by Kara Louise
“My daughter?” His eyes narrowed. “I do not believe any of my daughters have returned yet. You must be mistaken.”
“She just came in, sir.”
“Young man, I have been home all evening, and I would certainly know if anyone had come in.”
I was not quite sure what to say and was just about to apologize and excuse myself when Mr. Bennet asked, “Which one of my daughters was this?”
I looked at him and answered, “Miss Elizabeth, sir.”
Suddenly the older man’s eyes narrowed and darkened. He grabbed the door tightly to control the shaking that began to course through him. “Is this a cruel joke? Did others from the ball send you over to make sport of a grieving father?”
I looked at him trying to comprehend what he was saying. “No, sir. Is something the matter?”
“Of course there is! You could not have been with my daughter, Lizzy.” He began choking out the words. “My Lizzy died one year ago today– on her birthday!”
I staggered back, grabbing at the wood railing behind me. “I am deeply sorry, sir. There must be some mistake,” I struggled to say.
Mr. Bennet slammed the door and I walked away from the house in a daze. Was it some sort of All Hallows’ Eve prank? Not a very kind one, seeing how stricken Mr. Bennet was. I came to the end of the road and was only slightly comforted by the full moon making a short appearance through the fog. My mind felt as if it were in the same kind of fog as that which surrounded me like a shroud. I tried to make sense of it all, but could not. My legs were moving, but I felt as though at any minute, they would crumble beneath me.
I happened to glance over to my left and I noticed what appeared to be a small graveyard. I did not know why, but I turned to walk in that direction, feeling drawn to it by some strange force. While everything around me was obscured, the fog had lifted enough over the graveyard for me to see the headstones.
As I walked through the small iron gates, they began to sway ominously in a sudden gust of wind. Their harsh creaking assaulted my ears. Suddenly the fog descended over me, and I was able to make out the shape of the headstones in the dark, but was unable to read them. I stood in the dark, the fog teasing my mind with frightening images. When the full moon broke through once again, shedding a tenuous light around me, I glanced across the expanse in which I stood. Something stirring in the breeze caught my attention. I could not make it out, but walked slowly toward it.
As I drew closer, my mind would not accept what I saw. A tombstone had something draped over it. I slowly walked up to it, reached down, and picked up... my cloak! As the fog gave way to even more light from the moon, I leaned over and read the inscription on the tombstone, Elizabeth Bennet, born October 31, 1792 died October 31, 1812.
*~*~*
“Fitzwilliam Darcy!”
A flash of lightning brightened the room, followed by a generous boom of thunder that rattled the windows.
“Eeeeek!” shrieked Caleb, the youngest of the four Gardiner children, as he pulled a pillow over his head. The other three children had wide eyes as they were sitting on the bed listening intently to their ‘Uncle’ Fitzwilliam tell the story.
Darcy and the four children turned to face a stern looking Elizabeth, her hands firmly anchored at her waist.
“I am scared,” said four-year-old Caleb.
“Caleb, it is only a thunder storm.” Elizabeth walked over and tried to reassure him. “There is no reason to be frightened.”
“He is not afraid of the storm,” said older brother Marcus. “He is afraid because you walked in.”
Darcy winced and put his finger to his lips to silence the children. Elizabeth shook her head, not understanding.
“Is she really a ghost?” asked Caleb as he cowered behind his brother and sisters.
“Is who really a ghost?” asked Elizabeth. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, what stories have you been telling my little cousins now?”
Sheepishly Darcy answered, “What makes you think I was telling them stories?”
Darcy turned back to the children and shook his head with a stern look, but also with a wink. This brought a unanimous response of giggling from amongst the children.
“Were you telling them a ghost story?”
“Me?” he asked innocently.
“Yes, you.”
He looked at the children. “Was I telling you a ghost story?”
“Nooo!” they all answered in unison.
Another flash of lightning and rumble of thunder brought another round of shrieks, and the children dove again for the pillows and blankets.
Elizabeth eyed them suspiciously. “Marabel, will you tell me why Caleb thinks I am a ghost?”
Marabel giggled and covered her mouth with her hands, trying to suppress it.
“Marcus?”
He looked warily at Darcy, who narrowed his eyes at him and gave his head an infinitesimal shake. Marcus then resolutely shook his head and replied, “No!” He then burst forth in laughter.
“Lauren! You will tell me the truth, will you not?”
Shy Lauren hid her head in the pillows which were strewn across the bed.
Elizabeth slowly walked over to Caleb. “Caleb, was Uncle Fitzwilliam telling you ghost stories?”
He started by shaking his head emphatically and he mouthed a silent, “No.” That quickly changed to a slight nod, and he whispered a soft, “Yes.” He cautiously looked up at Elizabeth with wide eyes and tugged at her dress. “Aunt Lizzy, are you a ghost?”
“Me? A ghost?” She darted her eyes to her husband, who began shrinking back.
“Fitzwilliam Richard Darcy! Just what kind of a tale have you spun for these children? My Aunt and Uncle Gardiner will never leave their children in our care again, I am quite certain, if you insist on scaring them with ghost stories... especially about me!”
The Gardiners had come to Pemberley to visit, and this evening Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner left the children in Darcy and Elizabeth’s care while they visited friends and family in Lambton. Because of the storm and the fact that they could not go outside at all, Darcy had herded them upstairs into the uppermost bedroom to read a few stories while Elizabeth indulged in some badly needed rest.
“We are not scared!” Marcus assured her.
“We want another ghost story, pleeeease!” cried Marabel.
Elizabeth moved her hands from her hips to rest lightly atop her belly, which was protruding about eight months’ worth of baby in front of her.
“No more scary stories for our little cousins, Fitzwilliam!”
Caleb tugged at her dress again. “We were not scared, Aunt Lizzy. If he tells us another scary story, I promise we will not be scared.”
Elizabeth could not help but laugh at her littlest cousin's attempt to reassure her. Although they were her cousins, she and her husband were called “Aunt” and “Uncle” because the children were so much younger.
She put the stern look back upon her face and turned toward her husband, silently demanding an explanation.
“I was only telling them a story about how we met... with a few variations...” He shifted uneasily.
“What do you mean a few variations?” Elizabeth gazed intently at him with one raised eyebrow, which was a tell-tale sign that she was displeased. In the past year, he had come to know it well.
“When I told Caleb your birthday was on All Hallows’ Eve, he simply asked if that meant you were a ghost. That just gave me an idea for a story.”
Caleb tugged at her dress again. “Aunt Lizzy, were you really a ghost when you met Uncle Fitzwilliam?”
Elizabeth's eyes widened in shock. “Of course not, Caleb. Fitzwilliam, this time I fear you have gone too far! I cannot believe you told them a story in which I was a ghost!”
Darcy nervously laughed. “But they enjoyed the story! You heard them; they wanted another one!” Then he looked at little Caleb, who was not quite sure what to think of his Aunt Elizabeth. “Caleb, Aunt Lizzy is not a ghost. She is more like an angel!”<
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Caleb's eyes lit up at this, and Elizabeth rolled hers.
“I must insist there be no more scary stories, Fitzwilliam, and especially no more ghosts! Fabricating a story about how we met is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard! What is wrong with the way it actually happened?”
“Nothing,” answered Darcy. He came behind her and wrapped his arms wide around her large belly.
Elizabeth looked sternly over her shoulder at him and patted her stomach. “This little one in here had best get the true story of how we met and none other. In fact, I will be the one to tell it!”
“And so you shall.” Darcy laughed and looked to the children, clapping his hands together. “Come on, everyone, get up! I believe we have some celebrating to do for your Aunt Lizzy's birthday. Does anyone want some cake?”
“Yeah!” they all screamed.
“But my birthday is not for another week!” Elizabeth protested.
“We are all together tonight, so we are going to have a party!” cried Marabel. “May I go get Georgiana?”
Elizabeth nodded. “She is likely in the music room.
Marabel went in search of Georgiana, and the other children ran ahead to the dining room. Darcy gave Elizabeth his arm as they walked.
“Really, Fitzwilliam, whatever prompted you to do such a thing?”
An innocent grin spread across his face. “I think it was the fact that the thunderstorm outside gave the room a somewhat eerie feeling to it, and well... I just could not resist it. Would you like to hear the story?”
“No, I would not!”
As they walked down to the dining room, Caleb ran back and again pulled on Elizabeth's dress. “Aunt Lizzy?”
“Yes, Caleb.”
“Are you going to have some birthday cake?”
“I certainly am! Why do you ask?”
He looked at her with amazement written across his face. “I did not think that angels could eat!” With that he turned and ran to join his older brother.
Elizabeth stood, staring with wide eyes at the little boy who was now running off. She turned to her husband who gave her an innocent grimace. Elizabeth shook her head most emphatically at him. “They may have enjoyed your story, Fitzwilliam, but now look what you have done! How am I ever going to explain to my aunt and uncle why Caleb thinks I am an angel?”
Darcy took her arm and brought her along with him down the great staircase. “Oh, I think they will agree that you are an angel. I certainly do! But if you are worried about it, I am sure you will think of something to tell them.” He looked down at her and smiled. “Happy birthday, angel!”
A Birthday Blessing
The house was quiet. Darcy was in his study, and Elizabeth was reading in the downstairs sitting room. Georgiana was visiting a friend in southern Derbyshire, but would return in a few weeks. Winter had not yet arrived in full force, but the days were getting shorter and most of the trees were shedding their leaves, now a brownish hue.
Elizabeth struggled to pull herself up from the chair in which she had been contentedly resting. It took a great deal more effort now to get up and move around, as she was but three weeks from the time their son or daughter was due. The little one seemed to take delight in those moments when she attempted to get a little extra rest, as that was when she felt the baby’s movements increase in number and in strength.
She planted her hands firmly upon the chair’s armrests and pushed herself up. Once standing, she put her hands to her back and kneaded the stiff, sore muscles that tormented her the past few days. She began to walk to stretch her legs when she encountered Mrs. Reynolds.
“Mrs. Darcy, a letter just arrived for you.” Mrs. Reynolds smiled as she handed it to her.
Elizabeth thanked her, sat down again, and promptly opened it. She was fairly certain she recognized the handwriting, and her eyes went down to the bottom where it was signed with the most meticulous signature. Yes, she had guessed correctly. She went back up to the top and began reading slowly, anxious to hear the news from her good friend, Charlotte Collins.
When she finished reading, she looked up and sighed. “Oh, Charlotte, it would be so good to see you again, but…” her whispered voice trailed off. She knew it would be wise to check with her husband first and was quite confident that he would not be as anxious as she was to give his consent to a visit from Mr. and Mrs. Collins.
Elizabeth laboured again to rise from the chair, and then walked to the study, clutching the letter in her hand and reaching back to rub the muscles that were so tender. She read it through again, not because its contents were unclear, but because she wished to settle on the best way to convey this message to her husband without causing him serious displeasure.
The door to his study was shut, and she knocked lightly. Without waiting for a response, she opened the door slightly and peered in. Darcy did not look up, but muttered a short, “Yes?”
“Fitzwilliam…”
At Elizabeth’s voice, Darcy lifted his eyes and at once, he pushed himself up out of the chair. “Elizabeth…what is it?” His voice grew anxious. “Is there anything wrong? Is it time?”
Elizabeth smiled at his concern. “No, dear. Sit down. We still have another three weeks yet. And possibly longer, as babies in my family tend to arrive late.”
She walked over to his side as he sat down again and gently placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “I hope I am not disturbing you.” She looked down at his ledger and the mound of papers upon his desk. “Are you terribly busy?” She appeared interested in his work, but in truth she was stalling, arming herself with just the right blend of sweetness and firmness to inform him of the request she had just received.
“I am trying to get as much done now, so that when the baby comes, I shall be free to help you in any way.”
She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “That is sweet of you.”
As her lips touched his cheek, he brought his hand up and cupped her face, keeping it next to his as he turned his head and met her lips with his. When he pulled away, he let out a sigh and pursed his lips together in a contented smile.
His eyes lowered to her fully extended belly, and he patted it softly. “So how is our little master doing?”
“She seems to be doing extremely well, dear!”
Has he been engaged in much kicking lately?”
“She does have her moments, usually when I am trying to rest.”
He smiled at their banter. It had been this way since she first found out they were to have a baby. He called it a boy, and she called it a girl. Actually he would be happy with either. He imagined with joyful anticipation a little boy – a smaller version of himself – walking along side of him, going on hunting and fishing excursions, kicking a ball about the grounds, or just enjoying each other's company.
But then he would ponder the possibility of a little girl. Of course she would have Elizabeth's likeness, lively personality, and very fine eyes. She would be dressed in only the most beautiful dresses, she would enjoy taking walks with him, and she would be content to sit in his lap as he read her a story. He would be happy with either.
His eyes were drawn to Elizabeth's hand and he noticed the linen paper she firmly held. “Elizabeth, is that a letter that has just come?” He reached for it, but she instantly pulled it back.
“Yes.”
He watched her curiously as she walked away from him and went around the desk, taking a seat in a chair against the wall, fingering the letter nervously.
When she did not voluntarily offer him the information he was expecting, he finally asked, “Who is it from? What does it say?”
Elizabeth turned her eyes to Darcy and took in a deep breath.
“It is from Charlotte Collins.”
Suddenly the expression on Darcy’s face changed, and she saw him begin nervously tapping his fingers against the table. A forced smile then presented itself and he said, “Charlotte Collins? She is well, I hope. And her family?”
“Yes, it appea
rs they are all well. She writes that they are planning to travel north to visit some of Mr. Collins’s family.”
Darcy eyed his wife suspiciously. “How far north?”
“Manchester. Fitzwilliam, she has asked if they can stop and spend a night here on their journey north.”
Darcy rolled his head back and closed his eyes. He brought one hand up and combed it through his hair, stopping mid-way through as he brought his head back down. The sigh he let out was now one of frustration.
“Do they have to stop here?”
Elizabeth tilted her head at her husband and patiently smiled. “Pemberley is directly on their way. We really cannot refuse them, my dear.” She stood up again and walked over to his side. “Charlotte is a dear friend, and I have not seen her for over eight months.”
Darcy continued to look straight ahead as Elizabeth continued. “And Mr. Collins is not only my cousin, but your aunt’s clergyman. There is every reason to invite them to be guests at Pemberley.”
He turned to look at her. “But Elizabeth, you may have our child any time now. The last thing I want is to put any undue stress on you, and I think a visit from them might do just that.”
Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled as she pushed herself from the chair and returned to his side. “On you, perhaps it will put undue stress, but certainly not on me! I enjoy Charlotte’s company, and Mr. Collins certainly can be endured for one night! For me, please?” She wrapped both of her arms around Darcy’s head as she leaned in as close as her full midriff would allow. “Besides, dear, I do not think you aunt would be pleased to hear that we turned down a request from her favourite clergyman and her nearest neighbours, do you?”
Darcy rolled his eyes and shook his head. “If it must be so, it must be so. But unfortunately… or fortunately… I shall be away that night.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Away? I thought all of your travelling was behind you so you would be here when the baby comes!”
“Something just came up.”
“When must you travel?”
Darcy looked at his wife sheepishly. “When are they due to arrive?”