Sons and Daughters, page 11
Alice and Luke hopped up and down, clapping their hands. “Want to watch – do it now – do it now!”
The boys on the ground were oblivious to this conversation; each had a hold of some sort of body part or piece of clothing of another, unaware of the drenching to come.
Then…
The bucket overturned as the girls screamed, “Surprise!” Arms and legs tangled and scrambled, the boys began to gasp and shout all at once. All three were drenched to the skin. All three were furious.
“Run, Anne, run!”
Kathy sped quickly across the lawn and into the house, hoping to find a hiding place for herself in the kitchens downstairs, an area generally off limits to the children. After opening and closing a number of cabinets she found a bottom cupboard where clean aprons and napkins were stored, crawled inside and closed the door. Moments later she heard her cousin Georgie and her brother Matt charge into the room.
“I’ll throttle her, I swear I will.” Matt was somehow both furious and laughing at the same time, his wet shoes slipping and sliding on the highly polished wood floors.
“Don’t do anything rash, Matt. She’s just a girl. They’re all daft, don’t know any better. Besides, you’re to be an Earl someday; can’t have a scandal such as killing your sister in your past.”
She was vaguely disappointed that they were dismissing her fiendishness so quickly, not bothering to even search for her. She was about to make a noise to attract them when Matt spoke.
“Don’t say that, George.” Her brother sounded very somber. “I hate it that I’m to be the Earl. I don’t want it; I wish it was someone else, not any of us either, just some other family.”
“You cannot be serious. Whatever could be wrong with being an Earl?” George was opening canisters as he talked, searching for food. Eventually he found something sweet with berries and chewed on a biscuit as he spoke. “Seems to me like it would be great fun. You get to be very important and wear those fancy robes and order people about – you’re a natural, Matt; even Kathy will have to bow to you then. Maybe we can find you a ring she’ll be forced to kiss.”
After a moment Matt spoke, his high voice breaking a bit at first. “Don’t you understand? I can only be the Earl when my Da dies, George, like his Da died making him the Earl.” Matt sniffed once and turned away, furious that he could still be such a baby. “That was a bad night, you know, when they came and told us; my Da sobbed. I never saw him cry before – and he and his Papa didn’t even care for each other.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine becoming the Earl. I’m sure I shall hate every minute of it.”
Knowing his friend was embarrassed to be seen crying George lowered his gaze to the half eaten biscuit he now held, not knowing exactly what to say. “I never thought of that. I would hate for Uncle Fitz to…” He cleared his throat. “Well, that changes things. I hope you never become Earl. We’ll join the army and go away, and then they can’t make you Earl no matter what happens.”
Kathy found she had tears in her eyes and they remained there long after the boys had left the pantry, their quest for revenge forgotten. Her Papa was going to die someday? Suddenly her chest hurt and she felt as if she was suffocating. That couldn’t be possible but then everyone died, didn’t they? Wasn’t Aunt Catherine always saying she was ‘on the brink’? Kathy curled up her legs and held them tightly, pressing her forehead to her knees. She thought about ‘that night’ when the two gentlemen had come to the house, the night their fates, and their lives, would change forever.
The gentlemen had called late in the evening, long after supper was finished and the parlor lights were dimmed. One was exceedingly elderly and sickly looking but the other was young and quite handsome; both were very elegantly dressed. Hearing the door knocker thump so late at night was a novelty and the older children – there were all together now seven Fitzwilliam offspring – had scrambled from their beds and pounded downstairs against their mother’s shouted objections. Anything was preferable to sleep, no one was tired, and a late night visitor could mean anything.
Harry, Matt, Mark and Kathy stared in fascination as the butler finally reached the door and opened it.
“May I help you?”
“Is this Baron Fitzwilliam’s residence?” Kathy saw that the older gentleman was greatly surprised. Both men were studying the butler, and the rather shabby interior, in an incredulous manner that made her feel ashamed.
“Yes, however the family’s gone upstairs to bed already, it’s quite late you know.”
“It is imperative we speak with your master this night. He will understand.”
“Well…I don’t know…whom shall I say is calling?”
Before either man could answer Matthew walked boldly forward. “Are either of you gypsies? I’ve never seen one, you see – always hoped to. I know some excellent card tricks I could show you…I say, sir, you look horrible…” Harry quickly grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled him back, placing his hand over the boy’s mouth.
Fitzwilliam, attired only in an old banyan robe, had by now reached the bottom landing and was approaching the door. His face grew suddenly very pale. “Wentworth, is that you? What the devil are you doing here in London, and at this time of night? Come in, quickly. Hastings, build a fire in the front parlor will you and I’ll show Mr. Wentworth to a chair; bring him some brandy as well.”
Once the elderly gentleman was settled before the fire the little strength he possessed seemed to escape him and his shoulders slumped forward. Just then Amanda entered the room carrying their twin two-year old daughters. Known simply as ‘the Mary’s’ the one twin still sound asleep in her arms was Mary Margaret. The other twin, Mary Elizabeth, squirmed, cried and reached for her father so Amanda set her down on the floor. Immediately the child charged, head down like a battering ram, into her father and grabbed onto his clothing. He took her up into his arms before his robe came undone.
“Mr. Wentworth, I hope you are well.”
Evidence of dried tears could now be seen on the old man’s cheeks. “I have seen better days, sir. Pray, forgive me for sitting in your presence. Help me up, son.” The elderly gentleman struggled to his feet with the help of the younger man, then bowed deeply before Fitzwilliam. “Our deepest condolences, your Lordship.”
“No...” Fitzwilliam gasped. Hearing those words he knew with a certainty what had happened, that his father was dead; and, that he was now the Earl of Somerton. He closed his eyes against a rush of emotion; his jaw clenched back a sob.
“Papa, me,” babbled Mary Elizabeth, disturbing the tense silence. She tried to get his attention, have him play with her, suddenly saying “boo” with her hands over her eyes. Fitzwilliam gently held her wrists and she found that amusing for some reason, so she rested her head on his shoulder and giggled.
“Silly Papa. Papa, no crying. Please, no crying. No!” Mary Elizabeth began to fuss when she saw his tears. In fact, everyone was uneasy, all watching in amazement as the bed rock of their lives became as human as the rest of them, and therefore suddenly vulnerable. Kathy’s eyes burned and her heart ached.
Her secure world seemed no longer inviolate.
“When?” Her father asked after a moment, his voice raspy.
“Yesterday, sir, just after his tea. It was quite sudden; no one really expected this, not even his physicians. They were called immediately, of course. I hope you may take some consolation in the fact that it was swift, he did not suffer. We came here as soon as possible.”
Her father sat down very slowly, all at once looking years older, still holding onto his pouting baby daughter as if he had forgotten she was there. “I never replied to his last note…nor even said farewell…and we were all finally going to make that trip, to Somerton, you know, the whole family, so I could begin my… education.” He gave out a harsh laugh then a sob escaped. “Damn me. He never did escort me through the House of Lords; I thought we’d have more time...”
Kathy neither heard nor saw anything else as her mother took the still anxious baby from his arms and began shepherding the children, leading them from the room. “Upstairs, everyone. Now, please.” Then suddenly his wife stopped, turned to her husband and cupped his cheek with her hand. “I’ll put the children to bed and be down as quickly as possible. Will you be all right?”
He looked somewhat confused for a moment then nodded. She kissed him and hurried back to the children. “Everyone to bed now.”
“What’s wrong with Papa?” whispered Mark. He was badly shaken. “I saw tears on his cheeks. Is he going to be all right?”
“I should like to have a few minutes alone with those two down there; they made Papa cry!” Matthew paced alongside his bed, frustrated and fearful, fighting off his own tears. Chin lifted in defiance, he crossed his arms over his chest when their mother entered the bedroom. “I shan’t go to bed, Mama, I don’t care what you say. You can’t make me.”
“Get into bed, Matthew, please. For me, dearest. Thank you. Now, there is nothing with which you children need be concerned; your father has had rather a shock but he is in fine health, he is in no danger of harm. For now we must all be brave for his sake however, give him a moment of privacy.”
“Is it his father?” Harry was leaning against the door frame. He held a tearful and visibly upset Kathy against his side, about to bring her to the bedroom she shared with the Mary’s. Luke, thankfully, had slept through everything but was now sitting up in his small bed in the corner of the twins’ room, his eyes still heavy with sleep. Amanda settled him back under the covers.
“Yes, dear. I believe that those gentlemen were aides to the Earl of Somerton. Perhaps they still are; I’m not certain. I don’t understand these things. The older gentleman looked familiar though.”
“Which grandpapa is dead?” A groggy Luke sat up again. “The one we never see?”
“We don’t see either grandpapa, Lukey, and now they’re both dead. Don’t be so stupid.”
“Don’t call me stupid! You’re stupid!”
“Boys, please, stop this instant! Tonight I ask for no quarreling. Tonight we must all try to be good, stay together, and help your Papa. He will need our love and support very much.”
“Well, if those men are not gone in the morning I’m going to punch them in the nose for making Papa cry.” Suddenly exhausted with the whole business Matthew yawned, turned his back on everyone and curled up into a tight ball, bringing the covers up to his shoulder.
After putting the other boys back into their beds Amanda kissed Harry good night and walked with Kathy into the girls’ room. The Mary’s were already tucked into their cribs and sleeping. Kathy was very concerned – however, not about her grandfather’s recent death or her father’s bereavement.
“Mama, if you’re going downstairs shouldn’t you put a cap on? It’s not proper for you to see those gentlemen with your hair undone, is it?” It sounded to Amanda more as a statement than a question.
“Oh. Well, I was just brushing it out when they arrived, Kathy.” Amanda struggled to pat down her wild, loose hair knowing Kathy was coming into the age where appearance was everything. “You’re right, of course. I promise to put my cap on before I return downstairs.”
Studying her mother intently, however, Kathy suspected the worst – that her mother always wore her hair loose at night and the child had only recently learned to disapprove of that. Also, her Mama and Papa slept in the same bed which she had also just learned was frowned upon among married couples of the upper classes, let alone the nobility.
She was beginning to suspect that perhaps her parents didn’t know very much.
It must be because her mother was American, of course, and Americans were always confused about how to do things properly; and, after all, father was the most wonderful man in the world so it could never be his fault. He was…well…wonderful. Kathy decided she would discuss the entire thing with Aunt Catherine next time she saw her. Aunt Catherine was teaching her how to become a proper English lady and would know.
Amanda blew out the lantern by the bed, kissed each of her daughters on their foreheads and was about to leave the room.
“And bring Papa his slippers,” Kathy abruptly whispered. “He was barefoot in front of those gentlemen, and he was wearing that horrid old robe of his.”
Amanda hesitated, turned and nodded. “I promise, Katherine. I will wear my cap and bring your father his slippers. Now go to sleep, child.”
“Also, have him wake me any time tonight if he needs to talk. Will you do that, Mama? He might need me, you know.”
Chapter Seventeen
It was late spring now and several months had elapsed since Fitzwilliam had inherited his title along with the grand old ancestral home of the Fitzwilliam’s – Somerton. Both the Darcy and Fitzwilliam families had descended upon the ancient Tudor manor house together and the children were having a grand time of it, simply grand.
There were portraits of dead relatives everywhere; a definitely eerie and nasty looking group of people, all strangely dressed, some evidently annoyed with having their portraits done. Oddly enough, quite of few of them possessed more than a passing resemblance to Aunt Catherine, even the ones with the mustaches.
There were also really fine suits of armor – some of it dented, which excited the children to no end, in addition to ancient armaments nailed to the walls. An enormous attic was the very best discovery of all, a place of mystery where the children found massive old furniture, trunks of dank smelling clothes and strange old toys and whatnots. Each morning, during the seemingly endless rainstorms, the children would venture up the back staircase, down the servant’s hallway, and up the aged steps into their musty new wonderland.
“You two are in for it now.” George shook his head and let out a low whistle, happy that for once he was uninvolved in a disaster. He was a mere spectator.
The usual agenda for the day – running up and down the narrow aisles, the jumping from furniture to boxes to trunks, exploring the shadows, pushing, shoving, taunting and teasing – had earlier in the morning given way to whoops of excitement. The boys had finally uncovered genuine treasures in the attic; authentic ‘Objects of Interest’.
In opening the door to an old cupboard they had found several trunks, one filled to overflowing with military memorabilia, including a full set of old regimentals, a captain’s short red coat, trousers, a white sash and a shako with a bedraggled red feather. The uniform was discovered at the bottom of the trunk, hidden beneath several rugs and a large tin box of sketched portraits. The precious uniform coat, discovered simultaneously by both Fitzwilliam brothers, had been fought over viciously until the sound of a seam rending stopped the boys cold.
“What have you done?” gasped Mark.
“What do you mean, what have I done? We both grabbed it together.”
“Do you think perhaps the shoulder was already torn?” Mark swallowed hard, refusing to acknowledge that there had been a definite tearing sound moments before.
“That’s it; yes, it must have been! It’s very old.” Matthew pulled the redcoat onto his lap for a closer examination.
“Do you think it’s your father’s?” George sat up suddenly, eying the jacket with great interest.
“Who else’s would it be? Yes, see, here’s his name embroidered on the inside pocket, “Captain Richard Fitzwilliam’. Look here! This bit looks like a blood stain!”
“Or wine.”
“Or blood!” Matt insisted, caught up in the drama of imagination. “I wager that tear was from the lethal blow of a sword!”
“You’re an idiot,” laughed George.
“Why!”
“Lethal blow? Uncle Fitz is still alive.”
“Oh, yeah – you’re right. Well, perhaps it was a musket round then! Was Da shot or was he stabbed? I can never remember.”
“Ooh, look at this.” Unable to keep away any longer George had delved into the box himself to retrieve a large envelope containing gold medals and ribbons. “How ever did Uncle Fitz stand with all these medals on his chest and that big hat of his on his head?” George selected the largest, gaudiest award and began to pin it to his own shirt.
“A good many of these medals were presented after the war was over, I should think.” Matthew solemnly accepted the packet of trophies that George passed to him, selected two medals for himself and then passed the envelope on to Mark.
“Do you think Papa will be angry at us for taking all this out of storage, Matt? Perhaps we should put them back before he catches us.”
“You worry too much.” Matthew slipped his arms into his father’s jacket and grinned contentedly. “The way I see it we’re safe enough. He and Uncle Wills have ridden off to the village with Mr. Hamilton and they’ll most likely stop at the White Horse for some ale before they return and Mama and Auntie Lilibet are having dresses made or something. No one will be around for ages. Ooh! Georgie, Markie, look at this! It’s an old letter, from Uncle Arthur when he was just a general and not a Duke.”
“What does it say?”
“He calls father an…” Matthew scanned over the horrid writing until he found the passage that had caught his eye. “Here it is … ‘an outstanding officer but morally lax when it comes to playing chess or dealing with loose women.’ What do you suppose that means?”
“You can’t be that ignorant. It means Papa played chess badly with loose women.”
“What are loose women?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea, perhaps they’re fat.”
“Ooh, here’s his other hat, the bi-corn one. I love this hat! I haven’t seen this for ages.” The old battered treasure had lost all its braid and bravado but still looked magnificent to the boys. Georgie grabbed for it and placed it upon his head and they all laughed as it slid down onto his nose.
That was when Kathy and Anne Marie entered the attic storage room. Kathy looked immediately to her nemesis, George Darcy. “Aha! I knew you’d be up here again causing trouble.” She grinned triumphantly, hoping they had caught them red handed, involved in mischief.
