Author's note:
While this is not the first fan fiction I've ever written, it's the first I actually finished. So as a first time poster I appreciate your constructive feedback.
Thanks in advance, and enjoy the story!
Edited to add CN/TW: Domestic violence, abuse / rape
London, November 1809
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam stepped out of the hackney coach and shivered in the foggy pre-dawn. With a look of determination on his face he stood straighter, rolled back his shoulders, and paid the driver.
"You know that you do not have to do this, brother."
The Colonel stiffened, but finished his transaction with the coach driver before he turned around to face his brother. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw his father standing next to his offending sibling.
"You do not have to do this," the Viscount Tyndale emphasised, while eyeing the comings and goings on the London dock they were standing at. Soldiers were bustling about everywhere, yelling and shouting, getting on board the mighty ships His Majesty was sending out to the continent in order to fight the war against Napoleon.
"Son..." the Earl of Matlock began, but let the rest of the sentence hang awkwardly in the morning air. The sun had just begun to rise, misty twilight caught in the masts.
Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed heavily. "We have been through this already."
"Yes," his brother replied, "we have, and extensively so. This still does not mean that you have to go."
"You are wrong. This means that I absolutely have to go. I worked with these men, I formed them, made soldiers out of them that will do England proud. Now we are going into battle together. That is that." Having spoken, he shouldered his duffel bag and stalked towards the hassle of red coats.
"He would not want you to go, you know." His brother called after him. The Colonel stopped in his stride, but did not turn back.
"Above all," the Viscount continued, "she would not want you to go."
Without any further sign of having heard his brother's words, Colonel Fitzwilliam resumed walking, away from his brother and father, away from his old life, away from England, away from her.
Away from Elizabeth Rose Bennet Darcy. The love of his life. His cousin's wife.
–
Rosings Park, November 1815
Desdemona Evans took a deep breath when she felt her coach slow, and finally stop. The journey from London had been relatively smooth, yet no pleasure awaited her at its end. When the driver opened the door she was as ready as she could possibly be to meet her... brother, currently owner of Rosings Park, Kent. While being handed out she took a good look at the building before which her carriage had halted. "Ostentatious" was the first word that came to her mind, as she took in the many shiny windows and chimneys she could see when she tilted her head just a little bit upwards.
"So where is the welcome committee, I wonder?" she said under her breath when she had solid ground under hear feet again.
Still no movement was seen in the great house, nobody coming out of the elaborate front doors, not even a stable hand running around the corner for the horses.
David Charles Pratt had married Anne de Bourgh a little more than a year and a half ago, and already her dowry was falling into decay. One could tell from the front gardens which needed tending, from the absence of light in the windows despite the falling dusk, and from the continued lack of any human being. Resolutely, Desdemona gathered her skirts and walked up the steps which led to the entrance. In passing, she noted that they needed a good broom.
The sound of the knocker echoed through the presumably great entrance hall and faded away seemingly unheard. Desdemona knocked again, with more force and more repetitions than before. Finally, the door was opened a crack, and a thin specimen of a butler with a surly face stuck out his head. He threw her a disparaging glance and after a good look asked her with that specific drawl his profession seemed to demand: "You wish?" He even lifted a sceptical eyebrow at her.
"I am Mrs Evans, Mr Pratt's... sister", she answered calmly. The hesitation had been hardly noticeable, she thought with satisfaction. "He invited me to come and live with him and Mrs Pratt."
"Invite you, did he?"
"Indeed, he did."
"Apparently he did not see fit to inform me we were to have a visitor," the butler drawled grumpily. "But as you are here now, you might as well come in." He opened the door a little more in order for her to squeeze through, and was about to shut it again when Desdemona said: "Please have somebody take my bags into my room, and the horses need tending to as well. Will you see me to your master now?"
"Listen, Missus, I will not take orders from strangers! I let you in because you claim to be the master's sister, but in fact you look nothing at all like him..."
Here he was interrupted by heavy footsteps coming down the central staircase. Also very grand, of course, Desdemona thought wryly.
"Easy, Smith, easy. She is exactly whom she claims to be, and now run along and do what she bids you."
The butler, Smith, threw her an evil look, but gave a miniature bow and walked out the front door.
Desdemona stood mutely while Mr Pratt reached the foot of the stairs and came towards her.
"Dessssdemoooonaaaa," he drawled now, "how good to see you! It has been ages! I am so very grateful that you came when I begged you." He took her hand and gallantly bowed over it.
"Well, David, I would not exactly call the piece of rubbish you sent begging. You threatened my children." It took all her self control not to draw her hand out of his grasp.
His steely blue eyes flashed for a moment, but he brought himself under control. "Who would be so harsh and threaten young children as pleasant and beautiful as yours?" he asked with false empathy. "I think I merely gave you strong inducements to come, my wife needs your help, sister. And do we not have family to help us in times of need?"
Actually, David's wife, Anne de Bourgh Pratt, had been Desdemona's only reason to follow her brother's call. Her children were safe, her brother might spill threatening words on paper, but he could never pose an actual threat to any of her family. Her friends made sure of that. Those friends had also tried to discourage her from actually going to Rosings, they would have gladly kept her safe as well.
With an inward sigh, she tried to focus on the present. Alexander and Sarah were safe, and far away, David was the problem at hand now.
At 24, David was of medium height, strong built and fair colouring. His hair was shiny blonde, styled to the height of fashion, but a little tousled at the moment.
His face was very handsome in a way, very pleasurable to look at, but not out of the common way. His eyes were a light, sparkling blue, which reminded Desdemona of the ice on a frozen lake, glittering in the weak rays of the winter sun. Above all, he had an ability to bond with people, to express himself in company, which had won him many friends, and many a poor woman. His reputation in London was unambiguous.
"Oh, where are my manners? You must be tired and hungry from your journey! Please forbear with me, I am not used to having visitors in this out-of-the-way place."
Out of the way? What would the people of Newcastle say to that? Desdemona almost smiled at the thought. If her brother liked Kent so little, why was he here?
"I would be grateful for a fire and a little something to eat," she answered evenly.
"Well, then come into the drawing room with me. The fire is already lit, I will have somebody bring something to eat." With that, he took the hand he was still holding and placed it in the crook of his elbow.
The next half our was spent by each trying to find out the most about the wife of the one, and the children of the other. Neither had much success, as these were topics they would not want the other to know too much of.
Finally Desdemona had had enough of walking on eggshells, and asked him outright: "So where is your wife tonight? Will she join us for dinner later?"
"Unfortunately, Anne is very unwell at the moment, she will already have retired for today and thus not be fit to receive visitors. You will meet her tomorrow, I am sure. Concerning dinner, I have just about forgotten an important engagement I have to keep, I am sure you will not mind having a tray sent up to your room?"
"Of course not," was her surprised reply.
"Well, then I will have to leave you to your own devices." With that he rang the bell and instructed the mousy servant girl who answered the call to guide Mrs Evans up to her suite of rooms.
Once there, the girl, Mary, as Desdemona found out, helped her unpack her trunks and drew a bath for her. Desdemona sent her away for the night, she would manage alone from there on. Later, when she had dressed in a nightshirt and dressing gown, she went to the door that led out to the hall and opened it. A burly footman stared down at her from his six foot and four inches, not seeming to be surprised at all by her looking at him. She regarded him for a moment, then nodded and went back to her room. She leaned on the closed door from the inside, her suspicions confirmed. She was being guarded.
She was being held prisoner.
–
The next morning dawned misty and cold, as November mornings in England are wont to do. Desdemona was up early, as she had not found much sleep under the circumstances, and gave up shortly after dawn. She tried ringing the bell, and actually Mousy Mary entered a short while later, bearing a tray laden with breakfast. The burly footman held the door open for her, and even nodded to Desdemona in greeting before he closed it again. So he was still there. Mary whispered a few questions as to how she liked her tea, or what she wanted to wear for the day, but otherwise kept silent. Desdemona did not try to get her to talk, she was not in a chatty mood herself this morning.
When Desdemona was dressed and had broken her fast, Mary pointed out the bookcase in a corner of the room. "The master said you might want to read a little, the mistress will not be ready before 11 o'clock," she whispered.
So she was not supposed to leave her room, and for now Desdemona decided to go along with it. She would not do anything foolish before she had seen Mrs Pratt.
–
At 11 o'clock sharply Mary came to inform her that Mrs Pratt was receiving now. With great curiosity, Mrs Evans followed Mary down the hall to a beautifully carved door, where Mary knocked hesitantly. A harsh voice bid enter, and Mary opened the door, curtseyed and vanished faster than Desdemona would have thought her able.
The room was kept in twilight, as the curtains were almost completely drawn close, and Desdemona stood motionless for a moment, to wait until her eyes had gotten used to the gloom.
"You will be Mrs Evans, the master's sister," a tall and heavy woman said from her vantage point at a grand wing back chair. "I am Mrs Cassel, the housekeeper. Mrs Pratt," here she vaguely waved in the direction of the winged chair, "Mrs Pratt here is happy to meet you."
Slowly, not knowing what to expect, Desdemona rounded the chair which faced the drawn curtains, mindful of the watchful eyes of Mrs Cassel.
Whatever picture of Anne de Bourgh Pratt had formed itself in Mrs Evans's mind, it was nothing like the truth. Mrs Pratt was a petite brunette with the palest skin ever seen on a living human being, a skinny thing with listless eyes that lazily travelled up the visitor's form, but did not linger. The most striking feature was the protruding belly, Anne Pratt was heavy with child. The realization struck Desdemona hard, David had made her come because he needed a midwife whose skills he could trust. It was obvious to the most careless observer, that Anne de Bourgh Pratt did not have the constitution to give birth to a healthy child – and live to tell the tale. Desdemona would need all her skill to save one of them, and she did not have the impression that David was very attached to his wife.
Belatedly, she remembered her manners. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs Pratt," she said, and curtsied. Her hostess murmured something indistinct.
"You will forgive Mrs Pratt that she does not stand to greet you as is proper," the housekeeper threw in with her harsh voice, "she is not in the best health."
"Of course," Desdemona murmured, and looked for something to sit on. If she was not seeing things, Mrs Pratt had flinched on the housekeeper's words. The only convenient piece of furniture was a hard, straight backed chair which she drew near. It was not very comfortable, but at least she no longer needed to stand.
"May I ask, Mrs Pratt, how far along you are? It might seem a very indiscreet questions, but we are sisters, after all, and I have two children myself."
As her mistress only stared at her belly as if she had just seen it for the first time, Mrs Cassel answered for her: "Mrs Pratt is in her eighth month now."
"Oh, then the little one will be with us come Christmas, my own son Alexander was born in December five years ago."
They lapsed into silence after that, until Desdemona said: "Have you already thought about the name?"
After a tiny shake of Mrs Pratt' head Mrs Cassel said, "there is no need to wrack one's brain about a name before one knows whether it is a boy or a girl."
"For sure, but I enjoyed the wracking all the same!"
Here they were interrupted by a maid bringing in the tea tray, which was placed on a little side table behind Mrs Pratt's winged chair. Mrs Cassel did the honours, handing a cup to Mrs Evans and placing one delicately on the arm of Mrs Pratt's chair, which was duly ignored.
"Sandwiches, Mrs Evans?" the housekeeper offered, holding a plate in Desdemona's direction.
"That would be lovely," she answered, taking one of the cucumber sandwiches presented to her. "You are not eating, Mrs Pratt? You have to sustain your strength for the little one, you know," Desdemona said conversationally.
Her only answer was a little shrug, until Mrs Cassel put in: "I am with Mrs Pratt since she was a very small child, she was never one who needed much food."
"That might be true, madam," Desdemona answered in a less conversational tone, "but she is eating for two now."
"No, really," Mrs Pratt peeped up for the first time, "I am not hungry." Her voice was high and brittle, almost like an old woman's. It did not sound as if it was put into use too often.
"As you wish, Mrs Pratt," Desdemona gave in, "but you have to take some of your tea. It will do you a world of good!" She smiled over her own cup. Even without having had the chance to examine Mrs Pratt, Desdemona knew that her sister-in-law was dehydrated, malnourished and unduly pressurised. Obediently, Mrs Pratt lifted her cup and took a few sips.
The rest of the visit passed in a like fashion, with Desdemona asking a question or making a comment, Mrs Pratt shrugging her non-committal answer, and Mrs Cassel closing the topic.
When it was almost time for Desdemona to leave, Mrs Pratt exerted herself and asked a question. "How is Mr Evans?"
Mrs Evans registered the housekeeper's quiet hiss as well as the mistress's answering jerk, but decided to ignore both for the moment. "I have been a widow these past three and a half years, Mrs Pratt."
"My apologies," Anne whispered, "I did not know."
"Oh, think nothing of it. How could you have known?"
Anne only sighed by way of answer, which was the sign for Mrs Cassel to declare that her mistress had been tired out by the visit and was in need of rest.
Desdemona took her leave without protest, she needed time to think.
–
Back in her room Desdemona paced the total length of the stately guest room she had been given, without pause.
That Anne de Bourgh Pratt was a most miserable creature was obvious, that she was frightened out of her wits by that dragon of a housekeeper equally so.
The question was, did David know about the state his wife was in? More importantly, did it even bother him? If her guess was correct, David had ordered her here because he knew that he needed an heir. Desdemona had had some friends in London investigate on David's circumstances before she had left Town, and if the rumours were true there was a clause in the marriage settlements that would only grant David full control over the de Bourgh fortunes once he had sired an heir.
She did not know if the terms specified a male heir, but she supposed not, as the de Bourgh family had not seen fit to entail the estate away from Anne.
Until such an heir was born, David and Anne were to live off an allowance paid out to them from the main body of the fortune as well as the estate's earnings. The latter could not be much, if the state of the house allowed for conclusions on the state of the rest of the property.
Perhaps this was the reason for David's being here, in Kent. He obviously was not in love with his wife, and he had seemed bored and disgusted yesterday. But if he was out of funds, or could not show his face in London due to some debts of honour he was unable to discharge, his being here made sense.
Under normal circumstances, Desdemona would have questioned the housekeeper, but she did not trust Mrs Cassel.
Gathering her resolution about her, she walked to her door, only to find her burly guard blocking it.
"I will go to see the steward of Rosings, can you tell me his name?" she said brusquely. The guardian only shook his head, and moved not an inch when she tried to walk past him.
Desdemona sighed impatiently. "Will you have the steward asked to see me here?"
Again he only shook his head, and made a gesture with his hand to prompt her back into her room.
Becoming angry now, she stood her ground. When she opened her mouth to give the silent giant a piece of her mind, Mary, who had just been coming down the hall with a stack of linen in her arms, interrupted her.
"You must not be angry with Bobby, Mrs Evans. You see, the old steward, Mr Brown, left us when Lady Catherine passed away. Since then, Smith has been seeing to the papers." This was the longest speech Desdemona had so far heard from Mary.
"The steward left more than one year ago, and has yet to be replaced?" Desdemona asked in astonishment, "and the butler is seeing to said steward's tasks?"
"Please, Mrs Evans, Smith must not hear you talking so. We should go back to your room now." Mary shifted her load to one arm, placed the other one on Desdemona's back and led her into her room. For the moment, Desdemona was too shocked to resist. As she turned, Bobby closed the door behind them, silent as ever.
"Do you want your bath now, Mrs Evans?" Mary asked, now again in her quiet way. The strength that had a moment ago given her voice a steely quantity had vanished completely.
"Yes, yes..." Desdemona answered distractedly. David must be more desperate than she had initially thought.
Lost in thoughts, she watched as Mary rang for hot water, and prepared everything that was needed for her bath.
"The water is ready, Mrs Evans, I will help you with your dress now."
Mary's quiet voice started Desdemona out of her thoughts. "Oh, yes, yes my bath."
While Mary unfastened all the buttons and ties that held the lady's dress, Mrs Evans suddenly asked: "Why did Bobby not tell me that there was no real steward at Rosings?"
Mary was silent for such a long time, that Desdemona turned around to her, drawing the ties out of the maid's hands. "Well?"
Mary's gaze was glued to the ground, she twisted as much as she could without actually moving. "You see, madam, Bobby has no voice."
"What do you mean, he has no voice?"
"He does not speak, madam."
"You want to say that he is a mute?"
"Yes, madam. But no madam, he was speaking just normal before he was drafted. Yet he has not said a single word since he returned from the war."
"But he can hear all right?"
"Yes, madam." Here, Mary suddenly lifted her head and stared Desdemona squarely in the eye. "He is no evil man, Bobby, he is not possessed by the devil, you must not believe that, madam, please! He has been different ever since he came back from the war. The French took him once, you know, the evil ba..." she stopped herself just in time.
Tenderly, Desdemona took Mary's hands, which the latter had folded to her chest in a gesture of praying.
"Do not worry, Mary, I believe no such nonsense. I know a man in London, who is just like him." Henry had been fascinated by the theory that a traumatic event in the past can affect a man's ability to speak. Over time, Mr Hill, who had first consulted him as a doctor, had later become Dr Evans's object of study and eventually his friend.
"You do? Oh, madam, when you are finished, I must tell Bobby that there is another one like him!" Mary exclaimed.
Desdemona raised an eyebrow at that, but only asked, "does he know the sign language?"
Mary seemed confused by the question. "No, madam, I do not understand what this is."
"It is a language that does not have words, but consist entirely of signs made with the hands."
Mary's eyes became as round as saucers. "You want to say madam, that one can make signs and talk to people with one's hands?" The concept seemed incredible to the maid.
"Yes, exactly. If he does not know the sign language, can he read and write?"
"No, madam, he cannot. There was nobody who could have taught him, you see, and even if he knew his letters, most of the other servants would not."
"Yes, of course. But how then does he communicate?"
Mary shrugged her shoulders and moved behind her charge again, to continue her work. "We mostly ask him questions he can answer with a nod or a shake of the head, madam. And he has a hand in drawing, when he can get some paper and a pencil."
"Impressive."
"Madam?"
"Well, some mutes go mad if they do not learn a way to express themselves, or they altogether cease to interact with other people. Bedlam is full of the poor creatures."
"Bobby is not mad, madam!" Mary exclaimed, "he is the most tender man I know!"
Desdemona smiled. "That makes him even more impressive, Mary. I think you like him, do you not?"
Desdemona could positively hear Mary's blush in her voice when she quietly answered, "no, madam, it is nothing like that."
"Do not fear, Mary, your secret is safe with me." Many masters were not amused when their servants formed attachments amongst each other, and somehow Desdemona did not think that David would look on this romance with a favourable eye, either.
"How did Bobby come to work here?" Desdemona wanted to know as she stepped out of her skirts which billowed around her ankles after Mary had loosened the last ties.
"Many of the old servants left with Mr Brown. Mr Pratt was in need of a strong footman, and Bobby was in need of a place to work."
"It cannot be easy for him to find employment," Desdemona thought aloud.
"It is not. Lady Catherine always refused to let him work here. She said Bobby was abnormal." The contempt in the maid's voice was obvious.
"He must be happy then, to finally have found paid work." Desdemona eased into the tub, letting the warm water envelop her. Mary did not answer right away, and so Desdemona enjoyed the feeling of the liquid against her skin in silence. A few moments later the small noises of Mary bustling around the room had stopped, and Desdemona opened her eyes in surprise. Mary stood near her tub, eyes on the floor again, her mouth set into a determined line.
"Would you need anything else for now, madam?"
Obviously, her chatty mood had passed. She could simply fear to have said too much, as well.
"No, thank you. Will you come back later and help me dress for dinner? I need to speak to my brother."
"Mr Pratt is not yet come back, madam."
Desdemona sighed.
"Well then, be so kind as to have a tray sent up for me later, I will dress myself."
"As you wish."
Mary curtsied and left a very pensive Mrs Evans behind.
Even when Mary personally brought the dinner tray, Desdemona could not manage to draw her into a conversation remotely like the one they had shared earlier. Mary would not look her in the eye, or answer her questions with more than polite nothings. In a way, the maid seemed to be just as afraid as Mrs Pratt.
–
Mrs Evans was roused from an uneasy sleep by a forceful knock on her chamber door. She hardly had the time to sit up in her bed, when said door was thrown open and in flew a young maid she had never seen before.
"You must come quick! Mrs Pratt, she is... oh please, hurry!" exclaimed the young girl upon seeing her awake. When Desdemona did not react right away, the maid moved towards her and urgently pulled at the sleeve of her shirt.
"Come quick, madam"!
Desdemona freed her arm, slowly got out of bed and looked around for her dressing gown.
"Mrs Pratt! She has some pains!"
Shock registered on Desdemona's face as she ran to the door. Hang the dressing gown!
They were down the corridor in no time, with Bobby following behind in his eerie silence. A very remote and detached part of Desdemona's brain registered him, and found some amusement in the question whether or not the giant man would follow them into the mistress' bedroom. He did not. Instead, he posted himself outside the door, as was his wont.
The air in the room was stale, somebody had lit only a single candle on the night stand. Mrs Pratt herself lay on a giant bed, tossing and turning, covered in sweat. She had thrown off her coverings, and a light red stain could be seen on her night gown.
"Mrs Pratt! Anne! Do you hear me?" Desdemona called even before she reached the bed. She halfway crawled on the bed in order to be able to catch one of Anne's restless hands and feel her forehead.
"What has happened?" she asked of nobody in particular.
"Mrs Pratt slept fitfully, she usually does, madam. Then suddenly she screamed in her sleep and began to convulse..."
"Is this the first time this has happened?" Desdemona interrupted her in a sharp, questioning tone.
"Yes, madam, this is the first time."
"Very good. Go get me some cold water and clean linens. She has a slight fever, we need to get it down before it can rise any higher. Bring a clean night dress for her, and clean sheets, too!"
For the first time during her stay at Rosings, a servant followed her command without further ado. The young maid was quite effective, and soon everything Desdemona had asked for was produced.
"Now please bring some warm water, she needs to be washed," Desdemona said to the girl much softer than before.
While she was alone with Anne, Desdemona used the cold water and cloth the maid had left behind to wipe her patient's forehead and neck, as well as the arms where she could pull off the nightshirt without greater effort. Anne seemed to calm down under her ministrations, she no longer tossed, in fact she hardly moved at all.
"Anne?"
Slowly, Anne Pratt opened her eyes and looked around the room searchingly for a few moments, until she caught sight of Desdemona. "Mrs Evans," she croaked weakly.
"It is all right, Anne, do not speak. You had some slight premature pains, nothing serious. In fact, the worst is already over."
As a matter of fact, premature pains were very serious, but it would do no good to upset Anne any further. After all, the worst was over. For now.
"The baby?" Anne whispered weakly.
"Your baby is perfectly all right."
What was meant to set Anne at ease caused a mighty sob to rise, which seamed to tear through her whole body. Anne started crying hysterically, and when Desdemona gathered the weak woman into her embrace, Anne dug her nails into her shoulders, holding tight as if her life depended on it. Which might just be the case.
They sat in their tight embrace for a few minutes, until the maid returned with a pitcher of warm water.
While she placed it in the washstand, Desdemona began stroking Anne's head.
"Anne, dearest, your maid has brought us some water. We will get you out of this nightdress, it is stained. We need to get you washed and dressed in a clean shift, you see?"
Anne heaved a deep sigh, what little strength she might still have possessed flowed out of her with the air.
Releasing Anne's grasp a little, Desdemona turned to the maid and asked her to light a few more candles and then help her with Anne's nightdress.
The horror which was revealed when the soft cloth was removed nearly made Desdemona sick. Bruises of every colour of the rainbow and in every possible stage of healing were strewn all over Anne's body, except where they would be seen when she was dressed.
Her ankles were swollen, a dark stain directly below her chest gave witness of a very nasty blow to the ribs.
It took all of Desdemona's professionalism to suppress an outward reaction. Anne was probably already ashamed to appear before her in such a state, no need to add to it.
However, Desdemona could not overlook that the maid seemed not at all surprised. At her raised eyebrow, the young girl only shrugged her shoulders.
Together, they cleaned away the last signs of Anne's mishap, and pulled the clean shift over her head. During the whole process, Anne never said a single word, giving only the occasional sob to go with the silent tears that streamed down her cheeks.
"Thank you very much..."
"My name is Sally, madam.
"Sally, yes. Would you do me one last favour? Please ask Mrs Cassel to send up some tea, Mrs Pratt needs something to regain her strength."
Sally looked uncomfortable at this, and finally said, "Mrs Cassel is not... well. She... likes her gin, if you get my meaning. No offence meant!"
Desdemona rolled her eyes. A surly butler as a steward, and a tyrannical drunkard as a housekeeper. Great.
"Would you mind getting us some tea, then? Under the circumstances, we should better not disturb Mrs Cassel."
"As you wish, madam."
The maid disappeared, and Desdemona went back to her seat on Anne's bed. Her sister in law was still silently crying, but otherwise gave no sign of being awake. The ladies passed the time until the maid returned with the tea in silence, holding hands.
"Thank you Sally, that will be all. You can go back to your room now," Desdemona dismissed the maid.
"If you please, madam, it is my turn to sleep here with Mrs Pratt tonight."
"You sleep in Mrs Pratt's bedroom?"
"One of us is always with her, madam."
"Well, for tonight, I will see to that duty. Bobby out there will make sure that I do not leave before the morning. You may go sleep in your own bed." Sally curtsied at that, and left the two women alone.
Slowly and carefully, with many many tender words, Desdemona made Anne drink a cup of tea, and then poured a cup for herself, which she drank while she infused a second cup into Anne.
After Anne had drunk to her satisfaction, Desdemona went to snuff all the candles but the one on the night stand, which she only blew out after she had crawled under the blankets to lie beside Anne. The weak woman allowed her to embrace her, and even relaxed a little against her body.
"Now you have seen me," Anne suddenly whispered.
A wry smile tugged at the corners of Desdemona's mouth. "I have seen worse."
"Really? Where?" Anne's interest seemed engaged.
"In Spain, after the battles."
Anne tried to turn and face Desdemona, but the latter would not let her.
"You were in Spain? In the war?" Incredulity was paramount in Anne's whisper.
"My husband was a doctor and a surgeon. He was also a reservist, and when he received his orders I decided to come with him, as his assistant and nurse."
"You were not glad that he left?"
With a humourless chuckle, Desdemona replied, "Indeed, I was not. We were friends, Henry and I, and after some discussions here and some well placed threats there, the Military Medical Service allowed me to come along."
"Were you not afraid?"
"Of course I was, or better, I thought I was. I learned what fear really means much later, in Spain."
"Do you regret that you went?"
"No, not for one second. Alexander was born over there, just as we were waiting for the ship to take us home after the French troops were beaten."
"Was it there that you lost your husband?"
Desdemona shook her head, even though Anne could not see it. "No, Henry died at home in London, from consumption. I was with Sarah at the time, she never knew her father."
"I never really knew mine, either."
Nothing was said for a short time, then Anne picked up their conversation again. "Did you know your parents?"
Desdemona made a face. "Not very much. My mother died from child bed fever, and my father remarried not long after his year of mourning had passed. His new wife did not want me around, so I was sent off to relations in London."
"How sad!"
"Not really. In hindsight, I rather grew up with cousins who wanted me, than with parents who did not want me."
"It is hard to believe that you and... and Mr Pratt come from the same parents." This was said so quietly, Desdemona had to strain her ears to understand.
"We have the father in common, not the mother."
"Oh."
The women relapsed into silence for a while.
"I was afraid of you," Anne stated matter-of-factly.
Desdemona gave a little snort. "Everybody who knows David would be afraid of his relations."
"You are not angry with me?"
"Why should I be?"
"Well, Mr Pratt always seems to be angry with me. Mother always was, too. As is Mrs Cassel."
"That sorry excuse of a man aside, why would your mother be angry with you?" The least said about the housekeeper the better.
"She said I was to marry my cousin Darcy, I always followed her advice to the letter, but somehow she never seemed satisfied. Then, after cousin Darcy married another... things deteriorated from there."
"And Mrs Cassel?"
"Was my mother's trusted servant, and continues her work in what she says is mother's spirit."
Desdemona heaved a deep sigh. If she just knew how, she would get Anne out of here, and quickly.
"That will have to stop, David will have to stop if you are to give birth to a healthy child." Desdemona had come very close to say "living child", but thought better of it. Given the circumstances, the life of her baby, or even her own, meant probably not very much to Anne at the moment. Hinting at a way to end her suffering might prove dangerous.
Anne suddenly turned around forcefully. "No!", she exclaimed with surprising strength, "do not speak to Mr Pratt! He will... he will..." Se broke off, to overcome with sobs to continue speaking.
"He will what?" Desdemona asked gently.
"A few months ago, when I first began to show signs of being with child, a brave maid, Mary, stood up to him and gave him a piece of her mind. He hit me hard in the face, said that was the first part of my punishment for complaining when I should be happy and grateful."
"What was the second part?"
"He beat Mary half senseless, and then he... he..." Anne broke off, her whole body shaken by terrible sobs once more. "Here in this room, he mad me watch," she finally ended her sentence.
"He did what? Did you not try to... oh! Of course not! What could you have done? There was nothing..." Desdemona was incapable of coherent speech, as well.
"No, there was nothing I could do, but cry. Mrs Cassel is so much stronger than I am."
"Mrs Cassel?!"
"She held me all the time. And afterwards," she forestalled Desdemona's shocked interruption, "afterwards he came to me. To teach me my place, he said."
"Mrs... oh, Mary!" Desdemona could only stammer.
"I am glad he is in Bath now. It is the first time he left me after that."
"David is in Bath?"
"He left a note to Mrs Cassel."
"Oh, Jesus."
Having David out of the way could prove an advantage, Desdemona thought while forming a plan in her mind. There even was a slight chance that Mary would be willing to be part of the scheme, and with her probably Bobby. Only a very slight chance, but a chance.
"Anne, does your family keep a house in town?" Desdemona knew that David had lost their father's in some reckless gambling adventure. Besides, it would probably not be the best place to go.
"There is a house on Grosvenor Square, as far as I know. I have never been there. Why do you ask?"
"Would you like to go to Town for a while? Maybe a change of scenery will do you some good."
"I could never leave Rosings without Mr Pratt's permission. Mrs Cassel will not allow it."
"If I know my sorry excuse of a brother, he will not care three straws about what you do and what you do not do, as long as the child is safe. We will tell Mrs Cassel that you need a London physician, a specialist, and that she might well ask Mr Pratt's opinion. I intend to be safely installed in London when she receives his answer."
"But what if he comes to London?"
"He will not find us entirely defenceless there. I will do all in my power that he can never touch you again!"
"Mrs Evans..."
"Desdemona, Anne. My name is Desdemona."
Despite the earnest situation, Anne giggled. "Oh, please, excuse me, I did not mean to..."
"It is all right. In my twenty-seventh year I am quite used to that kind of reaction." There was a smile in Desdemona's voice.
"How did your parents...?"
"Give me that ridiculous name? Apparently, they loved the Bard." After all those years she had learned not to be too fee with the information that "Desdemona" was the role her mother had acted when her father first set eyes on her. "What about London, Anne?"
"If you think it a good idea... Will you stay with me in London?"
"Yes, of course."
In London, she had friends, friends that could effectively get in David's way should he try and repeat what he did to Mary.
"I plan to ask Mary and Bobby to come with us, would you mind?"
"Mary? Is she still here?"
"You do not know? She is the maid that was assigned to my care while I am here."
"I have not seen or heard from her since..."
"No doubt Mrs Cassel made sure of that," Desdemona said, remembering Mary's sudden halt in front of the door to Anne's chambers the day before. Seen in the light of the new information she had gathered tonight, it made absolute sense.
"I am not sure whether she would be willing to take the risk of attracting David's wrath again. We must not be angry with her if she wants to stay."
"No, I suppose we must not." Anne sounded somewhat disappointed.
"Well, then, I will speak with Mary and Bobby. Is there anybody else you might want to come?"
Slowly, Anne shook her head.
"Very well, I do not think we should be too big a group when we set off. Do not mention anything to anybody outside our party just yet, we will inform Mrs Cassel when we have a plan thought through."
"I will be silent."
"But you must eat and drink a little of everything you are offered, you will need to be strong for the trip. Promise?"
"I promise."
The women did not talk much after having agreed on this line of action, the excitement and exhaustion of the night took their toll.
They managed to sleep for a couple of hours, before Sally came in and woke them, as it was time for the mistress to begin her day.
–
After being escorted to her own room by the ever present Bobby, Desdemona rang for Mary. Upon entering, Mary placed the tray with Desdemona's breakfast on a side table and helped with her morning routine.
When the maid wanted to leave, Desdemona took her hand and held her back.
"Mary, last night Mrs Pratt told me what David did to you." The maids eyes widened in shock, but she kept silent. "I plan to take Mrs Pratt to London, the de Bourgh family keeps a house there. Mrs Pratt and I would like Bobby and you to accompany us."
"Madam, I really..."
Desdemona forestalled her with a raised hand. "Please, do not say anything right now. Speak with Bobby, will you? I understand that the both of you desperately need the meagre wages David pays you, but I cannot imagine that he pays them regularly."
The corner of Mary's mouth dropped momentarily, and Desdemona knew she was right with her guess.
"Listen, once in London I will see to it that both of you receive your wages as is your due. I also promise that I will find somebody to teach the sign language to you and Bobby."
"You know the sign language? Can you show me?" Mary exclaimed, perhaps a little too loud. Desdemona knew then, that she had her where she wanted her.
"Well, I rather know of it, I only know some very few gestures. Do you remember the mute man in London I spoke of? I could arrange for him to teach you both." With some degree of desperation, Desdemona hoped that Mr Hill would indeed be willing to take on new pupils.
Mary seemed more than tempted, but still had doubts.
"If you are able to find better employment after six weeks in London, I will release you with references." Desdemona did not want that, but the promise was necessary. Silently, she prayed that she would not have to keep it.
Mary regarded her carefully, as if fearing a trick behind it all. The offer was too good to be true.
"Go now, you will be missed below stairs. Talk to Bobby, and then bring the answer back to me."
With an earnest nod, Mary curtseyed, and left Desdemona fervently praying that she would not spill the beans to Mrs Cassel.
–
Later, punctually at eleven o'clock, Desdemona opened her chamber door. For once, Bobby was not there, but she had a guard, nonetheless. He was smaller than Bobby by a couple of hands, but wiry, and looked as if his strength was not to be underestimated. A part of her was amused that her brother obviously feared her so very much.
"Please conduct me to Mrs Pratt's suite of rooms. I am to take tea with her."
He answered with a little growl and a look that seemed to say "no tricks, lady" and moved out of her way. Desdemona could only shake her head at the strange collection of servants her brother had accumulated.
As Bobby before him, her new guardian stationed himself outside in the hall when she entered Anne's rooms.
Just like the day before, Mrs Cassel's presence dominated the room as well as the conversation, and nothing of import was said. The incident of the night before was not mentioned.
Desdemona excused herself early, even though she did not know what to do with her time. However, Anne's need for rest was obvious, and she did not want to keep her our of bed longer than necessary. Keeping their appointment for tea had been imperative to hold up appearances, but there was no need to overtax Anne. If Desdemona was strictly honest to herself, the trip to London bordered on a suicide mission for Anne and the little one. Had she not feared for Anne's life should she stay here, Desdemona would never have dared take such a step.
While in Spain, there had been innumerable camp-followers who asked for Dr Evans's help, once word had gotten 'round that he did not turn them away. Desdemona had learned very much about pregnancy and childbirth while helping her husband with the women, and in the end had become quite a capable midwife herself. Desdemona knew for certain that Anne's pregnancy was in a very dangerous state, perhaps it was already too late for the little niece or nephew in Anne's womb.
Nevertheless, she could not but try, and the first step meant to detach Anne from her watch dragon of a housekeeper. Desdemona shuddered to think which position Mrs Cassel had kept under Lady Catherine, if David was able to promote a butler to steward.
–
Days passed in a like fashion, with no news coming to Rosings, neither from without nor within. Mary did not broach the subject of leaving Rosings with Desdemona, and the latter refrained likewise from mentioning it. Mary and Bobby should come around on their own or not at all, if Desdemona meant to be able to fully trust them. Besides, it could not be easy to find the opportunity to speak with Bobby in private, and in the footman's case it was impossible to whisper a few words in passing while going after their duties.
Approximately two weeks after Desdemona had offered to take them to London, Mary finally spoke of it while drawing a bath in the evening.
"If you would not mind, madam, Bobby and I would like to take you up on your offer. That is, if it still stands." Insecurity crept into the maids voice.
Relief washed through Desdemona, as she eased herself into the tub.
"Of course it still stands. And I am glad that you accept, I will forever be indebted to you and Bobby for your help. Because your help I will need!"
Mary gave a knowing look. "Mrs Cassel."
"Exactly. I mean to have everything ready prepared, before simply informing her of our departure."
"That might be best, madam. If you do not mind, I would pass the message to your driver."
"That would be very nice. But are you sure that you would not attract unwanted attention if you spoke to him?"
"There are still those in this household, that are loyal to Miss Anne, and not to Mrs Cassel, madam. I can get the message to your driver, you need not worry."
"You understand that the fewer people know, the better for us?"
"Yes, of course. Still, there are some who pity Miss Anne, and would gladly help her to get away."
"Our party will consist of Mrs Pratt, Bobby, you, the driver and me only, is this understood?"
"Yes, madam. I did not mean to invite any body along."
"Very well, I see you have this thought through. Is Sally one of those who might help?"
Mary fidgeted a little with her dress.
"I would not know, madam, the master brought her from London when... after..."
"It is all right, Mary. We will make do without her help. I only thought that we would need somebody to pack Anne's things, as she is not up to the task."
Suddenly, Mary became very pale. "Please, madam, do not make me go into that room again!" She looked as if she were about to faint.
Alert, Desdemona half rose in the tub. "Calm down, Mary, nobody will make you go in there. Easy now, you are shaking. Go sit down on that chair over there, yes, that's good."
Mary had begun to shake alarmingly, but nevertheless tried to stand up as Desdemona made to climb out of the tub.
"Stay where you are, dearest, I will be over in a second."
She wrapped herself in her dressing gown without bothering with a towel and went to kneel in front of Mary's chair. Taking both her hands, she tried to catch the maid's gaze.
"Mary," she said softly, "Mary, stay with me. You will never be forced to enter that room again in your life, do you hear me?"
Mary nodded slightly, but started to cry all the same. All the tears of shame, hurt and frustration that had been safely tucked away in a very remote corner of her mind were suddenly let loose. Desdemona rose to stand beside Mary and pulled her closer, so that the maid's head rested against her belly.
Many minutes were spent in that attitude, with Mary slowly letting go all her pain, and Desdemona whispering sweet nothings to calm her down.
Judging from the victims of violence she had seen in Spain, Mary had held up fairly well during the last months, but the prospect of visiting the site of her disgrace again had proven too much for her to bear.
After a while, Mary edged away from Desdemona, who went in search for a kerchief for the younger woman to use, who accepted it gratefully and instantly put it to good use.
"I have ruined you dressing gown," Mary said after she could breathe uninhibited again.
Desdemona laughed. "Think nothing of it. I never even really liked it." She placed her fingers under the maid's chin to tilt her head up, so that they would look each other in the eye. "If all goes according to plan, we will be in London in a few days' time. You will never have to come back here if you do not want to. I wish I could promise that you will never have to see him again, but I fear that would be something I might not be able to keep. You will do my packing here, and I will go pack Anne's things. You helped me unpack when I arrived, so you should be able to pack my things easily. Is that acceptable?"
With new tears in her eyes which she was bravely fighting, Mary nodded.
"Well, then, off you go now. Find yourself a quiet place to calm your nerves, and soon you will be away from here."
Mary made to rise from her chair, but fell back a moment later.
"Bobby! He is on duty out in the hall again, he must not see me in this state!" she exclaimed, horrified.
"Bobby does not know?"
Sadly, Mary shook her head. "I could not bring myself to tell him. He is a very protective one, you see, and I was afraid that he would do something stupid. Then where would he be now? He has no kin to take him, the Jackson family are a poor lot. Besides, they would never have the money to bail him out, should he be taken in."
"Mary," Desdemona said seriously, "one day you will have to tell him."
"No, madam, what would he think of me? I could not bear to know he is thinking ill of me!"
"Mary, I have known women like you. They were from various backgrounds and of totally dissimilar dispositions, but they had one thing in common."
Mary looked up with interest, waiting how she would go on.
"The one thing they had in common, was their reaction to the touch of a man. Do not think you can simply not think of him, should Bobby touch you tenderly. He will need to be patient, and he will deserve to know why."
Mary turned her head away without answer, but Desdemona had not expected one. Mary would have to think about this, and figure out for herself what to do. With a last pat on the maid's shoulder, she left her alone in the dressing room and closed the connecting door to the main room.
The ill-tempered maid who answered her tug of the bell chord asked snappishly where Mary was and whether she could not go for the tea tray Desdemona had requested, but a condescending reply sent her on her way.
Bobby, who had listened to the whole exchange, threw her a worried look when he opened the door upon the grumpy maid's return with the tea tray. She made a reassuring gesture behind the maid's back, but had no choice but to close the door after the tea tray had been placed where it belonged.
Quickly, she fixed a cup and carried it over to the other room. Mary looked at her rather askance, but accepted the tea after some hesitation.
"It will do you good," Desdemona explained.
While Mary sipped her tea, Desdemona began removing the bath things, giving the distinct feeling to Mary, that something was just not as it should be.
They talked a little, discussing when might me the best day to leave Rosings. They agreed that it would be best to leave quite early in the morning, in order to make it to the town house by the end of the day.
As for a date, none of them had an especially good idea, except that it had to be soon.
–
The perfect opportunity came on the week-end, when Mrs Cassel set out one fine afternoon to visit her sister in a neighbouring country.
Mary happily whispered to Desdemona that these visits were not infrequent, and that they always lasted two days or longer. One look between them sealed it, come tomorrow their adventure would begin. Bobby even managed with Mary's help to change his shift from the night to the following day, and even though it meant that Desdemona slept with one eye open that night, it would be of advantage if Bobby was able to stay awake for their journey.
Early the next morning, just when Bobby had relieved the other guard of his duty, Mary came to wake Desdemona and to help with her travel clothes. Soon, the women went to their different assigned tasks, Mary to pack Desdemona's things, and Desdemona to bundle up Anne and her things.
For appearances' sake, Bobby came with her to Mrs Pratt's door, even though the scheme would be widely known soon. The maid sleeping with Anne, whomever it was, would surely spread the news.
Again, Mary had done wonders for them. The maid Desdemona met in Anne's rooms was very old, one would almost say too old to be still in service. She moved to Anne's bed when Desdemona entered, shaking Anne softly at the shoulder.
"Wake up, little Miss Annie, you will go on a journey today," she spoke in her ear. Almost instantly, while Desdemona was still busy holding up both eyebrows, Anne's eyes flew open.
"Agatha?"
"Yes, my sweetling, it is me. See here, that lady with that unbecoming gape there came to fetch you. Now be a good girl and let yourself be dressed."
The old woman's words shook Desdemona out of her stupor, she closed her mouth and fetched the clothes the other woman had already prepared on a chair nearby. They had Anne dressed in no time, and sat her in her winged chair by the fire while they made short work of Anne's travel equipment. She did not have many clothes anyway, which would fit her in her current state.
While they worked, the older woman suddenly whispered: "I was the midwife of the de Bourgh family. I helped Miss Annie's grandfather into the world, and her father after that. I was also there when Miss Annie here entered the world, and because I was too old to travel over all over the county at every possible hour of the day they took me in as her nanny. It is a shame that her mother sold her off as she did!"
Even though the comment rather disparaged Desdemona's own family, she could not argue. She new exactly what David was.
When everything was ready, Desdemona opened the door and bade Bobby to carry Anne's trunk down to the driver, who should be waiting in the front drive by now. Bobby nodded and followed her command without hesitation.
Just as Mary came into the hall, finished with her own work, a raised voice could be heard from the entrance hall below. Smith the butler was blocking Bobby's way back into the house, questioning him.
"Are your things already in the carriage?" Desdemona whispered to Mary as the made their way down the stairs as fast as Anne could possibly manage. Mary nodded in confirmation. "Bobby placed them there yesterday evening, before he went to sleep."
As the butler set eyes on them, he started shouting in earnest. Anne seemed to shrink from him on Desdemona's arm, so that Mary went to support her from the other side as well.
"Bobby," Desdemona spat in her second most commanding tone, "my trunk is still upstairs. Get it down and into the carriage this instant!" Without taking further notice of the spitting butler, Bobby calmly walked up the stairs.
"You cannot do that!" Smith finally shouted, blocking their way to the entrance.
"I can and I will. Mrs Pratt is free to go where she has a whim to go, and there is nothing you can do about that," Desdemona replied with an even voice.
"No! She is not! She is to stay in her rooms! On the master's orders!" the raging butler replied.
Desdemona turned to Anne. "Did David issue such an order to you personally?"
Lips pressed firmly together, Anne shook her head.
"You see, Smith, there is no such order. You will let us pass now."
Smith was desperately searching for words, arms flailing. "There now," came a male voice from the door, "be careful with that arms of yours, in the end you might hit somebody and regret it later." Behind the butler, Desdemona's driver hat come in to lend his mistress some support.
Surrounded now, he had to watch as Bobby walked past him, Desdemona's trunk in hands.
"You!" he burst out suddenly, "you cannot go where you want! The master has you guarded!" He seemed to be grasping at straws.
"That is exactly why Bobby will come with us," Desdemona replied pleasantly.
"Come now, fellow," the driver said, taking Smith by the arm so that the group of women could pass.
When the were quite close to the men, Smith managed to free one arm and tried to physically stop the women from leaving the house. He hit Mary hard on the head, so that she fell to the ground, leaving his way to Anne open.
Incredibly fast, and stronger than anybody would have supposed, Anne's fist connected to his face with a loud smack.
Blood tickled out of Smith's nose in a fine line.
The rest happened in an eerie silence. The driver helped Mary back up, Anne was led out to the carriage by Desdemona, only the rustle of skirts could be heard.
When they were all seated, the driver climbed up and the horses pulled the carriage into motion.
They were on the road to London.