picture moved to the side, most knew what was going to appear in the empty side.

Jason’s photograph of the two men on the hill came into view. The colours were weak by modern standards, yet the green hues of the grass, the trees behind them, the blue of the sky and the yellows and browns in the stone church in the village below were breathtaking compared to the black and white photos seen before. The screen then slowly zoomed in on the face of the taller man.

“Ladies and gentleman, I present to you a very modest man, who tenaciously avoided recognition for his achievements. A wily character who did his best to remain disguised as a simple scholar and never as the enabling mastermind behind modern photography. I give you a new face for the annals of the history of photography: William Bennet Cartwright Darcy.”

The room exploded in applause for several moments.

“Mr. Murdock, as interesting as this fascinating story has been for us all, I am sure you would like to know the potential value of your photos. Based on recent prices at auction, and the incomparable consequence of your collection, we would value them as follows: the Talbot and Hennemann photos together could fetch somewhere between six and eight million pounds; the Archer photos are slightly less rare as they are not as old, so would fetch between two and three million pounds. Lastly, the Hauron photo, the prize of the collection because of its historical significance, we feel would bring in between two and three million pounds. This means we believe the entire collection would sell for a minimum of twenty million pounds.”

The applause began again. He sat shocked as twenty million pounds, twenty million pounds, drummed into his head. Suddenly he stopped and asked, “What is the historical significance of the Hauron photo?”

Seven years later

Jason Murdock walked carefully up the myriad of stone steps to the Royal Academy of Photographic Arts and Sciences, making sure his young son did not trip. They quickly got in line and soon were entering the exhibit Jason had waited so long to show his son.

A huge portrait stood before them.

“Is that my grandfather?” the wide-eyed boy asked.

“It is, but the picture is bigger than he really was.”

He nodded, relieved.

The exhibit was set up in chronological order, starting with the first time William Darcy was involved in photography. Jason read to his son,

“Summer 1826, William Henry Fox Talbot visits Lake Como, Italy and meets twelve year old Darcy who is on holiday with his family. Talbot is taken aback by this enthralling young boy, and the two have an in-depth conversation about the camera obscura, and camera lucida to aid in drawing. The conversation is one that Talbot would remark on throughout his life as the inspiration years later for developing the Calotype process of photography.”

“He was only twelve?”

“Yes, he was a very smart boy. He had already been going to college by then and studied things that only adults usually studied.”

“What does the next part say?” he asked.

“When William was eighteen he went to study chemistry in Paris and that is where he learned about photography. There were two Frenchmen who had made a photograph that lasted. Before that, any picture would fade away very quickly on the paper.

“William thought the photos were very good, but it took a long time to take them. Too long for most people to sit. He worked for a few years on experiments to see if he could make it easier and quicker to make the pictures, but it wasn’t possible. So he moved back to England and went to work for Mr. Talbot.”

“The one he met at the lake when he was a little boy?”

“Yes, but now he was grown up, he didn’t tell Mr. Talbot that he was the little boy. In fact, he pretended not to be English and got a job as a valet - like a butler.”

“Why would he want to be a butler?”

Jason laughed, “He used it as a way to get close to Mr. Talbot and see how well he was making his photos. Eventually Mr. Talbot allowed William to work with him on the photos, and he became his assistant. He learned a lot, and became a famous photographer. See these pictures? Those are your relatives. That is a picture of your great-great-great grandparents.”

“Grandma has pretty eyes.”

Jason cocked his head and smiled. “She certainly does. The rest are all of William’s brothers and their families. They are all your uncles and aunts.”

“Then what did he do?” the boy asked, now excited about this adventure.

“He moved to London to take more pictures and met a young man by the name of Frederick Scott Archer. He helped Mr. Archer develop another way to make photos, called the collodion process. It is pretty much the way we make all photographs now.”

“Is that the end?”

“No. He stopped for a while and got married to his cousin.” The boy made a face, causing his father to laugh. “Not like your Aunt Ellen’s daughter. He married his Aunt Georgiana’s granddaughter.”

“Wasn’t he really old?”

“Not really. Less than ten years older than I am.”

He shrugged off his interest. “What next?”

“Well, after they had four little girls, he took another trip to France, this time to work with a man who wanted to make colour photographs.”

“You mean they could only make the black and white ones at first?”

“Yes, and making colour photos was very hard: nobody had done it. William worked a long time with a Mr. Du Hauron until they finally made these two pictures.”

They had come to the last part of the exhibit, and there was a copy of the famous photo Nigel Worthington-Smith had shown him so many years ago, and Jason’s real photo next to it.

“The tall man is your grandfather, the shorter is Du Hauron. They took these pictures, the world’s first two colour photographs, one right after the other.”

“Are you sure that is William? It is hard for me to tell with his beard and the glasses.”

“It is him. The men here at the museum had to work like detectives to prove it was him, but they did it.

“Do you see this?” Jason pointed to a glass case at the end, where three books lay open inside. “The first book, the red one, is a journal written by William’s father, Fitzwilliam. When they read it, they found out about how smart William was and how he went to college when he was only eight years old. Later they learned about all the places William traveled, because his father wrote about it in the book. That is how they started thinking maybe William was the man in the photograph. The next book belongs to William’s son, Frederick.”

“Frederick, like Mr. Arch?”

“Mr. Archer. Yes, William named his son after his friend who he missed very much. Mr. Archer died when he was very young. William’s son wrote about all the things that his father had done, too.

“The last book belongs to William. He wrote about working with all these men who were trying to invent photography and he also wrote about why it was important to him to help them be successful.”

“Why was it important, Dad?”

“Because William had a very special mind. He had a gift that allowed him to make a picture in his head, without a camera.”

They had turned the final corner of the exhibit and there, standing tall was the image of a page from William’s secret coded diary and next to it, in a fine cursive hand that looked identical, was the translation. “How about if I read to you what William said about why he wanted to succeed?”

His son stood touching a large brass plaque and looked up to his father. “Yes, please. But first read this.”

“It says all the photos and artifacts in this exhibit were contributed by the Murdock-Darcy Family Foundation in honour of their benevolent ancestor, William Bennet Cartwright Darcy.”

“Hey! That’s my name!”

“It sure is, William. Want to hear this last part?”

William nodded, and his father read the following:

France, June 14, 1872

Hauron, Cros and I went to Agen yesterday and took two photographs on the hill on the south end of the town. The breeze was non-existent, the colours glorious and the sun cooperative. It was as if the hand of God reached down to us and gave us the blessing to finally, finally, copy what has always been inside me. Louis and Charles laughed later when we had the proof in our hands and I could not help my tears. My head aches today from all the wine we drank but I cannot be sad. I feel I have finally come to the end of my journey and it has been well worth my effort. Tomorrow I leave for Pemberley with my little prize in my pocket, my colour photograph.

I dedicate my achievement to my bella mamma, Elizabeth Darcy. She wanted me to contribute to the greater good of the world, to give something to humanity if at all possible. She said my intelligence was a rare gift and should not be wasted, yet I never felt pressured by her, despite those great ominous words. She loved me, and taught me, yet was never envious of my supposed genius. There was only one thing of mine she ever wished for, and I have spent my life making sure she, and everyone else, could have a small bit of it. My dream was to give others the joy of making pictures, and never have to worry over wasting the canvases.

The End

The inventors of photography mentioned in this chapter are completely real. The photograph by William Henry Fox Talbot of Nicolaas Henneman asleep at Lacock Abbey is very famous and can be seen here

http://www.masters-of-photography.com/images/full/talbot/talbot_asleep.jpg

Louis Ducos Du Hauron’s first permanent colour photograph can be seen here- at a visitor’s guide to the little city of Agen, France

http://www.ot-agen.org/visite/ducos.htm

There are many people to whom I am indebted for helping me write Disguise of Every Sort. Some were my inspiration, some inspired me to do better and most were there to correct my mistakes. Without these people, I shudder to think how the grammar and punctuation Gods would have struck me down.

First, to Rebecca E, author of the fantastic work in progress ‘A Shade In His Character’. Thank you for opening up a new door of character development with your ‘dark Darcy‘. When I read your fiction, it would not leave my head and I often wondered how it would progress. My first thought was that despite Darcy’s ‘precautions’ Elizabeth would still be pregnant. I was thrilled at the idea of a pregnant Elizabeth who wanted nothing to do with Darcy. From there, the plot seed for Disguise began and I started on my own journey to bring my characters to that point without copying your original and wonderful idea. Therefore, I must give my first thanks to you for inspiring the idea behind my first story. Thank you, Rebecca. I hope that someday you will be inspired to continue the journey you started in your story. I’ll be there for the ride you can be certain.

My First betas:

Jen (I’m English!) who was infinitely patient and very kind in her vast quantities of notes. I am only able to hold my head up after remembering just how much red ink there were on those early Word Docs because I actually retained most of her lessons, and the future docs improved in grammar and punctuation (and lack of red). Though I will never be able to rid myself of the ‘Americanisms’. You.Complete.Me.

Dabney, who edited the first two chapters for me before having to stop. She teaches freshman English to the kind of college students who think Jane Austen is probably the sister or mother to that Brit spy-guy who wears the big glasses and has bad teeth. *group sympathy sigh for Dabs*

To my next generations of betas:

To Abby, the multi-talented. Your willingness to help in a pinch is admirable. Thank you for stepping in again and again to beta read for me. And my Italian would have been laughable without you and your mom’s help!

To Becca, my muse. Thank you for your unwavering support, encouraging me to write my vision my way, and love for every word you read.

To Carol, my alpha beta, thank you for being brave enough to be the first each week. I know how hard you worked and will always be grateful to you for making me look good! Your expertise as well as your enthusiasm inspired me each week to do my best. You.Rock.Ya Know.

To Ellen, Thank you for being willing to step in and beta in a pinch and for my beautiful book. It took my breath away to see what you had done. Still does. Also, thank you for sending me that fateful PDF and inadvertently showing me so many of the things I was doing wrong. I learned so much through the exercise of re-editing twenty-five chapters (LOL). Long and painful as it was, it helped me be better at punctuation, if not grammar.

To Julia, thank you for making this non-English English speaker write correctly. I may actually use “to which” in a natural way some day. I really appreciate all the time you spent to help.

To Louise, my etymology watch-dog. Thank you for being so tenacious and even more, for coming up with such wonderful alternatives to my modern usages. You rock!

To Sidoo, thank you for help on my French dialog. If Lizzy sounded good, it was because of you. Thanks!

A special note of thanks to June, thank you for the fabulous picture of Lord Caldhart in his dress clothes. Sigh. And for always expecting more.

Two women inspire me very much. When I grow up, I want to write like them,

To Ayden, whose natural talents inspire to me to be the artist that she is. If someday I can wield a brush to even a small degree of skill that she can, then I will considered myself an accomplished writer.

To Abigail R., a lady I cursed as often as I praised in my own head. Her journey into writing has not been unique in the world of JA fan fiction writing and mirrored my own in many ways. However, I have had the greater advantage for starting in a time after she had already begun. Abigail’s Knot Garden posts and her willingness to help others to improve their writing pushed me to be a better writer, to seek out education on writing and to stop and edit even after posting when I found mistakes that I had made. I will never forget what she has done for my personal satisfaction at seeing some improvement in my work, nor forgive her for bringing up the subject of point of view. Thank you, dear Abigail.

To Mr. Strunk and Mr. White, Cassell, Roget, Oxford University Press, Etymonline, the Writer’s Forum at firthness.com, the Knot Garden at Hyacinth Gardens, and the San Diego Public Library system; I thank you all for your excellent advice and help.

Thanks go to my boys who first had to put up with mom being on line and reading all the time, then mom being on her computer and writing all the time. They often helped me find the right word or phrase when my brain did its famous misfiring so I must give credit to them for helping write DOES. Also, my youngest was the one who suggested ‘Darcy dimples’ should be ‘Darcy Dimples ©’

Lastly, to the father of Disguise of Every Sort, my dear husband John, you were my support, my beta, my collaborator, my sounding board, my chief editor in every way. There were few ideas that went into Disguise that did not get discussed with you in some way. I think towards the end there, you might have dreaded hearing the famous “Do you have a few minutes, I need to talk over something for DOES?” line I had used for the last year. I dedicate this story to you, John. Mi amor, mi vida, te quiero sempre.