Dear online friends, thank you for the lovely encouragement! This story gave me a lot of headache. I hope I can whip it into shape when I get inspiration from your reviews
Although Frank Churchill is Darcy's friend, I can't promise George Wickham won't appear later on. Mrs. Augusta Elton has traded up in the world. She is Lady Matlock in the last chapter. Also, I'm not sure about some of the religious wordings/procedure in this chapter. Feel free to send me suggestions/corrections via PM. Anyway, bring out your handkerchief!
CHAPTER TWO
Fitzwilliam and his father were on their way back from seeing off their guests when everything seemed eerie.
The silence which usually comforted him became an unwelcome clamour to Fitzwilliam. He wondered why it seemed louder today of all days, and then he heard, or rather felt, the heavy silence of Pemberley. Several servants were clustered together in the entrance to the salon, waiting for their arrival. "Lady Anne has had a heart attack!" Mr. Reynolds said, and Fitzwilliam felt his heart drop.
"Call the physician immediately," Fitzwilliam shouted, and the footmen rushed to do his bidding. His father dashed upstairs to the bedchamber where Lady Anne had been carried to. Fitzwilliam's legs froze on the spot. It all was sudden. His mother was fine just some minutes ago; suddenly, she had a heart attack?
Fitzwilliam clutched a fist close to his heart. His mother's bright salon, with its painted silk wallpaper and white crown moulding, was full of moonlight, but even it couldn't fill the emptiness he now felt. Would he lose his mother just like that? Who would be smiling at him when he walked down the aisle? Who would teach his bride how to manage Pemberley?
Fitzwilliam paced across the salon to the gilded fireplace. He was twenty-four and was an adult already, but the thought now filled him with fear. He felt like a child again.
Then he saw Churchill running into the house. He knew the information had gotten to Churchill at the Dower House somehow, where he was staying. Fitzwilliam could hear the deafening sound of nothingness, which worried him even more. What would happen to Mother? He thought wearily.
Fitzwilliam's eyes filled with tears as he looked at Churchill. Churchill came closer to where Fitzwilliam stood and hugged him.
"Master Fitzwilliam?" Dr. Turner's quiet tone startled him. Fitzwilliam could make no response except to turn his reddened eyes towards the dreaded door where the doctor stood. "Your mother would like to see you now."
Churchill fell silent and looked at Fitzwilliam, giving him a brotherly pat on the back.
Fitzwilliam nodded. The best he could do was hope. And pray.
The kindly physician took the lead and guided Fitzwilliam into Lady Anne's room. Churchill decided to wait in the salon. Fitzwilliam blinked fast to fight back his tears and to adjust his eyes to the shadowed room. After his mother's bright salon, the main bedroom was cool and dark.
He paused stiffly near the door and felt as if he were intruding. The primary bedroom was a private realm, one of the only rooms he did not frequent. Fitzwilliam's parents had the run of the estate. His parents' bedrooms were separate sanctuaries that Fitzwilliam now invaded unwillingly. It was a surprisingly masculine room with dark-painted walls and heavy curtains. The curtains were drawn back. Lady Anne's delicate face was all but lost amongst the pillows.
"Lady Anne, your son has come." Dr. Turner's voice was barely more than a murmur, afraid to startle the man sitting by the bed.
"Yes. Yes. Of course." George Darcy replied absently. Fitzwilliam saw his father tremble, but he did not turn to look at his son.
Mr. Darcy was a dynamic man, a pillar of Pemberley. His name was well-respected wherever he found himself. Unfortunately, all the travelling with estate business and investment had made him a near stranger to his son. He was gone for long hours each day, worked nearly every day, and travelled often.
Now, Mr. Darcy stood up and gave Fitzwilliam a stiff hug and had no words of comfort to say. The elderly gentleman left the room quickly by the hall door. Fitzwilliam felt his hope whoosh out of the window. His father looked like he couldn't bear to see what would happen next. Neither could Fitzwilliam, but one of them had to stay strong.
"Fitzwilliam, dearest, come closer." Lady Anne raised her pale hand as her eyelids hardly seemed strong enough to lift and allow her sight.
"I'm here, Mother." Fitzwilliam managed to keep the sob from his voice by swallowing it hard. He rushed forward and took her mother's cold hand. He couldn't believe his mother, who was healthy some hours ago, was now reduced to this. What could have caused this?
"Joy of my days. How I would have loved to see you married," Lady Anne said. A tear finally dropped from Fitzwilliam's eyes.
"Your drawings have taken me out of this room and down to Wales, my dear. Thank you."
Fitzwilliam looked at the sketches he had done and fought back another tide of tears.
Suddenly, violent coughs racked his mother's skinny body, and Fitzwilliam hurried to support his mother and fluff up the pillows behind her. Dr. Turner stepped forward with a draught. A few forced sips helped Lady Anne find her voice again.
"You must promise me you'll take care of yourself, Frank and your Papa. Your father needs you, and I need to know you all will be together." Lady Anne writhed with the effort of speaking as she clutched to her chest with her now white hands. "Promise me."
"Yes. I promise. I will take care of Frank and Papa. Mother, do not talk like that; you need some rest now. You would be fine." Fitzwilliam gripped his mother's frail hand and tried to keep the panic out of his voice.
Lady Anne shook her head with the tiniest of smiles. "And, my love?"
"Yes, Mother. I'm still here."
"Promise me whenever you feel lonely, you will look at the stars. I'll be there, my precious son. I will always be watching over you." Lady Anne's voice faded to a rasp and dropped away to pained silence.
"I promise. I promise!"
Lady Anne's hand went limp, but her chest still rose and fell in shallow breaths. Dr. Turner stepped in, and Fitzwilliam called for the footman to get his father. All Fitzwilliam could do was step back from his mother and hold tight to the promises he made.
~P&P~~P&P~~P&P~
Fitzwilliam watched his father bent over his mother; the pain was evident on his father's face. He wanted to do more than stare at the strong man who used to be his father. He tried to move closer and console him, but words failed him at this point. He would have embraced him in a hug if they were much closer like he and his mother used to be.
No one ever thought that his mother was having dinner one minute, and the next minute she was carried back to her bedchamber with chest pain and then soon past away from this world. Death was one difficult phase and what weakened Fitzwilliam more was that everyone would surely go through it. Fitzwilliam was terrified when he learned that Lady Anne had a heart problem previously and managed it. He wouldn't have allowed her to undergo stressful things she must have been doing despite knowing her heart condition. Nothing mattered anymore, and his mother was gone for good.
It was hard for Fitzwilliam to grieve because he tried to be there for his father. Papa looked more like a ghost, a shadow of his former self, and he looked like he wanted to switch places with his mother. Fitzwilliam felt torn at the sight. He was not exactly close to his father, but that did not mean he wanted to lose him to death too!
The dinner guests returned to Pemberley again, followed by many other friends and relatives. George Darcy was dressed in a black outfit, and his eyes showed that he had been crying terribly. They were crimson red, and they were bloodshot. Fitzwilliam turned to look at Mr. Collins and his wife, who had come closer. The reverend patted Mr. Darcy's back before gently pulling him away from Lady Anne's body. Mr. Darcy seemed to respect the pastor more because he followed Mr. Collins without protest. They stood by and watched the next person come to pay their respect to Fitzwilliam's mother.
Lady Anne was encased in a wool shroud, and she was laid there for mourners to come and pay their last respect. Her beauty was evident, even in death. Fitzwilliam's heart was warm at how almost everyone had something good to say about his mother. He was proud, and he knew that she would be ushered into heaven quickly without any issue. His mother was like a lamp that managed to light up every path she walked.
Lord and Lady Matlock walked forward to where Lady Anne's body lay. Lady Matlock struggled to keep her tears in, and her husband kept on holding her shoulder in comfort. They could not form a coherent sentence. No one had expected it so soon. Lord Matlock cleared his throat before he began to speak.
"When my younger sister Anne was born, I thought she was the most amazing person ever to grace the face of the earth. I was confused why she wasn't an angel. She was perfect. When she grew up, she was the definition of a perfect lady and became the Mistress of Pemberley. I always looked forward to having a daughter who would take lessons from her. I wish her a peaceful transit into the afterworld, and I wish she would rest in perfect peace." His Lordship ended his short speech, and the whole atmosphere was filled with murmurs of prayers.
Lady Catherine came forward next. She brushed the tears away from her eyes before she dropped the tiny rose in her hands beside her younger sister's feet. Lady Anne's death came as a shock to everyone who knew her, especially her older sister Catherine.
Judge James Darcy and his wife, Mrs. Molly Darcy, were next to pay their respect. A soft smile made his way to Fitzwilliam's face. His mother had always held them in high regard. She would talk about how she wanted Fitzwilliam to take after Judge Darcy in his principle and judgement. As children, Frank and Fitzwilliam would imitate Uncle James while playing, and both of them wanted to be Judge Darcy.
"Having Lady Anne in the family was a privilege. And the Lord bless her soul. She was the kindest lady anyone could ever meet, and she was always ready to help. I pray for genuine peace for her during her transition to heaven. I pray the Lord stands with Mr George Darcy and Fitzwilliam." The Judge rounded off his speech with a prayer.
It was time to transfer the body to the churchyard where it would be buried. The realisation started to dawn on Fitzwilliam. His mother was gone forever, and he would never see her again!
"We have entrusted our sister and mother, Lady Anne, to God's mercy, and now we are about to commit her body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. I sure hope for the resurrection to eternal life. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our frail bodies to be conformed to his own. Dear Lord, guide our sister in this journey to eternal life and grant her peace forever and ever, amen." Kympton's pastor ended his prayers, and Lady Anne's body was slowly let into the freshly dug grave in the church backyard.
When the coffin was deep down there, the family stepped forward and dropped a rosemary stem into the grave while muttering their prayers silently. Mr. Darcy came last, and he reluctantly let his stem of rosemary into the grave. Fitzwilliam held his father's hands, and he squeezed them as some form of assurance. Losing the love of his life wasn't that easy, and Fitzwilliam could relate to his father's pain. They all watched as the coffin was covered slowly, and they said their last goodbyes to Lady Anne, some amidst tears.
~P&P~~P&P~~P&P~
Fitzwilliam stared at his father like he had lost his damn mind. This was the first time he stepped out of his chamber looking clean since Lady Anne died two weeks ago. And now he's here talking about leaving Pemberley to Fitzwilliam while he travelled around to find peace.
"Read it!" George Darcy thrust several torn pages of paper to Fitzwilliam. "I have to leave!" His father then marched back to the bed chamber again. Fitzwilliam looked at the paper. It seemed to be torn from a journal. It was his father's diary. He was uncomfortable reading it. But his father asked him to, and he wanted to understand what prompted George's decision to leave Pemberley.
I downed the last bottle of the English scotch and noted that the bottle had become empty. This was my third bottle for the night and the fourteenth day since I had resorted to alcohol to take away the deep feeling of loneliness settling down within me. I hated the feeling, and the fact that I had no power over it made me feel worse, if not near death.
I looked around, and the place was extremely quiet, no Anne humming around the whole place and making me laugh at how she took the tones too high than necessary. She wouldn't come to check up on me every minute when she noticed my office was way quieter than usual or if something deep within her just called out to me. She would call it her intuitions, and she claimed they were from God. Anne was quite the religious one in our marriage, and she would ignore a lot of things because of her fate. She was what people would call the perfect English wife. My perfect English wife.
I stared into the estate, vast land and wondered how much money could get rid of this loneliness settling deep within me. I would give anything to get Anne back to life. I would give all my fortune to get a chance to apologise to her and tell her he never meant any of those words I uttered to her during our last argument. I wished I had endured her actions and decided to forgive her without talking it out. Maybe she wouldn't have been mad at me even in the grave. I didn't need a soothsayer to tell me that. She was mad at him, and the nightmares were a constant reminder.
What good was the riches since I couldn't have a life after my wife's death? Nothing else mattered except my struggle to stay sober during the day and keep in screams during my nightmares at night. It was like a repetitive circle I wished would end sooner. I would drink my entire day away, locked in my chambers, and by night, when I would be struggling to sleep, the nightmares would come for me in full force. They would torment me till morning. I would drink again to see if I would be able to sleep, and the same thing happened again. I knew how each drinking fest would end, but I couldn't bring myself to stop. I dropped the glass cup before stretching my leg in preparation for sleep, this night would not be different from the other nights since Anne's death, and I knew it.
I tried closing my eyes, and I met myself on a ship. I was a pirate and the captain of the ship. My other friends and I were drinking and singing, obviously enjoying my day. I got tired of drinking and decided to take a nap inside, I walked into the cabin room, and Anne was waiting for me. Her mode of dressing hasn't changed from the night of the dinner, but her face has. She looked cross instead like she would kill me if she got any chance. I tried to reach out to her, but she vanished. I was confused as hell, and I decided to sleep anyway. I was almost sleeping deeply when I started feeling like I was being choked, and the air in my lungs became restricted. I opened my eyes to Anne straddling me, and she was pressing her hand tightly over my neck. I tried to remove her hands, but they were surprisingly stronger than mine, and I knew my end had come. What would happen to my dear Fitzwilliam? I cannot die! I love to see Fitzwilliam marry and be happy. I want to cradle Fitzwilliam's son, the future of Pemberley. I could hear my fellow pirates' loud voices singing from where I was, but I could not scream for help. I mustered all of my strength before shoving her roughly away from me.
I woke up almost immediately, and my hands went to my throat. It felt normal. Anne wasn't choking me. I were dreaming again as usual. I needed all of these nightmares to stop to move on properly. Maybe I had been doing this the wrong way. I was trying to move on from the only woman I ever loved while in the same space we shared. Maybe I needed a change of environment for a start.
"Father, leaving the estate won't stop your nightmares. You need to reconcile with yourself and try to face it yourself. Mother isn't hunting you, and she would never do that. Stay back and let's deal with your nightmares together," Fitzwilliam replied with a sigh when he confronted his father later. George Darcy held up his hands to show he was done having this conversation with him. Fitzwilliam felt weak, and he didn't think he was old enough to manage Pemberley. The fact that his father would be alone with his nightmares troubled him. Fitzwilliam was worried about him.
"You haven't been in love before. You have no idea how it feels for the only person you ever loved to leave you. When we lose the love of our lives, we don't have anything to live for anymore. Losing your mother made me lose my purpose in life. I'm going to find it again. The night of the dinner, I was wrong when I talked about marrying for connections and fortune. Love is most important. Maybe I would come back someday but Fitzwilliam, be true to yourself. Open your heart and allow yourself to fall in love with the right person. I will be heading out by morning. I will write you a letter when I get to my destination." Mr. Darcy ended his speech before heading upstairs. Fitzwilliam watched his father in disbelief as he walked up the stairs. His father's mind was already made up.
