by Nicky Roth
What the fuck was going on?
'It was lucky that I first went to see Rosy, for otherwise, I would have bought you medication that might be bad for the little one. But the pharmacist ensured me that all this stuff is perfectly safe to take during pregnancy. And I have to admit, that I could not quite resist buying this. Cute isn't it?'
Oh great, not only was she apparently pregnant, but it would be a boy... - Ah, but of course, the only other immaculate conception she had ever heard of had turned out to be a boy as well, so the conclusion was surprisingly logical if one thought about it.
'What? Do you not like it?'
With some concern, Mrs Bennet still held up the little light blue baby-body saying in dark blue letters “Daddy's little rascal” with a rocking horse underneath it.
It was cute, kind of, if perhaps a tad tacky, but alright it would look sweet on a little baby, no two ways about it. And after all, there were worse things than this thing and at least it didn't sport glittery unicorns pooping rainbows or this ManU or Chelsea rubbish one got everywhere nowadays to potty train even the littlest into buying fan merchandise right from the time they exited the womb.
'Mum, I'm sorry, but...'
'Oh, don't be sorry my dear. After all, many people have children nowadays without being married and it's not as if you will have to give up your studies, for I will be perfectly happy to look after your little rascal and I dare say Mr Darcy will be just as supportive a father...'
'Mr Darcy?' Elizabeth blurted out in sheer disbelief.
'He is the father, right? Rosy said he was.'
'No! Mum, I'm not bloody preggers!'
'I know it is a lot to take in, and when I was pregnant with Jane it took me a couple of weeks as well to come to terms with soon being a mother. But I came around eventually. You know, a mother always knows and with you being sick all of the time and decidedly moody, there is little use denying it, Lizzy. I know it is called morning sickness, but really, it can strike any time of the day.'
'Mum, I threw up once and that was last night when I wasn't feeling very well anyway after a slight débâcle at the pub and when I had a drink on an empty stomach and on top of that came down with a cold. Now, it's not unheard of, that that can upset one's stomach, is it? In short, mama, I am not pregnant. I have not been bitten by the stork. I have not been knocked up, have none in the oven, am not with child nor am I in the family way. Period!"
There was no use explaining that she was moody because she felt slightly left alone with all the work she had to do while everybody else seemed to care sod all that their livelihood was at stake.
'Talking about periods, Lizzy, I haven't seen you buy any sanitary items off late.'
'That's because I've started using a cup.'
'That's disgusting!'
'A menstruation cup, mama. It's reusable,' Jane, at last woken from her stupor, explained sounding decidedly dazed and mildly bemused.
'All this newfangled stuff drives me insane. Reusable? Really? Well, during my time we were happy enough to throw our pads in the bin.'
Then she looked woefully at the little baby-body in her hands before, with a smile she remarked: 'Ah, well, I presume you will need this stuff soon enough, Jane.'
'Mum!'
Chapter 23:
Udder mayhem
Of course, what had he been thinking? He had almost forgotten about Lizzy's boyfriend, but there he was, arriving alongside Mrs Bennet with a bunch of flowers to visit Elizabeth. And not just any flowers, no, red roses actually, though they did look rather pathetic.
Damn, why did he have to walk over to the house just now and spoil his fantasy that perhaps, eventually, one day, she would see his merits and become his girlfriend, wife, mother of his children?
Really, what did she see in that guy?
Okay, okay, yeah, he was jealous, stupid as that sounded, even to him. Then again, some women liked arseholes, hoping to turn them around. Sure, take a self-centered bastard, invest all your love in him and voilà the result will be the perfect man! - Not.
But seriously, what boyfriend who really cherished his lady-love, would bring such a sorry looking bunch of red roses bought at a bloody petrol station? Right... - Aside from that Darcy was pretty sure that Elizabeth preferred wildflowers.
At any rate, his opinion of, what the heck was his name again? He had heard it at one point or other, but could not remember, not that it mattered, so never mind. Anyway, his opinion of that bloke had sunken into depths as yet unknown, making the Big Hole at Kimberley look shallow in comparison.
'See, I told you so,' little Lucifer popped up on his left shoulder again, while the little angel on his right was moping, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest.
Was it okay to just punch the little trouble-maker into silence and then make a hasty retreat back to the farm or better even to Netherfield? Oops, Satan obviously could read minds, for in an instant he was gone again and before he could silently and most of all unnoticed sneak back to the stables, Mrs Bennet had spotted him and with an ungracious wave of her hand beckoned Darcy to come into the house. Sod's law! Figures.
Admittedly, in all likeliness, she didn't mean to appear offensive, for she was laden with various bags and boxes hampering her every move and that wanker she might call son-in-law one day didn't even offer to help! Yeah, of course... - Big Hole/Kimberley, remember?
Relieving her of most of the bags Darcy let her open the front door. If he ever needed a cuppa, it was right now.
Wait, what? Nappies? And why the heck was she beaming at him like that? Oh shit... No!
Okay, no, he would not jump to conclusions. There was no reason to assume that Elizabeth was the one who was pregnant. After all, there were five young ladies in the house and Mrs Bennet herself wasn't so old as not to be able to have another one... - and perhaps she had visited her husband lately and... - who knew?
After all, that was pretty much how his sister had come into being. Menopause was a treacherous bitch. So much so, that his mother had been already five months pregnant before she even realised it. But no, there was yet another thought he didn't really want to finish.
'Are you looking for something?' Mrs Bennet presently asked him, hanging her coat on the hook behind the door and holding out her hand for the other man's jacket to hang it likewise. Thinking about it, why did she not hang the jacked with that idiot still inside? All it took was a little loop around his neck and he would be tidily stored where he was in nobodies way.
Right, what had it been again he had gone up to the house for? Ah yes, to get some tea. Okay, his main objective had been to check if Lizzy was feeling better, though cunningly he had told Lydia that he was fetching them a cuppa and if the excuse was good enough for the daughter, it was good enough for her equally silly mother, wasn't it?
'Ah, righty, you know where the kitchen is, don't you? Just take what you need, and if you could put these bags just on one of the chairs or the table, that would be great. Cheers! Oh dear, all the things I still need to get... - But thankfully there is still some time, so no need to hurry, right? So, I just quickly pop upstairs and see how Lizzy is, I just need to put the soup I got for her in a bowl. Thank goodness I thought of stopping at the pub to get something for her to eat. But oh, she will be so surprised, I am sure. Who would have thought? - Come, come, Lizzy will be so happy to see you, don't be shy.'
As soon as she had quickly taken care of the soup, she almost shoved her companion, aka cheap-skate wannabe cavalier, towards the stairs, but then, on second thought, pushed him aside to take the lead quickly reaching for the bag from the pharmacy, the tray with the soup on it swaying somewhat precariously, leaving Darcy with his cargo of mainly baby things behind. Just like that.
Shit, how much stuff did such a wee person need? And it was not, as if she was even showing yet. He had seen it clearly once she had taken off her coat. Nothing. Nada! Not the slightest hint of a bump. Okay, then perhaps it was for a friend...
Bloody hell, w
hy was he thinking of babies all the bloody time all of a sudden? It was not as if it was any of his business or that he wanted one right now. No, not at all. In approximately nine months from now would be perfectly sufficient for all he was concerned.
'Do you know that you've got dung underneath your shoes, mate?' startling him, Lizzy's boyfriend asked with a lazy grin on his face, turning to go after Mrs Bennet, but lingering behind a bit.
Right, Mrs Bennet, as she was now, was best compared to a rubber ball, bouncing up and down. One moment she was here, the other there and then gone, only to pop up somewhere completely different.
“And if you are not careful, you'll have dung in your face, buddy!” Darcy thought to himself, while only huffing in acknowledgement that he was well aware of that fact. After all, that he was wearing wellies should have given the dolt some idea where he'd just come from: the fucking farmyard. Duh!
But as if that simple and idiotic statement wasn't enough already the fellow had to add: 'Alright, I thought it might have escaped you. It happens so quickly, you know, you walk along a country road and before you know it, you've stepped into a pile of horse dung. Disgusting! I had that pleasure only a few days ago when going over to the base to report for duty and literally slipped on bloody horse droppings. Almost fell, you know? You can't imagine how my bike looked afterwards, or my trousers and shoes for that matter.'
Ah, thank you, Hermes! Good boy!
Buying that horse had been worth it already. But wait, what? To the base? Report for duty? He was a military man? Fuck me sideways! It didn't appear as if the chap had the balls for it. Not even the marbles or peas or grain of millet for that matter, but as a rule of thumb, women liked men in uniform, so that might have been a good enough motive for this idiot.
Alright, he was good-looking but something was definitely lacking, something fairly important like character, for example. And why the heck did he sound so sickeningly whiny all of the fucking time? Seriously, even Lydia didn't sound like that permanently. Only when it suited her purpose. But this man?
But why wonder? Why even be bothered when apparently no-one else was?
Still, that Elizabeth had such bad taste in men, he wouldn't have thought, and yet, it was obvious that she and that bloke were a thing. Well, some women, as said, had a thing going for men in uniform, and some even for arseholes in uniform, while introverted men in rubber boots and worn out jeans were not exactly high on that imaginary list. Not at all, Darcy knew that all too well.
'Are you coming George?' Mrs Bennet ushered him on, making Darcy almost grateful towards her.
Putting down the bags, he put on the kettle and brewed two mugs of tea, quickly checking on Kitty who was currently weeding the garden by hand, bless her. He quickly made a third mug and brought one out to her before slipping out of the house again.
Bringing back the two mugs of tea he handed one to Lydia, who to his great surprise had made quite some headway with clearing out the manure while he'd been away and was now happily sweeping the floor to get it clean again before swiping everything onto a shovel as if she had done this kind of work all her life. Wow, who would have thought?
'I'm done, I think...' she mused, looking at her handiwork and Darcy had to admit, that she had done quite a decent job of it.
'Right then let's take a break.'
Startled she gasped: 'What, we're not done yet?'
'Almost, but no, not quite,' he sighed.
Since his return, he felt tired. Very tired.
Shrugging she took the offered cup and sat down carelessly on the wheelbarrow right in the middle of the pig poo. Good girl!
'Hey, what's the matter?' Lydia asked at long last, knitting her brows at his frowning face he was well aware he had donned.
'Nothing.'
'Oh, come now, you look as if you have a rain cloud hanging above your head. If you look any more miserable I will have to call you Eyeore. - By the way, how's Lizzy?'
'How would I know?'
'Hm, I just thought since you went up to the house...'
'Your mum just came back from town, bringing back Lizzy's boyfriend, so I didn't have a chance to ask. They headed straight upstairs.'
'Lizzy's what?'
'Boyfriend. You know that tall chap with the light brown hair. The soldier.'
'What, George is here? He's a cutie, isn't he?'
Of course, why the heck did he expect some kind of sensible answer? At least he now had a name he could write on a slip of paper and pin to his dartboard. A photograph would have been even better, but hey. Or thinking about it, a voodoo doll for that matter. Nothing like a bit of needlework.
'Hm,' was all his reply, while he sipped on his tea.
'By the way, he isn't Lizzy's boyfriend...' Lydia added casually. 'I mean, if he were, he wouldn't be snogging Mary King, would he? Damn, I thought they would screw each other right in the middle of the pub last night just when we were leaving. Had a nice chat with him before he hooked up with that tart. I mean, she isn't even very pretty with all her freckles and red hair, but each his own, I'd say. Truth be told, I wouldn't mind him snogging me, but I really don't need to see him doing another girl.'
Wait, what? He wasn't Lizzy's boyfriend?
'Really?' he blurted out before he could help himself.
Grinning knowingly Lydia replied: 'Yeah, really. Kitty and I find him drop dead gorgeous, but Lizzy likes men to whom she can talk. As if men want to talk all that much... - I mean, when in the middle of it, would you want to talk about something?'
Nope, probably not during, but certainly before and after...
'I don't think your sister meant while they are at it, Lydia, but that isn't the only aspect of a relationship, is it?'
Now she looked puzzled. Bloody hell, either he was hopelessly romantic or she mistook sex for love. At least she seemed to contemplate his words.
Shit, was he seriously sitting here with Lydia Bennet speaking to her as if she was a normal human being and not one of the flakiest girls he had ever met, expecting anything of any sense coming out of her mouth? Apparently yes. This surely must be rock-bottom.
'No, I presume it isn't. But seriously, I for my part, don't want any serious relationships at the moment. Too much hassle, you know? But that doesn't mean I can't have a bit of fun,' was her cheerful reply.
'You mean sex?'
Again he had blurted the words out before it dawned on him that perhaps a fifteen-year-old was not the right person to ask such a question.
'What else?' she shrugged unconcernedly.
'Lydia, you are fifteen!'
Gods, hopefully, his sister didn't think along the same lines... - No, he would not go there!
'And?'
Shaking his head Darcy replied: 'Oh, never mind.'
He was certainly not going to have the “sex talk” with her. It had been awkward enough when he had to broach the subject to Georgiana a couple of years back when she'd hit puberty.
Okay, he had tried to find some suitable reading material for her but that hadn't stopped his then twelve-year-old sister from asking how big it really was when “fully inflated” - Georgie's words, not his. Bless her innocence!
Lydia, however, was another matter. First of all, she wasn't his sister, and secondly, he would presumably end up learning things from her and not the other way around.
'I mean, can you imagine, that two hundred years ago it was normal for a girl my age to marry? Dad keeps the family chronicle in his library and I had to look up a couple of things for a school project last year and what can I say? My great-great-great-great- and so forth grandfather married a girl of only fourteen! Okay, he was only nineteen himself, so I guess it isn't exactly cradle-robbing, but you get my point,' she chattered on, the tea in her hand slowly but surely getting cold.
Did he? Not really, if he were honest. Still, he was fairly impressed that she apparently was interested in history. Who would have thought?
'I mean, when it was okay for our ancestors to romp
around so young, why shouldn't we?'
Okay, for a moment he had almost been deceived and thought her to be quite intelligent after all...
But seriously, how could she fail to notice the wee difference between romping around and marriage?
Then there was the minor factor, that two hundred years ago the life expectancy was considerably lower than it was today, that the child mortality was massively higher and that it was, even in rich families, not unheard of, that from ten children only one or two survived. Not to mention all the mothers who died in childbed. That and, of course, the fact that marriage had little to do with romance and much to do with business and security, the latter mainly for the women. Marriage was a serious thing, and the wedding vows were to be taken literally. In for a Penny, in for a Pound.
'And besides, we've got contraceptives today, so what's the risk?' Lydia still prattled on undeterred and oblivious to his growing discomfort.
No surprise there.
But right, what was the danger? Considering the alarming rate of teen pregnancies, and the equally disturbing amount of STD-infections fairly high, he would say. But before he could mention anything along those lines, she had finished her tea in one big gulp and scrambled back to her feet.
'So, what now?'
What? Lydia eager for work? His head was close to starting to spin. Who was this girl and where the heck had she left Lydia Bennet?
Silly, sensible, silly sensible, silly sensible...
'Well... - the cows need to be brought back inside and then we need to milk them.'
Now there, at last, was safer ground. Cows were much easier to understand than a girl in the middle of puberty.
'Oh, sure. I'll just quickly go and fetch Mary then, shall I?'
All Darcy could do was nod, rendered speechless.
Ushering in the cows, he was just busy tethering them, when the girls returned and between the three of them, they made quick work of it. At first.
Okay, Lydia and he presumably would have but had he initially thought Lydia to be hapless when it came to farm work, Mary really took the cake. Her morris dance performance at the ball should have been a giveaway if he thought about it.