Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer

by Karen V. Wasylowski

  “The fool is nearing a breakdown. He probably just needed to get out of the house and walk it off. He’ll return.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right. Anyway, can you please take Harry somewhere safe? I was so frightened before; it appeared as if Mary was going to walk off with him.”

  “I told you to wait for me, did I not? Then you would not have needed to bring that maid with you. You never listen to reason. You’re always in such a rush…”

  “Pardon me…hellloooo. Remember me?” Lizzy’s exasperation with them both was unexpectedly cut short. Her face contorting into a dumb show of horror, she clutched at the sheet, her knuckles turning so white it looked as if bare bones were grabbing the covers. Writhing with mind-numbing pain, she abandoned any thought of humiliation that Richard was witnessing her terror, witnessing her body being torn in two. Her eyes clenched tightly shut, and her shoulders came up off the bed with her grinding yowl. The contractions were coming in constant waves, increasing in their intensity as she felt the alien body within her begin to shift. After several excruciating moments, she gasped, the endless internal tightening finally easing, her cries dying off with a muffled sob. After a moment, she took a deep breath of relief, pushing her sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead.

  “Elizabeth, how very nice to see you. I am sorry, however, that you seem to be in some discomfort.” Fitzwilliam had no idea what would constitute proper conversation in such a situation.

  He chose poorly.

  “Discomfort?” Lizzy stared at him in stunned disbelief. “ Discomfort! Why you… Sir, try pulling a ten-pound capon through your left nostril, and then we shall speak of discomfort!”

  Fitzwilliam wanted to dissolve into the floor. “Well, forgive me, Elizabeth. I certainly did not mean to offend. Are you well, then?”

  Lizzy was panting and furious. “ No! I am in agony, you lackwit! And let me tell you, someone had better get this thing out of me and be quick about it!” Then Lizzy gave another howl of pain. “ And find my husband—now!”

  “Right. I’ll be off then.” Swiftly turning on his heel, Fitzwilliam ran from the room and snatched up little Harry on his way. He continued running across the hall and down the grand staircase. “Harry, let’s make ourselves scarce, shall we?” When he reached the foyer, he came upon some returning servants hesitantly peeking around the corner, turning and looking curiously around at the empty room, frightened by the disembodied screams. Mr. and Mrs. Winters appeared in the doorway, coming up from the servants’ floor below.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam! What are you doing here? Where is the night butler?”

  “Winters, get the doctor here at once. Mrs. Darcy has begun her labor.” Mr. Winters immediately signaled a footman as Fitzwilliam turned to speak with Mrs. Winters. “You are needed upstairs without delay, I am afraid. Tell me, do any of you know the whereabouts of Mr. Darcy?”

  They all looked at one another sheepishly. Lizzy’s maid, Cara, hurried forward and began relating to Fitzwilliam the horrible fight that had taken place between the Darcys—apparently a brawl with enough slamming doors to send the few remaining staff scurrying downstairs.

  “There was a letter from that horrible Miss Bingley, and then they both just went mad.” Cara’s eyes were huge with worry and terror. “I must go up to my mistress!”

  Good Lord, he’ll kill himself if he’s run out just when she needs him! “All right, everyone, we must find Mr. Darcy immediately. Winters, please organize runners. Send out every available servant across the city. Search him out first in his usual destinations. I will provide you with alternate locations if that fails. Go! I don’t care whom they inconvenience or embarrass, just find him! Has anyone gone for the doctor yet?”

  “Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I have just sent Chippers out. It should not be long now, sir.”

  “Where’s Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s maid?”

  Winters stared at him. “Whose maid, sir?”

  “Mrs. Fitzwilliam, Winters. Oh, I forgot you don’t know. I have recently married. My wife arrived here this evening with one of the maids from Penwood House. She should be here somewhere.”

  “I haven’t seen any maid, sir, but I shall go down directly and ask.” Fitzwilliam nodded and shifted Harry to his other arm.

  “Congratulations, if I may say so, Colonel.”

  “Thank you, Winters. Now let’s get this place humming!”

  “Yes, Colonel!”

  ***

  Fitzwilliam returned upstairs and stood helplessly outside Lizzy’s door, wanting to help but ridiculously terrified of venturing inside. He was still holding Harry in his arms. “Is Mrs. Darling going to die, Colonel Fitz?” Harry’s face was hidden in Fitzwilliam’s neck, his little fists clutching the colonel whenever he heard Lizzy cry out.

  “No, Harry. Mrs. Darcy is not going to die.” The poor little boy should not have to worry about such adult things, but Richard felt it important to be close at hand if Amanda needed him. After all, he reasoned to himself, he had endured the horrors of his own army gone mad at Badajoz, had fought the Frogs in hand-to-hand combat at Salamanca, was a hero of Waterloo—no, he would not retreat.

  “You see, Harry,” he began, “childbirth is a mystical and spiritual experience for a woman, son, and though it may be somewhat painful, a woman doesn’t mind the pain. In fact, she welcomes it, greets it with open arms, because she will have a child like you to love when it is over.”

  Just then they heard Lizzy viciously scream, “Never again… never again… If he ever attempts to touch me, I shall kill him, I shall cleave his tongue…”

  Ignoring this, a rapidly pacing Richard continued, his voice louder to cover her words. “As I was saying, Harry, although women are typically timid and not physically strong as men are, they are by nature gentle and soft spoken, compassionate and selfless. That is why the good Lord gave this responsibility to them. Childbirth is a joy which completes a woman. It is what gives her life meaning and purpose…”

  Elizabeth then let out another, louder scream which included a string of obscenities that had not had its equal since his dear friend Major Patrick Harrison had been shot in the fanny during a duel of honor outside of Copenhagen.

  “…or maybe not. Time to call retreat, Harry.”

  ***

  He went downstairs and took a chair in the smaller front parlor, near a window within view of the doorway so that he could look both outside and into the long hallway should someone come. He settled the exhausted Harry onto his lap, cuddling the child’s head and kissing his soft cool hair. He then set about removing the child’s shoes and coat.

  “Are you and Mummy really married?” An important lesson learned, Fitzwilliam—little children have big ears. Harry was struggling to keep his eyes open while still managing to clutch his tattered cloth horsey tightly in alternating arms as his coat sleeves were being tugged off.

  “Yes, Harry. Your mother and I married, but we had to keep it a secret, even from you.”

  “Then you’re my poppa now?” Harry lifted his face up to the colonel and smiled with such a sincere look of love and adoration that it gave Richard’s heart a wrenching tug.

  “Yes, Harry. I am your poppa now. And you are my son.”

  Harry stretched his arms around Richard’s neck for a hug. He sighed in his contentment. “Good.” Then he yawned.

  Tears welled in Richard’s eyes, his hold tightening on the child. “Well, why don’t you snuggle in and try to get some rest? You look very tired, and I’ve heard these things can take a while. If you like, I can tell you some more of my stories about that horrible little Frenchman.”

  Chapter 5

  After two miserable hours, Darcy had walked off his anger and was turning onto St. James Street, although still several blocks from his house. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets while his thoughts were miles away from where they had started, the anger that had propelled him into madness now completely dissipated to be replaced by a mental assessment of Elizabeth’s upcom
ing final month. He shook his head in wonder. How in hell would they survive? His glance drifted far ahead, down the street to where their house stood, spying in the distance what appeared to be the bright light from the front foyer of their town home. He stopped dead in his tracks. I must have left the door open. Oh, what an idiot! He quickened his pace.

  As he came closer, he could hear panic in the raised voices coming from the vicinity of his house, the shouted commands in the still night. Apprehension began to grip at him. The figure of his butler, Winters, was recognizable on the top stair, pointing to the left as a footman went running in that direction. Then he saw another one of his footmen change direction as soon as he spotted him, and was fast approaching, waving his arms frantically.

  “Mr. Darcy, come quick. It’s the baby!”

  “What about the baby?” Darcy bolted past the gasping footman. “Is Mrs. Darcy all right?”

  “The baby is coming now, sir.”

  Darcy was startled at first then greatly confused, his panic intensifying. “But we have four weeks left…” By this time, another figure was out the door, off running to the right, when Winters spotted Darcy and waved to him from the threshold.

  “Mr. Darcy, thank heavens you’ve returned, sir!” The poor old retainer was gasping for breath. Darcy had reached the gate and could see curtains from neighboring homes being pulled back and people gazing out. He pushed his way past several gentlemen who had crossed the street, curious as to what was wrong.

  “We have several footmen out trying to find a doctor, sir. Please do not be alarmed.”

  Darcy charged up the front steps two at a time and grabbed his butler by the shoulders. “What in bloody hell do you mean? Where is Doctor Baire? Where are the other doctors? Where is the midwife? Have you not tried to find the midwife? Who is with Mrs. Darcy?”

  Darcy had just walked, actually run, into his worst nightmare.

  “We have at least five footmen out searching, sir.” Winters’s voice shook. “I am certain it won’t be long.” Although he was attempting to look confident, Darcy could see the fear in the old man’s eyes.

  “Darcy!” He heard Fitzwilliam’s voice from inside and ran instinctively toward it, quickly seeing him at the doorway of the smaller ladies’ parlor. He held a sleeping child in his arms.

  “Who’s with her?” Darcy’s breathing was uneven.

  “Amanda and Mrs. Winters, and her maid, I think.”

  Darcy was at the top of the stairs before he could finish.

  ***

  “Stop pushing now, Elizabeth. I am going to feel your stomach again.”

  Darcy looked uneasily at the figure lying on the bed, nearly hidden by Mrs. Winters and the maid as they crisscrossed his view. Cara ran around to the other side of the bed, and he then saw his Lizzy being held in a half-sitting position against another maid, his wife’s fingers clutching desperately at the covers beneath her. Amanda turned toward him slightly as she sat down on a stool placed between Lizzy’s legs.

  It was the sight of blood smeared across Amanda’s apron that finally shocked Darcy back to his senses, roused him from his frozen stance in the doorway, and propelled him swiftly into the room.

  “What the devil is going on here, Elizabeth?” An anxious-looking Darcy walked quickly to the side of the bed. “You are not due to deliver for another four weeks.” With that futile objection voiced, he pulled the maid from behind his wife to take her place, supporting Lizzy’s back. Kissing her neck and cheek, he tightened his arms around her.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered into her hair. “Please be all right.” He pressed his eyes closed to compose his escalating emotions and prayed that the good Lord would spare him from having a heart attack until he knew his wife was safe.

  Amanda gave him a sympathetic look. “Evidently someone failed to inform the baby of the delivery date. I assure you, Mr. Darcy, your child is coming now.”

  “William, please calm yourself.” Elizabeth could feel his pounding heart beneath her cheek. She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. “I only thank God you are finally here. I love you, William, remember that, whatever happens. Please forgive me.”

  He did not like her words. Frightened by what they implied, he roughly kissed her mouth then pulled her firmly back against himself and closed his eyes to fight off his own stinging tears. “Nothing to forgive,” he finally managed to say, his voice thick with emotion. “Love you so much, Lizzy.”

  “Did you know that Fitzwilliam and Amanda were coming here this evening?” When he did not respond immediately, she shook her finger at him. “You must tell me things like this, William. I haven’t even prepared a room for them.”

  “I could not, Elizabeth.” In his concern for her, he actually had forgotten about Fitzwilliam’s escape, but that was something he would never admit. “Fitz swore me to secrecy. Besides, I…” He looked on in terror as her face began to contort, a sudden scream erupting from her as she stared straight at him. Her hands were clutching and tearing at the sheets. It was a mind-numbing scream. It was ear-deafening. He shook his head at the ringing in his brain.

  “Elizabeth, please be sensible. He made me swear.” He realized she was not angry with him, only in the midst of a labor pain, when she squeezed his hands until his fingers nearly popped like little balloons. He tried not to flinch until she relaxed her hold.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked Amanda, dreading the response. “Is this normal?”

  “Everything appears to be fine, Mr. Darcy. Although she has had a rather rough time of it, she is a strong and brave young woman. I am very proud to call her Cousin. All right, now push again, Elizabeth; we shall soon see the crown hopefully.”

  Lizzy began crying and laughing, eager that the end might be within sight. She weakly pressed her head against Darcy’s chest. “Amanda and I have progressed to using our Christian names. We feel we are quite well acquainted by now.” She inhaled raggedly. “Well, here we go again.” She began once more to push and cry and grunt and swear with pain.

  ***

  “Are the pains always so tremendous? I thought they would build up gradually. Perhaps there is something more happening here since the child is coming so early.” It was less than a quarter hour later, and Darcy was shocked by Lizzy’s grueling labor.

  “Actually, the child appears to be full term, so do not be concerned with that. Unfortunately, I think your wife has been having pains for longer than you know. Since they were in her back, she failed to identify them as her labor.” Amanda turned to the side table for a towel, certain the birth was only moments away.

  Elizabeth suddenly screamed in pain and clutched at his arms, gripped with panic. Something was wrong, very wrong, the pressure on her back excruciating. She began writhing in agony, these contractions far stronger than any before. “My baby, my baby,” she gasped. “Oh my God, William… my baby.”

  “Do not push, Lizzy!” Amanda immediately felt around Elizabeth’s stomach as her mind spun through all her experiences years before at her father’s hospital. “The baby has stopped somehow.”

  “Do something… anything… Save my baby.” Lizzy was hysterical. “William, whatever happens to me, save our baby.”

  “What is it?!” Darcy demanded. “Please tell me what is going on!” Lizzy’s cries were ripping open his heart. “Where is that damned doctor?!”

  Amanda gently felt inside and realized the child was presenting face forward, the back aligned to Lizzy’s back. Her father had spoken of this sometimes occurring, but she had never seen it before. During his lessons, he had explained the grave danger it presented to both mother and child. The need was to open her wider, and there was only one way Amanda knew of to do that.

  “Oh, I am so stupid. All the signs have been there! Lizzy, I am sorry, but I believe we must get you into a different position.” Amanda reached out her hand to grab Lizzy’s arm. “Since we have no birthing chair, I think you’ll have to squat or kneel.”

  A shocked
Darcy had already motioned for the maid to take his place. He was instantly at Amanda’s side and pulled her hand from Elizabeth. “Excuse me,” he said in a harsh whisper, “perhaps we should wait for the doctor to arrive.”

  Amanda struggled to pull back her hand from his grasp. “Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, “She is in agony. The child is facing forward, a very difficult and dangerous delivery, especially for a woman so small.” She then spoke in a lower voice, hoping Elizabeth would not hear. “We really have few alternatives. Elizabeth is weak and may not have the strength or the will to take much more.”

  The anger on Darcy’s face quickly dissolved into fear, the full impact of what she was saying hitting him brutally hard. Not waiting for his answer, she pulled her hand away and pushed the sheets farther back. “No! Wait! This is barbaric!” he shouted as Lizzy grabbed his arm.

  “Please, William, do as she says.” She was growing weaker by the moment. “Remember, if you must choose, choose the child. Please, please, promise me this.” He could see the agony in her eyes.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked Amanda, his voice hoarse.

  “Help me get her out of bed. Get behind her—you must support her weight as she kneels over this pillow.” Not really certain of what she was doing, she grabbed one from the bed and threw it to the floor. “If that doesn’t show quick results, you will have to help her walk about. Hurry, please. This should open her more—I will try what I can to turn the child.”

  Darcy and Mrs. Winter struggled to bring Elizabeth to the side of the bed, and then he grasped her under her arms, supporting her as she began to stoop. Amanda pulled up Lizzy’s nightdress to massage her belly.

  ***

  His heart was near breaking. How could she feel so light and look so huge, and still be so small? How could any of this end without disaster? Would she disappear in his arms like a fog, insubstantial, fragile? She had begged him to choose the child if it came to it, but how could he? She was his whole life. He would surely go insane without her, would never want to live, and it would be this damn child’s fault. No, he would choose Lizzy over it if it came to that, without a moment’s hesitation, would never allow Lizzy to die if it was within his power, even if she never spoke to him again. No. His only desire was to stop her pain by whatever means possible. He watched as Amanda knelt before his wife, her hand probing inside, and willed himself not to pass out from the tension.