354CHAPTER I
The air was stiflingly hot. The coachmen wiped away beads of sweat as they pulled on their livery. A messenger boy sat slumped by the water bucket, the horse on which he had ridden in on neighing heavily from the relative shade of the stable. The letter he brought was so short it was almost not worth the ride.
"Scarcliffe Castle, August 17, 1819
NEPHEW - News just from London. Kirkdale and Sophia's ship is lost. Both assumed dead. Come with haste. There is much we need to discuss.
Yours, etc. MATLOCK."
Mrs. Darcy reached for her husband's hand as the carriage lurched off. She squeezed it and held her grip for the fifteen miles to his uncle's seat. His gaze was fixed out the left window; hers the right. Neither spoke. The roads were quiet, though the heat made them tense. The looming grandeur of Scarcliffe Hill offered little comfort as the carriage started the incline. Across the courtyard to the great hall, the Little Castle cast a long shadow, making it almost chill as they stepped out. Elizabeth thanked her coachman as he handed her down and looked up to the old tower looming above them, ominous in all its history and power. Her husband followed her gaze up.
"We'd best go inside."
The butler, Mr. Gallagher, already wore a black armband. "It was good of you to come Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy. My lord and his lady are in the gallery."
Elizabeth put her arm through Darcy's as they followed the butler down the old halls. The eyes of generations of Fitzwilliams followed as they passed, cracked and dry. They entered the room.
"Darcy, Elizabeth," the Earl of Matlock rose to greet them. "This is a sorry business indeed."
"There is nothing sorry about it," his countess said, "they were reckless and foolish and that woman-" Her voice broke. Lady Matlock silenced herself. Elizabeth moved from her husband to his aunt and took her hand. She thought about her own boys: how would she act if the unthinkable happened to them?
"What is the news?" Darcy asked.
"It was Castlereagh who wrote; there will be an official missive soon enough, but he wanted us to know as quickly as could be – which was good of him. A merchant ship making the crossing from Boston came upon a field of flotsam. They savaged enough to gather that it was The Clorinde, and there is only one of her. The captain wrote that they found no survivors."
"And you are sure – sure they were on The Clorinde?"
"Quite so; a letter arrived with their plans two weeks ago and we have had nothing from them since. My son may have had his many faults, but correspondence was not one."
"They should never have gone," said Lady Matlock. "If they had just spent more time in one place and established a family– I thought that after Richard–" She broke off again and squeezed Elizabeth's hand tight. Richard. His name hung heavy in the air. A moment passed, and then another. All were lost in their own memories and fears.
Lady Matlock recovered first. "Lord husband fetch us all a port – yes for Elizabeth as well, she likes it as well as I – we will need to stiffen our resolve. We did not call them all the way from Pemberley just to share in our sorrow. Mourning can come once the practicalities are fixed."
There was, in fact, little to be fixed. Matlock was a rare old peerage, one that allowed an heir presumptive to inherit. With no heirs left of his own, the Earldom of Matlock along with all its lands and incomes would pass from William Fitzwilliam to the next male in his family's line. His own father had had but one sister, who died without issue, so the line turned instead to his siblings. His older sister, Catherine, had but one daughter – Anne – and no grandchildren by her. His younger sister, also Anne, had been lucky enough to have one boy – Fitzwilliam – and him lucky enough to have an heir, William, and a spare, Bennet, and a wife young enough that more could be made.
"I'll write to my attorney in the morning. My will will need updating, though the patent is clear enough. Still, helps to have these things settled so they are less burdensome when the time comes that they are needed."
"There's no need to act so quickly, uncle. You must allow yourself at least some time–"
"A man who has no heirs has no time. I'd rather have it settled, then you can get your own affairs in order. Kirkdale leaves fives estates, and God knows he's neglected them. You might actually make something of them Darcy. You must stay this evening. You can dine with us tonight, and then leave us to our sorrows in the morning. I think we shall be glad of the company."
Before they could object, the Earl of Matlock had hailed over his doorman and dispatched him to have their belongings gathered from Pemberley. Elizabeth thought it a particularly silly charade: the Matlocks had just lost their only surviving child. Decorum may have required taking it stoically, but it did not require entertaining them for dinner. It came as some relief when Lady Matlock excused herself, declaring that she was tired and not much good as company. Lord Matlock seemed more determined to keep up appearances – or perhaps, she thought, he could not bear to be left to his own thoughts. He monopolised his nephew for most of the evening, while Elizabeth tried to tinker out something on the piano that was neither too happy nor too sad. It was gone ten o'clock when the Earl felt he had consumed enough port to help him sleep without too much disturbance and bade them goodnight. They stood facing each other, alone for the first time in what seemed like an age.
"Are we still Elizabeth and Darcy?" she asked, a slight quiver in her voice.
"Yes, at least for the time being. But I can't pretend this will not change our lives significantly. My uncle – he has said a lot tonight, some of it he may regret, along with the drink in the morning. Grief clouds judgement."
She moved to take his hand again and he led them to sit. He took a breath. "I must admit, I feel foolish for never having really considered this possibility. It seemed so natural that Kirkdale would inherit from his father. But without an heir of own his own this was always likely to find its way to us, or to William. I have left us ill-prepared."
"They were healthy, and they could well have taken in one of her family as an heir. You could not have seen this happening any better than the rest of us."
"Either way, it has happened. The legalities will need to be finalised, but I am now my uncle's heir. I'll take over the care of my cousin's lands, and when my uncle dies – God forbid – I become Earl of Matlock, as will William and his sons after me."
She paused, unsure of what to say.
"Kirkdale leaves few debts," he continued, "but many angry tenants. And with the general mood amongst the people these days, that is almost worse. I'll write to his stewards tomorrow and see what can be done in the short term to gain us back some good will. When mourning is over I will have to visit and survey. My uncle thinks you and I need only allow a month for it, given he was a cousin, and I'm inclined to agree. The longer I wait the worse matters are likely to get, and winter never helps."
"Must you really go?"
"I can't not. This is a significant increase to my estate. Kirkdale held lands in Lincolnshire, Nottinghamshire, Yorkshire, Norfolk and Peterborough. Well managed, my uncle estimates the estates could bring an additional ten thousand a year, and that just from the land. As for the Earldom itself when the time comes– Well, combined with the Darcy land it would be most of Derbyshire, and a fair way west and north too. I would think another sixty on top of that from the land, not counting the mining rights."
"Good Lord. Eighty thousand a year?"
"And Scarcliffe Castle too to add to Pemberley, and then three houses in town as well as some rooms in Bath. There might be a hall in Ireland as well, thinking on."
She sat dumbstruck. "But we have no need for it."
"Need rarely comes into it Elizabeth. I'm inclined to rent most out, at least until the boys are old enough to need establishments. But that is not a discussion for tonight. Are you alright? You look quite pale."
"I am fine. I simply cannot comprehend it all."
"I suppose it is quite the adjustment. The trappings of rank have always been in my family, but–" he caught himself. "But there is nonetheless a considerable difference between gentleman and lord. It will be a substantial change to all our lives, not least those of William, Bennet and Catherine's. Their prospects are now vastly different."
She sat for a moment, taking it all in. "I feel as if, until this moment, I have been painting on a canvass two inches wide. I knew what to do within my little space. But there's so much more now. I don't even know where to begin."
He kissed her forehead. "You'll rise to the challenge, as you always do. Come, let's to bed. Things will seem lighter in the morning."
They stood. The air in the old room was stuffy; the ornamentations crowded in shadow. She looked around. "I hate this house."
"I know, Elizabeth. I know."
Author's note: First, thank you for clicking on this story and reading this far. This story was born out of the pandemic, and while it is not about that, it has certainly influenced the story: a soft burn to high angst tale of a relationship in stressful times, once the honeymoon years have passed.
This is a story based around historical events – though as is the way with history, some of these events will feel very current. I've provided historical notes throughout: I hope these will help my reader feel more immersed in the world of the late Regency. Many of the 'new' characters were real people and some of their dialogue is verbatim from historical documents. I've used this to get a sense of their personalities, though of course this is largely guess work.
There are two books to which I owe the idea for this story, and historical background: Jane Robins' (2006) Rebel Queen: The Trial of Queen Caroline, and M.J. Trow's (2010) Enemies of the State: The Cato Street Conspiracy. I encourage anyone keen to read more about the events covered in this story to look these up.
There is a content warning below this author's note, for those who appreciate some forewarning of potentially difficult themes. I have a sensitivity / proofreader, and have used my own experiences, along with a lot of historical research, to try and ensure I have not slipped into 'sensationalising' difficult scenes.
History is, of course, complicated and problematic. This story seeks to explore some of the many ways the early 19th century was problematic. Relationships are also complicated and problematic. This is a story about one such relationship. I understand that will not be what everyone wants to read: but some may find it interesting, or maybe even cathartic.
I will leave it to my readers to decide if this sounds like the story for them. But, if you do, then I hope I can give you a tale true to the spirt of Austen - but painted on a larger canvas.
Content warning: This story contains scenes and themes of non-consensual sex.