by Massey, Beth
Jamie returned Elizabeth’s squeeze as he finished his explanation. “Me Ma has six grandchildren she has never seen. Ye said earlier, you wished I was your brother. Well I wish me sisters were like you.”
Elizabeth, brought Jamie’s hands to her lips and said, “Thank-you. Now that I have heard your story, it allows me to put my life into perspective. It is still a tragedy, but on a much smaller scale than what you—and the people of Ireland—have gone through. Out of nowhere an errant image caused Lizzy to giggle. “You should come to Hertfordshire some day. I have four sisters… perhaps you could become my brother.” Her nostalgic thoughts of returning home were soon put aside. “Jamie, what do you miss the most about Ireland?”
“I miss me friends, and I miss the laughter. The Irish are peculiar in that even in the face of tragedy, they have the ability to laugh; and they even laugh at the most horrible aspect of their troubles. Can you imagine an Englishman writing something like A Modest Proposal? Me friends and I used to poke fun at the English because we heard some thought Mr Swift serious about solving the problem of poverty by selling the babies of the poor as food for rich ladies and gentlemen. One song you will hear children singing in Ireland is about a harassed mother killing her baby. I am certain English sensibilities would be horrified at such a sad subject becoming a song sung so jauntily. However, they have never experienced children starving at the rate they did in Ireland because of the Penal Laws.”
Jamie once again got a broad smile on his face as he remembered some other peculiarity of the Irish. “Of course, there is that other side which wallows in maudlin sentimentality… songs about my poor dear grey-haired mother, etc, etc. My favourites, however, are the songs of rebellion.” He became quite serious and said, “Many of the rebel songs can also be overly sentimental but some are hauntingly beautiful, and then the poetry of the Irish soul is revealed. The determination to be free comes through clearly. I will teach you some of the more beautiful ones before you leave.”
“Jamie, I will miss laughing with you when I go home. My father’s humour is mostly about ridiculing other people’s failings. Your laughter is filled with compassion and great feelings of love.” Elizabeth rose and put their tea things together to take to the kitchen. Jamie helped, and they soon had everything cleaned and put away.
As they were climbing the stairs to retire, Jamie said. “Lizzy, do you remember the spot where you almost hit Mr Darcy today?”
Elizabeth looked surprised at his query. “Yes, I do. What about it?”
“Besides the knife that me uncle is procuring for ye, hitting a man in that spot is very good protection. It would be quite painful; and even a wee one, such as yourself, could disable an attacker for several moments if ye placed a swift kick or even a punch to that spot.”
Elizabeth blushed and then laughed. “Why thank you, Dr Wilder, for your astute medical advice. I will certainly remember your prescription for my safety.”
As they parted for the night, Elizabeth tried to keep from grinning as she made a request of Jamie. “I want you to look out for the child once I am gone. Please take some of Bronwyn’s madeleines to distract Mr and Mrs Darcy when you make a professional visit… just in case they might be thinking of eating the baby.”
This time it was Jamie’s turn to laugh. “Elizabeth Bennet, I think you have an Irish soul.”
17 ANTICIPATION
The oppressive heat of August was followed by a beautiful September. Just before Michaelmas, the air became crisp, and carried the delightful scent of the dying leaves. Elizabeth had always thought it odd that this season which prepared the earth for the hard winter ahead was so pleasant. The blazing of the trees in their death agony—or since it really wasn’t death perhaps she should call it slumber preparation—was a last hurrah before the bleak landscape of winter prevailed. From the time she was a child, she both loved and hated this season. Just when she was savouring every moment of the glory of autumn, the truth of what was to follow would encroach. She felt the same way about what was to happen to her. She played with Grif and Ang with passion, knowing full well that her time of playing childish games would soon end, and she would be forced by circumstances into full adulthood.
She allowed her play with the Hinton children to be strenuous. Jamie told her she should try to be as active as she could. He wanted her to be physically strong for the birth. She had no idea that his methods were a bit unorthodox until she had a long conversation with Bronwyn about what to expect. She discovered that most women who could afford to be leisurely had always been encouraged not to exert themselves during their confinement. That was not true of women who had obligations. Jamie and Bronwyn had known both, and the majority they observed were women who had to work through much of their confinement; sometimes right up until their labour began. The prevailing wisdom for women from these classes was that the exercise helped them have an easier time… provided they were not unhealthy or malnourished.
Bronwyn herself had consciously put their theories to the test with Morgan. She had gone about her business… doing her chores, and even delivering babies until just a week prior to giving birth herself. The seasons were different, because Morgan was born the end of June and Elizabeth’s baby would be born in mid December, and the possibility of inclement weather had become a consideration in her activities. Jamie had devised some exercises Lizzy could do indoors. For Elizabeth, she truly would be confined to just a few rooms during the last weeks. The plan had her going to Pemberley at the beginning of November. All involved thought it prudent for her to spend her last six weeks there, so that nature would not get a chance to disrupt their plot.
Bronwyn was an unusual midwife. Though much younger than most, she had the practical experience of having had three healthy children to guide her. In addition, she had Dr Wilder to enhance her knowledge with science. They were a good team, and she was becoming highly valued in the community. She was particularly skilled at knowing those instances where Dr Wilder should be called to intervene in an emergency. She had delivered her first babe shortly after Ang was born, and since then had delivered thirty children with no deaths of either mothers or babies. She dreaded the first time there would be a fatality.
One evening in September, Bronwyn and Lizzy were sitting, having tea. Bronwyn said, “Lizzy, please ask me any questions… or perhaps you would like me to describe what happens.”
“Please do so. I have no close friend who is married, much less one who has given birth. My Aunt Gardiner gave me a little information, but mainly she seemed fearful for me.”
Bronwyn explained the stages—the pains, the widening of the opening and the appearance of the baby’s head. Elizabeth listened with amazement at the intricate succession of events that allowed the baby to be born.
“I am apprehensive of the pain.”
“Do not be. It is something that I think is more manageable the more prepared you are. If you can remain calm, it will be easier. I will be there with you. Just remember to breathe. Many hold their breath during the pains, and I think that makes it worse. Make a plan now to remember to breathe, and what thoughts you will concentrate on during the birth.”
“What if something goes wrong? How often do mothers die?”
Bronwyn put her arm around Lizzy. “Jamie will be there. Usually he is not, but you are too important to him. He will be out in the hall. Between the two of us, we will take care of you. I am unable to answer how often mothers die… all I can say is I have lost none.”
With the cooler weather, the household spent more time indoors, enjoying music. Jamie showed Elizabeth how to play an Irish Whistle. As promised, he taught her several Irish rebel songs. She found her favourite to be The Minstrel Boy. She loved the melody, and was amazed at the images evoked by the lyrics. Jamie told her that it was written by a friend, Thomas Moore. Moore had been part of the ‘Hist’ at Trinity. “Thomas is one of those Irish poets that often slides off into sentimentality, but I do like this song. The tune is an ancient Irish air.
It is a very personal song for me, since it was written to honour the fallen comrades from among our friends. One of whom, Robert Emmet, had organized a second failed rising in 1803.” Jamie spoke his next words with a sigh of profound defeat. “He too was captured and hanged.”
Often of an evening, Mrs Wilder would play her harp and Lizzy would play the pianoforte. Mrs Wilder’s taste in music leaned toward traditional tunes, and Elizabeth loved learning to play tunes she had heard all her life but for which she had never seen the sheet music. One tune in particular seemed familiar. Mrs Wilder told her it was a traditional Welsh tune, but Lizzy was certain she had heard it when a travelling troupe performed John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera at the assembly hall in Meryton.
Elizabeth was struck by how comfortable she was with Jamie and Mrs Wilder. She wished her circumstances were different, and she could remain with her new friends. However, with her next thought, she remembered Jane and her father. They needed her, and she loved them as well. She was eager to debate history with her father and observe his look of surprise when he realized how much she had learned. Hopefully it would not be too late to comfort Jane. George Trent had left Netherfield in pursuit of a Miss Green with a dowry of twenty thousand pounds. She missed her other sisters, and she even missed her mother.
In late September, Dr Wilder took his mother and Lizzy to Lambton to have some new dresses made for Elizabeth, and to pick out Christmas presents for her parents and sisters. Mr Davies showed Lizzy the knives he had procured. One was quite plain, but the other was silver with a filigree handle.
She laughed as she said, “The silver one is so beautiful. I have decided I would like both, Mr Davies. I will carry the ordinary one as I go about my daily routine. The pretty one I will save for church, and if I ever decide to go to a ball.”
Mr Davies gave Elizabeth a paternal smile and said, “Oh my, Lizzy your infectious humour will be missed in Derbyshire.”
Before they returned home, they stopped at the bookshop. Elizabeth wanted her own copy of Mary Wollstonecraft’s An Historical and Moral View of the French Revolution. She had read Jamie’s copy but wanted to take one home to Hertfordshire. She was anticipating reading it to her father and then discussing the ideas with him. She also wanted A Vindication of the Rights of Women by Wollstonecraft as well. This she planned to read while at Pemberley.
When they entered the shop, there was a young girl with an older woman talking to the bookseller. The young girl appeared to be about eleven or twelve, and looked vaguely familiar. There were two books on the counter, and the young girl was just concluding her purchase. She smiled broadly when she saw Jamie.
“Oh, Dr Wilder, how wonderful to see you without anyone in my family being sick.”
Jamie looked anxiously at Lizzy and said. “Miss Darcy, what a pleasant surprise. How is your sister? I am due to stop in and check her progress next Tuesday.”
“She is fine, and all three of us are filled with happy anticipation for the baby. I am here today to get these books my brother ordered.” She showed them a copy of Perrault’s stories in both English and French. “My brother has hired an artist to copy the illustrations in the book onto the walls of the nursery. Mrs Darcy had a friend who was taught French at a very early age by using these books, and my brother thought it a clever idea. The artist will include both the French and English titles as part of the illustrations.”
Elizabeth was captured by the young woman’s enthusiasm, and was honoured that Mr Darcy would pay tribute to her father’s teaching method for the baby. She now realized Miss Darcy had seemed familiar because she looked like her mother. She was a younger version of the portrait in Mr Darcy’s study.
Jamie said, “Miss Georgiana Darcy, may I present my mother, Mrs Wilder, and my cousin, Mrs Bennet.”
Miss Darcy introduced her companion, Mrs Watson. When the curtsies were complete, Miss Darcy noticed Elizabeth’s stomach. “Oh, Mrs Bennet, you are with child as well. When will your baby be born?”
Elizabeth was bothered by the use of the name Bennet, but did not want Jamie to know of her concern. She answered carefully. “My baby is due the middle of December. I am visiting my cousin and my aunt, but will shortly have to return home for the final time of my confinement. I like your brother and sister’s idea for painting the nursery. I remember fondly those stories being read to me as a child.”
The excitement at the birth of her brother’s first child seemed to bubble out of Miss Darcy. “That is the same time my sister’s baby is due. I know since it is the first, I should hope for a boy; but I can think of so many things I would enjoy doing with a little girl. Is this your first child? Do you want a girl or a boy?”
Elizabeth looked at Jamie and he saw her discomfort with the topic. “Yes, this is my first child; and I have not yet decided which I would prefer.”
“Miss Darcy, I am sorry to say we must be going. Mrs Bennet is leaving tomorrow to return home, and she must be packing.”
Georgiana Darcy smiled broadly and said, “Good bye, Mrs Bennet. Have a safe journey home, and I will be thinking about you when my niece or nephew arrives. Perhaps I will remember to ask your cousin whether you had a boy or a girl.”
On the way home, Elizabeth was abnormally quiet, and Jamie realized she had been unsettled by their encounter with Miss Darcy.
Jamie took Elizabeth to Pemberley at three in the morning on November 1st. They entered through the tradesmen’s entrance, and were met by Mrs Reynolds. Elizabeth was taken upstairs to a suite of rooms… a sitting room, a dressing room and a bedchamber. The sitting room also connected to the nursery. Elizabeth smiled when she saw the mural of the Perrault tales and she was reassured she had made a correct decision.
For the remainder of her confinement, Elizabeth would stay in these rooms. She would see no one except Mrs Reynolds and Mr and Mrs Darcy, and occasionally Mrs Hinton and Dr Wilder. She was in the family wing, and only Mr and Mrs Darcy were in residence. Mrs Reynolds told Elizabeth that Miss Darcy and Mrs Watson had gone to stay with her aunt and uncle at Elderton, and would remain there until Elizabeth left.
As the sun rose, Elizabeth had the opportunity to witness the glories of Pemberley. The prospect allowed her to see a ridge of high woody hills rising behind what she thought must be the rear of the house. From this ridge a stream meandered down and swelled into a much larger body of water. Willows hugged its edge, reeds grew in its shallows, and pairs of swans swam within its waters. Elizabeth was delighted with the natural appearance of the pond and surrounding grounds. It was a comfort to know that her prison for the next six weeks afforded her the distraction of such a lovely view, and that her child would live in such a fair environment.
Elizabeth turned to Mrs Reynolds and said, “I have never seen a place for which nature has done more, or where natural beauty has been so little changed by awkward ornamentation.”
“Yes, I consider myself lucky that I have lived here for almost twenty years. To my taste, the grounds are the most beautiful of all estates.”
The two women were instantly drawn to each other. Elizabeth, for her part, felt the older woman accepted her without pity or disapproval. Because of the family connection to Lord Wolfbridge, Lizzy knew she could not know, nor should she be told, the true circumstances of her disgrace.
Mrs Reynolds had known too many young women who had been compromised during her years of service. This young woman had found a way to come through the ordeal with some dignity, and knowing Mr Darcy, she was positive with significant compensation. She did wonder whether Mr Darcy was the father. It seemed unlike him, but everyone who knew him as a child questioned his marriage of convenience. Even his father had thought he was making a mistake. This young woman’s personality was much more what she would have expected her master to favour. Even through the sadness of Miss Elizabeth’s circumstances, it was obvious she was very intelligent and used humour and wit to compensate for life’s hardships. Mrs Reynolds could even see hints of joy when she talked of her sisters. It
caused her to wonder where that happy little boy she had known since he was four had gone. Why had he not been as resilient as this young woman?
The first time Mrs Reynolds heard Miss Elizabeth having a nightmare, she became convinced of two things. This young woman had not been charmed into a compromising situation, and Mr Darcy was not the father. She knew her master was incapable of hurting a fifteen-year-old girl who begged him to stop. She also determined that the violator was much above Miss Elizabeth’s station. As she begged, she continually said please.
Elizabeth, who had at first been enchanted by the view out her windows, tried to avoid the sight the longer she remained captive in these rooms. Her desire to explore the lovely grounds enhanced her general melancholy. Mr and Mrs Darcy spent as much time with her as possible without drawing attention by an absence from their regular duties. Mrs Reynolds brought her every meal and sat with her while she ate. They became friends and agreed to correspond. Elizabeth said she did not want to know about the child but would like to be informed about how things fared at Pemberley. She cautioned that all correspondence should go through her uncle.