Posted on 2009-10-31

Blurb: The repairs to Pemberley House may cost something more precious than Elizabeth or Fitzwilliam realized.

The temptation was too much. Elizabeth had been trapped inside the house for three days due to unseasonable storms. With her shoulders firm and her resolve firmer, Elizabeth donned her walking coat. The first few steps made her appreciate the decision to take a walk. Her steps were lively as she took the stony path to the gardens.

Elizabeth took deep breaths of washed air and blooming flowers, and vowed she would ask her husband to build a small structure within the central garden so she could wait out the rain in comfort. Elizabeth smiled as she imagined her husband's response, a merry combination of surprise and amusement. Though Fitzwilliam presented a sober if not stern façade to those he dealt with in business matters, with the few he shared a tender regard, her husband was both generous and most agreeable.

Elizabeth stood in the spot where a pavilion would offer the best view of both the house and the gardens that bordered the pretty woods. The river that formed a natural border to the grounds flowed swiftly, as if singing along with Elizabeth's designs for improvement. She vowed the building would be both modest in size and design, for neither Pemberley nor her mistress was one to put on airs.

An unfamiliar sound attracted Elizabeth's attention. She turned to face the main house and watched as few bricks tumbled off the western wall. Then half the façade from the second floor crumbled as if hit with considerable force. Elizabeth started to run towards the house, fearful that the entire west wing might collapse with the servants unaware of the dangers.

Elizabeth had barely brushed across the doorway when she heard Fitzwilliam frantically call out for her.

"I am here!" she answered, just as eager to see her husband.

Fitzwilliam's pale visage peered over the second landing. "Thank God you're safe!" he cried out, rushing down the stairs.

"What has happened?" Elizabeth asked.

"The rain must have weakened the walls," Fitzwilliam answered.

"Is everyone safe?"

"I don't know," Fitzwilliam answered. "I was looking for you."

Elizabeth embraced her husband and the two set out to find Mrs. Reynolds. They found her rounding up the servants, making sure none were injured. After being ensured of everyone's safety the Darcys went outside to look at the damage.

"I'd feel much safer if we had an engineer inspect the house," Fitzwilliam said after studying the damage. "I want to be sure there isn't a greater problem."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement and hoped for the best news under the circumstances.

"Fortunately, the damage was not extensive," Fitzwilliam explained. "Mr. Lowell knows of a local family who comes very well recommended. They also happen to be tenants of mine, and I've used their services extensively over the years. Hopefully we will be able to start repairs immediately and be done soon."

"That is good news," Elizabeth continued after a sigh of relief, "Are we able to remain in Pemberley?"

"Yes," Fitzwilliam replied readily. "However, some of the servants will have to remove themselves to other quarters."

"I shall speak to Mrs. Reynolds," Elizabeth said, looking brightly at Fitzwilliam. "After what I had witnessed, I feared the damage was great."

"I thought the same," Fitzwilliam agreed. "Mr. Lowell is drawing up plans. I should return to him."

"And I must find Mrs. Reynolds." Elizabeth straightened herself and went to seek the housekeeper.

Elizabeth mentally scolded herself since she knew her prejudices were unfounded, and yet she could not but feel revulsion whenever they approached her person. Forcing herself to confront her distaste Elizabeth studied one of the workers. She realized it wasn't just one facet of the person, but a myriad of troubling ideas composing a figure that earned her abhorrence.

As her husband had predicted all the men save Mr. Lowell were his tenants. They were members of twelve families who had moved to Pemberley years ago as guests by Darcy's uncle on his father's side. Since they quickly gained local fame for their talents in stonework, the transplanted families had little trouble making an earnest living and paying their rent. Unfortunately, their secretive if also dour behavior had not earned them warm regard from their neighbors so it wasn't long before the locals shunned them. The Darcy family had tried to help them establish themselves in society of equal stature but none seemed to be interested so the idea was quickly disabused.

Fitzwilliam seemed to get along fine with the men, and the repairs began not two days after the damage had occurred. Elizabeth knew she should be grateful for the men's cooperation and their willingness to abandon their current positions to help their landlord, but she could not help but wonder why they were ever so eager to rebuild Pemberley.

The eleven men employed were all young, the oldest, Adam, being only three and twenty. However, in spite of his youth, he was already suffering from loss of what she presumed was dark, curly hair. His sullen visage was marked with large, unblinking eyes and, like his companions, he seemed to be suffering from a type of skin affliction as his pallor was tinted grey with the surface of his cheeks and forehead peeling in places. And Elizabeth couldn't help but be curious as to how they could handle their work competently since their fingers were very short, though their palms were extraordinarily large.

Nevertheless, the men did their work and did it well without a word of complaint. In fact, Mr. Lowell had said that the rebuilding of the Pemberley House would be done before 'Roodmas', a date Elizabeth was unfamiliar with and had to consult the library to discover its origins. She had laughed at first when she discovered its meaning, but then her thoughts darkened and wondered how a good Christian such as Mr. Lowell could use the word so effortlessly.

Elizabeth heard the men congregate near her window and against her better judgment looked upon their greasy countenances. It was only then she had slowly begun to understand the true nature of her ample dislike. The group was taking their noonday meal on the grounds, as their usual practice. On their first day Mrs. Reynolds had invited them into the kitchen but Adam had refused, speaking out for the rest of the men. After that occasion, they had taken to sitting outside, eating and speaking in the guttural tongue – something that had been carried over from their families' older days.

Elizabeth's attention sharpened as their interest did also. However, their avaricious gazes were not directed towards the house or the lovely woods. In fact, not even their handiwork held their attention. As she watched the men pointed west towards the river and then the large pond. Elizabeth frowned and tipped her head in confusion. She could not understand why the men would be coveting water. It wasn't as if they were banned from fishing, though they rarely did so and the pond wasn't in any way different from others that dotted the property.

Suddenly, the sun dimmed considerably as mist swiftly flowed down from the high hills behind the house and blanketed everything within her sight. Elizabeth recoiled from the damp, seeking tendrils and closed the windows though her attention was firmly riveted on the men lunching nearby. To her astonishment their response to the wet invasion indicated one of grateful merriment if their blank faces were capable of producing such emotion. Then, something caught her attention and her sense of unease heightened almost unbearably.

Her husband approached them, soliciting greetings and from Adam along with the nature of the repairs done so far for the day. Elizabeth could see that Fitzwilliam was completely unaware of how the men looked at him, but she shuddered as the wife within recognized the complexion behind those strange, bulging eyes. It was a balance of greed and admiration. Elizabeth wondered how Fitzwilliam could be so remiss about his safety but she remembered that he'd been amongst the families since he was but a babe and not once had been harmed or placed in danger by their doings.

Mr. Lowell joined the conversation and the talk seemed to become more natural. Elizabeth forced her attentions elsewhere, lest she upset herself to a degree that her husband would recognize then seek the reasons for her state. By the end of the hour Elizabeth had convinced herself that she had imagined much of what she had seen, but she was also determined to discover more about these peculiar tenants and their strange, unnatural ways.

Fitzwilliam once more ran his fingers over the slight irregularities on the wall. They were slight but noticeable, and when he studied the wall on a broader scale, there seemed to be a pattern of sorts. And yet Fitzwilliam could not fathom what reasons might be behind such a bizarre ambition.

With a sigh, Fitzwilliam climbed down the ladder and dusted off his trousers. He examined the surroundings to make sure no one was present to witness his behavior. He didn't want his tenants to be insulted by any idea of mistrust on his part. After taking few paces back, he once more examined the work. It was more than acceptable but he still could not dismiss the slight feeling of recognition. Fitzwilliam donned his coat and ordered his mind to turn to more prosaic if also pleasant endeavors. However, he was compelled to study the wall just once more as the sun began to sink behind the hills.

During supper, Elizabeth's witty banter drew his attention in such a manner that the husband was once more struck by his good fortune. Fitzwilliam knew his wife's first impression of his person was one of intense dislike, and unfortunately he had earned that regard. However, the differences that had divided them were soothed over time.

He also had the good fortune that his sister, Georgiana, was positively delighted that he had romantic designs on the second Bennet daughter, and had heartedly approved of the match. The two women quickly fell into friendship and Georgiana became dear to Elizabeth as her own beloved sister, Jane.

Fitzwilliam smiled softly at the memories of the path he'd trodden to call Elizabeth his wife.

"What amuses you so?" Elizabeth asked mischievously. "I didn't know Lydia's antics could be so entertaining."

"I was imagining Wickham lending a hand on the rebuilding of our home," Fitzwilliam quipped. "You must agree the image of Wickham rolling his sleeves and chipping marble is very entertaining."

Elizabeth smiled openly and shook her head. "And I thought I was terrible imagining Lydia fetching water for the mortar."

"We are both earnest sinners, at least," Fitzwilliam said, his smile blossoming further.

"I don't mean to be ungrateful but the men … what do you know of their family history?"

"Oh, I'm not at all insulted. I was wondering when you'd ask. They were originally from Ireland, west I believe. The town is very insular and had little tolerance for anyone who deviated from their practices, including religion. What is ironic is the fact that my tenants were the original settlers. Their history in that part went back hundreds of years but they had accepted the newcomers with little malice."

"How unfortunate that their new neighbors didn't share the same good grace," Elizabeth said, feeling ashamed of her previous impressions.

"They are odd looking, aren't they?" Fitzwilliam supplied, noticing his wife's embarrassment. "Don't feel badly. Their nature has been soured by the treatment they'd received and now they are no longer so accepting. I can vouch they are credit to their work, but for their social practices, I can't be too sure.

"Elizabeth, take care. Their problems may not lay only in their looks. The families rarely married outside of the original clans, so their minds may not be so … clean."

Elizabeth nodded sagely. "I am careful, but I shall make sure Mrs. Reynolds knows and that she informs the rest of the staff."

Fitzwilliam remembered some of the servants were still young girls. "Please do so."

He knew even as those words fell from his lips that his wife would see to it as soon as they were done with their evening meal. He could trust Elizabeth to quickly see what concerns him without explanation for she was blessed more than a sharp wit.

His attention swiftly refocused when he heard whispers right outside the door. He recognized the voices belonging to his wife and Mrs. Reynolds. The two women entered, both looking confused and unsettled.

"Mr. Darcy," said the housekeeper. "I hate to trouble you with something so minor but … well, Mrs. Darcy said I should speak to you."

"Of course," Fitzwilliam stood up. "Please, speak freely."

"I caught two of those tenants down in the cellar. They were coming from the large store room under the west wing," Mrs. Reynolds explained briskly, "and I assumed they were doing repairs. But I just spoke to Mrs. Darcy who told me they had no reason to go down there."

Elizabeth looked at her husband. "They don't. I'm certain."

"You're right," Fitzwilliam agreed. "They have no reason to go to the cellar, unless of course they stored some materials there."

Elizabeth frowned but wisely kept silent so she wouldn't worry Mrs. Reynolds any further.

"Thank you for telling me this," Fitzwilliam said. "I'm sure Mr. Lowell will have a satisfactory explanation when I meet with him tomorrow.

"Good night, Mrs. Reynolds."

The housekeeper gave a curtsey and left. Elizabeth waited patiently until she was long gone before saying, "They don't have any reason, do they?"

"Not that I know of," he confessed, "though there is nothing stored in cellar that is of any value. I think I shall take a look."

"Do you want company?"

"No, it will take only a moment."

Fitzwilliam knew Elizabeth would wait for him by the cellar door. He wouldn't at all be surprised if she'd actually follow him downwards for his wife had more than a lion's share of courage. The cellar was well known territory for in his childhood it presented hours of entertainment as he and Wickham played out many heroic tales of battling monsters in the dusty rooms.

The wet smell was familiar enough as the rain had been steady for fortnight but underneath the dampness was an odor that reminded Fitzwilliam of seaside at low tide. Feeling restless and disturbed, he quickly walked down the corridor leading to the storeroom. Its door was still opened so he knew Mrs. Reynolds was correct in her guessing that the men came from there.

Fitzwilliam carefully studied the footprints by candlelight and noticed they were directed towards and from the wall to his left. It took him only a moment to notice the fresh plaster. His unease grew steadily as he examined the newly-laid wall. A slight dimple near the floor that signaled a way to break through the barrier. Using a bit of broken wood, Fitzwilliam quickly began digging out the brick.

After removing it, he'd discovered a space barely large enough for him to fit his hand. Though greatly reluctant, he did so for he had glimpsed a hidden object glittering weirdly from the light of his candles.

Fitzwilliam managed to free the small figurine after a struggle, but as he studied his hard won prize he wished he'd never cast his eyes on the trophy. The small carving was made from a stone he'd never seen and though heavy in weight Fitzwilliam doubted it contained any metal. Flecks of what resembled silver dotted the stone but he instinctively knew it wasn't something so prosaic. It was half tucked in a leather pouch with these words embroidered around the lip:

Driven by wordless fear, Fitzwilliam tucked the carving into his coat pocket, loathing to hold it in his hand. He briskly walked upstairs to be greeted by his wife.

"Did you find something?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes, though nothing of concern," Fitzwilliam replied. "I have to take a walk outside. There was an unpleasant smell from the rain and I need to clear my mind."

"Would you like your hat?"

It was then Fitzwilliam realized that rain had started again. "No, I'll be brief."

"All right, then," she said, her face still shining with concern.

Fitzwilliam managed to keep his pace leisurely until he was out of the house. Then his gait hastened as he approached the pond. He knew the sensation couldn't be true but the figurine seemed to gain weight the further he got from the house.

He expelled a huge sigh of relief as he approached the edge of the pond. Fitzwilliam didn't want to dispose of the cursed thing anywhere a person may discover it. He knew it had to possess some academic value but the thought that Elizabeth or Georgiana stumbling over the find was enough for him to seek a resting place where no one may discover it.

Fitzwilliam looked around, making sure he had no audience before throwing the carving into the water. Hearing the splash immediately lightened the darkness within him and the frantic man smiled. However, his good mood was considerably soured by the rain which had quickly grown into a thunderstorm. Knowing Elizabeth's reaction to his state, Fitzwilliam turned to dash into the house. But he wasn't able to take more than two steps before falling to his knees.

There was enough light for him to see his right foot had gotten snared in the reeds. Letting out a shaky laugh, he reached to untangle the mess.

What his fingers touched wasn't familiar by any means. It was wet, slippery and so very, very cold that Fitzwilliam withdrew his hands in shock. That movement was quickly aborted when the reeds wrapped around the wrists. To continue the indescribable horror, the pond began bubbling and a fetid odor rose, sending him into a gagging fit.

Fitzwilliam wisely kept his head tucked in the collar of his coat as he struggled to get free and thereby unwittingly sparing himself from a sight that would have rendered his sanity. The reeds' grip on his person tightened before the Master of Pemberley was hurled into the air where more tendrils grabbed his person and dragged him into the wretched water. What cries of distress he had made was drowned out by the thunder so no one came to look for him until Elizabeth did a full hour later, convinced her husband had been injured somewhere between the house and the edge of the grounds.

By the time there was a full search the storm had ended, and through the urgings of both Mrs. Reynolds and the Lady of Pemberley, the search extended to the unsavory tenants who had only finished their work yesterday. Though the missing man wasn't found in the farmhouses, there was enough evidence to convince the authorities the men were somehow involved in the disappearance.

Unfortunately, even under extreme duress none confessed. And more than good half of the families were discovered to be so feeble-minded they had little grasp of healthy moral judgment, never mind the law. Elizabeth encouraged the search for her husband with the help of her family and the Bingleys, but after three years, she was forced to give up all hope of discovering her beloved husband. She grieved for him for years but her dedication towards the preservation of Pemberley and its tenants never flagged. Elizabeth died childless but her good works left behind a respectable memory that nearly canceled out the awful and mysterious disappearance of her husband, one Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.