The Price of Family

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

By DJ Clawson

Author's Note: Sorry for reposting chapters, but does anyone know what the hell is wrong with FF net right now?

Chapter 23 - The Worst Kind of Call

The Maddoxes – all three of them – were sitting down to dinner when the bell rang. Obviously for him, the doctor walked passed the servants, who were busy with the serving of the meal itself, and answered the door, peering out into the lamp light of Town's evening streets. "Hello?"

"Doctor." It was the Madame of one of the houses he used to visit. He was quite aware of which house, and had politely informed them upon his commission that they would have to find another doctor, so her appearance was a surprise. Besides, she never actually came herself, but sent a man.

"Mrs. Dudley," he said with a bow. "I regret to remind you that I am no longer – "

"This is not about that," she said, climbing the steps and moving closer enough to whisper to him. "This is about Lilly."

"I must also remind you, I am not a mid-wife."

"She has delivered," Mrs. Dudley said. "Three days ago. And now she is in a terrible way. I know you are not supposed to and I will understand if you do not wish to be associated – "

"No," he said. "Let me get my things."

He hurried back and called for his doctor's bag and his coat, one of the shabbier ones. "A patient," was all he said, but from his clothing, it was obviously not the Prince. He excused himself and kissed his wife good-bye before joining the Madame in her carriage. "Describe her symptoms."

"She has a fever and still bleeds a little. We called the mid-wife back, but she could do nothing. And she is in great pain."

He nodded. He had already made his diagnosis, but he would not announce it until he saw the woman. They traveled across Town, to an apartment near the old house, and Doctor Maddox followed her up a set of very creaky steps to a tiny room where Lilly lay on the bed, barely covered, some of her blanket spotted with blood.

"Miss Garrison," he said with all his doctorly formality, rousing her from her resting state.

"Doc?" Her eyes, somewhat unfocused when he brought the lamp up to see her properly, seemed to look him over like he was arrived from heaven.

"Yes, Lilly," he said, and took her pulse, and put his hand against her forehead. She had a raging fever, but the rest of her body was sweaty and cold. "Tell me where it hurts. Anywhere other than your feminine region?"

"So proper," she said. "No. Just – yeh know."

"Yes. If you wouldn't mind me doing a small inspection –"

"Plenty a men 'ave seen it, doc. Yeh know that."

"That does not prevent me asking permission," he said, and removed from his bag his spectacles, which were monstrously expensive and did not work quite as well as his own eyes, but he used exclusively when he had something he did not want to get in close range of but wanted to see clearly. He pulled up the blanket and asked the Madame to hold up the light so he could see. The smell itself was overpowering, so it was not very hard to make his diagnosis. The problem was, how to do it. He looked at the Madame grimly, but she did not seem so surprised.

It was Lilly herself who was sounded annoyed at the delay. "Out with it."

Maddox took the spectacles off, replaced his normal glasses, and pulled up a chair by her side. "The tissue in your canal is torn from the birth and it is infected."

"From that terrible look on yer face, yeh might's'well just say it."

He did not like this part. "Childbed fever(1), Lilly. The result of a great struggle to bring a child into this world."

She must have known, even with some of her senses left from days of pain and fever, that there was nothing he could do. Infection could hardly be prevented, much less cured. Still, it was horrible not only to know it but to watch the clear reaction on her face, the way she didn't question him for a magic pill or something to at least help.

Uncomfortable in the silence, he said, "Is there anything I can do to see to your comfort? I mean, is there anything you would like?"

"I'd like yeh to clock George in the head, but I s'ppose it'd get yeh killed, and yeh deserve yer nice life with yer pretty wife."

The doctor managed a wane smile.

"s'ppose I should name 'im George, what after 'is pop. But I'm so tired." She closed her eyes. "Stay with me?"

"Of course."

"Yeh got this real calming voice, doc."

"You want me to read to you?"

"s'ppose it would be nice. Anything but the bible. Aye don' want ta hear 'bout Hell."

"All right." He had, fortunately, a book in his bag for long visits where he was stuck with an unconscious patient. Plucking the current one out, he cleared his throat, and began to read, " 'The double sorrow I do tell, of Troilus, who was the son of King Priamus of Troy. In love, how his fortunes befell, from sorrow to happiness, and after out of joy – '"

The hour fell late, and his voice was hoarse when he felt the hand he held go limp and cold. "- 'What, is this all the joy and all the rejoicing? Is this your advice? Is this my happy situation?'" He looked up, and closed his book, somewhere in book three of Chaucer's lesser masterpiece. He took her pulse, and called for a priest. One was ready, in fact, in the other room apparently, and as the holy water was touched upon her brow, he removed his glasses, to dry them from his tears. It was he who finally managed to bring the blanket over her face, and paid the priest. Exhausted, he was closing up his bag when he noticed the Madame standing by his side and pointing into the next room. There was a figure there.

"Who – Caroline?" he squinted. The figure in the dark was unmistakable. Only one woman would have a proper gown fitted to the last months of her term and wear it to such a place. Unmistakably, emerging from the shadows in the unlit next room, was his wife, bearing a cooing infant in her arms, wrapped in her own shawl. She looked up from it only to look at the scene before her. Finally, Maddox had the courage to mumble, "You shouldn't be here. It's – "

" – not proper?"

"I was going to say 'sanitary.'" He stood to greet his wife, who presented him with a newborn with a small amount of brown hair, half-asleep but still murmuring softly. He looked at the baby and said to it, "You've no idea." To what, he didn't clarify. He was suddenly tired, and not just because of the hour. He barely had it in him to question his wife as to what she was doing in this awful place; she must have gotten a look at Lilly. It was unhealthy for her here, physically and mentally, so he saved his questions. "Let's go."

"We're taking the child."

"I don't – I don't know where the orphanage is."

"I meant it more generally," she said, and with enough indignation that he had not the means to fight her, stalked off to the couch, child in arm. He was helpless but to follow her into the carriage.

"You can't be serious," he said.

"Daniel, you know every well I am quite capable of being serious."

"But – if -," he struggled for the right words. "To state the obvious, you only have few weeks – "

"And then I will have another infant. Oh dear, he's going to cry. We'd best find a wet nurse. And at this hour!"

"I imagine people will be awake in a few hours." Now, slightly more settled into his side of the carriage, he looked hard at the infant in her arms, and at the look on her face, and he could not decipher it. "What – what brought this on?"

"Is that a yes?"

"You know I would not refuse you anything in the world," he said. "But – I have to admit, I was not expecting – "

"Nor I. But – look at him." The look on her face, for this moment more important than the child itself, was absolutely and utterly motherly. "How can this child grow up on in orphanage? To do what with his life? Be a beggar or a thief or a dockworker at best? To never know parents?"

"Well I admit some sympathy to his situation –"

She looked directly back at him. "Can you stand two infants instead of one?"

"It is not a matter of 'standing.'" He settled back into his seat, thoroughly perplexed. "It just – I don't know. I hadn't considered it. I was so focused on ... Lilly."

"Was there hope when you arrived?"

"No," he said sadly.

"Would there had been? Had three days not passed?"

"If she had given birth in a better place, not gotten infected, then perhaps – but beyond that, there was nothing - ," but, he didn't want to have this conversation with his very pregnant wife. He didn't want to tell her that a queen of England had died of infection of torn tissues and there was nothing a doctor or surgeon could do for it. The idea of losing Caroline enough was terrifying. And now to be left with two children, instead of one, assuming it survived? What would he do then?

But this was not about what he wanted – it was about what she wanted. And he knew better than to deny a stressed, expectant woman anything – especially the woman he loved, the woman was constantly surprising him.

Despite the rising sun, they made their way home and Caroline took the boy to the cradle meant, hopefully, for their future child. Fortunately, it was large enough for two. She set him down, and he slept comfortably, immune to the world around him.

"He can never know," Maddox said, putting his arm around his wife as he looked at the boy. He was, despite the circumstances of his birth, beautiful. "Another secret for us."

"A child should know his father."

"His father has refused contact. Now that we have his son in our house, I would not dare to press the Prince again." He leaned on her shoulder tiredly.

"Does he have a name?"

It seemed odd that she hadn't asked that question before. "Lilly said something about George in her ranting, but I believe it was out of spite, and was never official. Nor do I think it would be wise."

"Frederick then?" Caroline said. "I would not saddle a child with the name 'Augustus.' Unless you want him named Daniel."

"No," he said, not needing to explain why. If there was to be a Daniel Maddox the Second, it would be a true son of his blood. "Still a dangerous game we will forever be playing, but I suppose, Frederick, it is. What do you say to that, little Frederick? What say you to any of this?"

But of course, the boy was sound asleep, and said nothing.

At Pemberley, there was the general ruckus of the master returning. For though Mr. Darcy had spent time away from Pemberley, even seasons, during his bachelorhood, this was the first time since his year on the Continent, when he was not Master of Pemberley anyway, that he was truly abroad and ex communicado. There were things to be done, papers to be signed, and of course the small matter of the introduction of a bastard brother and care of his pregnant wife. Georgiana stayed with them, and Mr. Bennet joined them, for Mary still had a few weeks to go and he, feeling his own parental burden lessened by the settlement, felt free to stop watching Mary like a concerned hawk and relax a bit in quiet. The four months of waiting had done nothing good for Mrs. Bennet's nerves, and now she was merely overenthusiastic about the nature of the settlement and herself a bit nervous at the prospect of two daughters facing dangerous childbirth, even if one was far away. Though there was much going back and forth between Kirkland and Pemberley for meals and discussions, and every bit of the adventure on the Continent was told over and over again, the Darcys were happy to be back at Pemberley and would remain there until they were needed at Kirkland for the delivery.

There were some minor kinks to be worked out. The servants would not settle on calling Grégoire anything but Master Grégoire, which he was uncomfortable with, and they were equally uncomfortable with him returning their bows, however polite and humble he was meaning to be and at whatever length this was explained to them. Darcy sighed at the whole business and was relieved when his wife said, "Dearest, the matter will surely settle itself eventually."

It was now fall, and hunting season, but Bingley was too swept up in his own affairs for much shooting, and so was there less than usual. They didn't even bother asking Grégoire if he wanted to be taught how to hunt. They could assume that much. Darcy did delight in the dual pleasure of simultaneously teaching his son and his brother how to fish.

"Wasn't Jesus a fisherman?" he said as they sat by the lake, waiting for bites.

"He was a carpenter, I believe," Grégoire said.

"Our Lord and Savior, the son of G-d, built houses?" asked Darcy.

"He was a modest man," was the reply.

"I heard he was a fish," said Geoffrey.

"Yes, son," Darcy said, giving him a pat on the back. "He was a carpenter fish. Where in the world did you get that idea?"

"He is referring to the word ichthys," Grégoire explained. "It is the word for fish in Greek, but someone noticed that it was also an acronym 'Jesus Christ God's Son is Saviour.' Or something to that effect. So, there are many places in Rome where you can find mosaics with the fish symbol."

"See? Your uncle is very learned, like you shall be someday," Darcy said to his son."

"He also dresses like a girl. Do I have to do that, too?" Geoffrey said, and Darcy would have been stern if Grégoire wasn't laughing.

A few weeks into their return, Bingley took leave of his guests for Town, as his sister was very expectant and he wished to be there. This had been previously arranged, and he was sent off with the warmest wishes for Mrs. Maddox.

When arrived a day later, he had a shock waiting for him. He stared for a while at the sight before saying, "Unless I am severely misunderstanding the biologic process – "

"Charles," she said in the demeaning manner of hers, "we adopted." For she was, despite her obvious extreme pregnancy, holding a cooing infant in her arms. Hesitantly, he approached her and peered through the bundle at the brown-haired infant. "His name is Frederick."

"I don't suppose – well, uhm – congratulations!" he flummoxed, then looked to the doctor for help, who was just arriving from a call. "While I don't question your intelligence, may I inquire who's idea -?"

Doctor Maddox only shrugged. "Hers. And yes, perhaps ill-timed, but who can say no to his wife? Besides, I rather like him myself."

"And he is – I mean his parentage – "

"The mother was a patient of mine," he said. "She died from the rigors of childbirth and the unsanitary conditions of her apartment. The father wants nothing to do with him, and so it was this or an orphanage."

Bingley was going to go into a line of further questioning that would perhaps go as far as to question their collective sanity, but he saw the delighted look on his sister's face when she held the infant and merely repeated his congratulations on their newborn son. "Twins without the effort. I should have thought of that myself, for Jane's sake. May I – " And the baby was passed to him, and he looked down in wonder at the child who was apparently his nephew. "Hello, Frederick. Well, at least you won't have everyone constantly holding the color of your hair against you."

"Or your face. Charles? Care to explain?"

For indeed, the ink was still there, if fading. "Geoffrey Darcy."

"Oh," she said, because that was enough of an explanation.

"Here's the plan," Brian said to Bingley after Doctor Maddox had been forced into his study by the mid-wife. Unless something went horribly wrong, he could not attend his own life's labor or the birth of his child, and though this could not have surprised him, it frustrated him to no end.

"I didn't know a plan was required," Bingley said.

"If we're ever going to get out of him where that child came from, it is required," Brian said. "We get him soused and then you follow my lead. You're a clever guy. Look a bit mental when you smile, but I know you've got brains."

"Did anyone, at any point, teach you manners?"

"I think I lost them along the silk road. Come on."

Mr. Hurst was already in there with the inconsolable Maddox. "I'm the doctor, damnit!" His wife's screams from upstairs seemed to ring him out like one would a washcloth.

"Danny, you're having a child, the hard way. Sit down and have a drink." Brian removed from his jacket a small bottle of what appeared to be water, its label all in some foreign language.

Mr. Hurst immediately took hold of it. "What is this?"

"Vodka. And very fine stuff, the best I'm told. From Saint Petersburg." He took it from Hurst, popped what appeared to be some sort of cap with expertise, and poured his brother a small glass, and then some for him, and some for Bingley, but of considerably smaller amount. "Drink up."

Caroline wailed again, and the doctor downed his glass.

"We could make a drinking game out of it," Brian said.

"We'd all be under the table, then," Bingley said.

"Well, you could probably drink our English stomachs under the table."

"I'm not Irish!" Bingley insisted.

"Pass the whiskey. Or vodka. I don't care," Doctor Maddox said in a plea of despair. In fact, it was not long and after very few screams that he was woozy and red-eyed. "Oh G-d. What have I done to her? I've ruined her!"

"What are you talking about?" Bingley said. "She's the happiest I've ever seen her since she married you. Well, not precisely now, but until now, and probably tomorrow sometime. You've given her two children."

"And she didn't even have to have one of them," Brian said. "Patient of yours, huh?"

"Yes," Maddox slurred. "Confenti-al. Ity." He seemed to be having trouble with the words. "Descreeet."

"Can you describe her?"

"Lilly ... Lilly died of childbed fever. If she wasn't ... if there were sanitary conditions ..." he trailed off and took another swig from his glass, unaware that it was empty when he did so. Brian filled it again.

"So you knew her first name?"

"She – wasn' a patient. I mean, until."

"Was she beautiful?"

"I – s'ppose. I mean, I never looked at her ... I never did her. I could have. But you know ... not associating with her."

It was Brian who spoke again as his brother drained his glass and Bingley closed his ears to a particularly loud yell. "Wait a minute! Was this that whore who visited you two months ago?"

"Lilly was not a whore!" Maddox slapped his glass on the table. "She was ... well, technically, she was a whore. By profession. But that doesn't mean she deserved to die abandoned. She was a lady." His mood, if not already, was positively dour.

"And the father?"

"Can't – can't talk about him."

"But if he wants nothing to do with his child, and he is not a patient – "

"He is a patient," but it came out more like 'ish.' "Besides. 's treason."

Bingley and Brian stared at each other. They only knew, offhand, of one other of Maddox's patients –

"George Augustus Frederick," he whispered to Bingley.

"No!"

"Danny," Brian said. "Are you drunk enough to tell us if the Prince is the father?"

"Not enough," Maddox said. "Pour me 'nother."

Brian laughed. "All right. Mr. Hurst?"

Mr. Hurst was far ahead of them, however, and was already in too much of a stupor to respond.

"But suppose, then, we talk of Frederick himself. He's not your patient. And he is my nephew, and I am very concerned for his health," Bingley said. "Especially his blood. Would you say he is of a ... royal bloodline?"

"Oh G-d, what have we done?" the doctor moaned. "I mean, we didn't do anything. He wants nothing to do with his son. His own son. Frederick would have gone to an orphanage with its terrible, unsanitary conditions." He raised his eyes, his glasses askew on his face. "You cannot tell anyone."

"That, I think, we can swear on," Brian said, raising his glass. "Mr. Bingley?"

"Mr. Maddox. Doctor Maddox. I swear never to speak of this again."

"Even to your wife! Even to your sister!" Maddox shouted. "No, your other sister!"

"Very well. Louisa shall never hear it from my lips."

"Oh, thank G-d," Doctor Maddox said, and passed out on his desk.

He was not roused again until very early in the morning, long after Bingley himself had fallen asleep on the couch, and it was Brian who shook his brother awake. "Come on."

Still half-asleep and hung-over, the doctor was led up the stairs and into his wife's bedroom, where he was seated on the armchair beside her and a baby was placed in his arms. He started at it numbly, barely aware in his stupor that he was holding his new daughter.

Frederick and Emily Maddox were christened together, nearly five days later, when Doctor Maddox finally judged his wife's health was returned enough for a short trip to the cathedral. The girl, with her very Bingley orange hair, was named after her maternal grandmother. In attendance, with everyone caught up in Derbyshire, were merely the Bingleys and the Maddoxes. Jane had come down to be there for her niece and nephew, as Charles would be leaving almost immediately after the ceremony and they would ride together. Louisa and Mr. Hurst were named godparents, lacking the abilities to be parents themselves, and they all returned to the Maddox house so the children could be settled in their crib, and there was much giving of presents to two children who were totally unaware of the events surrounding them.

Excusing themselves after the brunch, Mr. and Mrs. Bingley were back on the road to Kirkland, assure that the doctor would join them when they sent for him or Caroline was ready to travel, whichever came first.

"Two children," Jane said in the carriage, leaning into her husband. "For the work of one."

"I know. Why didn't we think of that?"

"Charles!"

He took his hand. "Are you thinking what I am thinking?"

"I am ... more open to the idea of more children, should they come to be. But it is all for G-d to decide, as our new brother-in-law would say."

"Well, if it is a Christening that makes you so maternal, you may very well have one to enjoy very soon."

"I never said I stopped loving our children! I just would prefer that we have them at a convenient time and order!" She nestled into his shoulder. "Oh, if only life were so simple."

"It would certainly be less interesting."

...Next Chapter – The Last Bennet

(1)Doctor Maddox is referring to Puerperal fever, also known as septicemia.