Obligation and Desire
by DJ Clawson
Story 10 of the series. Updated about twice a week.
Sometimes I go deeper into my thoughts on certain chapters on the message board for this series. Check it out by deleting the spaces:
laughingman . web . aplus . net / phpbb / ? f=23&t=57
Series news: The contracts came back signed for books 2 and 3! They should be out next fall. Brandy and I are working very, very hard to get book 3 in to the publisher (book 2 went in in November, but I didn't want to announce anything until the contract was finished), so my comments on the message board are kind of limited because we're caught up fixing up book 3. Wish us luck!
Chapter 25 – The New Landlords
George Wickham was fortunate in that he did not have to hold the spotlight for long. The doctor was gone but for a few hours the next day before they called for him again, and Isabel Franklin's labor pains began.
"Really?" Anne Darcy said at the news. Geoffrey and Alison were visiting, and all that concerned Geoffrey at the moment was getting back to his wife. He wasn't eager to have Georgie around for the labor; there was no need to remind her what she would be going through. "Should we go? I suppose Mama will decide."
"You know it's not proper."
"Why isn't it proper? It's a feminine experience. It's far more proper for me to be there than the doctor."
"Because it might put you off marriage and children forever."
"So you're saying that Papa would want me to go." Anne could always make him smile.
"Did you tell him about the lieutenant?"
"He's not a lieutenant; he's a colonel."
"That does not answer the question."
She blushed. "I've danced with him twice. At two separate assemblies."
"Was it a waltz?"
"Geoffrey! You're turning into Papa." She swatted him, and he did not attempt to escape. "Mama knows. Cassie wouldn't quiet herself for a minute."
"I suppose it's all right, then." They walked together into the front hallway, where their mother was waiting with her granddaughter. "Mother." He looked down. "What do you say?"
Alison curtseyed. "Aunt Darcy. Grandmama."
"You don't have to address her; she came in the room with you."
Alison frowned and ran to him, grabbing one of his legs. "It's so confusing!"
"I know. I'm lost myself sometimes."
"No Japanese!" Anne said. "And don't start about being an accomplished girl. Japanese doesn't count as a language."
"And why ever not?"
"Don't taunt your sister," their mother said. "Anne, if your father arrives, send him straight away."
"Yes, Mama."
They took a gig for the short ride to the Franklin house. Geoffrey bowed as he entered. "Uncle Bradley." He hadn't been expecting him, though it was a foolish notion now that he gave it any thought. Aunt Bradley was Isabel's mother; of course she would be here.
"Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Geoffrey. We've only been here a short while; my wife's just gone up."
"And mine?"
"Georgiana is with George. In the garden, I think."
The ritual began; the men retreated to the study with Mr. Franklin, as far away as possible from Mrs. Franklin's screams. Alison was distracting enough to Saul Franklin that Geoffrey did not need to summon his wife, and went looking for her himself. It was too hot now in the garden, in the heat of late afternoon, and he found her in the sunroom. She hurried to see him before he could even begin his greeting, but otherwise, she was good at hiding that she was spooked.
"Alison's in the study," he said. "George. Did you know your parents are here?"
"There was some confusion. My mother went straight to Isabel and didn't see me at all. Mr. Bradley apologized for her." He didn't look upset, just nervous.
Geoffrey looked at his wife. "What were the Bradleys told?"
"That George was caught up in France. I think your mother said something to them about him being sick, but I wasn't there and I don't know the extent of it. Probably not specifics."
George said nothing, and sat back down. He did not look pleased or displeased; he was unreadable.
"It might be awhile – "
"You don't have to tell me that," Georgie said.
"Do you want to stay here or go to the house?"
"I'm staying with you. And I know you're not going upstairs. Today is not the day to worry about me."
"I always worry about you," was his response.
Geoffrey had forgotten the agony that was the hours passing by with no reports of progress. Why did women have to suffer so long? Something about the sin of Eve? There was plenty to do in the Franklin house; the Bradleys brought all six of their children, who mobbed everyone indiscriminately. At fifteen Julie was the oldest, followed by Brandon at fourteen, and from there Geoffrey wasn't sure of the ages, only that they were all children and had no idea why they were there and where there mother was and why she couldn't come and see them.
After sharing a bottle of wine with Mr. Franklin, a mildly inebriated Geoffrey was called to help get all of the Bradley children to bed, a task that took over an hour. He found the three youngest sitting with George, who was reading them a story. He was almost reluctant to give them up, and they decided to wait until the children were asleep on the sofa before Mr. Bradley carried them to the guest rooms.
"You'll be all right?" Julie Bradley said to George, and he nodded. She must have known something; she grew up with George, to some extent, and her mother was not known for her secrecy.
"Where's my wife?"
"Trying to stay awake in the library with Aunt Bellamont. You might have to drug her. Or let nature take its course and have her pass out in the armchair."
Geoffrey smiled. "Saul's a wreck, but that's to be expected."
"He didn't mind a horde of children."
"He came from a large family."
"Yes. Scarlet fever, wasn't it?"
Geoffrey nodded.
"We should find Patrick. He came with his mother and I haven't seen him since."
"Why? So he can watch us get drunk?"
"I'm not getting drunk."
"The night is young."
They found Patrick with Georgiana in the library. "He's telling me all about Saint Sebastian."
"You're interruptin' de story," Patrick protested. "I wus jist gettin' ter de gran' part."
"The grand part?"
"He's impaled by arrows," Georgie said. "Shot by the Roman army."
"Now I remember. Colorful history, the saints have."
"It seems as if all you had to do in the early church was get killed and it qualified you for sainthood."
"'Tis blasphemy," Patrick scowled.
"And we're all blasphemers. Didn't you know that?" Geoffrey said. "To bed with you."
"Yer not me Ma."
"Do you want me to call for her?"
That was all the incentive Patrick needed to scurry out of the room. Georgie laughed as George and Geoffrey sat down. "He's adorable."
"Yes. I wish I could understand what he says."
"You must understand him some of the time."
"Most of the time, actually. I deserve some credit. Just not all of the time."
********************************************
George's prediction came true; as the hours dragged on, Georgie's resolve withered and she fell asleep where she sat. Geoffrey barely managed to carry her to her bedroom and lay her down with her temporarily increased girth. Flexing his arms, he returned to the study.
Isabel Franklin did not give birth that night, or any part of the morning that could have been considered part of the night. The sun was high in the sky when, nearly twenty hours after her labor began, Mrs. Franklin safely delivered a baby boy. Geoffrey's mother filled him in on the particulars as Mr. Franklin went in to greet his wife and son. The baby was healthy, and Isabel was as well as one would be in her condition.
There were too many people to give the new family much time alone before there were knocks on the door, and a beaming Mr. Franklin presented his son, Edward. The name was decided months before, in secret, and they saw no reason to put it off until the baptism. At first he would not relinquish the baby to anyone, and maneuvered around the prying hands of Master Edward's many relatives to place the boy in George's arms. Stupefied, George Wickham stared at his nephew, who opened his eyes and returned the expression, to the extent that he was capable, of utter incomprehension. Only when the newborn flailed his tiny hand and George caught it with a single finger did he smile, and even begin to laugh. "Hello, Nephew." Edward was not quick to respond. "What, nothing to say to your Uncle Wickham?"
********************************************
"Is he not the most beautiful baby you've ever seen?" Isabel said, when Edward was returned to her. Georgie sat in the chair beside her, watching the infant nurse.
"I will say yes," she answered, "but I will not commit to the truth of it, being a mother myself."
"I thought he would never come. He made me wait."
"We most hope it is not a harbinger of things to come."
They laughed, and Edward did not offer commentary. He had a single wisp of hair – brown, like his father's. His other features were still too unformed to make a judgment.
Not that that would stop Mrs. Bradley. "He looks just like his father. That's for the best, for the first one to look like him. Keep Mr. Franklin happy."
"Mama!"
Georgie withheld comment. She was in too good of a mood and so was Lydia Bradley. Edward fell asleep in his mother's arms, and she cradled him for awhile until they convinced her to let him go, and Georgie put him in his cradle. Exhausted herself, Georgie was thrilled when Isabel gave in to her own desire to nap, and they left her with the attending nurse. She wasn't sure who was even in the house, with all of the comings and goings.
"Mother."
"George."
Georgiana ducked out of the way, back around the corner. She could still hear them, and could even see them a little through the reflection in the window. George's voice was not as stern as it usually was when he spoke to his relatives (especially his mother), but he was calmer than he had been upon arriving.
"How is she?"
"She's fine. It's from my side, you know. The resiliency."
"I didn't know my father could give birth."
Georgie put her hand over her mouth.
"It's not a joke – well, I suppose it is." There was a brief silence before she spoke again, her voice now dropped. "George." She either laughed or sobbed; it was hard to tell. "They didn't tell me everything, but I didn't need the details. I just knew you were in trouble and there was nothing I could do to help you. My baby."
George's voice had genuine surprise. "I'm a grown man. I am – I should be responsible for my own welfare."
"Nonsense. Your father was no good at it and neither is Darcy. You can stand tall all you like with your little Darcy family smirk, but people are always going to worry about you. You're always going to be my baby boy. You saved my life. Did you know that? Is that the one thing I never told you?"
George had no response.
"I was so miserable with your father by then – by the end of my term. I knew it all – the gambling, the drinking, and the name he was making for himself at Newcastle with the shopkeeper's daughters and tavern maids. Then you were born and I held you in my arms like your sister holds Edward and I thought, 'Well, I suppose this was worth something.'"
"Mother – " but whatever else he meant to say, he was too choked up to do it. Georgie saw the reflection of them embracing, and decided to take her leave. She had to go around the front of the building to reach the stairs, and as she descended, the doors swung open and the servants rushed to attend two worn travelers.
Darcy and his brother looked around at the various commotions. Grégoire looked to Georgie. "Mrs. Georgiana. Did we miss something?"
********************************************
Change, inherently, was rejected. It was human nature to resist it, especially when one wasn't informed of why it had happened.
"They didn't speak to anyone," Cécile said as they gazed at the empty window, now stripped of its old curtains, from the sidewalk by their apartment building. "They just left. I wouldn't have noticed it if not for the windows."
"Did you speak to anyone?"
"Everyone knows, but no one knows why," she said, leaning on him. Robert Audley squeezed her hand and they climbed up the front steps. Their landlords were gone, leaving their apartment (the best in the building, of course) empty. "Someone must have bought it."
That was bad. It meant rent would go up – it certainly wouldn't go down. Audley could afford it, but he knew there were people in the building who could not. "Paris is Paris. The Eternal City."
"That is Rome, darling."
He grinned and unlocked the door. Cécile had barely set the groceries down when there was a knock. She stepped back into the kitchen as he answered it. "Yes?"
"Robert Audley? I'm from French First National."
"The bank?"
"Oui, Monsieur."
He had his pistol on him, so he opened it. The man he faced could only be a banker – he was too well dressed to be anything beneath that. "May I help you?"
"Monsieur Audley." The banker bowed, and introduced himself. Audley let him in, and offered him a glass of wine, which the banker accepted but did not drink from. Instead he focused on opening his satchel and removing several folders of documents.
"Excuse me, Monsieur, but if this is a police matter, it should be brought to the department building, not my private residence."
"It is not, Monsieur Audley. I have been trying to catch you all day, but you have a very busy schedule and I did not want to bother you at work." He opened the top folder and passed him a sheet of paper.
Audley did not recognize it, but it was easy enough to figure out what it was, however archaic the language. "This is a deed."
"Yes. To this apartment complex, and the neighboring one. It was sold privately a few days ago, and the bank was entrusted to see that it was given to you."
"Has someone died? I was not aware I am an heir."
"Non, Monsieur Audley. It was sold, as I said, privately, and considering the amount of money the land is worth, our bank was very happy to assist the client in seeing the documents delivered. Congratulations, Monsieur. You are now the owner of Rue 4 and 5."
At work, he was a hard man to shock. He quickly discovered it was not so true of matters of home. "What is the meaning of this? Who was the purchaser? Why was the land on the market?"
"It was not. All I am authorized to tell you was that your former landlord and his wife were approached with an offer, and they accepted. The buyer then gifted the land to you."
"And he was?"
"Anonymous."
He did not need much time. "Darcy."
"I cannot – I am not supposed to – "
"It was Monsieur d'Arcy, wasn't it? Tall man, brown hair, English? Has a French brother with a beard?" He looked up and the banker's face betrayed him. "I cannot accept this."
"Monsieur, you are now the owner of this property. If you do not wish to remain so, the bank would be happy to buy it from you at a reasonable price." He explained the two buildings, and the estimated cost.
Audley gaped. "I was not aware that property in this neighborhood had such great worth. But I suppose I never considered it." The collected rent, in total, was far beyond his yearly income. And to collect it was just a matter of walking around... "I must think it over. Selling it, I mean."
"Of course, Monsieur. These documents were rent collections and other monetary assessments from the previous owners. They are yours now, and they should help you come to a decision about what you want to do with your property." He stood. "Thank you for your time." He took the satchel, but left the documents.
Audley turned as Cécile emerged from the shelter of the kitchen. "What does this mean?"
"The Darcys wanted to reward me for helping Mr. Wickham, but I refused. Now I cannot." Yet he could not gather up much indignation. "If we don't sell, we could collect the rent. It would stay as it was, I think. It would take some of my time to collect it – "
"You are so busy already."
"And there are more shocking things than the wife of a landlord, collecting the rent," he said. To her expression he answered, "Marry me."
"What?"
"We've talked about it, we love each other, we can afford it – now we can afford it. We don't have to wait for my father to die and I don't even want him to in the first place. But I suppose I should be more romantic about it." He dropped to his knee. "Cécile Gaudet, may I request your hand in marriage?"
She grinned. "You can have more than my hand." Nonetheless he kissed it and rose, and she fell screaming with delight into his arms. If their neighbors had any issues with the racket they made that night in their celebration, they said nothing. Even a hardened working man had trouble bringing himself to stifle the laughter of a happy couple.
... Next Chapter - I Have This Friend