Posted on Wednesday, 31 October 2007

Mrs Darcy wasn’t feeling well. Actually, she was giving birth but Mr Darcy didn’t know much about birthing and only heard her screaming upstairs. It was unsettling. Elizabeth was obviously in pain and he was not able to do anything about it. He was the master of Pemberley, an influential man in Derbyshire, his word carried some weight even in London, yet what did he do while his beloved wife was sounding like her heart was ripped out of her? He paced the library. He paced the library!

He had tried to go for a long ride but hadn’t dared to go too far from the house. The last time someone at Pemberley had given birth, he had been gone on a long ride. When he came back, his father had told him that he had a sister and that his mother was dead. Technically, he knew that Elizabeth wasn’t his mother – after all, she was healthier than Anne Darcy had ever been. Yet, he couldn’t help feeling anxious.

Suddenly, he noticed that the screams had stopped. How long... When... What had happened? Why didn’t anyone inform him of what was going on? He had just resolved to storm his wife’s bedchamber and demand information when the door opened and Mrs Reynolds came in.

“Congratulations, Master Fitzwilliam, you have a little boy and a little girl,” Mrs Reynolds put the two bundles she had been carrying into Darcy’s arms.

“Two?” asked Darcy dazedly.

Mrs Reynolds smiled widely, “The Darcys have always had two children but never had we two at the same time. You found a wonderful wife for yourself, Master Fitzwilliam.”

“Yes, I guess, I did,” Darcy grinned sheepishly. Then he looked back at the small bundles in his arms. One, the boy or the girl – he did not know which, they looked exactly the same to him – opened its mouth wide and started wailing at the top of its voice. “Oh dear. Oh dear,” fretted Darcy. “What have I done? Have I hurt them? Is everything alright?”

“Don’t worry, Master,” soothed him Mrs Reynolds and briefly patted his arm before taking the children back. “They are hungry, I would guess. Children are always hungry. I shall hand them over to the wet nurse.”

“Yes, that is a splendid idea. I’m sure they are only hungry. Indeed, that must be the reason. They look a bit peckish to me,” Darcy hovered anxiously over Mrs Reynolds as she took his children away. She was almost out of the door when his next question made her stop mid-stride. “How is Mrs Darcy?”

The indulgent smile which had played around her lips slipped from her face. She looked anywhere but at Darcy as she sadly said, “I’m so sorry, Master Fitz.”

“No.” The word was barely a whisper. Darcy had gone chalk white. “No, it can’t be,” he whispered. “Please, there must be a mistake. The doctor might have- he must have erred. What can be done? Shall I call for a doctor from London? I’m sure there’s something...”

“No, Master Fitz, there’s nothing we can do but pray that her soul is safe in heaven.”

Darcy stared at her mutely. For a moment neither moved; a moment that seemed to go on forever. Mrs Reynolds with the babies in her arms looked at him with such surety that he could not doubt her words. He looked at her with anguish in his eyes, his soul tormented, hoping against hope that for once in her life Mrs Reynolds had erred, that the doctor had erred, that the universe had erred. For how should he ever continue to live when his life, his love, his world had been shattered and was no more? Every breath that filled his lungs suddenly seemed to be made of fire. It hurt to breathe. And still, the fire seemed to continue through his body from his mouth to his lungs and straight to his legs and suddenly he was running along the corridor.

Dimly, he heard Mrs Reynolds cry behind him, “No, Master, don’t go there. It will do you no good.”

But he heeded not her repeated calls and sprinted up the stairs, along another corridor, up another staircase and was stopped by a horde of maids and undermaids who all urged him back the way he had come. Then he was left alone in the library again. Breaking down into a chair, he started sobbing.

“He’s mourning.”

“He’ll come out of it.”

“And he hasn’t said a word, Colonel?”

“Doesn’t move. Doesn’t talk. Refuses to eat. Just sits there, staring into nothingness.”

“Curious.”

“It’s the Darcy curse, Mr Bennet.”

“Pardon?”

“No Darcy ever lived long after his spouse died. George Darcy clung on the longest. For his children, we think. He survived Anne for some years but he was wasting away the entire time.”

Darcy was glad when the voices finally moved away. He didn’t want to deal with this cruel world that kept on moving when his soul had been ripped from him. How could the stars continue to twinkle when the brightest one among them had fallen? How could the sun continue to shine when he only met barren wasteland where once the warmest ray had danced? How dared the moon to shine upon him at night when she couldn’t shine upon Elizabeth beside him? How dared the celestial body to not shroud itself in clouds? How dared it to not mourn with him the loss of everything he held dear? He absentmindedly squished a bumblebee that was humming too happily.

“He looks like a skeleton. There’s hardly any meat on him now.”

“Yes, something has to be done.”

“That’s it. I’ve had enough,” Mrs Reynolds forcefully put a tray on the table beside him. “You’ve been sitting here doing nothing for three weeks now. Enough’s enough, Master Fitzwilliam.”

Darcy blinked and slowly turned his head to look at his housekeeper. She had never spoken so candidly with him.

“Yes, I’m speaking with you, young man. No need to look at me like that. I know that the passing of Mrs Darcy was a shock to you. We all mourn her. But that doesn’t mean that you must now starve yourself. Your wife could hardly want that. If you don’t want to do it for yourself then at least think of your children. They have already lost their mother before they ever knew her and now you want to deprive them of a father as well?”

Darcy started in shock. He had completely forgot about his children. Mrs Reynolds was right. Even if he had nothing to be happy about in life anymore, *SOB!* he owned it his wife to take care of the children. He reluctantly took a bite of the sandwich that the housekeeper had put in front of him.

Mrs Reynolds smiled at him encouragingly and left her master to his dinner.

“He’s gaining weight again.”

“Good. The younglings are hungry.”

Darcy sat on the floor of the nursery and played with his children. Even though Elizabeth Anne was the younger of the twins, she was already crawling. She had her mother’s eyes and Darcy loved her even more for it. Little Charles Bennet, while older, the smaller of the two, was ensconced in his father’s arms and gurgling happily. The wet nurse had told him that Charles was trying to skip the crawling phase and go straight to standing on two legs. Darcy was sure that there had never been a man prouder of his children than he was.

“He came out of it sooner than any Darcy before him.”

“I know but he's not ready, yet.”

Darcy was sitting in his study. He leaned back in his chair. It had been a productive session with his steward. He was thinking about sending for a light meal, when his housekeeper came in with the tea.

“It’s good to see you’re taking your responsibilities on again, Sir,” she said while pouring him a cup.

“I have been remiss, haven’t I? But I’m back, Mrs Reynolds. You can stop berating me now,” smiled Darcy.

“Don’t give me that lip, Master Fitzwilliam,” said Mrs Reynolds jestingly. Then she sobered up slightly, “But there is something, Master Fitz.”

“You’re never going to give up, are you?”

Mrs Reynolds mock-glared at him. “It’s Ms Darcy. She needs you as well. She and Mrs Darcy... they were so close,” her voice died.

Darcy looked at her. She was right, naturally. She was always right. “Whatever would I do without you, Mrs Reynolds?”

“I promise you won’t ever find out,” smiled the trusty housekeeper. “Now go and take care of little Ms Georgie.”

“He looks good now. Juicy and fat again. I think he’s ready for the feast.”

“His meat is going to taste bland. The best meat comes from happy men.”

Georgiana Darcy gave the empty picnic basket to a maid and smiled at her brother, “I’m so glad that you persuaded me to go on this outing with you and my darling niece and nephew. You were right. I did enjoy myself. Thank you.”

“Oh, Georgie, you’re too good to me,” answered Darcy. “I’ve neglected you shamefully these last two month. I’ve been very selfish. Can you ever forgive me?”

Georgiana shook her head forcefully, “No, no. There’s nothing to forgive. You were hurting more than I was. I must ask for your forgiveness. I have been selfish, not you. I should have been there for you.”

“Come, sister, it’s no use squabbling over it. We both were hurting and needed a little time for ourselves.”

“You’re too good a brother, Fitzwilliam.”

Darcy smiled and hugged Georgiana, “And you’re the best sister anyone could wish for.”

“Can we eat now, please?”

“Patience is a virtue. Not yet, dear.”

Mrs Reynolds entered the study and sighed after one look at Darcy, “Sir, you’re working too much. I’m very happy that you take part in life again but now you’re overdoing it.”

“If I occupy myself, I don’t have time to think about her,” Darcy smiled tiredly at his ever-worrying housekeeper.

She began massaging his shoulders and gently berated him, “I thought we had finished with that nonsense, dear.”

“I’m sorry, Reynie. Oh, that feels good,” groaned the man.

“You’re going to stop working now. Go to bed.”

“Yes, Reynie.”

Mrs Reynolds took him by the hand and led him out of his study and to his bedroom.

“I had the maids prepare a bath for you. You haven’t had one in ages. You’re beginning to smell. And stop making that face behind my back, young man. Yes, I know you’re doing it. I’ll personally make sure that you don’t weasel out of a proper bath. That means cleaning behind your ears as well.”

“Reynie, I know how to use a bath. I’m a grown man.”

“Yes, I noticed.” Mrs Reynolds took a moment to appreciate the sight before her, then she shoohed Darcy into the adjoining chamber where a maid was pouring a last pitcher of hot water into the tub.

With a small giggle and a sideways glance at the unclothed Darcy who was lowering himself into the bathtub, the maid left the room. Mrs Reynolds took a sponge and started washing him with gentle motions.

“Feet, sir.”

“Nobody’s going to see my feet. It’s hardly necessary to wash between my toes,” he protested but obediently put them up.

Mrs Reynolds systematically went over his body, cleaning every part with meticulous care. Darcy felt a little self-conscious at first but soon let himself enjoy the sensations created. It did him good to be pampered for a while.

“There, master, you’re all clean now. Out of the water with you. It’s getting cold already,” said Mrs Reynolds finally.

Darcy had never felt so relaxed as he did when he entered his bedroom again a few minutes later. “Thank you, Reynie, that was exactly what I needed.”

“The night’s not over, yet,” said Mrs Reynolds and stepped closer.

“Oh,” said Darcy in surprise when she stepped back again.

“It’s what the Reynolds have done for the Darcys ever since there were Darcys, Sir.”

“Is that so?” pondered Darcy. After a moment of hesitation, he closed the gap between them again.

From then on, rapid progression was made and Darcy discovered things about his housekeeper he had not previously known, “Is that a dog collar?”

“Indeed. A flea collar to be exact. Very useful thing to wear on the nights near the full moon.”

Before he knew it, Mrs Reynolds had tied him to his bed with a silken shawl.

“Now, we shall begin,” she said and inclined her head over his neck.

“Ouch,” he cried more from surprise than real pain.

“Don’t worry. It’s just a tiny prick, dear. The pain will be gone in a moment.”

Darcy tried to nod but his head was feeling too heavy to move. Mrs Reynolds watched him with a smile. Then she went and opened the door to the corridor.

“Come, my younglings, dinner’s ready,” she cooed.

All the maids and undermaids of Pemberley entered Darcy’s room.

“The Reynolds is feeding us,” they whispered excitedly to each other. Yet, they didn’t start immediately whatever they had planned. They seemed to wait for something. He knew what they had been waiting for when the full moon rose. Their bodies began to change and losing all resemblance to human beings, the beasts drew closer to his bed. Some looked very long and thin in their green shells. Some had fur and fangs. Darcy knew he should be horrified by what was going on but somehow he couldn’t work up enough energy to be bothered.

“Hmmm, I love the feet. I think they’re the best part of humans,” clicked one green thing nibbling on his big toe.

“Susan,” said The Reynolds severely. “What did I tell you about manners?”

The green thing called Susan reluctantly let go off his left foot and intoned, “Don’t speak with your mandibles full.”

“And?” prodded The Reynolds.

Susan rolled her eyes – an impressive feat for a mantis – and with annoyed clicks sing-songed, “We are not savages. We eat with cutlery.”

“That is right. Remember that the next time.”

Darcy’s last sight was of The Reynolds, a fearsome mixture of green shell and foppish fur. She was handing out forks to her younglings and cried, “Let’s eat Darcy!”

The End Or is it?