Page 53 of Such Low Connections

On the approach to his uncle’s estate, Darcy regarded the unkempt grounds gloomily. Like their owner, they had apparently gone to seed. Had Matlock Castle lost its entire gardening staff? Ludlow had apparently not noticed, or not cared enough to do anything about this untidiness. He supposed his cousin had never been the practical type. He ought not to judge his cousin too harshly, perhaps. The earl had managed everything himself for many years, and it was easy for things like this to get out of control.

“I rang three times at the door,” Darcy observed crossly to the maid who finally admitted him to the house and took his coat after what felt like ten minutes on the doorstep.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the red-faced and busy-looking young woman excused herself. “We don’t get many visitors at Matlock Castle these day and the staff isn’t what it once was. There are only eight of us left, and Mr Arthurs is always with Lord Matlock now.”

Eight servants? For a house the size of Matlock Castle? It did not seem feasible.

“Where is Lord Matlock? Or Lord Hexham?” Darcy asked.

“You’ll find Lord Matlock out in the kitchen garden with Mr Arthurs,” the maid informed him, already rushing away back towards her job in the kitchens. “Lord Hexham is likely in his rooms.”

It was quite extraordinary, Darcy thought, as he found himself left alone there in the hallway. Still, he knew the house well enough from his visits here with Richard over the years, and made his way towards the rear gardens without escort.

“Uncle Thomas!” Darcy called out to the white-haired figure shuffling among the herbs.

The old man’s rheumy eyes looked at him in puzzlement. It was a tired-looking but capable man with grey hair and a worn black uniform who greeted him.

“Mr Darcy, what a pleasant surprise. Lord Matlock, your nephew has come to see you.”

“Eh?” said the old man, leaning towards his attendant and cupping his ear. “What’s that, Arthurs?”

“Your nephew Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, is here,” said Arthurs in a slightly louder voice. “Shall I order tea, Lord Matlock?”

“Darcy? No, no, that’s not Mr Darcy, Arthurs. This is quite a younger man than my brother-in-law.”

“You think of my father perhaps, Uncle Thomas,” Darcy stepped in. “You think of Mr George Darcy. I am his son, Fitzwilliam.”

“Fitzwilliam is my family name,” mused the old man. “A long line of Fitzwilliams have held Matlock Castle, you know. In the fifteenth century, the third Earl of Matlock built the tower you see just there…”

As Lord Matlock rambled at length about the accomplishments of this ancestor, Mr Arthurs looked apologetically to Darcy. Darcy remembered him as having once been valet to Lord Matlock. He was evidently now something closer to a keeper.

“Is he always like this?” Darcy asked quietly, under his breath, and Arthurs nodded.

“His Lordship has suffered with age for some years, but his mental state has worsened this past half-year,” the man told him equally softly. “Lord Hexham does his best to manage the estate, but…”

They were interrupted as the earl took off his hat and cast it into a pile of brambles to illustrate some point in his speech, laughing as though at the greatest joke. Arthurs went to retrieve it and restore it to its owner’s head.

“Is Lord Hexham home?” inquired Darcy, reflecting to himself that if Ludlow had been managing the estate, he had not been doing it well.

Or perhaps he simply could not cope. He felt a moment of guilt for adding to his cousin’s burden with Georgiana’s guardianship, but realistically there were no other men in the family Darcy could have turned to. It had seemed better for Georgiana to be in the care of a relative rather than a lawyer.

“Lord Hexham is away,” Arthurs told him. “He is often out, Mr Darcy. I think it distresses him too much to see his father like this.”

Darcy glanced at the earl, who seemed to have forgotten his guest entirely. He had crouched down to examine the ground, apparently fascinated by a worm that had emerged from the earth.

A clock somewhere struck eleven, and Arthurs checked his pocket watch.

“It is time for tea, Your Lordship. If you will come inside with Mr Darcy, I shall have Maisie bring a tray to the drawing room.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Lord Matlock took Darcy’s arm, whether he recognised him or not.

“Tea and crumpets,” the old man insisted, now more interested in refreshment than before. “You must have them bring crumpets, Arthurs.”

“I shall see what Mrs Stephens has in the kitchens,” agreed the manservant diplomatically and walked ahead of them back into the house.

“Can you tell me of Mr George Darcy?” Darcy asked his uncle as he helped him up the garden steps on his unsteady legs, noticing as he did so that the stones were badly in need of repair. “I believe you knew him well.”

“Of course I did,” the earl laughed gaily. “George Darcy is married to my own dear sister, Anne. She’s much younger than I am, of course.”