Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy: The Last Man in the World (23 page)

When
she arrived at the Smithson cottage, she found several with worried faces
gathered there. Concerned, she asked Mrs. Smithson if anything was the matter.

The
older woman said, "It's Mary Tanner, madam. We just got word.

Her
baby is coming early, and her husband says he won't have the midwife in his
house."

Elizabeth
frowned. "He says that, does he?" Weeks of helpless anger over Mr.
Tanner's treatment of his family made her temper fl are. "I will go
myself." No woman should have to be alone at such a time.

"Bless
you, Mrs. Darcy," one of the women said.

"Is
Mr. Tanner there?" Elizabeth asked. She had a few things to say to him if
he was.

"He's
at the tavern, like always, madam. But he said he'd kill anyone who went in
there." Mrs. Smithson exchanged glances with the other women.

Elizabeth
lost no time in reaching the Tanner cottage. She dismissed Fry outside with a
request for some assistance from Pemberley. She had no idea how long this might
last; hours, perhaps. Or at least until Darcy discovered where she was. Calling
on tenants was one thing, but the mistress of Pemberley assisting a woman in
labour might not meet with his approval. It would not be her first time; she
had been present at her youngest nephew's birth, and had once assisted the
midwife in caring for a farmer's wife at Longbourn. She pushed aside a tinge of
concern over Darcy's reaction. Surely he would understand she could not leave
the poor woman to the care of her young children.

An
agonized scream issued from the cottage. Elizabeth hurried inside and paused
until her eyes adjusted to the dimness. The fireplace contained nothing but
dead ashes. Mrs. Tanner lay in the bed, her young daughter Maggie kneeling by
her side. Elizabeth hurried to her bedside, but the woman's eyes did not open
to acknowledge her presence, even when she spoke her name. Frightened, she laid
her hand on Mrs. Tanner's chest to ascertain that she still breathed.

The
girl said, "She goes to sleep between her pains."

More
likely losing consciousness, given the amount of blood on the bed-ding.
Elizabeth's palms grew damp. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for a
birth where the mother was in such straits. She was tempted to insist on the
midwife's presence, but she could not protect the woman from Mr. Tanner's wrath
later. If the midwife had thought it feasible, she would have been there
already.

A
new pain roused Mrs. Tanner from her stupor. Elizabeth stepped closer and said,
"How can I help you?"

The
woman shook her head weakly. No doubt she knew there was little Elizabeth could
offer beyond her presence. It was her fourth confinement, and she could not
fail to know the danger she was in. Still, Elizabeth encouraged her to make her
best effort at pushing as each pain came, despite her fear. When her body would
go limp again, Elizabeth could do nothing but pray that someone would arrive
from Pemberley House who would know what to do. But until then she was on her
own with a frightened little girl. Finally, she was rewarded with the welcome
sight of the baby's head crowning.

Elizabeth
readied the tattered fabric which was to serve as swaddling and sent Maggie out
to tell the women waiting with Mrs. Smithson that the birth was imminent. She
would have to give the infant to one of them and hope they could find a wet
nurse. It would be weeks before Mrs. Tanner could care for the child, even if
she survived the remainder of this ordeal.

In
any case, she did not want Maggie to be there if there was trouble with the
birth.

While
assisting at a birth was not new to her, delivering a baby was a diff erent
matter. Mrs. Tanner herself no doubt had a better idea of it than Elizabeth,
but she could not be relied upon for direction. She could only do her best, and
hope nature would handle most of it. She took up her station beside the bed,
next to an old knife and the dirty piece of string Maggie had brought her.

Just
then Sylvia, the pregnant girl who now worked at Pemberley, raced in, her hands
fi lled with cloth. "Old Sarah is on her way, madam," she said
breathlessly. She looked as if she had run the entire way from the house.

"Very
good. Can you help me here? The babe is coming."

The
birth itself went quickly once the baby's head was revealed. Elizabeth shifted
the emerging child to release the shoulders as she remembered the Longbourn
midwife doing, and the baby's body slid into her waiting hands.

A
girl, but tiny, her colour poor. She had not expected the infant to be quite so
slippery, and was glad for the straw mattress. Elizabeth chafed the baby's
chest until she saw the movement of air in and out, then tied off the cord.

"You
have a daughter," she said. Mrs. Tanner mumbled something in reply.
Elizabeth finished cutting the cord while Sylvia swaddled the baby, then wiped
her hands on the rags, trying to clean the blood from them.

Old
Sarah from the kitchens arrived then, taking command with an ease that showed
her no stranger to childbirth, engaging Sylvia in helping to deliver the
afterbirth. Elizabeth, feeling suddenly superfluous, picked up the baby and
held her to her chest, trying to warm her. The poor thing still hadn't made a
cry, though Elizabeth could hear her breathing with odd little grunts. She
looked down at the infant and was taken by surprise at the tenderness she felt
for this new life. A tiny hand emerged from the swaddling. Elizabeth tried to
tuck it back in, only to find her finger gripped by impossibly tiny ones. Blue
eyes stared up at her from a mucus-streaked face.

She
gently pried her finger free, then took up a small scrap of cloth and dipped it
in a basin of water. She found a stool by the window to sit upon as she washed
the baby's face. The tiny mouth screwed up and let forth a mewing sound at the
first touch of the cool water. Elizabeth rocked her back and forth in hopes of
soothing her. "Hush, sweetheart," she said.

Maggie,
who had crept in after Old Sarah's arrival, scrutinized her sister's face.
"Mama said if it was a girl she'd be named for you, Mrs. Darcy."

Old
Sarah was massaging Mrs. Tanner's stomach. "The bleeding's stopped at
least. Mrs. Darcy, perhaps you should take the baby outside.

Sylvia
and I can finish up here."

Elizabeth
came back from her fascination with the infant to remember her circumstances.
If even the scullery maid realized the mistress of Pemberley had no business
here, she should depart, but she felt oddly reluctant to leave Mrs. Tanner, and
especially to turn the baby over to someone else's care.

As
she hesitated, the door to the cottage slammed open to reveal a stocky man, his
clothing unkempt and his gait unsteady. Elizabeth rose to her feet.

"Mr.
Tanner, I presume. You have a daughter."

He
scowled, and Elizabeth stepped backwards to allow him to approach his wife.
"Another damned girl. I told you, no more girls!" Mrs. Tanner's eyes
fl uttered open, fi lled with fear.

"Your
wife is quite ill," Elizabeth said tartly.

"I
won't raise no more girls. Lazy sluts, all of them. Give me that thing."

He
reached for the baby in Elizabeth's arms.

She
held the infant tightly to her chest. She had no intention of allowing that
drunken oaf to harm the child, father or not. "There is no need for you
to
be concerned about her. I will make arrangements for her to be taken in by
another family until your wife is well enough to care for her."

He
grabbed Elizabeth's arm and held it in a punishing grip. "Give her to
me!"

Elizabeth
recoiled from the odour of alcohol and unwashed flesh. "Take your hands
off me immediately! Do you know who I am?"

"This
is my house!" The shadows from the window fell across Mr. Tanner's enraged
face as he raised his free hand. Elizabeth heard Sylvia scream, then the door
burst open to reveal two of the Pemberley footmen. But they were not quick
enough to stop Mr. Tanner's hand from descending in a blow to the side of
Elizabeth's face.

Through
the burning pain and the ringing in her head, Elizabeth's only thought was to
keep hold of the baby. She staggered backwards, her arms tightening around her
burden. She barely registered the sight of the footmen tackling Mr. Tanner.

Sylvia
hurried to her side. "Mrs. Darcy, are you hurt?"

Elizabeth's
vision was beginning to clear. It would look foolish to deny the injury.
"It is nothing a little time will not remedy."

"Here,
you must sit down." Sylvia took her arm and guided her to a chair.

Elizabeth
took a few deep breaths and looked down at the baby. The poor thing could
understand nothing of what had transpired. Near the open door Fry and Edwards
had none too gently subdued the still struggling Mr. Tanner.

A
shadow appeared in the doorway as Darcy strode in, his countenance severe. Fry,
apparently failing to notice his master's presence, raised his foot and
delivered a sharp kick to Mr. Tanner's leg.

Darcy
frowned at him. "We will have none of that, Fry."

"But
sir, he struck Mrs. Darcy." Fry's tone suggested he felt the kick was
richly deserved.

Seeing
the anger and disbelief on her husband's face, Elizabeth said hurriedly,
"I am quite well." She turned her face, hoping the dimness would
disguise any sign of the injury.

Darcy
stepped in front of Mr. Tanner and glared at him, looking as if he could barely
restrain his own hands. "You struck my wife," he said with savage
intensity.

"Mr.
Darcy, it were an accident, like." His speech was slurred.

The
expression on the servants' faces must have told him it was no accident. Darcy
turned to Fry. "I withdraw my objection. Take him away and lock him
up."

Fry
twisted Tanner's arm behind him until he yelped in pain, then dragged him
toward the doorway. "You heard Mr. Darcy. Go!"

Sylvia
cast a timid glance at him, then silently took the infant from Elizabeth.

Elizabeth's
arms felt surprisingly empty without the baby's weight in them. She winced
inwardly at the angry look in Darcy's eyes, and turned to Old Sarah to ask what
might be needed for Mrs. Tanner's further care.

"Aye,
just tell Mrs. Reynolds, and she'll know what's needed." Old Sarah
gathered up the bloody rags and dropped them in a bucket of water.

Behind
her, Sylvia made a sharp noise. Elizabeth turned to see her look of dismay,
then Sylvia carefully loosened the swaddling over the baby's scalp and laid the
cloth across her face.

Darcy
was forgotten completely as Elizabeth hurried to her side. Sylvia shook her
head silently. Elizabeth reached for a corner of the cloth and lifted it a few
inches. The eyes that had looked at her before were staring emptily now, the
pale skin turned to a sickly shade of blue. Hot tears formed in the corner of
Elizabeth's eyes, and she touched the baby's cheek, then ran her finger over
the little hand that lay limp now. Reluctantly she replaced the cloth over the
infant's face. "I am so very sorry." She was not certain to whom she
was speaking; Mrs. Tanner was not conscious enough to know what had occurred.

"Come,
Elizabeth. Let us return to the house." Darcy's expression was stern.

With
a reluctant glance back at Mrs. Tanner, Elizabeth followed him outside. The day
seemed surprisingly bright after the shadows of the cottage. Pandora was still
tethered to the tree where Elizabeth had left her a lifetime ago, and by her
side stood Hurricane, wearing bit and bridle, but no saddle.

Elizabeth
stopped short and turned to her husband in disbelief. "You rode that horse
bareback?"

"I
wanted to reach you quickly. Saddling takes time, and I have ridden without a
saddle many times."

It
was too much, on top of all the fears of the last hours, of watching life given
and then snatched away. Tears in her eyes, Elizabeth said fiercely, "I
hate that horse. I hate it that you still ride him. I hate him."

"Elizabeth,"
he said, as if trying to calm a fractious child, "I know how to manage a
horse."

She
dashed away the tears with her knuckles. "He almost killed you. You nearly
died." She took a gulp of air, trying to fight back sobs, conscious that
she was creating a scene.

His
arms came around her, and she buried her face in his shoulder, comforted by the
warmth and familiar scent of him. He said, "I am perfectly well now."

"By
God's grace only. I thought you were going to die." She could not
completely control her tears. "I hate him."

She
felt his hand stroking her hair, her cheek. "On that you have made
yourself quite clear, madam."

His
formality reminded her they were in public. She straightened her shoulders and
stepped away. "Shall we go, then?" She did not know how she would
bear watching him mount Hurricane.

"Would
you prefer to walk? One of the stable boys can bring the horses back."

Almost
sick with relief, she nodded, unwilling to trust her voice.

"Then
let us walk." He offered her his arm.

She
took it and walked beside him, too embarrassed to look at him.

Between
her foolish display and the inappropriate situation, he had more than enough
reason to be angry with her. He said nothing either, and she kept her eyes on
the ground.

When
they reached the house, Darcy asked her to join him in his study once she had
rested and refreshed herself. She could not help feeling like a child being
called in for a scolding, except this would hurt more, because it came from
him. After all they had shared the last two nights, she was back where she had
begun.

In
the shelter of her room, she washed her hands again, trying to scrub them clean
of the odour of birth and death. Lucy hurried in and clucked at the state of
her apparel, but made no comment on the bloodstains. She must have heard the
story already. With the maid's assistance, she changed into a fresh dress, a
dove-grey one that matched her mood, then sat obediently as Lucy tried to coax
some order from her hair.