by Nicky Roth
'Well...' Mrs Bennet tried to explain her mistake.
'Oh, is it both?'
'Nonsense!' Fanny Bennet blurted out, for a moment forgetting her attempts at admitting to her blunder. 'A baby can't be both.'
'So it's twins then? A boy and a girl?'
'Well...'
'Ah, I see, at least it is well, whatever it is. What's its name? Perhaps that'll clear things up a little bit.'
'Will you just...' Mrs Bennet made yet another attempt at explaining the situation and even though the joke was kind of at her expense, Elizabeth could not help being thoroughly amused by the scene unfolding before her.
Damn, she had really missed her father!
'”Will” is acceptable, but whatever possessed you to call the poor boy “Ugust”? Shouldn't it be “August” or “Augustus” anyway?'
'Tom!'
'What? How many names has the poor kid to deal with?'
'There is no baby!' his wife at last blurted out. 'Lizzy is not pregnant after all, though she could very well have been...'
'Of course,' Mr Bennet smirked and then retreated to his study.
Chapter 25:
In need to go potty
Darcy had been fairly surprised to find that when arriving at Longbourn, that the chickens had already been let out and the eggs collected, that the pigs had been fed and that only the cows still needed looking after. So, Kitty and Lydia had indeed kept their word and done what they said they would. Who would have thought?
Feeding and milking the cows he was about to usher them out of the stable when he suddenly heard someone approach, the gravel of the farmyard scrunching under the newcomer's feet.
The man crossing the yard in steady steps, though with a slight limp, was middle-aged, fairly tall and rather wiry in a way that showed he was, despite his comparative slenderness, used to hard physical labour. He wore a pair of washed out corduroy trousers of undefinable colour, olive coloured wellies and a wax jacket of the same muted shade over a red-checkered and fairly wrinkly shirt. It was safe to assume that he was one of the Bennets' neighbours, most likely another farmer. Though what he was doing here, Darcy had no idea.
'Good morning, Mr Bennet,' the man addressed him in an amused voice, smiling broadly and reaching out his hand.
Wait, what? Okay, he had guessed wrongly, it seemed. It was obviously not a neighbour for they surely would have known that he was not Mr Bennet.
'I am afraid...' Darcy began slowly, trying to gather his wits and hide his confusion, but was promptly interrupted by his mysterious visitor.
'Oh, no need to be afraid, Mr Bennet, I am perfectly harmless, if perhaps a bit cheeky.'
'That might very well be, but I am not...' he tried again, but to no avail.
Chuckling the man continued: 'Well, I am glad you are not cheeky likewise, for otherwise, this conversation could be a very tedious one indeed, don't you agree?'
Definitely!
'It is tedious enough as it is, seeing that you don't let me...'
'Finish your work? I am so sorry, but I will be gone in a moment, Mr Bennet.'
'I'm not Mr Bennet, Sir!'
'Oh?'
The man acted surprised and it was only now that Darcy realised that he somehow looked familiar. Not that he had seen him in person before, but he had seen him in pictures. More precisely, he had seen him in several framed photos that hung in Lizzy's room. Of course, he must be... - Ha-ha, very funny!
'As you very well know, Mr Bennet,' he, at last, replied, reaching out his hand to finally take the man's offered one. 'Fitzwilliam Darcy, Sir. I am a friend of Mr Bingley, who has recently bought Netherfield Park and...'
'And while there you managed to get my daughter Elizabeth pregnant. - I see.'
'What? - No! I...- I only met her last week and...'
'As far as I'm aware that is more than enough time to accomplish the deed, Mr Darcy. - No, there is no use denying it. My wife says so and so does her sister and by now the whole of Meryton and the surrounding villages will know as well.'
'But...' Darcy was speechless.
Goodness, so all the baby-things had been for Lizzy? She really was having a baby?! Well, if that was the case, it was most certainly not his. As far as he was aware dreaming, no matter how real his fantasies had felt at the time, about making love to a woman didn't get her pregnant, did it? And wind-pollination didn't work on humans either, he was pretty sure of that. Something didn't add up. But what?
'Yes, I was surprised as well, and so was Lizzy when she first heard it from her mother,' Mr Bennet grinned widely, slapping him on the shoulder in a jovial manner.
Okay, that was even more odd, considering that he was supposed to have gotten his daughter with child within a week of first meeting her...
Had it been Georgiana, he would have the chap's guts.
'I have to admit, I can't quite follow you, Mr Bennet, but I can assure you that if your daughter is expecting, it is not mine,' he, at last, managed to stammer, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
His emotions were in a turmoil, firmly trapped between bemused, shocked, indignant, angry, sad, disappointed, hopeful... - and some more too tedious to distinguish.
'Shame,' Mr Bennet shrugged, though the twinkle never left his eyes, 'you seem like a decent enough fellow. Much better than the usual kind my wife tries to throw at our daughters. By the way, call me Tom. Everybody does and despite owning Longbourn House, which has been in the family for generations, I am not much of a country squire, am I?'
'Not really, but then again, how does a country squire look?'
'Supposedly like the folks posing for Horse and Country or Gardens Illustrated. You know, all pristine even when kneeling in the mud. Seriously, if I ever find out what they are wearing, I'd buy it, for it would save my wife a lot of trouble getting the stuff clean and keep the repairman fixing our washing machine twice every year out of the house...'
Yeah, well, what was he supposed to say to that? For the sake of promoting his business, he had been featured in pretty much every magazine there was and Mr Bennet most certainly had a point. Just thinking back of how the pictures had been taken made him cringe still. They had even gone so far as to bring a hairdresser for the horses and dogs and it had been a miracle that he had been allowed to mount the horse by himself instead of being hoisted up with a crane in order to not get his attire in disarray. The most satisfying part had been when they had taken pictures of his horses, all neat and polished up and the first thing his breeding stallion had done was run onto the paddock and roll in the sandpit getting himself all nice and dusty and throw the photographer into near hysterics.
'I can assure you, Tom, that they don't look like that on a day to day basis either.'
'You speak from experience?'
'Unfortunately yes. It's what people want to see. Not the mud and dirt that comes with that kind of life.'
'I think you might have a point there, Mr Darcy.'
'Just Darcy.'
'Not Fitzwilliam?'
'Hell, no! It is, unfortunately, a family tradition that the oldest son is named after his grandfather on his father's side and since that has been going on for generations, I am stuck with this abomination of a name.'
'It could be worse...'
'Yes, I could have been named after my mother's father.'
'And what was he called?'
'Balthazar.'
'Oh shit!'
'So, with that in mind, I should think myself lucky. But truth be told I would have been perfectly content with a more boring name such as John or William. Ironically, Fitzwilliam was also my mother's maiden name.'
'No escape for you then?'
'Not in the least. My parents thought it to be perfect. - So, you are back.'
'Obviously.'
Hm, what was he supposed to say? The man looked a lot better than he had imagined, considering that he had heard that he was still bound to a wheelchair, or at least struggling to get out of it completely.
&nbs
p; 'I see what you are thinking, Darcy, and yes, I admit that I led my wife to believe that I was still worse off than I really was.'
'And your daughters as well.'
It was impossible to keep the reproach out of his voice completely.
'Yes. It was for the better, believe me.'
'The better?'
'Had they known, I would never have had the chance to recover in peace and as for Jane and Lizzy, they are such bad liars that I simply couldn't confide in them without them giving away my secret.'
Okay, there was definitely nothing he could say in reply. He was simply lost for words. How could a father, in good conscience, leave his family in the dark about his recovery? Have them worried about his welfare and their future just to have a couple of weeks of peace and quiet?
'So, are we bringing out the cows?'
'Yes.'
For the rest of the morning they didn't speak much and when lunchtime came, he and Tom Bennet made their way over to the house for something to eat. They arrived at the house just when a large Argos-lorry pulled out of the driveway.
'Seems my wife has been shopping big time again...' Tom mused, eyeing the departing van with some trepidation. 'Well, let's hope for the best and cross our fingers that she has merely gotten a new mattress for Lydia's bed or a new dressing table for Kitty, but truth be told, my gut tells me otherwise. So, be prepared for the worst, my boy! Fanny can be very efficient when she chooses to and if she had the help of her sister, this can turn out to be very interesting. Brace yourself, my boy!'
And sure enough, they had barely stepped through the door when a whole array of crates boxes and bags greeted them, all unmistakably containing nursery furniture and toys and clothing and God knew what.
Resisting the urge to run, Darcy remained rooted to the spot while his companion saw through the array of things before:
'Fanny!' Mr Bennet hollered, shaking his head in exasperation. 'Fanny, what is all this stuff?'
Wow, despite his warning, Mr Bennet seemed to be shocked regardless. That was saying a lot.
'Oh, why are you yelling so? It's obvious, isn't it? It's all the stuff I thought we'd need for the little one.'
'And pray, explain to me, why one baby would need three bloody beds? Three! Were you expecting triplets or something?'
'Oh, codswallop! Don't be stupid, dear. One is a bassinet for when they are very small and one bed is for upstairs and the other for downstairs, of course.'
'Of course. Naturally. Why do I even ask? Perhaps because we happen to have two cots up in the attic, neatly stored away for when the grandchildren arrive, alongside a regular pram and a tandem one.'
'But they are so out of fashion, Tom, you can hardly expect the girls to still use them for their children.'
'Whyever not?'
'It would make them look silly.'
'They can't look much more silly than they do most of the time anyway. Well, safe for Jane and Lizzy that is considering that they are the only ones with any sense in the family.'
'How can you speak of your children so?'
'Easily, considering that I am merely stating a fact.'
'If you please excuse me, I just need to go... - potty,' Darcy excused himself before the situation got even more mortifying.
He had actually wanted to say “wash my hands” when his eyes had fallen onto the colour printed box containing a miniature loo with a silly face meant for potty training and before he knew it, the word had tumbled out of his mouth.
Ah well, never mind, the situation could hardly get any worse than it was anyway.
'If you go upstairs, you'll find some clean nappies, should you need them,' Mr Bennet remarked, his eyebrows raised in a manner that told him that he was well aware of the ridiculousness of the situation. 'They are for boys, too.'
'Yes, I know, I carried them in yesterday, though I doubt newborn will fit me.'
'I'm kind of glad to hear it. By the way, Fanny, does Lizzy know you got all this stuff?'
'No, she's asleep, why?'
'Only asking. I think someone should prepare her for what she'll find upon coming downstairs before she suffers a setback.'
Quickly Darcy turned around to make his way upstairs but was hampered by a large box and a huge stuffed bunny, oh, and a rocking horse and a car seat that had been tucked away behind them on the first step of the stairs.
'You, Tom, are horrible!' Mrs Bennet cried out, ignoring Darcy and his heightened complexion as he tried to climb over all the items without breaking any of them or injuring himself. 'To make such fun of me only because I made a genuine mistake in thinking Lizzy was expecting. My poor nerves! You never have any compassion for them!'
Okay, perhaps he should try the downstairs loo. If it weren't blocked by even more crates and boxes, that was. How much stuff did one need for one baby?
'You would have saved your nerves some flutter if you had asked our daughter about it, dear, or at least waited until she was clearly showing. In a couple of years or so from now.'
Sniffing Fanny Bennet made her way back to the kitchen and slammed the door shut behind her. It was the only door that wasn't blocked by the one thing or other and slowly but surely what Mr Bennet had just said began to sink in.
'She didn't take the news of Lizzy not being pregnant easily, I fear,' Tom Bennet turned towards Darcy, giving him a hand to move some of the things out of the way.
'So Lizzy is not having a baby?'
'No, of course not. She only had the misfortune to come down with a cold at an inconvenient time and threw up in front of her aunt. The rest is history.'
'Okay...'
'Oh, and while you are up there, warn Lizzy, will you?'
'Sure.'
'And if, perhaps you could give me a hand to move all this shite out of the way? I'll see later on if I can have it returned.'
'Or you could put it in the attic...'
'Hm! - I could also open a shop for baby stuff by the looks of it. But I fear my own wife would be my best customer then.'
Chapter 26:
A cause worth fighting for
There had been some ruckus downstairs, but Elizabeth was too used to the house being in a state of uproar at regular intervals to be much concerned by it and now that her father was back she wouldn't be in the least surprised if her mother had started to tear the house apart in order to give it a deep-clean. It was only when she heard her father raise his voice that she wondered if, perhaps, something else was going on.
Her father, though often taunting, hardly ever raised his voice. If he did so now, it was probably for the better to stay put for the moment. Today she felt much better already, though that might be just to the medication she had taken. Still, lying in bed for much longer was out of the question, and Elizabeth yearned to take her pillow downstairs and bunk in front of the telly for an hour or two and watch some crap. Just the ordinary rubbish that was on during the early afternoon. Hm, or perhaps a documentary, in order to not kill off more brain cells than was strictly necessary.
Someone walked down the corridor and a moment later again stopped at her door. Her father, most likely.
There was a knock and then a tentative voice asked: 'Elizabeth, are you awake?'
Okay, that was most certainly not her father. Gods, how was she to face Mr Darcy of all people after her mother's revelation yesterday? Well, hopefully, he didn't know anything about the assumptions that had been made. It was her only hope.
'Yes, I am awake and just getting up, Mr Darcy.'
'May I come in for a moment?'
'Sure, I am decent, if that is what you are worried about.'
Right, decent was a bit of a stretch considering her Winnie-the-Pooh jammies. She looked ridiculous, but it was her most comfy pair of pyjamas, so sod it. Plus, they covered her nicely.
'I wasn't. Not really, that is,' he answered as he opened the door and stepped in looking dishevelled and flustered. 'How are you?'
'A lot better, thank you. And also thank you fo
r all your help, Mr Darcy.'
'Good, but please, there is no need to address me so formally all of the time. I mean, you call Bingley by his first name and...' he trailed off as if he didn't know what else to say, or how.
Oddly enough, his offer at the same time pleased and disconcerted her. It was not that she didn't consider him as much of a friend as Charles, and yes, she had been wondering about still calling him Mr Darcy, but it was just that with calling him in a more formal manner, she had managed better to keep her budding feelings at bay. It was a realization that hit her with quite some suddenness. It had been a comfort zone. That apparently was all over now...
'Okay, Fitzwilliam.'
'No, please not Fitzwilliam! Will or Darcy, if you please. Only Caroline ever calls me Fitzwilliam and with her, I don't care, since she is grating on my nerves this or the other way,' he shrugged, grinning timidly as if something was weighing down his mind.
Something other than Caroline Bingley that was.
'Right, Will. Are you alright? You look a little confused.'
'Well, your dad asked me to warn you about some stuff your mother bought...'
That sounded alarming considering everything that had happened yesterday and this morning, especially if her father deemed it necessary that she'd be warned. Then again, why had Will not run already? Any other man would have, surely.
'It is a bit much, to say the least, as far as I can tell, but the rocking horse is actually quite pretty. Looks a lot like the one I had as a boy...'
'Oh fuck! - No!'
'Oh fuck, yes!'
'Is it really as bad as I imagine it is?'
'Worse, I would say.'
'Good God, how many b... - how much stuff did she buy?'
Shit, shit, shit! She had almost said “baby-things”, but that word had refused to cross her lips.
'Oh, I have to say, our baby will want for nothing. Wait, let me see, there is a pram, a bassinet, two cots, a changing table, conveniently placed right in front of the stairs, a playpen, maybe two, a cheerful looking potty, a stuffed bunny that is large enough to be mistaken for an elephant if it weren't bright pink, a car seat, a bouncer, and the other stuff I can't remember to be honest. Sorry.'