“I didn’t know they had a brother,” I said, frowning.
Few people do. I never met Aubrey, but I heard stories about him when I was a little girl, whispers shared by grown-ups when good children were supposed to be in bed.
“What kind of stories?” I asked.
The kind that surface in the wake of a family tragedy. Aubrey wasn’t a nice young man, Lori. In fact, he was a scoundrel.
I leaned back in the chair and gazed skeptically at the journal. In my experience, whispering villagers favored highly colored rumors over the plain, unvarnished truth. Aunt Dimity might take the old, overheard stories seriously, but I found it almost impossible to believe that the genteel, hymn-singing Pym sisters could be related to a scoundrel.
“Aubrey was a bad boy, was he?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “What did he do? Leave the house without a clean pocket handkerchief? ”
Your customary flippancy is unwarranted in this case, Lori. Aubrey Pym was a disgraceful reprobate. His beleaguered parents could do nothing to stop his gambling, his drinking, his womanizing, and his fighting, but when he took money from the poor box to pay for his vices, they were forced to act. The poor box he emptied, I might add, was the one in St. George’s Church.
“The son of a parson robbed a poor box to pay for his betting and boozing?” I said, appalled.
He did. My father was strolling past St. George’s on the night in question. He caught young Aubrey red-handed.
I ducked my head, chastened. “Sorry about the flippancy, Dimity. I should have known that you wouldn’t trash a man’s reputation without being sure of your facts.”
Yes, my dear, you should have.
“Aubrey was a rat, all right,” I conceded humbly. “Was he arrested for stealing the money? ”
No. His parents couldn’t bear the shame of seeing their only son sent to prison, so they covered up the crime. When he refused to change his ways or to show any sign of remorse, however, he was summarily banished from the family home.
“Banished? ” I said.
He was sent away with little more than the clothes on his back. The servants were instructed to bar the door to him, his belongings were given to the poor, and he was cut out of his father’s will. To my knowledge, none of the remaining family members ever spoke his name again. They certainly did not do so in public.
“What happened to him? ” I asked.
No one knows. He was never seen again in Finch.
“How old was Aubrey when his parents gave him the boot?” I asked.
He’d just turned twenty.
“Good grief.” I said, taken aback. “He must have started down the wrong path at an early age.”
He broke his parents’ hearts, Lori. They were never the same after Aubrey left. My father believed that they blamed themselves for their son’s wickedness, but I suspect that they regretted their decision to banish him. I think they must have longed for a reconciliation that never took place.
“Loose ends,” I murmured, nodding. “Ruth and Louise told me that their mother and father would want to know what happened to Aubrey.”
I imagine they already know what happened to him, since he’s surely as dead as they are.
“Why are you so certain that he’s dead?” I asked. “If Ruth and Louise are anything to go by, the Pyms are a long-lived family.”
Long-lived, perhaps, but not immortal. Do you honestly believe that a man who lived as carelessly as Aubrey could outlive Ruth and Louise?
I had to admit that Aunt Dimity had a point. Men who drank, gambled, fought, slept around, and took things that didn’t belong to them stood a better than average chance of dying young. Nevertheless, I didn’t think the Pyms would have asked me to achieve the impossible. I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair while I turned the matter over in my mind.
“Maybe they want me to find Aubrey’s grave,” I said finally. “It might give them some peace of mind to know where he’s buried. Scoundrel or not, he was their big brother.”
He was an unrepentant villain, but I know what you mean. Time has a way of softening harsh memories. If you’ve interpreted the Pyms’ wishes correctly, how do you propose to find Aubrey’s grave?
“I’ll start by speaking with their family solicitor,” I replied. “I intend to meet with him tomorrow. His name is Fortescue Makepeace, his office is in Upper Deeping, and Ruth and Louise promised that he would explain everything.”
I hope he will.
“I hope he has a map with a big red X on it,” I said, “marking the spot where Aubrey is buried.”
I wouldn’t be quite that hopeful. But I’m sure that Mr. Makepeace will be as helpful as he can be. Have Bill and William voiced their opinions on your latest venture?
“They’re behind me one hundred percent,” I said.
As am I, my dear.