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Authors: Jenetta James
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that it would take an age to compose. No. I rather think that there is no letter, but that, after the evening he has had, my husband wishes to be out of my presence. It is sobering to think that I once had to write in stolen moments, while he was preparing for bed, between the soft looks at the dining table and the kisses of the night. Now, it would appear that I have more than enough time in which to account for my movements, and I wish instead that he would come to me. In the stillness, I recall how he gave this book to me, and although he knows that I enjoy writing in it, I have never told him exactly what it is I write. Whatever would he say, I wonder? To write so much, and so deeply of myself and yet not tell my husband, sounds quite wrong; but do we not all need our secrets?
Chapter 7
London, 8 August 2014
From: Charlie Haywood
To: Cressida Carter
Date/time: 08/08/2014 06:26 BST
Subject: Project Darcy
Cressida, can you ask your solicitor in Shropshire who acts for the Darcy Trust?
***
From Cressida Carter
To: Charlie Haywood
Date/time: 08/08/2014 06:53 BST
Subject: Project Darcy
You’re up early. I hope that you are not emailing me in bed. I already know. Firm called Galbraiths, Flanders & Waites in Fleet Street. They do big-ticket private client. Old as the hills. Any news?
***
Charlie would have sent her a flirty reply, but his mind was reeling with the sheer good fortune of Galbraiths being involved. He had not lost his touch. His lucky number was up again.
He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. Outside the office, the London morning was opening, clear bright light filling the sky, taxis putting on their orange lights, early birds arriving at work, and street sweepers swishing down the road. He had thought of her twice that morning and recalled the motion of her foot on the polished floor of the gallery as she spoke to another man. He pushed the thought away.
He surveyed the pile of papers Simon had left for him. A genogram, a few wills from the probate registry, an article about stately homes in Derbyshire—there were all sorts. Simon had worked hard and done a good job. But Charlie was like a bloodhound on a scent. He had read the papers angrily, voraciously. He had a skill for quickly and effectively taking in and assimilating vast amounts of data. It had been said to him that he could have done many other things with that skill than the thing he had done; of course, other people did not understand quite how things had been—how fate had twisted against every plan he had ever had for himself. He decided not to be distracted by that history now. In his mind, the late Fitzwilliam Darcy and his family had emerged from the mist of ignorance and begun to take shape.
Mr. Darcy had been born in Derbyshire in 1785 to a wealthy landowning father and an aristocratic mother. On his mother’s side, he was the grandson of the Earl of Matlock. His father was untitled, wealthy gentry. In 1813, he married one Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire. Simon had not learned much about Mrs. Darcy except that her father was a small landowner and she was one of five sisters. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy had lived in an enormous pile called Pemberley in the Peak District and had six children, five girls and a boy. Their marriage ended when Elizabeth died, aged sixty-one in 1853. Her husband followed her to the grave seven years later in 1860. These people had proper money. In addition to Pemberley, there was a house in Grosvenor Square, owned by his descendants until 1947 when they sold it to pay death duties. Mr. Darcy also owned smaller estates in Ireland, Scotland, and the West Country. Cressida had not exaggerated when she called her mother’s family “terribly grand.”
As for their children, the rich and privileged were always easy to trace. First, there was Anne, born in 1814. Anne had married in 1836, and maybe she wasn’t much like her mother as she only had one son. Her son had married, had a family, and so
Chapter 7
London, 8 August 2014
From: Charlie Haywood
To: Cressida Carter
Date/time: 08/08/2014 06:26 BST
Subject: Project Darcy
Cressida, can you ask your solicitor in Shropshire who acts for the Darcy Trust?
***
From Cressida Carter
To: Charlie Haywood
Date/time: 08/08/2014 06:53 BST
Subject: Project Darcy
You’re up early. I hope that you are not emailing me in bed. I already know. Firm called Galbraiths, Flanders & Waites in Fleet Street. They do big-ticket private client. Old as the hills. Any news?
***
Charlie would have sent her a flirty reply, but his mind was reeling with the sheer good fortune of Galbraiths being involved. He had not lost his touch. His lucky number was up again.
He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. Outside the office, the London morning was opening, clear bright light filling the sky, taxis putting on their orange lights, early birds arriving at work, and street sweepers swishing down the road. He had thought of her twice that morning and recalled the motion of her foot on the polished floor of the gallery as she spoke to another man. He pushed the thought away.
He surveyed the pile of papers Simon had left for him. A genogram, a few wills from the probate registry, an article about stately homes in Derbyshire—there were all sorts. Simon had worked hard and done a good job. But Charlie was like a bloodhound on a scent. He had read the papers angrily, voraciously. He had a skill for quickly and effectively taking in and assimilating vast amounts of data. It had been said to him that he could have done many other things with that skill than the thing he had done; of course, other people did not understand quite how things had been—how fate had twisted against every plan he had ever had for himself. He decided not to be distracted by that history now. In his mind, the late Fitzwilliam Darcy and his family had emerged from the mist of ignorance and begun to take shape.
Mr. Darcy had been born in Derbyshire in 1785 to a wealthy landowning father and an aristocratic mother. On his mother’s side, he was the grandson of the Earl of Matlock. His father was untitled, wealthy gentry. In 1813, he married one Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire. Simon had not learned much about Mrs. Darcy except that her father was a small landowner and she was one of five sisters. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy had lived in an enormous pile called Pemberley in the Peak District and had six children, five girls and a boy. Their marriage ended when Elizabeth died, aged sixty-one in 1853. Her husband followed her to the grave seven years later in 1860. These people had proper money. In addition to Pemberley, there was a house in Grosvenor Square, owned by his descendants until 1947 when they sold it to pay death duties. Mr. Darcy also owned smaller estates in Ireland, Scotland, and the West Country. Cressida had not exaggerated when she called her mother’s family “terribly grand.”
As for their children, the rich and privileged were always easy to trace. First, there was Anne, born in 1814. Anne had married in 1836, and maybe she wasn’t much like her mother as she only had one son. Her son had married, had a family, and so
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