‘How was your picnic with Araminta, Daddy?’ Lizzy asked early that evening, as she and Emma helped unpack the car. Charlotte had disappeared straight up to her room.
‘It was very nice,’ Mr Bennet replied, and handed her an armload of damp towels. ‘The rain held off, thank goodness. And with that huge beach umbrella Emma found, we would’ve managed quite well even if it had poured.’
‘I found it up in the attic,’ Emma said, and picked up the emptied jug of tea and the portable radio. ‘Now, I’m taking this stuff in, then I’m going upstairs for a bath and calling it a day.’
‘You said your picnic with Araminta was “very nice”,’ Lizzy remarked as Emma left and she followed her father and his picnic basket into the house. ‘When you say “very nice”, you usually mean “disappointing”.’
He set the basket on the kitchen table and eyed her over his spectacles. ‘You know me too well, Elizabeth.’
As Lizzy made them tea, Mr Bennet sat down at the table and sighed. ‘Everything was going – pardon the pun – swimmingly, until Araminta tried one of my scones.’
‘Oh, no.’ She switched on the kettle and turned to regard him with alarm. ‘Did she get sick?’
‘Not exactly. She had some sort of an allergic reaction to the thyme in the lemon-and-thyme scones, and broke out in hives. Then her right cheek began to swell. It was most distressing. I had to rush her off to A and E and get her a shot of epinephrine.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Oh, yes. Right as rain.’ He regarded her sheepishly. ‘But I don’t think she’ll be anxious to try my scones again, after they landed her in hospital.’
Lizzy poured their tea, then put the mugs down on the table and sat down. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she pointed out, indignant. ‘How were you to know she was allergic to thyme?’
‘I didn’t. But I still feel badly. I didn’t actually disclose the fact that there was thyme in the scones. It was meant to be a surprise.’ He sighed. ‘And it was a surprise… but not quite in the way I intended.’
‘Well, at least you got her to a doctor, and she’s all right.’
‘Yes. Still, it wasn’t a very auspicious first date, I must admit.’ He took a sip of tea.
‘It must be hard,’ Lizzy ventured after a moment, frowning as she wrapped her hands around the mug, ‘to dive back into dating again, after so many years with Mum.’ Her throat thickened, and she sipped her tea. ‘I can’t imagine how difficult it must be.’
‘It’s daunting, to say the least.’ He laid his hand atop hers. ‘I miss your mother, Lizzy, and I always will. No one could ever take her place. But I do get lonely now and then, and I find myself missing the companionship we once had. I miss having someone to share my tea with, or help me with the crossword, or walk with me on a summer’s evening. That’s all.’
‘You have us, Daddy.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘You’ll always have us.’
He smiled. ‘Then I have all I need.’
‘Emma? Lizzy? Where are my new sunnies?’ Charli demanded as she burst into the kitchen. ‘Did you take them?’
‘I have no idea where your sunglasses are,’ Lizzy retorted. ‘And no, I didn’t take them. Why would I?’
‘You and Em are always borrowing my stuff.’
‘If you mean those rubbish heart-shaped pink ones, the last time I saw them, they were lying on the beach towel where you threw them.’
‘Oh, no!’ Charlotte wailed. ‘They must’ve fallen into the sand when we packed everything up. Those are my favourite sunnies! I planned to wear them tomorrow on Ciaran’s yacht.’
‘Then you should’ve been more careful,’ Mr Bennet said reasonably. ‘Now I suppose you’ll have to buy another pair.’ He rose, his mug of tea in hand.
‘I ordered those sunglasses online, Daddy. From London. I’ll never find a pair like that in Litchfield, or even Longbourne, ever again!’
‘I’ll be in my study if anyone is looking for me,’ Mr Bennet said to Lizzy. He turned back to his youngest daughter. ‘As I see it you have two options, Charlotte. You must either wear another pair of sunglasses tomorrow, or resolve to stay home while your sisters are on their cruise with Ciaran. I trust you’ll come to the proper conclusion. Goodnight, girls.’
‘Goodnight,’ they echoed as he left.
When he’d gone, Charli turned to Lizzy. ‘Don’t you dare say a word. I see you smirking.’
‘I hardly need to say anything,’ Lizzy told her. ‘Daddy said it all, and very well. To cruise, or not to cruise; that is the question,’ she mused. ‘Whether ‘tis nobler to suffer the indignity of wearing ordinary sunglasses…’ She grinned.
Charli glared at her, then turned away and stalked back upstairs and slammed her door, sending poor Aunt Henrietta’s portrait crashing, once again, to the floor.
***
Although Cleremont’s dining room table was laid with the finest china and linens that evening, and although the scents of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding – Harry’s favourites – wafted on the air, Holly had little appetite as Hugh pulled out her chair.
Poor Harry. The loss of the regatta cup had left him gutted. He’d barely said a word when they’d gone to the Pemberley to see him after the race, only brushed past her and Hugh with a grim expression and said that he and the captain had something important to take care of, and that he wouldn’t be back in time for dinner.
‘You’re not about to do something stupid, are you?’ Hugh had called after him sharply.
‘No,’ Harry flung back. ‘I’m about to do something necessary.’
The mood was sombre now as Higgins and the chef carried in what should have been a festive, celebratory meal of roast beef, souffléd spinach and roasted potatoes – ‘the only two vegetables that Harry can tolerate,’ his mother had informed Holly.
After the wine was poured and everyone was served, Higgins and the chef departed. The only sound was the muted clink of utensils against china as they all began, dispiritedly, to eat.
Barely five minutes had passed when Hugh let out a sharp breath and flung his fork and knife down. ‘Oh, for God’s sake. We only lost the regatta, not a family member. Let’s try and keep things in perspective, shall we?’
Lord Darcy scowled. ‘I’m sorry, Hugh, but it’s still a bloody shame. The Pemberley should’ve won that race. And if not for those blasted seagulls, she would have!’
‘What do you suppose happened?’ Holly asked, perplexed. She winced as she remembered how the gulls had swooped and… pooped, all over the Darcy yacht. ‘What on earth made them do such a thing?’
‘It’s chicanery of some sort, mark my words,’ Hugh’s father vowed. ‘The Meryton’s crew was determined to win, I’ve no doubt, and by whatever means necessary.’
‘But darling,’ Lady Sarah said reasonably, ‘how could they possibly have known that those gulls would…’ She paused, and gave a delicate shudder. ‘Do what they did, all over the Pemberley? No one could’ve predicted such an outcome.’
‘Someone could.’
They all looked up, startled, to see Harry standing in the dining room doorway. His expression could only be called grim.
‘Harry!’ his mother exclaimed. ‘Oh, my poor baby, we’re so sorry…’
He held up a hand to cut her off. ‘Please, Mum. I’m all right. I won’t go into the details over dinner,’ he said, his words even as his glanced raked over them. ‘But what happened today was definitely an act of sabotage, and I have proof – proof which is now in the hands of the regatta committee.’
Hugh frowned. ‘And who is the suspected saboteur? As if I didn’t know,’ he added darkly. ‘It’s Ciaran, isn’t it?’
‘No.’ Harry shook his head. ‘Although I’m sure he’s involved. No, the guilty party is this chap here.’ He turned and gestured to someone hovering behind him in the hallway. ‘Come in, please.’ His voice brooked no argument.
And as they all stared at the doorway in astonishment, a little boy with gingery blond hair shuffled in, his head hanging and his face flushed with embarrassment.
Holly gasped. ‘Billy?’
The table erupted into an uproar as everyone began talking at once.
‘Most extraordinary!’
‘Who is this young rapscallion?’
‘Holly, do you know this boy?’
‘…can scarcely believe it!’
‘Oh, you poor little lamb!’ Lady Darcy exclaimed, and thrust her chair back to go and take the boy into her arms. ‘Who put you up to this?’
But of course he didn’t answer, only wriggled free and regarded her from behind Harry’s leg with a wary expression.
‘Who is he?’ she asked Harry, straightening. ‘Where did you find him, and how do you know that he… did this?’ Her expression was perplexed as she glanced at the boy. ‘Surely he’s too young to climb up a ship’s mast on his own.’
‘His name is Billy, and he did do it. He climbed the Pemberley’s mast; I caught him red-handed and chased him down earlier this morning. I remembered it on the way to see the committee. He’s been living on the Rosings, evidently, and Mac’s been looking after him.’
‘Mac?’ Lord Darcy echoed. ‘Why on earth is he looking after the boy? Mac knows a great deal about sailing, but absolutely nothing about raising a child.’
Lady Sarah leaned forward and tried again. ‘Who is your mummy, darling? Can you tell us that?’
He lifted his face and eyed her. Then he shook his head.
‘You can’t tell us, or you won’t? And why ever not? Don’t you know who your mother is?’
But he stubbornly refused to say anything more.
‘It’s obvious that the only person who can tell us who this boy is,’ Hugh told his brother, ‘is Mac.’
Harry made an impatient gesture. ‘Do you think I haven’t already tried? Mac said he was sorry, but he’s not at liberty to share information about Billy beyond his name. He was adamant.’
‘Let me try.’ Holly smiled and leant down to meet the child’s wary gaze. ‘Hi, Billy. I’m Holly,’ she said softly. ‘Do you like living on the Rosings? I bet it’s fun.’
He nodded.
‘It’s a beautiful ship, isn’t it? Have you lived there long?’
‘No, only for a bit. I like Mac,’ he added. ‘He’s nice.’ He looked daggers at Harry.
‘Does your mum know you’re staying on the boat?’
Again, he nodded. ‘She came to see me yesterday.’
‘That must’ve been nice. I bet she’s very pretty.’
‘She is,’ he agreed, proudly.
‘What’s her name?’ Holly asked. ‘I might know her.’
He hesitated. ‘I’m not supposed to say.’
‘Oh,’ Holly assured him, ‘you can tell me. It’ll be our little secret.’
Again, he wavered, as if deciding whether to tell her or not. ‘It’s Immy,’ he said after a moment.
‘Immy?’ Lady Darcy repeated, bewildered. ‘Who is that? Does she live nearby…?’
‘He means Imogen.’ Holly smiled at Billy reassuringly and straightened. ‘Lady de Byrne’s daughter. She’s staying at Rosings.’
‘But that makes no sense,’ Hugh said, frowning. ‘If the boy is hers, why isn’t he at Rosings, or with his father? Why’s he staying on the yacht with Mac?’
‘That,’ Harry said grimly, ‘is a very good question. And it’s one I intend to get answered, and straight away. Maybe then,’ he added as he reached behind him to grip Billy’s shoulder, ‘we can get to the bottom of all this.’
***
The front door to Rosings swung open a short time later.
‘This way, please, sir,’ Banks told Harry and his family. ‘Lady de Byrne is expecting you.’
‘Please, come in,’ Lady Georgina said as the butler showed them all into the drawing room. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the boy. ‘And who, pray tell, is this handsome young lad?’
But Billy was struck mute at the sight of so imposing a woman, and hid once again behind Harry’s legs.
‘This is Billy,’ Harry told her, and gently but firmly drew the little boy forward, his hands resting on Billy’s shoulders. ‘We have good reason to believe that he’s…’
‘Billy?’
They all looked up as Imogen, her face white with shock, appeared in the doorway.
‘Mummy!’ he exclaimed, and pushed past Harry to catapult himself into her arms.
Lady de Byrne had gone as pale as her daughter. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ she demanded, shaken. Her eyes, filled with confusion, darted from Imogen to Billy and back again. ‘Did I – did I hear correctly? Did that child just call you “mummy”?’
Imogen nodded and buried her face in her son’s hair as she held him. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, Billy’s my son.’ She held him tightly, protectively, as if afraid someone might try to snatch him away.
‘I… I don’t understand.’ Lady Georgina’s hand rose to her throat. ‘I feel a bit – faint. I need to sit down.’
‘Here, let me help you,’ Hugh offered, and assisted her onto the sofa. ‘You’ve gone pale. Shall I get you some water?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine. Please don’t fuss. It’s just the shock of learning I have a… a grandson.’ She pronounced the word in wonderment, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. ‘My daughter has a son.’
‘It’s a lot to take in,’ Lady Darcy murmured, and sat next to her and patted her knee in sympathy.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Lady Georgina demanded, and leaned forward to glare at Imogen. ‘The boy is, what – eight years old…? And in all that time, you never thought to mention you had a child?’
‘He’s seven, and no, I didn’t tell you.’ She glanced at everyone and added tersely, ‘Can we not do this here, please? This is a private matter.’
‘No.’ Her mother’s answer was sharp. ‘We’ll do it here, and we’ll do it now.’
‘Very well.’ Imogen kissed the top of Billy’s head and set him gently down. ‘I’ve an idea, love.’ She glanced over at the butler. ‘Why don’t you go along with Banks for a bit? He’ll fetch you some custard creams and milk,’ she promised, ‘and we grown-ups can talk.’
‘And Hobnobs?’ the boy said, and eyed Banks with a hopeful expression.
‘And Hobnobs. I know where cook keeps all the best biscuits.’ Banks held out a gloved hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Billy took it, and they made their way together to the kitchen.
‘I didn’t tell you, Mother,’ Imogen said as she shut the doors after them and turned around, ‘because I didn’t want you to know.’
‘Why on earth not?’ Lady de Byrne cried. ‘That boy is my grandson!’
‘I was… afraid.’
‘Afraid? Of what, exactly? I don’t understand.’ Lady Georgina’s eyes widened. ‘Who is the child’s father? He’s not Simon’s, then?’
‘No.’ She sank down into a chair. ‘Simon made it clear he wanted no part of him. That’s why I made – other arrangements. Billy’s the product of a passing fling. A one-night stand,’ she added bitterly.
She remembered the nightclub in Shoreditch, the rough brick walls and watered-down drinks, the pounding house music, and later, a fumbling, drunken hook-up with a journalist she’d met, a writer for the the Guardian. Or so he’d claimed at the time.
‘I never loved Billy’s father,’ Imogen said now. ‘I barely knew him. It was a meaningless fling, nothing more. I didn’t think you’d want him in your life. I didn’t think he’d fit in, any more than I ever had. I thought he was better kept as a secret. My secret.’
‘How dare you.’ Lady de Byrne surged to her feet. ‘You kept my grandson, my flesh and blood, from me for seven years, and for what possible reason? To punish me?’
‘No.’ Imogen’s words were charged with fury. ‘I did it to keep him away from you, mother – from your constant, unrelenting judgement. Nothing I ever did was good enough. I wanted to protect him from your bitterness, and your perfectionism, and your all-consuming selfishness.’
‘What do you mean?’ Lady Georgina demanded. ‘You had the best of everything, you impertinent, ungrateful girl! The finest education, the best clothes, that outrageously expensive finishing school in Switzerland – you never wanted for anything.’
‘What about your affection? Your attention? Your time?’ She began, quietly, to weep. ‘I craved those things… desperately. But I never got them. And eventually, I realised I never would.’
Lady de Byrne stared at her. ‘I did the best I could for you after your father died.’
‘No, you didn’t. You retreated into your grief and your bitterness, and you never spared a thought for me. You stuck me away in boarding schools and finishing school, and left me to spend my holidays alone, or if I was lucky with a classmate who felt sorry for me and invited me to come home with her. Why should I believe you’d treat my son any differently?’ She fumbled in her pocket for a crumpled tissue and dried her eyes. ‘I came home thinking – hoping – that you’d changed, that we could make peace and make it work between us. But you’re still the same cold, indifferent mother you always were.’
‘You’re wrong,’ her mother began, and sank back, stricken, onto the sofa. ‘You don’t understand. I couldn’t cope with you, after your father died; my grief prevented it. But I loved you, Imogen, I did…’
‘I’m going upstairs to pack my things,’ Imogen said as she stood up, ‘and then I’m getting Billy. We’ll be gone from Rosings in an hour’s time and we shan’t trouble you again. Goodbye, Mother.’
With that, she turned away and opened the doors, and left the drawing room.