The Charlie who emerged from the hole was covered in dust and cobwebs, and minus his torch and tinder box, left below. He was smiling from ear to ear. “Papa, Angus, I’ve found Mary’s gold! The temple cave was small and absolutely round—it was a great help to be a classical scholar, for it leads me to think that he interpreted this particular cavern mystically. Round like a navel stone or a Roman temple to a numinous god, with its altar in the exact centre, and round too. It was covered with a black velvet cloth and it consisted of innumerable little bars of gold. An offering to his Cosmogenic God, I suppose.”
He reached into his shirt and withdrew a small brick which glittered with that magical glow only pure gold can achieve: fire without fire, heat without heat, light without light. “See? Ten pounds is about right,” he said, thrilled with himself. “And not a government mark to be seen! Or any other mark, for that matter.”
They sat down, both to recover from the strain of waiting for Charlie, and the shock of learning that Father Dominus had told Mary the truth.
“How many of these bricks are there?” Angus asked.
“Impossible to tell without dismantling the altar—is it hollow, or packed solid? He had made it round by putting each bar at an angle, so I hazard a guess that it’s solid save for the natural spaces this way of stacking produces,” said Charlie, eyes bright. “The whole altar measures about three feet in diameter, and three feet in height. What an offering!”
“Better that, than one of his children,” said Angus grimly.
“We have to think this thing through,” said Fitz, drawing a circle in a patch of dust with a stick. “First of all, we cannot make this find public, either now or at any time in the future. I will approach the government, of which I am a member until such time as Parliament goes into session.” He scowled. “That means we have to move the gold to Pemberley ourselves. Interesting, that lead has been mined in the Peak District for centuries! If we can lift it out of the temple chamber and wrap it securely on sleds, we can pretend it’s a hoard of lead from Father Dominus’s failed experiments to alchemise it into gold. Lead is valuable enough that it will seem good sense on our parts to garnish it on behalf of the Children of Jesus. We will simply say that it was already wrapped in job-lots, and we preferred to get it out of the caves ourselves for fear of more collapses.”
“Thus appearing responsible citizens,” said Angus with a grin.
“Quite. I’ll have the Pemberley carpenters make two sleds—they ought to suffice, given the dimensions of the altar. A pity the donkeys were killed. They would have been ideal.” Fitz turned to his son. “I am afraid you have to go back down the hole at this moment, Charlie. Would I fit?”
“I think so, but Angus definitely not.”
“Angus very definitely not! Someone has to remain up here to haul us out. Jupiter can do the work, but not without guidance. You and I are going down to count the number of ingots. On that figure depends the extent of our transportation.”
It was a gruelling task for two men not used to manual labour, but being together was a mental fillip; they could urge each other on, twit each other when one flagged, make a joke out of a trembling limb or eyes blinded by sweat.
“One thousand and twenty-three ingots,” said Fitz, lying flat out on the ground looking up at the twilit sky wherein Venus shone as Evening Star, cold, pure, indifferent. “Christ, I am a broken reed! No work for a man of fifty, let alone a sedentary one. I will ache for weeks.”
“And I for months,” said Charlie with a groan.
“We availed ourselves of a pair of scales in the old man’s cell and discovered that one ingot weighs a full ten pounds avoirdupois. For what reason I know not, Father Dominus chose not to use troy weight, which is usual for precious metals—only twelve ounces to the pound. At two thousand, two hundred and forty pounds avoirdupois to the ton, we have about four and a half tons of gold down there.”
Charlie sat up with a jolt. “Heavens, Papa, that means we have shifted over two tons each!”
“A mere matter of feet, and not the bottom layer,” said Fitz austerely. He looked at Angus. “Had we been forced to work in torchlight, it would have been intolerable, but we found two extraordinary lamps in Dominus’s cell, also a barrel of some kind of oil that fuels them. Mary is right when she says his mind was first-rate. I’ve seen nothing like them anywhere. It may be, Angus, that your company could patent and manufacture them if we bring one up after we’re done.”
“I think the patent should be awarded to the Children of Jesus,” Angus said.
“No, they will have all the gold except for a reward payable to Mary. Take it, Angus! Otherwise I’ll break both lamps and no one will benefit.”
“Then why not Charles Bingley?”
“It’s in my gift,” Fitz said royally, “and it goes to you.”
I will never break him of it! thought Angus. No one will. “Very well, and I thank you,” he said.
“Four sleds,” said Charlie, interrupting. “We’ll need some donkeys, not to pull the sleds, but to brake them.”
“How do you know about sleds, Fitz?” asked Angus.
“They’re used in Bristol, where the quays are hollow from warehouses beneath. The load is better distributed on a sled’s runners than on the four points where a wagon’s wheels touch the ground. Runners will help getting the load downhill too, where the subsidences are greater.”
“I take it we say nothing to the ladies?” Angus asked.
“Not even a hint of the most obscure kind.”
“But we will have help loading the wrapped packages onto the sleds?” Charlie asked anxiously.
“Yes, but only Pemberley men, and the most trusted. We’ll need a winch to bring the parcels up from the chamber, and a basket small enough to pass through the ventilation well without sticking. The basket will have to be perfectly balanced, and equipped with little wheels. That will enable us to wrap the ingots in it, then wheel it through into Dominus’s cell. Charlie, make sure you bring plenty of gloves when we return. Each package will have to be well-roped besides well-wrapped.”
“What a mind you have, Papa!” said Charlie. “Every detail.”
Fitz’s rare smile flashed out. “Why do you think it was so easy for an obscure MP from Derbyshire to aspire to the prime ministership? Few men are willing to deal with the minutiae, and that is a flaw in character.”
“When do we begin this Herculean task?” Angus asked, rather ashamed that his muscular build negated his sharing in it.
“Today is Wednesday. Next Monday, if the sleds can be made and the donkeys located by then. We will hope to complete it in five days.”
When they set off down the hill, Charlie let Angus lead Jupiter and deliberately fell behind to be private with his father.
“Papa, is this Grandfather’s loot?” he asked.
“I imagine so.”
“How then did Father Dominus lay hands on it?”
“A question I suspect Mary could answer, at least partially, but chooses not to. Miriam Matcham’s statement to the Sheffield authorities refers to a Father Dominus who supplied poisons and an abortifacient to her—he would have been ideal for an abbess. Since her mother inherited the brothel from Harold Darcy, it seems likely that Father Dominus originally belonged to Harold Darcy. Perhaps he was a trusted confederate. Certainly over the years Harold must have accumulated huge quantities of gold jewellery and coins, none of which ever came to light, though the precious stones did—he had a little cask full of loose but faceted rubies, emeralds, diamonds and sapphires. No pearls were ever found, or semi-precious stones. Given Dominus’s skills, it may be that he was commissioned to melt down the gold. Still, it’s all conjecture.”
“Good conjecture, Papa. I wonder why Mary keeps his secret?”
“If you ask her, she may tell you, but she will never confide in me. As she sees it, I treated her with contempt, and I did.”
“In the old days she would have told me, but not now. I am too close to you
,” said Charlie ruefully. “There is a kind of invisible barrier between men and women, isn’t there?”
“Yes, alas.” Uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken, Fitz went elsewhere. “What we do know is that the old man never tried to exchange any of the gold for money, or otherwise betrayed his whereabouts to Harold Darcy.”
“What a shock it must have been to Grandfather!”
“That too we may be sure of. Around my twelfth birthday there was a marked change in my father. He became wilder, much angrier, cruel to Mama and to the staff. Unpardonable!”
“Papa, your childhood was hideous!” Charlie blurted. “I am so sorry!”
“That was no excuse for my being so hard on you, my son. I have more to apologise for by far than you.”
“No, Papa. Let’s call it equal, and begin again.”
“That is a deal, Charlie,” said Fitz huskily. “Now only remains to mend my fences with your mother.”
The gold was removed over the course of five days with remarkably little fuss. It never occurred to Pemberley’s faithful retainers to question their master’s story of four and a half tons of lead, nor would it have occurred to the least naïve among them that Fitzwilliam Darcy and his only son were capable of the hard labour involved in lifting, wrapping and roping one hundred pounds many times over. No glint of gold showed through a rent in the light canvas, nor did any parcel fall apart while being manhandled. After some rather exhilarating rushes down the hillside, the contents of the sleds were loaded into wagons and so to Pemberley, where they sat in the big “safe house”—a stone barn Fitz used to store items of value. In the fullness of time several wagons conveyed the parcels to London and a curious destination—the Tower.
The public caves had been reopened for inspection; once more tourists could wonder at the maw of the Peak cavern, wander inside to see the rope-maker’s walk and the ancient houses that had, from time to time, sheltered the people of Castleton from unusually remorseless weather, or, in lawless times, bands of marauders.
Much to Elizabeth’s delight, Fitz had ordained that his girls should in future dine with the family, and actually spent a little time with them. Cathy’s tendency to play pranks dwindled, Susie learned to hold up one end of a conversation without turning the colour of a beet, and Anne displayed an eager interest in all matters political and European. Georgie tried very hard to conduct herself like a lady, and had consented to having her nails painted with bitter aloes—it tasted vile—while heroically managing not to wash the hideous remedy off.
“What happened between Susie, Anne and Charlie’s tutor?” Fitz asked his wife, frowning direfully.
“Absolutely nothing, except that they fancied themselves in love with him. I think that shows good taste,” Elizabeth said tranquilly. “He gave them no encouragement, I assure you.”
“And Georgie?”
“Actually rather looking forward to her London season now that Kitty has painted alluring pictures for her delectation. She’s such a beautiful girl that she’ll take magnificently if she loses her Maryisms, which Kitty assures me she will. Witness her struggle to conquer the nail-biting.”
“It has been a terrible summer,” he said.
“Yes. But we’ve come through it, Fitz, and that’s the main thing. I wish I had known that you and Ned were brothers.”
“I would have told you, Elizabeth, could I.”
“He always reminded me of a huge black dog guarding you from all comers.”
“He filled that role, certainly. Many others too. I loved him.” He looked directly at her, dark eyes on hers. “But not as much as I love you.”
“No, not more. Just—differently. But why did you stop telling me you loved me after Cathy was born? You shut me out of your life. It wasn’t my fault that I could give you no son other than Charlie, or that he was so unsatisfactory. Still, you don’t find him unsatisfactory now, do you?”
“No better son could any man have than Charlie. He’s a perfect fusion of you and me. And it’s true I shut you out of my life, but only because you shut me out of yours.”
“Yes, I did. But why did you shut me out?”
“Oh, I was so wearied by your endless mockery of me! The quips and smart remarks, the poking sly fun—you couldn’t forgive it in Caroline Bingley when she denigrated you, yet you denigrated me. It seemed I only had to open my mouth, to be ribbed for my pompousness or my hauteur—things that are innate, for better or worse. But that was nothing compared to your lack of genuine enthusiasm for married life. I felt as if I made love to a marble statue! You didn’t return my kisses, my caresses—I could feel you change into that thing of stone the moment I entered your bed. You gave me the impression that you loathed being touched. I would gladly have kept trying for a son, but after Cathy I could bear no more of it.”
She was aware of a tremor as fine as a cat’s purr, swallowed painfully, looked not at him but out the window of her sitting room, though it was long after dark and she could see nothing save the dancing reflections of candles. Oh, how sure she had always been that she could lighten Fitz’s nature, make him see how ridiculous he could be, with his icy demeanor and his stiffness. Only over this last year had she given up on poking gentle fun at his rigidity, and that had been from anger and disgust. But now she finally understood everything there was to know about leopards and their spots. Fitz would never be able to laugh at himself! He was too obsessed with the dignity of a Darcy. Charlie might succeed in breaking Fitz’s ice, but she never would. Her touch was too remorseless, her sense of humour too irresistible. As for his other accusation—what could she say to defend herself?
“I have nothing to say. I concede defeat,” she said.
“Elizabeth, that isn’t enough! Unless you speak, we can never heal the rift between us! Once, a long time ago, when Jane was so ill after the birth of Robert, she said in her delirium that it was only after you saw the glories of Pemberley that you changed your mind about accepting me.”
“Oh, that one, unguarded remark!” she cried, pressing her hands to burning cheeks. “Even Jane doesn’t know when I’m funning! I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, and had no idea Jane took it so seriously.” She walked on her knees from her chair to his, and gazed at him with soft, glowing eyes. “Fitz, I did fall in love with you, but not because of Pemberley! I fell in love with your generosity, your kindness, your—your patience!”
Looking down at her, he knew himself lost all over again in those lambent eyes, that wonderful lush mouth. “I wish I could believe you, Elizabeth, but the statue doesn’t lie.”
“Yes, it does.” Perhaps if she didn’t need to look at him, and that was far easier here at his feet, she could tell him. “I’ll try to explain, Fitz, but don’t make me look at you until I’m done. Please!”
He put one hand on her hair. “I promise. Tell me.”
“I was utterly revolted by the act of love—it still revolts me! I found it cruel, animal, anything but an act of love! It left me physically hurt and spiritually bereft. The Fitz I love is not that man. He can’t be that man! The humiliation, the degradation! I couldn’t bear it, and that’s why I turned into a statue. Eventually I prayed that you’d stop visiting me, and eventually you did stop. But somehow nothing was solved.”
Fitz looked at the fire through a wall of tears. The one thing he had never dreamed of! That what to him was evidence of the strength of his passion appeared to her as a rape. They go into marriage so virginal that its fleshly side is an utter mystery. Yet, coming from that family, I didn’t deem her so sheltered. The mother must have been a Lydia in her youth, and her daughters had all seemed anything but unaware of love’s physical side.
“I suppose,” he said, blinking the tears away, “that we men assume our wives will recover from the shock of the first time, and grow to enjoy what God really did intend to be highly enjoyable. But perhaps some women are too intelligent and too full of sensibility to recover. Women like you. I’m very sorry. But why did you never tell me
, Elizabeth?”
“I didn’t think that man would understand.”
“Separating him from me.”
“You’re many men, Fitz, with many secrets.”
“Yes, I do have secrets. Some I’ll tell you, but not all. Just rest assured that the ones I keep from you are not concerned with you in any way. Those I’ll confide in Charlie, who is my heir and my blood son.” He began to stroke her hair rhythmically, almost as if he didn’t know what he did. “That man, as you call him, is absolutely a part of me! You can’t separate him from the whole. I was an unfeeling brute, I can see that now, but from ignorance, Elizabeth, not from deliberation. I love you more than I did Ned, more than my son or my daughters. And now that I’m going onto the back benches, you’ll have no rival in Westminster.”
“Oh, Fitz!” She lifted her head and pulled his down to kiss him, slow and languorous. “I love you just as much.”
“Which leaves us with the basic problem,” he said, moving over in the chair so that she could squeeze in beside him. “Is it at all possible to breathe life into the statue? Can I be Pygmalion to your Galatea?”
“We must try,” she said.
“It’s probably a good thing that this state of affairs has lasted so long. I’m a man of fifty, and have far more control over my primal urges than a man of thirty. It’s up to me to breathe life into you.” He kissed her again, as he had done during the halcyon days of their engagement. “You need something I’m not prone to give—tenderness.”
“I have hopes for that man as well as for you, Fitz. We’ve all changed over the past year, from Mary to Charlie.”
“Shall I come into your bed, then?”
“Yes, please.” She heaved a sigh and put her head on his shoulder. “I have hopes for my own happiness, but I fear greatly for Mary’s. If she weds Angus, married life will come as a shock to her.” She giggled. “However, she’s not as ignorant as I was. Do you know, Fitz, that when we gathered at Shelby Manor for Mama’s funeral, she actually said to me that she wished Charles Bingley would plug it with a cork for Jane’s sake? I was appalled! She was so pragmatic!”