A Sister's Curse

by Jayne Bamber

  Suddenly exhausted by her own distress, Fanny shifted awkwardly in the bed. “Brother, I hurt all over,” she whined.

  “You have been in a terrible accident,” he said gently. “You did not have a fall. Listen to me, Fanny. Your fall down the stairs at our cousin’s home happened seven years past. Can you remember nothing since then?”

  Fanny gazed up at him in pained confusion. “What’s this? I have been abed all that while?”

  “No, dearest. You have married Mr. Thomas Bennet, do you not know it?”

  She appeared to consider his words, but he knew the worst was true. She had no recollection of the husband she had lost. “I – I have? But when?”

  “Six years past, my dear. Sweet girl, you must try to remember. Can you not think on his face?”

  “I am trying…. I know him, but – we are wed?”

  “Yes, my dear. You have three beautiful daughters, and even now you carry his son.”

  She pulled her hand from his to clasp at her belly, and began to weep. “But – he doesn’t like me. He doesn’t like me!”

  Mr. Gardiner pursed his lips, and hesitated. “He loved you, my dear. He loved you very much, and gave you everything you ever desired when you wed. A fine house, lovely children, elegant gowns….”

  Fanny only wept harder, and Doctor Johnson drew nearer. “Perhaps if we brought her one of the girls? Every mother knows her own child.”

  “If you think it best.”

  “She has a fever, Mr. Gardiner, but it is not the sort to be contagious. What I always prescribe is rest, rest above anything else is the great healer. But perhaps a moment with one of the children might jar her, if followed by a good rest. The mind wants to be well, you see. Let us show her some proof of her current life, and then let her rest a while, and she may wake up a little more sensible.”

  Mr. Gardiner glanced down at his sister, who had listened to the doctor’s whispers with a mounting expression of sheer terror. He had no wish to alarm her, and even feared she might do the child some harm if the shock was too great. “I suppose… you are quite sure?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  They found Lady Anne Darcy in the nursery, where two of the girls, Elizabeth and Mary were sleeping – little Jane had sprained her ankle and was resting elsewhere. Lady Anne smiled warmly as they entered, clearly content to look over the cherubs in her care. “They have no idea what has happened to them,” she sighed wistfully. “No idea at all.”

  “Their father gone and their mother unable to remember them,” Mr. Gardiner sighed.

  A queer look passed over Lady Anne’s face, and she seized his hand for a moment. “We will make it right for them, sir. We shall look after them, and their mother, and we shall make it all right for them. They are such dear, sweet girls.”

  The doctor harrumphed, and Lady Anne looked away in sudden embarrassment. Mr. Gardiner approached the cradle where Mary lay sleeping peacefully. Though he knew but little of children, he was aware of the great lengths that would be gone to, to prevent their waking, and he regretted that he must disturb one of them. The babe was likely to make the greater ruckus, so he picked little Lizzy up in his arms instead, giving her a gentle bounce as she woke. “You know Uncle Edward, yes you do,” he cooed at her as she peered up at him, her hand instantly seizing a clump of his hair.

  Lady Anne smiled. “She certainly is familiar!”

  Lizzy was tranquil enough as they carried her back to Fanny’s room, where his sister looked to be waiting for them. Some recognition flashed in Fanny’s eyes – Mr. Gardiner let out a silent prayer of thanks as he handed his niece to her mother. Fanny grappled to hold her properly, crying out from the pain of her injuries, and Mr. Gardiner pulled back, holding Lizzy on his lap as he sat beside his sister. “Here’s your dear girl,” he said gently.

  Fanny continued to moan with discomfort from the movement, but her eyes were locked on her daughter, who after a moment grew disturbed by her mother’s unrest, and the girl began to cry out. Fanny reacted instantly, giving a shrill shriek and squeezing her eyes closed. She failed wildly. “Hush Lizzy, hush! You’ve driven your father away, and, oh, my God! We are going to crash!”

  Lady Anne instinctively moved to take the child from his arms, as Mr. Gardiner stood and leaned over his sister. Careful not to injure her, he managed to subdue the woman, and coaxed her into opening her eyes. “Look at me, my dear. Right here, Fanny. There now. Tell me, what has happened?”

  Fanny wailed loudly. “Mr. Bennet is dead, and we are all ruined forever!”

  It took above an hour to subdue Fanny, but she soon regained what she could of her senses, and was subsequently dosed with laudanum; she was drifting in and out of sleep when he left her. His youngest sister was likewise resting, the doctor informed him, and Mr. Gardiner steeled himself for a very painful conversation with Mr. Darcy while his sisters and nieces rested.

  ***

  Lady Anne hummed softly to herself, savoring the familiar tones of a song her mother had sung to her, and the warm perfection of the baby cradled in her arms – how she loved this feeling! She had politely refused Catherine’s eager offer to send for a nanny from the village, and borne the looks of pity from her sister and Sir Lewis when she had insisted on looking after the girls herself. The eldest she had sat with for some time, promising her that her ankle would be well, until the flaxen-haired little angel had dozed off to sleep. Afterward she had come to the nursery, unable to keep herself away from the poor girls whom she knew she had robbed of something that could never be gotten back.

  She was obliged to return the sleeping babe to the cradle when little Lizzy began to cry, and she exchanged one sister for the other in her arms, peering down with equal measures of pain and delight at the little girl’s wide, expressive eyes. The child began to gurgle something, tugging at a stray wisp of Anne’s hair as if to emphasize her slurred declaration. “Doll, doll.”

  Anne gave a gentle laugh. “Oh, do you want a doll? I suppose there must have been a doll amongst all your things. Good Mr. Reynolds went back for all your family’s belongings, dear one, and we shall find your doll. In fact….”

  She set the girl down on the floor, steadying the child as she found her footing, and then watched with joy as the precious girl rambled across the room and threw herself against a tufted ottoman, squealing with delight. Keeping one eye on the child, Anne approached a cabinet across the room and retrieved something she had purchased long ago, though her hopes had been so often disappointed that she had never made any use of it. She gave the doll’s curly hair a little pat of affection and displayed it for young Miss Lizzy. “Here you go, my darling. Come and have a look at this doll here. What do you think of her?”

  Little Lizzy gave a sheepish grin, and hugged the doll close to her chest. “Doll,” she repeated shyly. “Pwetty.”

  “I believe the proper response is ‘thank you,’ little imp,” came the reply; Anne gave a quick curtsey and brushed at her gown, embarrassed to have been caught in the nursery once more.

  “I have always wished for a daughter – that is, I was happy to have something on hand to indulge her. The poor thing deserves something to lift her spirits, do you not think, Mr. Gardiner?”

  Offering a forced smile, Mr. Gardiner crouched down beside his niece. “Lady Anne is all politeness, Lizzy. Shall we thank the nice lady?”

  “Fank you, nice laly,” Lizzy gurgled, giving her uncle a sly grin and hugging at his neck until he picked her up in his arms.

  “I believe I must thank you as well, your ladyship, for your kindness and hospitality amidst this dreadful ordeal. I apologize if I have disturbed you – Mr. and Miss Fisher have gone back to the village, and I have been instructed to let my sisters have their rest for the time being. I find myself in want of any occupation other than fretting away many long hours, knowing there is nothing within my power to be done for my family.”

  “I quite understand, and your concern does you credit. If I may say, your sisters are in e
xcellent hands with Doctor Johnson. He has saved my life more than once – that is, he has served our family well for many years. I shall leave you with your nieces, but I must mention that I believe my husband was wishing to speak with you regarding…” Anne hesitated, fidgeting with the lace that lined the cradle. “Regarding the arrangements for Mr. Bennet.”

  “Oh – yes. I’ve spoken with him, for quite some time, in fact. Fanny has regained her senses, thank the Lord, but the doctor and I are in agreement that it would do better to leave my sister out of the decision making for the time being. At any rate, I have accepted your husband’s generous offer to remain a guest here until my sisters are well enough to return to London with me. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Fisher have both urged me to consent to burying Thomas in Lambton, as it is not advisable to remove him to Hertfordshire in all this heat. ‘Tis a pity, but it cannot be helped.”

  “I think it a right thing, sir. You are all quite welcome here for as long as you require, and my family is entirely at your service. My husband gave Mr. Bennet his word.”

  Mr. Gardiner looked pained. “That is… thank you. I believe that must have given Thomas great comfort.”

  Anne wished to say something more, but what could possibly put any of this to rights? There was a nagging weight in her heart, telling her that this was all her own doing. Her carriage, her fault that this poor man’s family had suffered a devastation from which they might never recover. Before she could formulate any manner of speech that might express the depth of her feelings, her niece Charlotte, a plucky little girl of six and a half, came bouncing into the nursery.

  “Oh! Good evening, Aunt,” Charlotte said with a nervous giggle and an attempt at a curtsey. “Uncle told me there’s friends to play with?”

  “Evening? Uncle? Good Heavens! Forgive me, Mr. Gardiner,” Lady Anne sputtered. “I have lost track of the time, it seems, but I had no notion that my brother meant to come here. Then again, I was to have been dining tonight at an inn fifty miles hence. I suppose my husband must have invited him to dine – Sir Lewis can be such tedious company,” Anne said, covering little Charlotte’s ears as she whispered the last.

  Mr. Gardiner gave a nervous glance at what Lady Anne supposed must have been a most incomprehensible speech on her part. “I should hate to trespass on your family gathering. I would be happy to take my meal here in the nursery – or perhaps I may take Lizzy in to see poor Jane. And you are very welcome to stay and play with us too, little miss,” Mr. Gardiner added, offering Charlotte a friendly smile.

  “Should you like that Charlotte? Mr. Gardiner will take you to meet Miss Jane, she is nearly your age, and has sprained her ankle. I think she would very much like to make a new friend this evening.” As Charlotte gave an eager nod of assent, Lady Anne began to grow concerned about her brother’s unexpected arrival. “Well, if it is nearly time to dine, I am sure they shall be ringing the gong soon, and I must go and greet my brother before I go up to dress. I do apologize – we would not dream of inviting anyone, not even family, at such a time – my husband must have forgotten to cancel his arrangements, and I was not aware….”

  Mr. Gardiner held up a hand to stop her. “Your day was quite upended, Lady Anne, and I can only thank God that it was such an attentive and generous family that was on hand to see to my family’s needs. I owe you more thanks than I could ever supply – you needn’t apologize for the presence of your family in your own home.”

  “You are too kind, sir. Had I not been on the road at all – but no, I mustn’t. I shall have a tray sent up for you in about an hour, if that suits, but if you decide you should like to come down and join us, please know that you are very welcome.”

  “I have no wish to cast a dark cloud over your meal, as I would be certain to do. At any rate, I shall be closer on hand up here, than in the dining room, should either of my sisters’ conditions change.”

  “Of course. If there is anything else you require, the staff is at your disposal, as are we all.” Lady Anne dropped into a parting curtsey, and hastened downstairs. As she approached the drawing room to greet her brother and hear some account for his unexpected presence, she heard several raised voices, and steeled herself for the ensuing Fitzwilliam chaos.

  2

  Lady Anne stood seething in the entrance of the drawing room as her husband and Sir Lewis de Bourgh yelled at one another, gesturing angrily. Her brother Henry, broad shouldered and powerfully built, stood towering over both of them; rather than having taken one side or the other in their argument, he appeared to be antagonizing both gentleman in equal measures. Beyond them, Anne spied her mother observing the argument with her usual wry superiority, no doubt waiting until the optimal moment to swoop in and make her own sentiments known. Catherine looked on with silent rage and the countess sat languidly on the sofa, as if they were only discussing the weather.

  It was the indolent countess who first noticed Anne’s presence and approached her, and just as Anne felt herself on the verge of delivering a withering set-down to everybody in the room, Lady Margaret took her by the hand. “My dear sister, it is good to see you are well. I understand there was some sort of terrible accident,” she said flatly.

  The gentleman ceased their bickering long enough to acknowledge her presence, and her mother broke through them to approach Anne, shooing the countess back to the sofa with a wave of her hand. “There you are. At last, now we might hear a few words of sense spoken about this whole matter.”

  Anne gave her mother a perfunctory kiss on the cheek before registering her own surprise. “I had not expected to see you… and everyone….”

  “Yes, well!” The dowager countess punctuated herself with a firm stomp of her cane the carpet. “I shall spare these knuckleheads the trouble of repeating themselves – the last thing on earth I think any of us could bear – it appears your brother received two conflicting reports from Pemberley this afternoon. Your husband wrote Henry to rescind his invitation to dine tonight, while your sister sent a message of her own begging him to hasten hither directly, that a great calamity had befallen you, leading to your home being set upon by a pack of gypsies of questionable origins and indeterminate quantity.”

  Before Anne could make any reply, Catherine interjected. “I told you, I sent no such letter. What an ugly thing to say,” she exclaimed, gesturing with what must have been the letter in question. “This is your doing, Lewis, I know your writing.”

  “So you would hide behind a woman, de Bourgh?” Henry rounded on Sir Lewis. “I should have expected no better of you, damned snake!”

  “He had no business writing to you at all, no matter whose name he signed to his poison pen,” George growled. “And shame on you for doing his bidding, Henry, when I had made it explicitly clear that we were not to be disturbed here. Do you think to question my judgment about how to assist these people? Or do you simply doubt my ability to look after your sister?”

  “Calm down, old boy,” Henry cried, clapping George on the back. “Nobody is questioning your judgment – at least, I am not – but I have some right to look in on my sister after such an ordeal, and so does her mother.”

  Sir Lewis began to sputter with rage. “I have told you how your sisters fared – and what sort of people your sisters have dragged in off the street to make a charity case out of. It is always something with you, Catherine; everyone within your reach must be in need of your high and mighty condescension. Your sister will grow just as bad. Damned soft of you to be bullied by your wife, Darcy – I certainly would not be, nor would I bend over backward at every turn for vulgar tradesfolk. And surely you, Henry, would never think of such a thing at Matlock.”

  At the mention of tradesmen, the countess looked up from playing with her bracelets and gasped, and Catherine glowered at her. “Oh, do shut up,” she screeched.

  Wishing she might simply scream at the top of her lungs, Anne burst into tears, as she often did when she grew angry. “Stop this,” she said, raising her voice enough to silence her relatio
ns. “What is wrong with you? A man died before my very eyes today! Everyone in this room knows what it is to lose a father. Has it not occurred to any of you that it could have just as easily been me, or Catherine, lying in a crumpled heap on the road this morning? You bicker like children while upstairs that poor man’s widow is fighting for her life! If any of you has a particular opinion about my husband and I acting in a Christian manner to suffering women and children, I shall happily escort you to the door myself.” Anne paused, breathing heavily from the force of her ire; she cast a wild glance around the room, and six blanched faces regarded her with unmasked astonishment.

  Finally, Sir Lewis broke the silence. “Catherine and I will be removing our daughter to Matlock immediately, and departing for Kent in the morning. I will not have our daughter exposed to whatever disease these people may have brought with them. She is not well.”

  “You are no more invited to Matlock than I was to Pemberley, you whinging old prat,” Henry spat. “And as for your daughter, she’s not a bloody invalid, she’s a spoiled, lazy brat, and I can guess where she got that from.”

  “Now see here,” Sir Lewis rejoined, stepping toward Henry as if to challenge him.

  George met Anne’s eye with a rueful smile, and he stepped between Henry and Sir Lewis. “Now see here, all of you. As my wife said, you would all do well to hold your tongues. A man lost his life today, in such a way as to involve Pemberley materially. Out of respect for the gravity of the situation, and the suffering of the perfectly respectable family I have welcomed into my guest wing, we will have peace in this house tonight. De Bourgh, you are very welcome to return to Kent as soon as you like; take a tray in your room if you cannot be civil for the duration of our meal. Henry, Margaret, you are welcome to stay and dine, as you have come all this way, and the boys have already run off together to God knows where, but it is to be a rather sober evening. This morning I promised that man in his final moments that his family would be looked after, and spending this evening quarreling with my own family seems to me to be in the worst possible taste.”