When I arrived at Mrs. Dawkins’s house from Crofton on Sunday evening, my landlady handed me a bouquet of flowers that Rob had brought by the house, not knowing I had gone to see Beth and Jack. The card said, “Please be patient with me a little longer. I’m trying to get all of my ducks in a row. I love you, Rob.” The expression of “getting his ducks in a row” was one Rob used frequently. What I had come to realize was that Rob had an awful lot of ducks.
On Monday, my boss, Don Milne, called me into his office.
Both of us had been waiting for the other shoe to fall regarding our reassignments.
“Maggie, both of us have been granted a reprieve,” he said with a big sigh. “I’ve been notified by Washington that because of what’s going on in Berlin, the Air Force is sending three squadrons of B-29s to England, and I’ve been instructed to hold on to all remaining staff. By the way, we are now officially the Army and Air Force Exchange Service or AAFES.” This was terrific news, and I jumped up and gave Don a big hug.
When I met Rob that evening, he didn’t know what to say about my extension of employment at AAFES. It was obvious if something didn’t happen to change the trajectory of our relationship, Rob would be returning to the States, and I would remain in England.
After thanking Rob for the flowers and note, I told him both of us were invited to Crofton after Beth returned from a visit to Scotland. Beth insisted no sensible person would spend a summer weekend in London if they had a choice. I always enjoyed visiting Derbyshire, but I also needed to return all of the letters Beth had allowed me to read regarding the Lacey/Garrison romance. After rereading all of the letters and Beth’s notes, I had more questions than answers, and only Beth could clear things up. Rob agreed to go because he had never been to Crofton, and he really liked the Crowells.
Beth was right about living in London in August. It was bad enough at the office where AAFES had large fans running on high, but my attic bedroom sitter was stifling. Fortunately, London’s long days of summer and beautiful parks provided the perfect setting for sharing sandwiches at 8:00 at night. I had not been to Rob’s flat since our discussion in Hyde Park. Although I suspected Rob saw the lack of intimacy as punishment, I thought that to continue a physical relationship would give him the false impression that all was well.
Jack met us at the station and took the long way around to Crofton because this was Rob’s first trip to Derbyshire. After showing Rob some of the countryside, he drove up to Montclair and pointed out all of the changes the Catons had made on the outside, including a working fountain.
“There’s still a shortage of building materials. But I made some phone calls, and I was able to get new pipe for the fountain from a company that sells American surplus. You Yanks left behind enough supplies to build a good-sized town.” Pointing his cigarette at the fountain, he said, “As kids, we were allowed to climb in there on hot days and splash around to our hearts’ content.”
When we arrived at Crofton Wood, Beth had prepared a casual tea that she was serving on the patio. She had just returned from the village, which was humming once again with visitors on their way to the Peak District.
After lunch, I returned the parcel containing all of the letters to Beth, and she asked me if I had any questions. I hesitated for too long, and she noticed I was uncomfortable. She put her arm around me and walked me into the house. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
After telling her of my reservations, she said, “You think that the diary may be a forgery. Is that your concern? Well, let me put your mind at ease. It is not a forgery. To the best of my knowledge, the diary has never been outside of Montclair since Elizabeth’s death.”
“How is it possible that there are so many similarities?”
With a look of total confidence, Beth said, “Maggie, we have discussed every character in that book except one. Can you think who it is?”
I ran through all the cast of characters in my mind before realizing who I had missed: Georgiana Lacey. Beth nodded. “Yes, she’s the last piece of the puzzle.” I asked Beth if I was finally going to hear about the mysterious Mr. Oldham. “Yes,” Beth said. “After this, you will know it all.
“Georgiana Lacey was a talented pianist, and her brother arranged for her to study with a master in London. Because it was necessary for his sister to remain in town, Will Lacey hired a companion for her, a Mrs. Brotherton, but if Georgiana wanted to do anything out of the ordinary, it required his permission. When Georgiana was just about seventeen, she wrote to her brother asking if Mrs. Brotherton and she could go to Weymouth, a popular bathing resort, and indicated in her letter that George Waggoner had offered to accompany them for their protection.
“Now, in Georgiana’s defense, she knew nothing bad about Waggoner. What she did know was that he was the son of Montclair’s steward and had been mentioned in her father’s will. As soon as Will received the letter, he set off for London. After questioning his sister, he learnt that Waggoner had visited the townhouse on more than one occasion, so Will immediately discharged Mrs. Brotherton. We know all of this because Mrs. Brotherton wrote to Will asking to be reinstated. She explained that Georgiana had assured her that Waggoner was a friend of the family. When Waggoner offered to escort them to Weymouth, Mrs. Brotherton insisted that Georgiana write to her brother for permission. They were awaiting his answer when Will arrived at the townhouse in person. Mrs. Brotherton said she had done everything that had been asked of her, and to be discharged in such a manner, was unfair.
“To his credit, Will relented and reinstated her. However, his subsequent action was completely over the top. He wrote to George Bingham, asking if he could hire one of his men. George was a wise man. He knew a young girl wouldn’t want to be seen around town with some bewhiskered strongman. Instead, he sent Mr. Oldham, a handsome man in his mid-twenties, who was perfectly capable of protecting Georgiana. As long as Mr. Oldham was with her, Georgiana could travel to Kent or Derbyshire or Bath.
“When Will and Elizabeth married, Georgiana lived with them at Montclair and in London. Georgiana was delighted by her brother’s choice of wife and shared the story of Lizzy and Will’s romance with a group of women who attended a Bible study at the parsonage led by Charlotte Chatterton. Anne Desmet added what she knew, and I’m sure Mary Garrison told everyone about Lucy’s elopement with Waggoner. She probably saw it as a morality tale. But there were two other women in this group, a Miss Knatchbull and a Miss Leigh, both cousins of Jane Austen.”
Beth handed me a letter from Will to Anne in which he acknowledged that parts of Pride and Prejudice were a retelling of his courtship of Elizabeth Garrison. Will, Elizabeth, and Charlotte all seemed to be pleased with Jane Austen’s description of them and the events recorded in the novel.
13 September 1813
Dear Anne,
I was glad to hear that Col. Devereaux was able to be with you for Christmas. When next you see him, ask him why he was not defending us against Monsieur Bonaparte instead of dancing in Bath.
Yes, I have read Miss Austen’s novel. As you can imagine, Elizabeth is the most pleased with it, as she appears in the best light. My wife has assured me I am not nearly as boorish as portrayed and that I have improved greatly under her instruction. Jane also admires it, as she is quite happy with how Elizabeth and her husband are described.
Jane’s daughter, Miranda, says the novel is talked of everywhere in London and it has prompted a guessing game as to the identities of its characters. Of course, no one thinks to look back twenty years. Once we recognized ourselves in the story, it prompted our own investigation as to how Miss Austen came to know of our affairs. We finally traced the source to my sister. Georgiana admits she is one of the sources and has no regrets for sharing the story with a group of women whom she knew in Kent. She feels she has additional protection because, apparently, you were not only there when these stories were being told but provided some of the information.
I wonder if your little group would have been so willing to share stories if you knew that two of the ladies present were cousins of a talented novelist. I am teasing you because, with the passage of twenty years, who will ever learn the names of the people who inspired the author? Of course, the description of your mother’s behaviour is devastating but not undeserved, and more than anyone else, you are the most inaccurately portrayed.
Elizabeth and all the children are well. The only complaint comes from Franny who misses Chris terribly now that he and Laurence have returned to school — one of the disadvantages of being a twin. Georgiana, Nathan, and Stephen were with us during the holidays, and as talented a pianist as Georgiana is, her son outshines her. His fingering is amazing to watch. As for Phoebe, unlike her older sister, she is very sociable and talks of nothing other than her coming out into society. Despite her pleadings, she will have to wait until she is eighteen. Of course, to a sixteen-year-old girl, two years seem an eternity, but you and I know how quickly the years pass. I can hardly believe that it has been twenty years since I took my lovely wife as my bride.
Elizabeth sends her love. We will send word of our arrival date in Bath, as soon as our plans have been finalized.
Your devoted cousin,
Will
“Now that you know it all, you can appreciate what a master storyteller Jane Austen was. She took a moderately interesting story and turned it into a timeless novel.”
I must have still looked confused, so she continued: “Let me give you an example of how Miss Austen spun straw into gold. In Pride and Prejudice, Darcy comes upon Georgiana just as Wickham has persuaded her to elope with him, and his intervention prevents the ruin of his sister. The truth is that Georgiana never left London and would never have married Waggoner without her brother’s consent. I’m sure if Mrs. Brotherton were alive in 1813 and had read Pride and Prejudice, she would have been horrified to see her character portrayed as the complicit Mrs. Younge.”
“What did happen to Georgiana?” I asked.
“Remember Mr. Oldham? He went to Will and resigned his position as Georgiana’s protector. He said if Georgiana had ever been vulnerable to the likes of someone like Waggoner, it had long since passed. Because he had developed an attachment for her that was not appropriate to his job, he had to give up his position, and Will accepted his resignation. But when Georgiana found out about Oldham, she told her brother that she loved him.
“Will wouldn’t have been all that surprised because Georgiana had accompanied Lizzy and Will on their honeymoon, which lasted more than a year. When the party returned to England, Georgiana asked that Mr. Oldham be reinstated, and in doing so, she had tipped her hand. After marrying, they lived in London at the Lacey townhouse, and Nathan Oldham started his own, for want of a better term, detective agency.”
When Beth finished telling me about the Oldhams, I realized I had heard the stoies of all the actors in Jane Austen’s novel. The only part of the larger story that had not been told was about Beth’s brother Reed, and I would have to accept that. I was thinking about all of this when Beth said: “Maggie, you have been very considerate in not asking personal questions, but if you don’t mind, I would like to tell you about my family.” Jack came and sat down next to his wife on the sofa, and Rob came and sat on a chair near me.
“Years from now, your generation will divide events into things that happened before Pearl Harbor and those that happened after. The demarcation line for my generation is 1914. “Christmas of 1913 is one of my most cherished memories. We were all at home for the holidays. The servants came to the breakfast room for our traditional holiday tea, and we had such a good time. Jack and I had fallen in love during our summer auto tour visiting the sites mentioned in Pride and Prejudice, and if for no other reason, I am grateful to Jane Austen for writing her novel.
“None of us could possibly have imagined our world would self-destruct in 1914. There had been saber rattling all summer among Britain, France, and Germany. However, when Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated, we didn’t know that that event would lead to the ruin of so many lives.
“Trevor enlisted a few weeks after the war started and was killed at the Battle of Loos in September 1915. Matthew and Tom joined the Sherwood Foresters with many of their friends from the Crofton football club. So many of them were killed on the Somme in 1916, that there was black bunting on almost every door in Crofton. Matthew’s remains were never recovered, but he is commemorated on the Wall of Remembrance at Thiepval in France, and Tom is buried in a cemetery nearby.
“My youngest brother, Reed, was not called up after his first physical, but as time went on and England needed more cannon fodder, he was accepted into the Army. He served as an orderly in Boulogne loading stretcher cases onto boats taking them to England. He might have been all right if he had remained an orderly. However, when the Germans broke through the British lines early in 1918, General Haig issued an order that every person must do his duty. Matron told us we would remain at our posts and do ours because, if the Germans weren’t stopped in front of Amiens, Britain would lose the war. Reed was in combat for only a short time, but it was enough. He was sent back to England to a mental hospital.
“Reed eventually ended up at Craiglockhart in Scotland. The head of the hospital, W.H.R. Rivers, was a visionary who had taught experimental psychology at Cambridge. In other hospitals, many shell-shock victims were treated with drugs or electroconvulsive therapy, but Dr. Rivers believed the best results might be achieved by talking to these poor souls.
“After Craiglockhart, my parents placed my brother in a private hospital near home, and he improved enough to be discharged to their care. When they brought him home to Montclair, he couldn’t stand the sound of so many noises that are part of everyday life. If someone dropped a glass, or he heard a car on the road, he huddled in a corner. But the worst sound was a train whistle. Jack thinks it’s because assaults or artillery barrages often started with an officer blowing a whistle. When Reed was unsettled, he would move furniture in front of his bedroom door. And there were relapses.”
At this point, Beth stopped talking. She leaned back in her chair, and for a minute or two, she sat quietly. Although it was clearly an effort to continue, she did.
“My Aunt Ginny’s in-laws had a hunting lodge west of Perth, and she suggested that my parents see if Reed would do better there. It was very remote, being used only a few times a year for fishing and grouse shooting. The estate was owned in common by the Burdens, and several of the families, including my Aunt Ginny, had their own cabins. She offered her cabin to my parents for Reed’s use. The Burdens employed a full-time gillie, Mr. Lachlan, who managed the estate. He and his wife agreed to look after my brother when my parents were not able to be there. Reed did improve, especially after my father returned from Montclair with six of our dogs.
“I had been corresponding with Margie Loftus, the nurse who had been in charge of my training at a London hospital. I asked her for suggestions because she had such a calming effect on the wounded men in her care. Margie was Scots by birth, and she wrote back asking if the family would consider hiring her as Reed’s personal nurse. My mother interviewed Margie, who was ten years older than my brother, and came away feeling that Reed would benefit from her experience and care.
“The people in the nearest village were very kind, but in such a conservative society, a woman did not live with a man unless they were married. So, for about a year, Margie lived at the lodge while Reed stayed alone in the cabin. Not the best arrangement. It was Margie who suggested that she and Reed marry. In that way, she could take care of him by herself, allowing my parents to resume some semblance of a normal life. They got married in 1924. By that time, Reed could not have lived without Margie, and he was so happy she wanted to be married to him.
“It was then that my parents gave up Montclair. I had no objections because I was haunted by the memory of my brothers running up and down those staircases or racing in the long gallery. The house had become unbearable for me.
“After Reed’s marriage, Jack, the boys, and I went to India and visited whenever we were home. Margie came up with the idea of building a stone-wall enclosure. She hired some local lads from the village to collect the stones. After hundreds of stones had been collected, Reed and Margie began to build the wall, which was only about four-feet high. He believed that as long as he was within the wall, he was safe, even if Margie wasn’t with him. This was so important because it allowed Margie to go into the village and to have some time for herself.
“It was such a success that additions were made. They built the wall so that it ran down to a nearby stream. Now Reed could go fishing, which was something he loved to do. After they added a gate, Reed felt comfortable enough to walk down to the road.
“In 1936, Margie was diagnosed with cancer. Reed knew something was wrong, and he told Margie he would now take care of her, which he did to the best of his ability until her death early in ’37. By this time, both of my parents were gone, so my Uncle Jeremy stayed with Reed until I could get home from Argentina. I practically got on my knees begging him to come live with us at Crofton Wood, but he told me he was going to stay right where he was. He said, ‘Although Margie is gone, this is my home.’
“The boys and I spent most of the summer with him, and James and Michael helped Reed add rocks to his wall. They thought it was a game and great fun. I was supposed to go back to Argentina in September, but I couldn’t leave. My gut told me to stay in England. I visited frequently that autumn, and he was doing all right. But once the colder weather came, I again asked him to come to Crofton to stay with Jack’s parents and me until spring, as the cabin was absolutely freezing. Reed assured me that he had made arrangements for coal to be delivered from town.
“Mr. Lachlan and I spoke once a week. In November when I called, Mr. Lachlan told me he had good news. When delivering Reed’s grocery order, Reed had given him a sketch of a glen on the far side of the stream. In order to make that sketch, Reed had to have gone outside the stone wall. The next week, Reed went out to the glen again. Mr. Lachlan warned him that the weather was getting too cold for him to be out and about on his own. With the shorter days, if he got lost or hurt, he would die from exposure.
“Shortly after his warning, Mr. Lachlan was awakened by Reed’s dogs barking. After checking the cabin, he immediately returned to the village and got some of the men to help him look for my brother. It wasn’t difficult, as the dogs led them right to him. He had been making sketches of the glen at sunset. He had all of his sketchbooks and pencils with him and a kit containing his lunch and a thermos full of tea.”
After trying to control her tears, Beth brought her hands up to her face and started to cry in heartbreaking sobs. Jack said nothing but wrapped his big arms around her. I saw at that moment what Rob so admired about the English after having lived among them during their darkest hours. After a few minutes, Beth took out her handkerchief and dried her tears.
“I know what people think about Reed,” Beth said after regaining her composure. “But I don’t believe it. He found the courage to go beyond the stone wall, which meant he had at last beaten back the demons that haunted him.”
Jack was staring at me, afraid I would say something that should not be said. I went and sat next to Beth, “I don’t believe it either,” I said, hugging her. “I’ve always imagined heaven as a place where we exist in God’s grace with all those we have loved, so Reed and Margie, your brothers, and your parents are together again.” Beth nodded, and Jack looked at me with relief and thanks.
Running her hands over imaginary wrinkles in her skirt, Beth stood and took me by the hand. “Now I would like for you to meet my family and Jack’s. I want you to think of them as they were when we were so blest, before that awful war.”
On a rear table in the study were numerous family pictures, including a photograph of Jack’s parents. If a casting call had gone out for a butler and housekeeper in the early part of the twentieth century, the Crowells would have gotten the parts — stoic, resolute, and capable. There was a picture in a dark brown leather frame of Tom Crowell in his Army uniform. He was even more handsome than his brother, and there was a look about him that let you know he was proud to be serving in the Sherwood Foresters Regiment.
Hanging above Jack’s desk was a family portrait painted at Montclair in 1923 of Jack and Beth and their two little boys, who were dressed in sailor suits. On the opposite wall was a portrait of all the Edward Laceys dressed formally for the Christmas holidays. Beth and her mother sat in chairs in elegant evening gowns surrounded by the men of the family. There was a look of command in Lady Lacey’s eyes, and Sir Edward Lacey looked every inch the country gentleman. Reed, who was about fourteen at the time, had his hand on his sister’s shoulder, a shoulder he had probably leaned on most of his life. Looking at Trevor, there was no doubt why all the girls were after him; he was as handsome as any Hollywood movie star. Matthew had steel gray eyes and a look of absolute determination. It was almost as if he was trying to intimidate the photographer.
After that, Beth showed me a photo of Reed and Margie at their wedding party. Margie was short, with curly brown hair and crystal blue eyes, and Reed, the tallest and thinnest of the Laceys, towered over his new wife. His arms were around Margie, not so much hugging as clinging to her.
In an upstairs room, where Beth and Jack had sorted through all of the many documents, diaries, and letters, was a long table covered with a white linen cloth. On it lay a dozen or more miniatures of all the people I had been reading and hearing about since I had first met the Crowells.
The first two miniatures were of the golden-haired beauty, Jane Garrison, when she was about twenty-five years old, and her husband, Charles Bingham. Except for slightly bulging blue eyes, he was handsome, with curly reddish hair and a very kind look about him.
Mary Bennet was as plain as Jane Austen had described her, with light brown hair pulled back in a severe style, and she wore no jewelry or any ribbons to soften the look. Beth had said that no portrait existed of Lucy, but there were four miniatures of Lucy’s children. Antoinette and Marie were light-haired beauties, and the two dark-haired Edwards boys were as stocky as their half-sisters were slender.
Beth was right about Celia. She was beautiful, with her blonde hair encircled by a dark green ribbon and with long curls falling onto her bare shoulders. She must have been newly married to Tyndall Stanton. But I disagreed with Beth when she said her portrait showed a lack of intelligence. When Celia sat for her portrait, she was looking off into the distance to a place where her French lover was.
By this time, I had run out of table and portraits, but where were Lizzy and Will? We walked down the hall to one of the guest bedrooms, and in there, hanging on the wall over a large fourposter bed, were replicas of the portraits of Elizabeth Garrison and William Lacey that had once hung in the gallery at Montclair.
“When Montclair was sold,” Jack explained, “the life-sized paintings of Elizabeth Garrison and William Lacey were put into storage. Once we bought this house, I had these smaller portraits painted as a gift for Beth. The Catons sent the originals to London for stretching and repairs, and just last week, they hung them in their original positions at the top of the staircase, and they are now on loan to the Catons.”
At long last, before me stood Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. William Lacey was a good-looking man, with black hair and grey eyes, and I think if he had been smiling, I would have agreed with Elizabeth that he was the handsomest of men. Hand on hip, Will was dressed in cream-colored breeches, a green coat with a dark waistcoat, and an elaborate neckcloth, just as I had imagined.
And finally, “dearest, loveliest, Elizabeth.” The portrait had been painted at the time of her marriage, so she would have been about twenty-two. She had hair as black as her husband’s and dark brown eyes with long lashes. Her face was rounder than I had pictured it, but it seemed to add to the look of amusement the artist had captured. Her russet silk dress had a high waist, with the bodice trimmed in gold braid, and little gold tassels hanging from the short sleeves. In her lap was an embroidered lace handkerchief, bearing her initials, EGL. She wore a two-strand pearl necklace and pearl earrings, and on her right hand was a ruby ring.
Miniatures of their four children were on a nearby chest of drawers. All of the children were attractive, but Phoebe was absolutely stunning and looked more like her Aunt Celia than her mother. Jack had said that Phoebe “was a whole other story,” and I could see why.
Looking at Elizabeth and Will’s portraits, Beth said, “I’m sure we were no more or less interested in our relations than any family who has a famous person amongst their ancestors, but their association with the novel certainly added interest.”
After leaving the room for a few minutes, Beth returned with a large book containing sketches of the terrace and gardens at Montclair. “As Mr. Ferguson explained on your tour, the grounds of Montclair were landscaped by Humphry Repton. As part of his presentation, Mr. Repton prepared what was called his ‘Red Book’ because of the color of its binding. By using overlays, he was able to show the owner the existing view and what it would look like after the work was finished.” Looking at me, she said, “I would like you to have it.” I had no doubt that the Red Book was very valuable. Surely it should stay with Beth and Jack and be given to their children.
“Maggie, I see what you are thinking, but please do accept it. I have other drawings from Repton and will gladly share them with my children if they should ever show an interest in such things. As for Montclair, I have the best of it in my memory and in my heart.” At which point, Jack suggested we adjourn to the Hare and Hound for a pint.
When I came down for breakfast the next morning, the house was empty. Jack and Rob had left at dawn to go hiking in the Peak District, and Beth was on her knees working in the garden. Seeing me, Beth said, “Rudyard Kipling said that ‘half a proper gardener’s work is done upon his knees.’ I have to say I agree with him.” Wiping the dirt off of her pants, she said, “When the last war came, we quickly learnt how much of our food came from the continent. All of our onions were imported from Brittany, which had been overrun by the Germans. English food is bland enough, but without onions, it’s positively tasteless, so you will always find onions in my garden.”
Taking off her gloves and satisfied that there was no dirt on her pants, Beth said, “Let’s go have some coffee. We’ll have to give that instant coffee you brought a go because we are out of the real thing.” While I put the kettle on, Beth washed her hands and then sat down at the kitchen table, grinning like the cat who had swallowed the canary.
“The Catons are giving a party to celebrate the reincarnation of Montclair, and Ellen has asked me to co-host. I have been itching to have a party ever since James got married. Having two sons, I knew I was never going to be the mother of the bride, but with James getting married in Italy, I wasn’t really the mother of the groom, either. We were completely bowled over by the Paglia family. I was thinking you and Rob could be our special guests. You have become such an important part of our lives; I want everyone to meet you.”
After all the Crowells had done for us, it seemed little enough on our part to agree to a party, and I told Beth that was fine. Beth reached over to the kitchen counter where she had a pad of yellow, lined paper that was already full with items for the party. It was then that she told me it would be a catered affair with live music, and formal attire would be optional.
“Formal attire? Whoa! I don’t have anything formal.” This was already out of my league, and she hadn’t even gotten to the yellow pad yet.
“You don’t have to worry about a thing,” she said reassuringly. “I have at least a half-dozen formal dresses in my closet, and my mother’s dressmaker, Mrs. Quayle, lives in Crofton. Although she’s up there in years, she can still work a treadle. As for Rob, with some minor alterations, he can wear one of Jack’s tuxedos.”
Looking at my expression, Beth said, “Maggie, it’s a celebration. This is a wonderful time in my life. I have my husband back, my sons are safe, I have a lovely daughter-in-law and a beautiful granddaughter, I’ve found a wonderful friend in you, Britain’s on the mend. I could go on and on.”
Taking the cup out of my hand and giving instant coffee a try, Beth said, “Oh, my. It tastes like the ersatz coffee we had during the war. But it will have to do.” After taking another sip, she said, “Maybe not. This is worse than my coffee.” Both of us started to laugh.
There was another reason that Beth was so pumped up.
“Michael is coming home from Malta. I gave him the date for the party, and he was able to get one week’s leave.”
Michael and Rob together in the same room at the same time? Terrific! Beth was looking at me waiting for an answer. But what could I say except, “When do we go to see Mrs. Quayle?”