Sons and Daughters, page 10
Anthony shook his head. “Well, it’s a lucky thing they found each other is it not? Who else could stand the racket?”
Amanda and Richard were indeed sound asleep and snoring to raise the roof. She in her rocking chair beside the bed and he in a corner of the room, his long legs tucked under the chair, his head back and his mouth hanging open.
“They’ll be very pleased to see how much improved you are.” Anthony pulled the covers back from the child’s badly bruised legs to examine them, apply a healing ointment and bandages, and then replace the covers.
“How are you feeling, George?” Harry stood in the doorway. “How is he Uncle Tony?” Chattering little voices could be heard approaching from down the hall.
“Papa is snoring!” Kathy clapped excitedly and pushed her way passed Harry. “Shall I get the feathers?”
Next to her appeared an anxious, wide eyed, Anne Marie. “Is my brother going to be all right now?”
“Yes, my darling one.” Anthony walked over to the little group and picked Anne Marie up in his arms. “Georgie will be well very soon. You all must help care for him. Do not allow him to catch chill or overtire himself; and, he has several very bad bruises on his legs that will need to be monitored for infection.”
Matthew strode into the room. “I’ll see to it that he feels better.” Anthony fought hard not to laugh outright. Not only was the boy the image of his father, he was also as irrationally confident of his own abilities. “Georgie, get up. Let’s go outside and play.”
“You were right Harry. Papa does snore louder than Mama but she drools.” Kathy took another bite of the cake she had ostensibly brought for Georgie. “You don’t want any of this do you, George? Oh, sorry, I finished it already.”
Darcy and Elizabeth were packed and away in their carriage within the hour. There had been more harsh words and empty threats to and from Hart’s direction but cold indifference from the Duke.
As they settled into the soft leather squabs for the long ride home he took his wife’s hand in his and squeezed. “Don’t borrow trouble, Lizzy. Fitz and Amanda are excellent parents which is why we trusted them in the first place. George will have the best of care.”
“My mind knows this, William, but my heart is breaking. I cannot be at ease until I see him.”
“I know. I feel the same.”
“Was the Duke very angry at our leaving?”
“Livid. Do you care?”
“No. Not in the least.”
Darcy smiled, put his arm around her shoulders and brought her closer, into the comfort of his embrace. “And neither to do I.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Hello? Anyone here?” Fitzwilliam returned home from another day of useless meetings at the War Office to what appeared to be an unusually quiet, empty house. No butler to greet him. No wife. No children. He took a quick look around. “Where in bloody hell is everyone? Hoy! Amanda!” The hallway was deserted…except for a disheveled looking older woman who sat on a chair in the entranceway corner, a pail at her feet, a mop in one hand, and a pipe in the other.
His pipe.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Maudie ain’t I. You the Baron?”
“I am. Where is everyone?”
“’ere and there, I expect.”
“What’s your business here?”
“I’m yer new maid.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
“Missus up and ‘ired me. Just like that. No warnin’.”
“The woman’s a menace.”
“She fed me good though, won’t say a word against ‘er for that, so don’t you ask me to. Just had me some exceptional pie. But now she wants me to mop this ‘ere floor for ‘er.”
“Where’s the other maid?”
“Which ‘un?”
“The one who screams every time I enter the room.”
“Does she limp?”
“Yes.”
“Looks kind of squinty-eyed and mousey.”
“Yes.”
“’as a great wart right next to her left eye?”
“She does.”
“Never saw ‘er. Wouldn’t have any tobacco laying about for this ‘ere pipe would ye?”
“That’s my pipe.”
“Didn’t say it wasn’t.” She shoved the stem into her toothless mouth. “I suppose now ye want it back.”
“Not anymore, no.” He tossed her his tobacco pouch. “Keep that. Now, where’s ‘the Missus’?
“She the one with the light ‘air…”
“Oh, good heavens...”
A sudden racket on the street had Fitzwilliam turning to look out the still open front door. Relief flooded through him. The Darcy’s had finally returned.
Elizabeth and William’s carriage had driven straight through the previous night, only stopping to change horses. Toby sat on top beside the Darcy’s coachman with a second carriage following that carried Cara, Darcy’s valet and the luggage. The moment they reached the Fitzwilliam’s home Darcy opened the door and looked anxiously to his waiting cousin.
“He’s fit as a fiddle, Darcy.” Fitzwilliam had already come down the front steps and held open the rusty garden gate for them. Inside the coach Elizabeth was in a panic, clumsily gathering her skirts, clutching for her reticule. Her husband turned to her and repeated Fitzwilliam’s words but it was a half moment before Elizabeth comprehended their meaning. A great sob of relief escaped her. “Oh, thank the Lord.” Pressing a hand to her heart as Darcy assisted her down from the coach Elizabeth’s face was pale with the fatigue of their journey, her eyes wide with anxiety.
“Richard,” she took Fitzwilliam’s hand the moment she came near. “Is he truly all right?”
“Yes, go on up. I’m certain you will find him among a great heap of boys – just follow the shouts. Kathy and Anne Marie are in the back dressing the poor cat again.” His eyes sparkled and he nodded as he spoke, revealing the truth of his words, and she finally believed that her son would be all right. Whatever had happened to him, whatever the boy had done, no longer mattered as long as he would be fine. Her eyes overflowed with tears of joy and she hurried into the house.
After a long and joyous visit in private with his son, wife and daughter, followed by a rambunctious gathering of both families in the children’s playroom, Darcy required fresh air, peace and quiet. He needed a place to sit alone and thrash about his ideas, sort them through, calm his nerves. God, he had never been so frightened in his life. He believed himself immune to public displays of emotion yet the sight of his five year old son’s gashed legs had nearly broken him. No words of reprimand would be directed at the boy, later they would talk. There was time enough for discipline. For now the sight of a healing child was all that mattered. Besides he felt a certain amount of guilt for being gone, for careless promises, for a million and one things that were beyond his control but for which he still felt responsible. He just wanted a few moments to himself, where he could let loose his pent up emotions.
He actually wanted a good cry…
“Darcy, I need to speak with you. Damn that smell from the compost…!” Fitzwilliam had followed him outside, bringing with him a large bottle of port and two cigarillos. “Darcy! Where in hell are you?”
Darcy toyed with the idea of ducking behind a bush but that seemed rather inappropriate for a gentleman his age. “Over here, Fitz, and for goodness sake stop shouting.”
Fitzwilliam found his cousin seated at the rear of the property beside a shed, the area to the right of them a large garden now fallow; the rotting compost heap was downwind and to their left. The men sat in silence for a time, lit their smokes and drank their port straight from the bottle.
Fitzwilliam inhaled deeply. “I don’t know what to say to you Darcy, I really don’t – how can you ever forgive me? I feel absolutely terrible; it’s my fault, of course. I would gladly have sacrificed my own life for his, if anything would have happened to him.”
“But…something did happen to him.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You just said you’d sacrifice your own life if anything had happened to him. Well something did happen, so be off with you, just don’t frighten any of the children or upset the women.”
“It was a figure of speech, Darcy.”
“And don’t make a mess for the servants. Yours would surely perish from work. Do you need a gun?”
“You’re not making this easy for me are you?”
“You can lie down in front of my carriage if you like.”
“Eat glass and die, Darcy.”
“Never mind then. And, well, I suspect it was not entirely your fault, Fitz.” Darcy was finally grinning, happy for the quiet night, the smells of cooking coming from the kitchens that overrode the compost aroma, the distant sound of children laughing – the misery of his cousin. He was relaxing at last. He puffed on his cheroot for a moment. “I kept on and on at him about his not being experienced enough to ride out alone, even in a pony cart, told him when he had practiced enough we would see. He wanted so badly to make me proud, little man that he is. Then I told him that idiotic story of your trying to run away to sea when you were not much older than he.”
“I see that now. Yes. Yes, you’re completely right, of course. It was your fault.” Fitzwilliam settled back in his chair. “Well, I feel much better.” He grabbed Darcy’s cheroot, lit another for himself with it then returned the original to its owner. “What a scamp. Barely tall enough to reach the door handles, yet he goes off alone, thinking to master riding, just to impress you. Thank the lord this is a quiet area.” He looked over his shoulder, afraid one of the wives might overhear, then he whispered loudly. “I wouldn’t say this in front of the women – but – you have to admire him for that, you know. He’s a bit like his old Uncle Fitz, isn’t he?”
“More bollocks than brains?”
“Give me back my liquor.”
Darcy laughed outright for the first time, then he too leaned forward to listen for the wives, and, satisfied that he and Fitz were still alone, sat back again. “Well, I admit I agree with you. Not about him being anything like you, God forbid; but, I am more than a little proud of the boy’s gumption. He’s growing up so quickly, as they all are.”
“Ah, Darcy. What would it be like to be twenty ourselves again when this lot are twenty? Between my hell raisers and your little man in there… oh, well. We are doomed to be forever thirty years older and on our best behavior in front of them. By the way, how was your visit with Devonshire?”
“Useless. We played whist and listened to a bunch of old men compare estate sizes as if they were cocks. It took nearly two days for them to notify me of George’s illness. The arrogance is appalling, the lack of common sense and unconcern for their fellow man, unspeakable. They could see no cause for alarm; decided my child’s welfare too trivial to interrupt their ‘entertainments’.”
“My goodness. Who’d you knock down – Hart or the Duke?”
“Hart.”
Fitzwilliam let out a hoot of laughter. “Excellent choice; never did like that over bred monkey.”
Darcy took another pull from the bottle then handed it back to his cousin for a drink. “I’ve decided to find someone to unseat Cavendish for our district.”
“It’s about bloody time. Good luck with that, cousin.”
“It will take some work, but nothing will improve for Derbyshire if someone doesn’t take a stand.”
“Why not take the seat yourself? I remember you and your father discussing that possibility years ago, you wanted it then. You’re certainly more than qualified for Parliament.”
“A life in politics is no longer for me, Fitz. No, I find I quite like the life I lead and I love my family.” He smiled and puffed on his smoke. “And above all else, I love being a father.”
1828
“The Children”
Dependent, Emotionally Attached to Parents
Seek Adult Approval
Unlimited Curiosity
Sexual Awareness
He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers;
or else I will come and strike the land with a curse
Malachi 4:6
Chapter Sixteen
Bennet George Darcy looked down upon the top of his mother’s head and attempted to sound disappointed. “Such a shame; you see, they don’t fit. Although I do think it’s well past time all of my trousers were long, don’t you agree, Mother?”
“Whenever did you grow another two inches?” Lizzy shook her head in wonder. “Perhaps we have extra in the hem to let down?” Kneeling before her son, Lizzy motioned for him to turn so she and her maid might view the back of his pants to also see how tight they were across his bottom. “Oh George, what have you done to these?”
“We were playing cricket a bit rough yesterday. Is it very bad? It’s much too bad to repair, isn’t it?”
“The center seam is torn. I suppose they were getting a bit snug, weren’t they? Well I am amazed, nothing left to it but have more trousers made. Jem,” Lizzy turned to a young servant who waited by the window, “run and tell Mr. Winters we’ll need to have that seamstress, Miss Carlson, back here, tomorrow if possible; have her measure Master George again for another three pair – make that four pair – of pants.” Lizzy gave one more tug at the hem resting directly at his kneecap. “And we’ll have to tell her to allow for a good deal of growth.” Gazing back up at her son she experienced no small amount of pride. “You’ll be easily as tall as your father by the time you’ve finished growing. You’re nearly my height already.”
He smiled. “Not too difficult, that.”
“George.”
“I really think it’s time I had long pants, don’t you, Mother?”
“Yes, George, yes, I heard you, I’ve heard you each and every time. I suppose you want a front button fly and suspenders as well.”
“And riding gaiters if I might, like father’s?”
“Oh, all right.” Lizzy chuckled at his triumphant expression. Oh, she was so very proud of him, this beautiful boy of hers. Good natured, already of exemplary character – he was the very image of his handsome father in so many ways. “For now why don’t you go put on those woolen pants we patched yesterday and hurry downstairs, your cousins are due at any moment – oh wait, I can hear the crash of tables even as we speak. The Fitzwilliam’s have already arrived.” She laughed happily at her son’s whoop of joy.
“Excellent, we’re playing football today, boys against girls – we’ll annihilate them. Mummy, can we all have tea soon also? I’m famished”
“You are always famished and yes, tea will be ready in a quarter hour. And keep your eye on your baby sister – I don’t want her getting hurt…” She was speaking to an empty doorway however; he was off, already gone from the room and down the stairs within a moment.
Her son was growing quickly, suffering fewer and fewer ill effects of the frightening lung ailment from five years earlier. True, any illness he did experience lingered a bit longer than usual but they had grown less severe with each winter. She still felt a mother’s guilt, though, for having been away at a useless house party when her son needed her most.
At least there had been one happy outcome of that ill fated visit to Devonshire. Nine months after their return Alice Anne had been born, the darling of her father and mother, the pampered pet of her brother and sister; the joy of their household. Elizabeth’s family was complete.
“Ma’am, will you want to send a note along to Mrs. Carlson, tell her what fabric you want? Last time she brought that wool you didn’t like.”
“Very wise, Cara. And I’ll jot down a few extras I want her to bring with her as well. Come back in five minutes if you will.” Elizabeth rose and walked to the desk in search of paper when her attention was diverted by children’s laughter, by shrieks coming from the back lawn of Pemberley House.
She couldn’t help but giggle whenever she saw these cousins together, the boys were already rolling on the ground. Yes, the Fitzwilliam children had arrived – Matthew, Mark, Luke and Kathy; the deafening noise level attested to that.
Then Lizzy saw her daughter Anne Marie come around the corner with her cousin Kathy. Both the girls showed promise of becoming great beauties in the near future, but for now they remained little girls, intent on mischief – and carrying a tub of water between them. Lizzy soon realized what the girls had planned for that tub as they made their way to the wrestling heap of boys. There would be bedlam in a few moments and she was glad to see that Kathy and Anne Marie had positioned the two little ones far enough away to not be involved.
They exhaust me just to watch them, Lizzy thought. Oh, to have half that energy again…
George had darted sideways – a poor attempt at a serpentine maneuver – and was already stumbling when Matt and Mark Fitzwilliam reached him and dragged him down to the ground. The three cousins began wrestling with each other, tumbling here, rolling there, arms and legs and fists all flung far and wide. They had not seen each other for – how long was it? Oh, several hours at least; they were bursting with pent up energy.
“That’s not cricket,” shrieked Georgie, laughing. Matt had him in a neck hold as George began pulling the boot from Mark’s foot. “Not fair! Mark, help me out here…”
“Let’s drag him to the pond, Markie…”
“Markie, take my boot off and we’ll bash Matty with it…” The shouting threesome tumbled over and over again as Matt grabbed his brother’s shirt and George tried to pull down Matt’s pants.
And, unbeknownst to them, Kathy and Anne Marie were approaching carrying a tub of water between them. “Be set to run, Anne.”
“Quiet, Kathy, they’ll hear you.”
“Do be serious; they’re much too busy trying to exterminate each other. Now, Alice dear heart, you stay back there with Luke and watch closely, but do stay to the side, all right? We should only be a few moments. Will you do that?”
