The Price of Family
A sequel to "A Bit of Advice" and "The Question of Consent"
By DJ Clawson
Chapter 3 – The Sad Tale of Mary Bennet
It was a long time before anyone could say anything. It was Jane, ever trusting, and ever thinking the very best of everyone's actions and intentions, who blurted out, "You are sure?"
"Quite. So very sure." Mary sniffled, trying to compose herself. "All of my supposed piety was for nothing, because I am nothing but a whore."
"Mary!" Elizabeth said. "You are no such thing. You are an innocent, and he seduced you."
"I will not lie to myself or anyone else. As ... persuasive ... as he may or may not have been, he did not force himself upon me, and had I known, I could have refused to see him but in public, or refused outright the offer, as I should have done – "
"But we can only think the best of our sister and the worst of him," Jane said, some curtness in her voice, not necessarily directed at Mary. "Did you tell him?"
"Yes."
"And he still left you?"
"What was he to do? Take me home as his bride? He ... offered some money, but I did not accept."
"Then you are not a whore," Elizabeth said. "You do not fit the definition. You were – are – an innocent girl, who was cruelly taken advantage of – "
"No! I will not absolve myself of my own failings, or allow anyone else to do so!" her sister replied with surprising indignation. "The problem is mine. I called on you, Jane, because I had to see someone before I saw Papa. Surely now you understand, because he will cast me out – "
"He will not cast you out – "
"He cast Lydia out!"
"Lydia did not – ," But suddenly even Elizabeth found it very hard to argue that Lydia had not done anything so scandalous, or at the very least, was presenting obvious evidence of it. Finally she found her words. "Lydia did what she did wantonly, and made a fool of herself in the process. You are trying to do precisely the opposite."
"You are being kind," Mary said, "but I cannot right this wrong. Papa has ever right to send me to a nunnery and put the baby on some orphanage doorstep!"
She leaned on Jane's shoulder, who replied with urgency, "How far are you along?"
"Three months."
The gravity of the situation – already in high evidence – came down like a weight upon them. "Three months?"
"I didn't know – how was I to know? And then we debated what to do about it, and we tried going to a doctor – "
"You didn't," Elizabeth said. But now she was forced to imagine the desperation of her sister, all alone in France with a probably unhelpful companion, if she had tried to find a doctor – could they really do that? There was a question she would never ask Doctor Maddox.
"I did. I mean, the most horrible deed was already done, or so it seemed, and there was no way to wait it out in France – not when I was expected home in the summer." Mary was crying again. "Please tell me at least one of you will take me in when Papa refuses to ever see me again."
"He will not," Jane said. "He will be very cross at first, but he will recover, and we will sort this out."
"But Jane," Mary said, "there is nothing to sort!"
Unfortunately, no one could find a way to tell her she was wrong.
The Darcys had very good mattresses, with proper springs. Unfortunately, this provided an ample amount of ability to bounce, something Darcy found his son was quite ready to take advantage of. He rolled over, squinting in the (undoubtedly very) early morning light, as his eyes focused on the image of Geoffrey Darcy, still in his bed clothes, jumping up and down on Lizzy's side of the mattress with such ferocity to shake the whole bed. Whether he intended it to take his father – or cared whether it did or didn't – was not obvious from his expression.
"Geoffrey," he said in the most commanding voice he could muster, which at that particular moment, was not very commanding, "come here."
His son finally stopped jumping, and crawled over to his father as if he expected some kind of joyous celebration of his achievement.
"Now, son, allow me to explain this to you in the best way that I can at this hour in the morning and while I hold back my desire to thrash you," Darcy said. "It is considered very improper to enter your father's private chambers uncalled."
"But these are mother's chambers!"
Darcy put his head back into the pillow and groaned. His son was technically correct. Darcy was so used to sleeping in Elizabeth's chambers that the habit tended to continue even in her very seldom absences. "While you are technically correct, I will say that the same holds true for your mother's chambers. In fact, especially for your mother's chambers."
His son cocked his head and said curiously, "Why do you always say improper?"
"Because a gentleman is expected to always act in the most proper of manners. And believe it or not – and at this moment, I do find it a bit hard to believe – one day you will be a gentleman, and it will be expected of you."
"Do I have to be a gentleman?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Darcy sighed because he knew already where this would lead – down the endless road of whys. He would have to think of something very clever to avoid it, and he was not in the mood to be clever. He was in the mood to call for Nurse to take his son out of the room by his collar and go back to sleep. "Because."
This was thoroughly confusing to Geoffrey, who stood towering over his father. In fact, he actively climbed onto his chest and said, "Just - because?"
"Yes. Just because. See, I can give one-word answers, too!" He grabbed his son, who was very heavy now, but he was still able to lift him. "Now stop vexing your father so early in the morning!" He added as he set him down, "And don't ask if you can do it any other time of day. See, I knew you were going to say that. Your father is very wise."
Geoffrey did sit down on the bed, at least temporarily. "Are you smarter than me?"
"I hope not. Perhaps you will not make all of the stupid mistakes I've made in my life. None of which you are old enough to hear, so don't ask."
"Are you smarter than mother?"
"No," Darcy said. "Definitely, definitely not. I think my whole life will be her outwitting me."
"Are you smarter than Uncle Bingley?"
"Are you going to go down the list of everyone you know and just ask how of I think of myself to them?"
"Yes."
"Then do you want to sit inside all day and practice your reading instead of going outside and playing with Georgiana?"
His son was horrified. "No!"
"Then I suggest you cease this line of conversation and let me sleep!"
Geoffrey hopped off the bed and scurried out of the room with exceptional speed, even for him. Darcy let out a contented sigh and stared at Elizabeth's empty pillow. "It's from your side of the family, you know," he said, and turned back on his other side.
But he did not, in fact, go back to sleep. Before long the rooster was crowing, and he was slowly drifting in and out until his regular time for waking. Since his marriage, the servants no longer came in and opened the curtains for him, especially when he slept in his wife's room, so he had to do it himself and ring the bell for his manservant.
Pemberley was quiet – uncomfortably quiet. It was still quite early, and there was no sign of his only two guests, or his son, but that was not to be expected, and he took his regular breakfast and was lost in the morning paper when Nurse came in screaming. "Oh G-d! I promise, I promise, I'll get it off!"
"What?" he said, thoroughly confused, and still in the middle of his food.
"Mr. Bingley – he's not awake. I'll get it all off before he wakes, I promise!"
He swallowed and said calmly, "What off?"
She could not explain; she was too flummoxed. She insisted instead that he follow her quickly and quietly to the nursery, as to not wake their guest. And there he found little Georgiana Bingley, giggling happily.
In a tub full of ink.
"I – I don't know how it happened, Master Darcy, I swear!"
But Darcy already had a fair idea of what had occurred, and was busier mentally debating how to maneuver it so that he was in full view of Bingley's face when he saw his daughter.
By the morning, the three Bennet sisters – former and current – had come to one conclusion. The discretion of the Fitzwilliams, who had hosted them, could be trusted. They deserved an explanation for all of the disruption, and it was only with their solemn promise that not a word of this would be uttered to anyone that they returned to their carriages. Obviously, time was of the essence. The only question was if Mary should ride, in her "condition," but they decided that she had no other option. For the moment, they would go to Pemberley, and decide on a course of action from there.
Mary said almost nothing. She had, Elizabeth imagined, the ground out from under her, having always stood on a high moral ground. Her own chances for a good marriage – or a marriage at all – were utterly ruined. Kitty's chances could be salvaged, but not until the scandal blew over. After all, Longbourn had suffered one scandal and emerged with two extremely advantageous marriages and a settlement over the estate, though the later was not commonly known. But Mary, surely now, would have to be satisfied with being a lonely mother, provided something more drastic wasn't done.
"You don't think – with all due respect – Mr. Darcy won't say anything about this?" Jane whispered when Mary was out of earshot.
Elizabeth sighed. True, her husband was a severely proper man, adverse to any scandal. However, he was also intolerably good at covering them up. "If he does, I will make it known that I am severely disappointed in him, and that will be enough to shut him up for this entire affair."
But her husband was not disapproving. Not at first, when they at last climbed out of the carriage at the grand doorsteps of Pemberley. After all, they did not know the story, and Mary was not showing. But Darcy and Bingley, holding their children, also had the most adorably hapless look on their faces, that Elizabeth had no doubt was well-practiced.
"So there is a very good explanation – "
" – a perfectly, perfectly good explanation - ," Bingley broke in.
" – as to why our children are blue."
For indeed, they were.
Geoffrey Darcy and Georgiana Bingley were properly dressed to greet their parents, looking scrubbed and proper, except for the fact that their skin and hair were soundly a deep shade of blue. They looked like some sort of alien species, and themselves offered no explanation as they broke free and ran to their mothers. Sometime when they were done laughing, Elizabeth and Jane were able to properly greet them. It felt so good to be happy at something ridiculous, after the torturous ride of worries, that Elizabeth had to recover some before she could properly approach her husband with a look that demanded everything.
"Well, since it happened first to – "
"Darcy, your son started it. Don't you dare try to implicate me in this!" Bingley demanded.
"Charles," Jane said in her very patient, loving, and deadly voice. "Where were you when ... this occurred?"
"...Sleeping."
"Only the first time," Darcy corrected. "Not the second."
"How was I to know there would be a second time?"
"Will someone please provide your promised explanation?" Elizabeth said. "Oh, and my sister, of course."
Their husbands bowed. "Miss Bennet."
"Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley," she said shyly.
"How was your – "
"Don't try to distract us," Elizabeth cut in. "I will go as far as to say I am, for the moment, more concerned with my Zulu-like son than my sister."
"We did try to scrub them," Bingley offered. "I mean, really tried."
"It hurt," said Geoffrey, pointing to his father. "He hurt me. And made me sit in the corner."
Darcy shrugged unapologetically at his son's comments.
The whole story did come out, after much questioning and demanding of specifics. It seemed that Geoffrey had crept into Georgiana's early morning bath and dumped a bottle of ink in the water, and Georgie had been most amused at the concept and gotten it all over the top half of her body before Nurse returned, all while Bingley enjoyed the sound sleep only the father of two squalling infants who were now three miles away could enjoy. If that hadn't been enough, Georgie had gotten her revenge the next day, doing the same to the bucket of water to be dumped on Geoffrey in his tub. After so much panicked scrubbing that their children cried that their skins were raw and pained, Mrs. Reynolds intervened and said the ink would fade – in time.
"A few weeks," Darcy said.
"Oh goodness," was all Jane could say.
Bingley and Darcy exchanged confused glances; why their wives found it more amusing and delightful than horrifying was beyond them. And then they were both taken aside and told the more pressing situation, in private, so Mary did not have to endure it. After all, she was now expectant, and had to be handled most carefully as an expectant woman.
Darcy listened to the tale in his study, as Mary sat with the children outside. He said nothing during the whole recitation, though his face did go through a series of expressions, none of them particularly unexpected.
"So," she said at last, announcing she was finished.
"And – he's in Italy, this Mr. – "
"His proper name is Mr. Mastia-Ferretti, I believe. Or, I suppose, Signor Mastia-Ferretti."
"And he's younger than her?"
"By four years, yes."
Clearly pondering, he asked, "Where in Italy does he hale?"
"Sin – Senigallia. But Mary believes him to be in Rome now, finishing his education." Elizabeth made her own logical conclusions. "He is surely unreachable."
"Mr. Bennet can write, if he wishes, but our Mr. Ferretti could simply choose not to respond. And, considering his actions forthwith, I would not see it beyond the range of possibility."
"Then there is nothing to be done."
Darcy said nothing.
"Darcy, she's my sister."
"That I know," he said, not uncaringly. "But there is an order for things. Her father cannot be unknowing in this."
"Then you do have a plan."
"There is only one I can think of, Lizzy. Surely you have thought of it yourself."
"It is out of the realm of possibility, surely."
"As far as family is concerned, nothing is out of the realm of possibility." But that was all he was willing to say for the moment.
The five of them now had the first obstacle in front of them – to go to Longbourn, and give Mr. Bennet the news in his own home as he deserved when his own daughter disgraced his family, or to keep her in Derbyshire and invite him there in the efforts to avoid the scandal for some time, as might be possible if she stayed there instead of returning to Hertfordshire. Bingley immediately offered up Kirkland as a permanent lodging for Mary, and Darcy, who was his usual quiet self, did not challenge him, though he did mention in passing that she could stay at Pemberley if she wished. Mary declared no preference, so Kirkland it was to be.
"Perhaps we should call on Maddox," Bingley said to Darcy in confidence. "To ... I don't know, assess things."
"He is not the only doctor in England, Bingley! And he would undoubtedly come with Caroline."
"So what if he does? We cannot avoid the extended family knowing the whole of it for long, and as she is now related to Miss Bennet, she has almost as much interest in avoiding the scandal as we do. So no harm done there."
Bingley had a point. Besides, if she was to see a doctor, it had best be the one least likely to tattle. "Fine. But first, Mr. Bennet."
"Oh dear G-d, never did I fear our father-in-law so."
"He has no reason to be cross with us. That is, provided we hide the children from him, and even if we don't, he'll hardly be concerned. Might even find it amusing. In fact, it might put him in good humor for the very bad news."
"You have a point."
"So that is the plan, then. He will see his grandchildren. And then Miss Bennet."
"Poor Mary."
Darcy gave him a look.
"How can you be so hard on her, even in private? It's not her fault."
"Unlike your own Calvinist leanings, I do believe in free will, Bingley."
"That is not to say she wasn't taken advantage of. Even if she thinks she wasn't. With ... cultural differences and such. You've been to the Continent – you know they all think we're stuck up Englishmen with no romantic nature whatsoever. And for good reason."
"I never said I had no romantic nature."
"But people have thought it of you. I've said it to you, in so many words."
"On that I will relent," Darcy grumbled.
"What are we to do, Darcy?"
"Simple," he said, as if it was. "I am to save yet another Bennet sister."
"And how to do you propose – oh. Well, I'm willing to help. She's my sister as well."
"And you have two nursing infants and a daughter who hasn't said her first words."
Bingley frowned. "Point taken. I do feel useless, then."
"You will be sheltering a young woman with child from considerable scandal. That is hardly the definition of 'useless.' In fact, I believe you will be quite busy for the next six months."
"Plus your child. Who, I imagine, will have us inked-skinned when the matter is done."
To that, Darcy had to hold back his response, as he decided, with all of the serious goings on, it wouldn't be proper to hit his brother-in-law in the face. Not again, anyway.
Next Chapter – Storm at Kirkland