The Price of Family

A sequel to "A Bit of Advice" and "The Question of Consent"

By DJ Clawson

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Chapter 23 – The Sad Tale of Mrs. Reynolds

"It is not entirely his fault, certainly," Jane Bingley said as she embraced her sister. "But a man should look in his wash bin before rinsing his face in the morning, to see if someone has poured ink in it."

"I wasn't even fully awake!" Bingley defended, crossing his arms and trying to look stern, which was very hard to do with a bright red face that only made his hair look even more orange. "And who was responsible for that, I say?"

"Very little mystery there," said Mr. Bennet, taking his turn with Lizzy and Darcy.

"It was a surprise! For mother and father," Geoffrey defended.

"And I suppose I will be checking my wash bin every day now. Or at least locking my door better," Darcy said, eyeing his son. "We will settle this when we reach Pemberley, which unfortunately for you, will be very shortly."

There were hugs and kisses and bows all around. And many congratulations for everyone's sake, for a great burden had come off their shoulders – except for Mary, but she was not carrying it on her shoulders. But she did seem much less distressed than in the state they had left her. Darcy introduced Brother Grégoire, to which Bingley only said rather quietly, "the infamous brother." Elizabeth told her parents the great news, something Darcy discovered because of the great shriek from Mrs. Bennet and the flurry and hugs and kisses.

"At last, at last! Oh, Lizzy, you will be a mother again at last, this time I am sure of it!"

"I do not believe she ever stopped," Mr. Bennet said.

And there were trinkets to be distributed, for the Darcys had purchased things for their beloved family in Rome and had been able to put that on the ship without much trouble. Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley were exceedingly happy with their rare books, and Mrs. Bennet with beautiful yards, for she did love sowing for her many grandchildren. Kitty had outgrown ribbons, but still loved bonnets, especially those beyond the limits of what could be found in England, and Mary was given a little book of hymns. Little Georgiana Bingley was given a doll that she would carry around until a few years beyond the age where that was acceptable, and would sleep with it until the day she was out.

The Kirkland crowd – and it was, indeed, a crowd – was very unhappy at the idea that the Darcys would not be staying the night, but Darcy put his foot down and said after a long journey, he wanted to see Pemberley in the worst way and if they stayed for dinner, they could not introduce it to his brother properly. The mention of "his brother" turned some heads, for Brother Grégoire's presence had not been explained fully, but Darcy assured them there would be time for all of that when other matters – more pressing – were settled. And so, after only a few joyous hours of reunion at Kirkland, the Darcys set off on the road with the addition of Geoffrey, who was told he would receive his present when his punishment was over, though his punishment was not specified. And so the five of them traveled the last three miles to the great house of Pemberley.

A large audience – almost the entire staff of servants – had gathered to greet their long absent master and mistress. They also awaited the return of Georgiana and her nephew, who trailed behind his father's coattails. What they did not expect was the last member of their party, the young monk who bowed to them deeper than they bowed to him, and would have no one attend to him.

Mrs. Reynolds, as housekeeper, was at the head, and at the sight of Grégoire, even though he was not identified, she paled. Darcy put his arm around the monk and approached her. "This is Grégoire Bellamont from the Monastery of Mon-Claire. Mrs. Reynolds, I believe you have something to explain."

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In the master study, the aged Mrs. Reynolds had to face not one, but three Darcys, as only Geoffrey was excluded and seemed very annoyed by being pulled away from Georgiana. It was only when the door was soundly shut behind them that Darcy took his seat at the desk. Above him hung the portrait of his father, looking regal and proper. "Now," he said as his wife sat next to the terrified housekeeper, and Grégoire stood, "You have undoubtedly surmised Grégoire's heritage, and though I doubt you have every said a dishonest thing to anyone present in your life, that does not mean certain things were not made known to me, I assume under Father's instructions. But now what I would like to know is how you came to know these things."

"Yes, Master Darcy, of course." She was shaking. "Oh, please forgive me, but it was your Father's last wish to me, that you not be knowing these things until the proper time."

"Which would be now," Darcy said.

"Yes, of course."

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1801

Mrs. Reynolds had to quietly admit to herself that she did enjoy her position as housekeeper. It did bring with it tremendous responsibility, and the status was not something she sought after greedily, but there was something to be said for taking pride in keeping Pemberley spick and span. It had been hard at times with three children in the house, one a toddler and two now in their teens at the time of her elevation, and no guiding mother to reign them in. Mrs. Wickham and Mrs. Darcy had died during or immediately after childbirth, and young Master Fitzwilliam, who did so dislike being called that, was the only one who had experienced having the pleasure of a mother for his first ten years. While their Nurses and governess were responsible for them, they answered to Mrs. Reynolds as well as Mr. Darcy, who was busy and a gentleman, and therefore not quite expected to act paternal to Miss Georgiana in an overly interested way, though he did at times. But until the end of his days he was often busy with keeping up the estate, or away from Pemberley, and while he was there, his chief concern was raising his son, the wild Fitzwilliam, who had to some day grow up to be a gentleman and master.

And grow up he did. In fact, despite their single year of age difference, Mr. Wickham and Master Fitzwilliam seemed to be going in opposite directions with their lives, despite a fierce (and often, outright indecorous) competition remaining between them about all the things boys competed about. When they were children, it was riding and fishing and fencing. When they were young men, it was women, though the young George Wickham certainly had the edge there, because Mrs. Reynolds never heard a word about Master Fitzwilliam and any servants or local girls from Lambton, and she heard every word that Pemberley whispered. When the steward Mr. Wickham died, Master Darcy, who was not known for being unkind but certainly was exceeding the general expectation of generosity in this respect, took on all responsibilities for the raising and educating of the son of his steward, and quite obviously, by the year the boys went to Cambridge, was actively turning his eyes away from the young man's actions. He said nary a word when Mr. Wickham was tossed out of Cambridge and embraced him back into the estate while Master Fitzwilliam continued his studies.

The year that the illness became obvious was the year that Master Fitzwilliam returned from touring the Continent, as required by any respectable gentlemen newly graduated from college and not quite ready to settle down for the rest of his life. Upon his arrival, his training as future master, which had truly begun the day he was born, resumed actively, and speed up a bit when Master Darcy's prognosis was delivered. They had a year and it was well spent, so that the transition between masters would be smooth, and the little boy who had once refused to bathe after jumping in a lake stepped up to his responsibilities in a way that made everyone proud.

It was late June, what should have been a pleasant time for everyone before it got truly hot in Derbyshire, but the angel of death hung over Pemberley. To his dying day, Master Darcy would not be idle, and was signing contracts and record books until forcibly locked in his chambers for rest. It was a week before it came to that when Mrs. Reynolds was called into his office – not an unusual occurrence, except that Master Fitzwilliam was not present, as he had been at every meeting for months now, and she knew of no particular topic to be discussed. Clearly he had one; she merely didn't know it.

Master Darcy coughed and asked that she make sure the door was closed, then had her lock it on his behalf.

"Master Darcy."

"Mrs. Reynolds." He did not get up. First, she was a servant. Second, she doubted he could so easily. He was leaning on the desk, propped up by an elbow, his eyes bloodshot. Had he been crying? "Thank you for coming. Do be seated."

Another strange occurrence. The good master was obviously out-of-sorts. He fumbled with something in his hands – a locket that she recognized as having belonged to his late wife. "I know you are a busy woman and I will not take up much of your time and mine, which I am told by my doctors is now precious. Instead I will merely burden you with the most terrible of secrets, as it should be spoken once more before I die, and as you will come to understand, not to my son – yet. I will also thrust upon you the trust that you will find the day to tell him."

To this, she did not know quite what to say.

"You will recall the affair with Ms. Bellamont, my wife's lady-maid. You were, I believe, laundress at the time? But it must have gotten all around Pemberley. I have no doubt of that."

"I do, sir, though I recall little of the specifics, and those that I do, I care not to repeat."

"Then I will summarize. Ms. Bellamont was discharged when my wife discovered she was with child, and the part you perhaps do not know is that the child was mine."

No, she did not know that. She could fathom it, even as he said it, even as the intensity of his gaze confirmed it. The French-born maid was of excellent standing until her dismissal, working her way up the ranks of Pemberley, and that she was dismissed during Mrs. Darcy's confinement with Georgiana was the most damning thing about it – until this point. This implied, of course, that not only had he had a dalliance with a lady-maid (not entirely unknown, but something she would have never expected from Master Darcy), but he did during his own wife's pregnancy.

"Last year," he continued, apparently expecting her stunned silence, "I went to the Continent on business, and that business was to set up an account for my son, who was apparently named the French version of Gregory, after me in some fashion. He lives with his mother in the west of France and intends to join the church. According to the specifications of the account, he will receive a considerable yearly income for the rest of his life, but no records of this account exist in England, and the account can only be altered by me or the executor of my estate – meaning, Fitzwilliam, who obviously knows nothing of this. The timing is terrible, because I do not wish him to lose both me and his esteem of me at the same time. I do not know what would happen to him or to Pemberley, but I cannot chance it. He might go the way George went – as they are so very closely related." He had another coughing fit, and Mrs. Reynolds rose to pour him a glass of water, for he had dismissed the servant meant to do exactly that. After swallowing some, he was able to continue in a hoarse voice. "I do not know which sin is more terrible, but there are two. George Wickham is also my son."

Her heart quickened. Yes, it made sense, on a logical level. He had raised George as a father would raise a son, beyond normal responsibilities, and his affection for his steward did not explain it beyond a certain point. He had many fights with his own son – his proper son – over Mr. Wickham, who was meant to receive a sizable living in the church upon Master Darcy's death. Master Fitzwilliam felt it was undeserved, and many servants believed he had every right, knowing Wickham well enough, to insist that that man deserved no more handouts from Pemberley. But Master Darcy would not relent, and no one could figure the reason. Now, of course, it was clear.

"I love my sons – all three of them. I have provided for all of them, partially I suppose out of guilt. And guilt I should rightfully feel, for being part of the worst kind of deception with Mrs. Wickham, a lovely woman until the day she died, as we never told George. He believed his son was his and named him so, and I did not prevent it. I did not have the courage to come forward and torture this man with the truth. So I am a coward as well as an adulterer. I am the worst master Pemberley has ever had."

"No, Master – "

"Do not try to contradict me. Any good I tried to do in this life will not lift this terrible guilt from my heart. There is no absolution for me because Anne would not give it." He coughed again. Mrs. Reynolds, her mind still wheeling, could not help but notice that Master Darcy, despite his affection for his wife, never called her by her first name in front of a servant. "On her dying day she cursed me. She had found out about Ms. Bellamont, and so she cursed me, by refusing forgiveness and naming our new daughter Georgiana, as the whole story had come out, and I would always hear that name – George, the name of my first sin – when I spoke my own daughter's name, who I would now have to raise alone. She forsook me and she had every right and reason to. But my son doing it on my own death bed – for he could hardly do otherwise, with the morality I've raised him with – that I could not stand. There are some things, Mrs. Reynolds, that are worse than death." He seemed to shield his eyes from her. "Surely you will try to understand why I ask this of you."

"To be plain, sir, what do you wish of me?"

"That you tell Fitzwilliam and Georgiana – at the proper time, whenever you judge it to be. For some day, they should know, perhaps when they are settled and happy and are ready for a blow such as this. When they are, do you know of the old d'Arcy estate? The Rue des Capuchins?"

"I've heard of it, sir."

"I have a bank account at a local bank there that is funding Gregory, or Grégoire as he is called. He knows of his heritage because I spoke to him last year, but I doubt he would come to England of his own motivation. That is perhaps the best way to find him, if this is to be years away. And G-d, I hope it will be." He wiped his eyes with his trembling fingers, because he was definitely crying now. "But I have not said a word of this to anyone but him and his mother since the day Anne died. And now, you will be the only one who will know. I will trust you with this awful burden, Mrs. Reynolds. It is the last thing I will ask of you before Pemberley goes into my son's capable hands."

She nodded and agreed, and he dismissed her. As she went out, she noticed Master Fitzwilliam, soon to be the Master Darcy, passing buy with a folio. She did her best to hide her tears from him. Thankfully, he seemed not to notice.

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1808

"So," Darcy said after the considerable silence that followed her tale. "Wickham is my brother. I had but one strand of hope left that it was not true. And, I suppose, if he had not attempted an elopement with Georgiana – "

" – I would have said something immediately, of course, Master Darcy," Mrs. Reynolds, again in tears, said. Elizabeth put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. The atmosphere in the room, though tense, was not damning. In fact, Darcy was quite cool in his own tone, not dismissive of her at all. "Immediately. Or perhaps I failed and should have said something earlier."

"None of us had that foresight. It seems, fate saved us all from a sin of biblical proportions. Excuse me, G-d saved us from this sin," he said, as Grégoire crossed himself. "Georgiana knows about Grégoire, but not Wickham. I cannot imagine how to tell her, but I must do it."

"Darcy – "

For once, Darcy held a hand up to his wife. "I must do it. But there is also the other person who knows nothing – Wickham himself. This matter must be settled with him first, as I have no idea of his reaction." He sighed and continued, "Though I cannot say I am thrilled at this news of my own father's failings, I cannot find fault with the carrying out of your duties. For you did not know of Wickham's plans for Georgiana any more than I, her legal protector as well as brother, did. And you did point me in the direction of Grégoire at a time when I was content for life and ready for such a blow. And it seems, I have gained at least one brother in this." He looked at Grégoire and smiled wanly, then turned to Mrs. Reynolds. "I am sorry to put you through this inquisition. Now at least you are freed from the responsibility of such a secret."

"If you wish me gone, Master Darcy – "

"Very much the opposite. In a way, father was right, and I am grateful. I modeled my life after the good in him and am now reaping the results. I would not want to imagine it otherwise." He smiled. "Please see to it that Grégoire is situated in whatever accommodations he chooses. My only insistence is that, while in my house, he eats three square meals a day. And he is very clever about his monkish habits, so keep your eyes peeled. Somehow we will have to find a ground between his heritage as a Darcy and his leanings as a Cistercian."

Grégoire flushed and put his head down, but did not look entirely surprised at this. More significant, which he probably did not catch, Darcy had established him as a family member in front of Mrs. Reynolds, who would tell the servants to do so as well. Despite his own inclinations, the master had embraced him as a Darcy and he would be treated as such. And oh, the little monk did look much like his father – unlike Wickham, who favored his mother.

Now the only obvious question still on the table was whether Darcy would show the same sympathy for George Wickham, unknowing in his parentage, and embrace him as a brother as he had Grégoire, however reluctantly. On this, Darcy remained silent.

Next Chapter - The Worst Kind of Call