Saints and Sinners

by Karen V. Wasylowski

  “Everyone is being much too serious for me. Cousin!” Roberta threw her arm over Amanda’s shoulder. “Doesn’t your skin look splendid. Perhaps I should jump into an icy lake as well, Do you see this, I am getting spots.”

  “You eat chocolates all the time, Birdie; Auntie Kathy said that’s why you’re getting spots.” Deborah took Amanda’s other hand and began to pull her to the door. “Come and play sardines with us upstairs.”

  “Oh, yes!” clapped little Steven. “You shall never find me. Do you know, I hide in the nursery under the costumes.” As he ran ahead the other children began to herd her noisily toward the door.

  “Amanda, mummy is taking me to see Mr. Dickens, did I tell you? She wouldn’t allow me to go before the accident, but she feels so badly that they weren’t there that she’s gotten us tickets! Would you like to come with us?”

  “Really? Oh, yes.” Amanda and Roberta’s chatter could be heard from the hallway outside the door. “And guess what, Birdy – I may be getting a new puppy…” Soon the children’s voices disappeared up the stairs.

  Alone together, both Matthew and Bridget stood side by side and stared at the now closed door. The air was thick with tension. She moved to the window and looked out. “How is your brother Mark?”

  “Much improved. Thank you for asking.”

  “I’m glad. I hear he may be engaged to be married.”

  “There appears to be a difference of opinion on that. He’s decided they are better off as friends and she doesn’t agree. Actually, he may leave for America soon, travel with Father Ted. I may even go with them.’

  Certainly, a heart couldn’t truly break, but Bridget’s was crushed by that thought. “It will be nice for the two of you to have time together.”

  “Yes, I’ve missed him. I was told Anne Marie and Jamie will be having a family gathering next week, a celebration, since we’ve missed Twelfth Night. Your family shall be attending, I hope.”

  “Yes, I suppose we will.” She moved pictures around on a table and straightened the cloth.

  Another awkward moment of silence fell between them before Matthew finally spoke. Nervous, he cleared his throat first. “How is he truly, Bridget? Will he be all right?”

  She turned. “Yes,” she said gently. “And, thank you for caring, Matthew, thank you for your beautiful letter, for the flowers you sent over. There is no longer any danger of lung fever and he’s able to leave the bed finally. Your father has sent over Mark’s bath chair now that he no longer requires it, so Alex can move about more. He’s become restless, always a good sign in a man.”

  Matthew nodded. “Absolutely true. His leg?”

  She shook her head. “We’re not certain if he’ll ever be able to walk again.”

  “Damn,” Matthew scrubbed a hand across his eyes in frustration. “He doesn’t deserve any of this.”

  “No. He doesn’t. Matthew, this must be the last time we see ever each other alone.”

  “Never say that, Bridget. I love you with all my heart.”

  He reached for her, but she backed away. “I will never betray my husband again, and I haven’t the strength to fight you any longer. You see, I love Alex as much as I love you, but in a different way; my loyalty must remain with him. When he is strong enough to travel, I pray you will allow my family to return to Scotland. I promise you we will arrange for Ewan to visit you as often as you like, and you’re always welcome at our home.

  “Alex and I won’t be returning to London, though. There shall be a special election for his seat in Parliament, he isn’t strong enough for that now. And he loves the highlands so, the land revives him. Please allow us this much.”

  “All right.” It was with both relief and regret that she saw understanding in his gaze. “I won’t give you any more trouble about the boy, forgive me for that. And you’re right about us. Sounds ridiculous, but I begged the Lord to save my daughter, vowed I would be a better man. Evidently, the shock of hearing my voice moved God into action, can’t go back on that now.” He reached out and swiped a tear from her cheek.

  All she could do was nod her head, because, if she dared speak, she would scream to heaven how unfair life was, and how much she loved him.

  Matthew pressed his handkerchief into her hand. “I want to speak with Alex, become acquainted with the man my son loves so dearly, whom you love. I want him to be my friend, I want him to be my brother.”

  Bridget nodded again and blew her nose.

  “All right, lead the way, Lady Durand. I’m nervous as a schoolboy right now.”

  Chapter 31

  It was in a cautiously optimistic mood then, five weeks after the near disaster at the skating pond, that the Darcy and Fitzwilliam families gathered to finally celebrate Twelfth Night – or in this case, Thirty-Fifth Night – in appreciation for those beloved lives who had been in danger’s path – Jamie, Anne Marie, Mark, Andrew, Amanda Rose, Ewan, Alex and Matthew – and survived. The family was a tad less naïve than they had been before, less apt to take each other for granted, and a great deal more appreciative of life.

  Still, it was family, and it was a holiday. Always an eventual receipt for trouble… *

  They huddled around the crackling fire in Anne Marie’s family parlor, enjoying its warm glow… some holding hands, some misty-eyed, some grinning like loons – possibly from selectively spiked Wassail.

  “I say, Darcy, do you remember years ago – we were just pups then – when you fell through the ice? What a ghastly mess that was. It was a much, much larger lake than at the park if I remember correctly, may have been the ocean. You nearly drowned, but I saved you.”

  “Yet more evidence of your disturbed mentality, Fitz. It was a large fountain into which you pushed me then dragged me from, begging that I not call for my mother.”

  “That’s what I meant. Heavens that was funny – only you could nearly drown in sixteen inches of water! Did I really push you in? What a little rotter I was. Say, wait a minute, you did tell your mother and I was sent up to bed without supper – a fate worse than death for a six-year-old boy. I hope you’re proud of yourself, Darcy.”

  “You pushed me, Fitzwilliam. What about that do you find difficult to understand? Besides, I never did tell mother. We were screaming so loudly at each other that she heard the argument.”

  “Right. Right. I’d forgotten. Heavens but your mother had almost preternatural hearing. Like a bat. Wonderful memories though, what? Drama, intrigue, pirates, flirtations with the village girls, sneaking snakes into church, attempting the occasional parricide…”

  “Grandfather Fitz, are you going to finish your piece of King Cake or not? I need to know if you have the bean or the clove.” Little Henry was already sticking his finger into Fitz’s second slice of cake, looking for the hidden pieces.

  “You take the rest of this, Henry, and if you find the bean you can take my place as King, all right? I do believe Grandfather Darcy has already found the pea, which would make him your Queen.”

  Little Henry giggled at this, turning to Darcy for confirmation. Darcy took him in his lap and whispered, “I gave my piece to Grandmama,” then kissed the child’s head.

  “Greetings everyone.” Mark Fitzwilliam, walking now with the assistance of a cane, entered the room along with his longtime companion, Lady Lucille Armitage. “Greetings, everyone,” she called out as well.

  “Mark! Happy to see you’ve finally gotten him out of his rooms, Lucille.” Fitzwilliam’s smile barely disguised how intently he studied his son now. Children are always a worry to a parent, even at forty years old, and Mark was being especially uncommunicative these days. Fitz knew he had withdrawn emotionally the moment he learned of the nurse’s death.

  “Forgive us, Lord Fitzwilliam, our tardiness was entirely my fault. Mummy and father dropped me off at Mark’s home with plenty of time, but then wanted to visit with him.”

  “No need to apologize to me, my dear. I only ever mean to aggravate my children, not others.”

&nb
sp; “Don’t sell yourself short, Papa,” grinned Luke. “You aggravate many more people than that.”

  Bunny Armitage accepted a seat before the fireplace next to Kathy, while Mark sat beside Alex, grabbing the man’s hand to shake warmly. “How are you, Alex?”

  “Much improved, or so I’m told. Thank you so much for the use of your Bath chair.”

  “Nonsense. Glad it helps. And the family?’

  “Very well, although Bridget is home with a cold. Personally, I believe she’s just exhausted from worry and wanted a rest.”

  “Understandable. Well, tell her hello for me, if you would.”

  “That’s kind of you Mark, I shall. Wonderful to see you up and walking.”

  “Yes, thank you. Able to get about more and more; however, the doctors want me to rest my leg whenever possible. Very soon I shall toss this stick into the Thames. Terrible nuisance – oof! What the devil?” The littlest ones had charged their Uncle Mark, all wanting to sit on his lap, all chattering at once.

  “Be still, the lot of you, and allow me to visit with my family. Now, Steven, come over to this side, on your left. No, your other left. What in the world is on your head?” Anne Marie’s six-year-old wore Andrew Fitzwilliam’s magnificent bicorne hat, dark blue and trimmed in wide gold braid. Since it engulfed his entire head the child kept banging into objects while on his way to his favorite uncle.

  “Where are you, Unca’ Mark?”

  “Over here, sweetheart,” laughed Mark when the boy fell into his arms.

  “Have I missed your Twelfth Night play?”

  “No, we only just finished our tea in the nursery when everyone began to arrive, and we’ve been having cake. If you don’t want yours, I’ll eat it for you. I don’t mind.”

  “Yes, of course you should. I don’t want to spoil my appetite for later.”

  “Why would having cake spoil your appetite? It never spoils mine.”

  “I know. I’ve seen you eat.” Mark turned to say something to Bunny, noticing she had moved her chair a bit farther away from the children. It wasn’t that she disliked them so much, she just would rather not be around them, a feeling Mark could not share – he loved children, and most especially his nieces and nephews. He supposed they should speak again about her refusal to accept his decision not to marry, remain as they were; but there was no rush, really.

  “Well, when is your wedding to be this time?” The sudden sound of throats clearing made Kathy look about. “What have I said now? I thought they were engaged. I swear no one tells me anything in this family.”

  “Nothing is decided as of yet, Kathy.” Mark’s eyes bored into his sister. “After all, I shall be leaving for America in a few weeks.”

  “Why on earth would you be going to America now?”

  “I thought I would help Ted with his move, if that is all right with you.”

  “No need for that tone, dear brother. I merely meant that you’ve already resized mummy’s ring for Bunny, you have been keeping company for three years at least. You will be forty-years old within days, Mark. What is the problem?”

  “Kathy.” Her husband George hissed at her to be quiet.

  Bunny sipped her cup of tea and smiled at her friend. “We have a few differences that will need to be settled first.”

  “Really?” The Mary’s both said in unison. “That is very interesting!” declared Mary Margaret. “Just what are they?” inquired Mary Elizabeth.

  Andrew adjusted his officer’s frock coat, brushed imaginary lint from his epaulettes, and mumbled, “This is exactly why I live on a ship and go to sea.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Kathy narrowed her gaze on her younger brother.

  “Nothing, nothing.”

  Bunny clinked her spoon on her cup for attention. “Kathy, the problem is Mark is still very unsettled by his memories from the hospital. I tell him they will fade with time.”

  Mark clenched his jaw.

  “He was beaten and left for dead. I daresay that would be difficult to forget for anyone.” Matthew kept his tone civil – this was the new Matthew, think before tossing furniture about. He knew Bunny well, liked her; however, the woman was too addle-brained for his brother, and much too self-centered.

  “You would think so. Oddly enough that no longer seems to bother him. It is his care at the hospital that bedevils him.”

  Mary Margaret nodded vigorously. “I daresay it probably was the awful food they served him. He was incredibly incontinent when he first arrived home. Such a mess…”

  Mark moaned softly and shifted in his seat. He hated being center of attention. Besides, his own sisters seemed especially adept in humiliating him. “I can tell you one thing, it is good to be back in my own home, away from all the ‘assistance’ I was subjected to here.”

  Fitzwilliam puffed on his pipe. “That apartment you live in is not a home – there’s no heart there without a wife. It’s a wardrobe in which to store your clothes.”

  Emboldened now, Bunny continued. “I tell him that all the time. The truth is he seems fixated on some dead woman.”

  “Lucille! I really prefer to discuss this in private.”

  “Our problem is that we don’t discuss it at all, Mark. You refuse to speak with me about her. Besides –”

  “Ahem. I hate to interrupt.” Deliberately interrupting, Darcy moved to stand behind Mark, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. “However, we must be nearly ready for the performance, am I right, Alice? Time is getting away from us if the children are to have dinner and be put to bed by eight.”

  “Absolutely right, Father.” Alice stood, clapped her hands. “Children, follow me, please. The older ones have been upstairs rehearsing with Father Ted and Mama, so I’ll take the little ones with me now, get them into costume. Everyone else, your presence is requested in the Durand theater room in fifteen minutes.”

  Chapter 32

  “Auntie Alice.” Anne Marie’s eight-year-old daughter, Deborah, could hear the family laughing and talking as they took their seats. With the poise of an already accomplished actress, she was on her mark and eager to introduce the players. “Are Grandmama and the Grandpas seated?”

  “Yes, sweetheart.”

  “Good. How is my hair?”

  “Beautiful.”

  “All right, I am ready to begin.”

  At a nod from his wife Harry Durand began ‘Greensleeves’ on his violin, the lamps were dimmed, and a sparkling curtain, strung across the stage in the children’s playroom, was pulled back to a burst of wild applause and whistles. On the stage stood several giggling Medieval townspeople, including a butcher and a baker, a blacksmith and a flower seller.

  Anne Marie and Jamie Durand’s children, Deborah and her brother Steven – dressed as a simple farmer and his wife – stepped forward holding hands.

  Deborah inhaled. “Well, hello to everyone, Grandpa Fitz, Grandpa Wills, Grandmama Eliza, Uncle Harry, Auntie Anne, Uncle...”

  Sitting in the back of the room, Clarissa huffed. “She’s not naming the entire family, surely. I thought this was to be just a silly play Alice wrote, not Beowulf.”

  “Sh!” Alice glared daggers at her cousin’s wife before turning back to her little niece, whispering, “Proceed, Deborah.”

  “Shall I? All right, thank you, Auntie Alice. Well. Hello, Grandpa Fitz, Grandpa Wills and Grandmama Eliza, Uncle Harry, Auntie Anne, Uncle...” After another soft moan from the back Deborah decided to cut to the chase, “… and, everyone else.” Then, as Deborah bowed from the waist, a wildly enthusiastic Steven pulled his thumb from his mouth to do the same, causing his fake mustache to fall off.

  “Wait a moment, Debbie.” After nearly toppling over the edge of the stage retrieving it, he proudly held the offending piece aloft and shouted at the top of his lungs, “I am six years old and I can print my name.”

  Thunderous applause followed.

  He pressed the mustache onto his chin and bowed.

  Deborah shook her head. “Aunti
e Alice, I cannot be expected to perform under these conditions.”

  “Steven, be very quiet while your sister speaks her lines. Go ahead, Deborah,” whispered Alice. “Remember to speak loudly and distinctly.”

  Deborah sighed. “Thank you, Auntie Alice, All right. Where was I? Oh, yes. Hello Grandpa Fitz, Grandpa Wills and Grandma Eliza… and everyone else. Well, we’re going to do a mummy play – I mean a mummers play – about, well, you know, Saint George and the Dragoon.”

  “Not Dragoon, silly. Dragon,” whispered twelve-year-old Innkeeper, Mary Anne. “Remember rehearsal?” She was standing to the right of Deborah and pretending to wash an empty window pane.

  “Are you certain? I thought it was Dragoon… sorry. Mary Anne says I mean dragon. All right then. Well. Hello, Grandpa Fitz, Grandpa Wills and Grandma Eliza…”

  “I don’t believe you need to start at the very beginning each time, dear. Just continue on from where you ended.” Alice bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  “If you think that’s best. How do you do, everyone. As you will see, the beautiful princess Sabra is being held by the dragon and her Papa asks Saint George to kill the dragoon I mean dragon before he kills Sabra – the dragon means to kill her, not Saint George – because there are no more pretty ladies in the kingdom any longer if he does, so… ” she gasped in a quick breath, “Saint George comes in and battles the bad knights and then one of them dies but the doctor cures her – I mean him – and then Saint George kills the dragon. The rest of us are the townspeople… you know… such as bakers and candle makers. I guess that’s about all of it.”

  Sarah, the ten-year old blacksmith, her face smudged with charcoal, called out to her cousin from the front of her imaginary smithy. “Do not forget to introduce us all by name, Debs.”

  “No, no, no, no, no…” muttered Clarissa.

  Annoyed with the constant interruptions to her otherwise flawless performance, Deborah set her hands on her hips. “Wouldn’t that be rather silly, we all know each other.” She brushed the hair back from her face. Her eyes were now adjusted to the darkness and she finally saw her Grandma Eliza. “Grandmama, you’re wearing the hair ribbons I gave you for Christmas! You look so pretty!”