Estranged, page 13
Elizabeth searched his face intently. “And you do believe now that he lives? That I have not spun this from madness?”
Darcy squeezed her hands. “You are many things, my dear, but not mad. We should have begun this quest together long ago. But no more regrets. We will find him.”
Misty-eyed, Elizabeth pulled Darcy into a fierce embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered through tears of relief mixed with gratitude. For now, it was enough simply to cling to each other, to cling to faith. If the two of them persisted, the rest would surely follow.
That morning’s aimless drifting led Elizabeth to Pemberley’s kitchen just as the scullery maids were starting breakfast preparations. Seeing the mistress, the girls dropped nervous curtsies. But one maid eyed Elizabeth with particular wariness - a young girl called Agatha, one of several newly hired servants while Elizabeth was expecting.
She beckoned Agatha nearer and spoke in a low, urgent tone, broaching the subject of Pemberley’s missing heir and the continuing search. “Please, Agatha, if you know anything of my son’s whereabouts, I implore you to share it with me.”
The smallest hint of fear appeared on the maid’s face as she shook her head uncertainly. Elizabeth grasped her hand tightly and offered reassurance in an even more pressing voice. “You have nothing to fear. You will face no consequences for your honesty. I must know the truth.”
The scullery maid twisted her apron strings, darting glances at the others, who pretended not to listen. Softly, she replied, “Forgive me, Mistress, but I... I know nothing.” With that, she fled the kitchen.
Elizabeth’s mind raced. Her pulse drummed with possibility. The maid’s enigmatic behavior all but confirmed her suspicions something was afoot. By the time Elizabeth shared her suspicions with Mr. Darcy and the latter summoned the housekeeper to tell him all she knew about the girl, Mrs. Reynolds announced that Agatha had absconded from Pemberley on the heels of her hurried discussion with the mistress.
Chapter 25
REVELATIONS
The Darcys’ search for answers had taken them far from Pemberley, yet all leads had been unfruitful. For days, they had scoured the countryside, pursuing each new lead, no matter how faint, in their tireless search for answers about their son. Perhaps this day would be different.
The countryside peace was broken by the sound of hooves and wagon wheels as the Darcy carriage rumbled down the road. Inside, Elizabeth gazed pensively out the window and clutched her husband’s hand.
“Do you think this latest lead will amount to anything?” she asked, unable to keep the skeptical note from her voice. So many false starts and dead ends had led nowhere.
Darcy squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I know it is difficult, my love. But we must pursue every possibility, no matter how unlikely. We will find our son.”
Elizabeth managed a brave smile, bolstered as always by her husband’s steadfast determination, even as her own sometimes faltered.
The carriage rolled to a stop outside a dilapidated inn on the outskirts of a ramshackle village. Darcy helped Elizabeth down, keeping her hand tucked firmly in his.
This place already looks ominous, Elizabeth thought, suppressing a shiver. What if this lead proves as worthless as all the others? She hardly dared to hope anymore.
Inside, the inn was dim and clotted with pipe smoke. Ruffians gathered at tables, casting suspicious glances their way. Elizabeth pressed closer to Darcy’s side as they approached the innkeeper.
“We are seeking a woman called Agatha who works here,” Darcy announced without preamble, his voice echoing through the cavernous room.
The barkeep shrugged. His eyes narrowed. “No one here by that name.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank, but Darcy pressed on. “She recently started working for you. A young woman with chestnut hair. We were told you hired her.”
“I think I’d remember hiring a lass fitting that description, which I don’t,” the man insisted.
Sensing he was being deceived, Darcy protested. But the innkeeper silenced him with a subtle shake of his head.
“I cannot help you folks,” the burly man declared loudly for all to hear. “Best be on your way.”
He disappeared into the back, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth perplexed. A moment later, he emerged and slid a scrap of paper across the counter when no one was looking.
Elizabeth pocketed it swiftly. With a nod of thanks, they turned and left the inn. In the carriage, she unfolded the paper to reveal a hastily scrawled address.
“Do you suppose he risked his safety to help us?” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy squeezed her hand, hope rekindled. “That I cannot say. Whatever his motives, we are closer than ever, thanks to that good man,” he replied, hoping this was not another road leading to nowhere.
A glimmer of hope turned into a bright ray of optimism. Finally, they were headed to confront the scullery maid, Agatha, their most promising clue yet. Though the girl had fled Derbyshire on the heels of arousing Elizabeth’s suspicions, Darcy’s dogged inquiries tracked her to a country estate two counties away. Darcy’s chest swelled with raw hope. Could their son be so close? Gripping Elizabeth’s hand protectively, they shared a poignant look. Hopefully, the truth was within reach at last.
“We must tread carefully,” he said, his voice sober. “We do not know what kind of situation we are walking into.”
Though not as grand as Pemberley, which was renowned as being one of the finest estates in all of Derbyshire, Landover Place was fine enough, its grounds well maintained, with towering trees framing the pathway leading to the manor.
As they neared the door, Mr. Darcy took a deep breath and rapped firmly upon it. The door creaked open to reveal the butler, a stern-looking older man.
“Good afternoon,” Darcy said, his voice firm. “I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. This is my wife, Mrs. Darcy.”
Attired in somber black, the butler bowed with a deferential air. “Indeed, Sir. Your reputation precedes you. Pray, come inside, and I shall inform my master of your arrival.” With a respectful gesture, he stepped aside, inviting them to enter.
“Under different circumstances, I am certain I would be honored; however, this is not a social call, and hence, you need not disturb your master,” Darcy said, stepping inside the foyer with Elizabeth by his side.
“Oh,” said the butler. “How, then, might I be of service?”
“We are here to speak with a young woman who goes by the name of Agatha Green. I have reason to believe she recently sought employment at this estate.”
“Pray, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, come right this way.” The butler led them to the drawing room. “I shall speak with the housekeeper about your inquiry. In the interim, shall I ring for tea?”
“No,” said Elizabeth. “I thank you, sir, but I believe the fewer people who are aware of our being here, the better.”
“Mrs. Darcy is correct. Our desire to speak with the young woman requires the utmost discretion.”
Nodding his understanding, the butler bowed and then quit the room. When they were alone, Darcy commenced pacing the floor. His temper, he dared not vouch for.
Elizabeth approached him and squeezed his arm. “Be gentle with the girl, Fitzwilliam,” she implored. “She may or may not be a pawn in this web of deceit, but at this point, I fear she is our last best hope.” Darcy’s jaw clenched, but he gave a terse nod of understanding.
Soon enough, the young woman entered the room, her head hung low, trailing behind the butler, who was also accompanied by the housekeeper. Though she displayed clear signs of guilt, as evident as any Darcy had ever seen, he proceeded with caution, heeding Elizabeth’s advice.
The maid’s eyes were wide with fear upon looking up and taking in the sight of the Darcys.
Darcy took a step forward, his voice firm but gentle as he spoke. “May I prevail on the two of you for a private audience between the young woman and my wife and me?”
“I beg your pardon, Sir, but I believe the decision rests with young Agatha. What say you?” asked the housekeeper, directing the question to the scullery maid.
The young woman’s nod was barely perceptible, but it was enough to send the housekeeper and the butler on their way, with the promise of staying just outside the door in case they were needed.
“Miss Green,” Darcy said, his tone gentle. “We have been searching for answers about my missing heir. We believe that you may hold the key to unlocking this mystery.”
Agatha looked up at him, her eyes filled with fear. “It has been so long,” she said, her voice shaking. “I do not know if I can remember anything.”
Darcy loomed over her, using his formidable height to intimidate, yet keeping his voice low and controlled. “Come now, Miss, let us talk plainly. I know you were recently hired at Pemberley during my wife’s confinement, meaning you have unique knowledge about what was happening around the time the Darcy heir went missing.”
Elizabeth drew close and placed her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Please, Miss Agatha,” she implored. “Anything you remember could be vital. We need to know what happened the day our child was taken.”
“I know nothing.” The ashen-faced Agatha tugged at her apron strings, her eyes fixed on the floor.
“Mrs. Darcy and I are not here to accuse you of anything if that is what you think. However, your sudden disappearance from Pemberley on the heels of speaking with her could not have been for nothing. Speak the truth, and no harm will come to you. But I must have answers.”
Agatha remained silent.
Darcy’s stern voice cut through the tense silence that had fallen amid Agatha’s persistent denials. “There is more you are not telling us. I can see it in your eyes.”
The maid’s tear-filled eyes darted toward the door. Sensing her desire to flee, Darcy moved swiftly to block her exit. His towering frame loomed over Agatha as she shrank back against the wall.
“Please, sir,” she whimpered. “I have told the truth, I swear it.”
Darcy’s piercing gaze bore into the cowering young woman. When he spoke again, his voice was deadly calm. “Your expression... your very demeanor says otherwise. I will have the whole truth now, or should I subsequently learn of your involvement in any way, you will face the full consequences for your actions. Even if that means you will hang from a noose, I shall not rest until justice is served. Now tell me at once what I came here to learn!”
Frozen in fear, Agatha wrung her apron, fat tears rolling down her flushed cheeks. After an agonizing silence, she finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “Please, Mr. Darcy, have mercy.” She took a deep breath before finally speaking further.
“I was the one who switched the babies. I was only trying to ease a grieving mother’s pain...”
“Your own mother?” Darcy demanded.
The servant shook her head. “No, sir. It was for my sister’s sake.”
“Do you mean to say you replaced our living son with your sister’s dead child—your own flesh and blood?”
At this, Elizabeth released a choked sob. Her hands flew to her mouth to cover her trembling lips. Can it be true? Dare I trust this girl’s words and allow fragile hope to take root in my heart? The tumult of her mind robbed her of her composure as well as her voice.
Agatha nodded. “Unbeknown to anyone other than myself, my sister, whom I often visited just outside of Lambton, went into labor the very same day as the mistress. It came on her so quickly, there was no time to fetch help. I had to roll up my sleeves and help her birth the babe myself, I did! My sister did not know her child was born still, having endured so much pain during labor and losing consciousness.”
Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she recounted what had taken place. The young lady lifted her apron and used it to wipe them away. “My sister’s husband had just died fighting on the continent, and she so desperately wanted his child—someone to remember him by. The thought of her falling even deeper into despair with the loss of their child broke something in me.
“And it all happened so quickly,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “There was so much blood.”
Agatha’s eyes darted to Elizabeth, then back to Darcy. She swallowed hard. “I do not know what I was thinking of... stealing into the Pemberley nursery in the dead of night, swapping one baby for the other, but by the time I came to my senses, it was done.”
Darcy was staggered by this admission, a tempest of churning emotions wrestling within him—a furious anger that his heir had been so easily stolen away.
His eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer to Agatha, his voice low and dangerous. “You thought to ease a grieving mother’s pain by stealing my son? By deceiving us for months and causing us immeasurable anguish?”
Agatha sobbed as she nodded her head frantically. “I never meant for any harm to come to him. I only wanted to help my sister.” She clasped her hands together tightly. “Please, have mercy on me.”
Darcy’s hands balled into fists at his sides as he contemplated this information. Someone else must have been involved in the deception. “Mercy? After what you have done? You will face the consequences of your actions. But first, tell us everything. Who helped you? Who knew about this?”
Agatha took a deep breath, wiping away her tears. “No one helped me. I swear. I acted entirely on my own, wanting to do what I thought was best for my sister.”
“Enough of this! Where is your sister now? We need to find her.”
Agatha hesitated before finally answering. “She has since started living with our mamma in a village in the county next over. But please, sir, do not bring her any harm. She does not know what I have done.”
Beside him, Elizabeth trembled, eyes luminous with vindication. Gently retrieving the maid’s hand, she asked urgently, “This other child... our child... he lives?”
“Aye, mistress,” Agatha choked out. “A healthy baby boy still with my sister in our village.”
At these words, Elizabeth’s chest swelled with a surge of immense hope. Could their son truly be so close this whole time? Elizabeth could scarcely breathe. Our son lives! He is alive and well and being raised in a nearby village all this time. Overwhelming relief washed over Elizabeth at this revelation, even as fury simmered beneath the surface that their child had been so callously stolen away.
Wordlessly, Mr. Darcy gripped Elizabeth’s hand as they shared a poignant look. The moment she had agonized over all those long, lonely months had arrived at last. Her son was finally within reach.
Darcy’s heart swelled with indescribable emotion. Relief, joy, and a sense of profound gratitude filled him as he gazed upon Elizabeth’s tear-streaked face. The weight of their loss had been lifted, and they could finally begin to heal. But as their eyes met, Darcy saw something more in his wife’s expression: a fierce determination and an unshakable resolve. He knew what it was before she even spoke.
“I cannot go a moment longer without our son. I want to go to him,” Elizabeth said, her voice soft yet determined.
Darcy nodded, feeling a sense of pride and admiration for his wife. He knew how much she had longed for their son, how she had wept for him night after night. He, too, had felt the crushing weight of guilt and despair, wondering if they would ever find their child. Now, with the truth finally revealed, they could begin to make things right.
“Of course,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the door. “We will leave at once.” Then, he drew Elizabeth into his arms. “Let us go and get our son to bring him to Pemberley where he belongs... with us.”
Chapter 26
THE HEIR
The carriage rattled along the uneven road, the Darcy crest glinting dully in the overcast light. Darcy gazed out the window, his mind racing with the enormity of the moment they were about to face. He turned to Elizabeth, who sat beside him, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She was trembling slightly, and Darcy could feel the tension radiating off her in waves. He reached over and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Are you all right, my love?” he asked softly.
Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I have waited for this moment for so long, and now that it is upon us, I do not know how to think or how to feel,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
A host of troubling thoughts overtook Elizabeth’s busy mind: What if our journey is for naught? What if the child inside is not mine? Could I continue on?
Darcy squeezed her hand again. “We will get through this,” he promised.
The carriage pulled up outside the cottage, and Darcy stepped out first, offering his hand to help Elizabeth down onto the muddy ground. Together, they walked up the path to the sagging front door, Elizabeth clutching his arm tightly for support. Elizabeth’s heart was pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. While her heart raced in anticipation, her mind lingered on possible worst-case scenarios. She wanted nothing more than to savor this moment, yet a tinge of fear kept her from truly embracing it.
Dare I allow the flicker of hope in my heart to grow into a full flame? Elizabeth wondered. No—I dare not. I must not. Not until I am holding my child in my arms again.
The interior of the cottage was dimly lit and sparse, with just a rickety table and an odd assortment of chairs furnishing the front room. A woman with thinning hair sat in a rocking chair by the hearth, gently rocking a bundle in her arms. She looked up in surprise as Darcy and Elizabeth appeared in the doorway.
The woman jolted in surprise, her eyes wide with fear as they stepped into the room. Her arms quivered as she held tight to the bundle, the fabric of its swaddling shifting as if troubled by some unseen terror that lingered in the air. “Please, sir, do not take him away from me,” the woman pleaded, clutching the bundle to her chest. “He is all I have in this world. Please do not take him from me.”
